It’s almost time for Khazâd November again! The principle is the same as always: one day, one dwarf – create something featuring that dwarf! There is one free day (on November 15) to give you a little time to catch up, catch your breath or create something not on the list. You don’t have to create something for each day if you don’t want to, but the aim is to create something for the dwarves that usually get less love, so it would be a bit sad if there would only be contributions for Thorin, Fili, Kili and Gimli and nothing on the other days… ;)
What’s new this year is the “spinning wheel” challenge. It is completely optional, I just thought some additional prompts might be useful to get the creative juices flowing. Here’s how it works: pick a number or get one using a random number generator. Use that prompt to create something about the dwarf on day 1, then use the next prompt for the dwarf on day 2 and so on. Once you get to the end of the list, continue with prompt 1. It is alright if you skip one or two prompts if you can’t make it work, but there are only so many prompts and it might be boring to repeat prompts.... Alternatively, just use the prompts as a prompt list or draw a new number each day.
When you post what you’ve created, please add any necessary warnings and remember to tag it #khazadnovember so that I can find your post and reblog it. If you are doing the spinning wheel challenge or are using the prompts, it would also be great if you could mention (in the tags or at the beginning) what prompt you are using.
And because we want this to be fun for everyone involved, please remember to be polite to others taking part in this event – if you don’t like something somebody created, just move on without being rude. :)
Please signal boost this even if you don’t have the time or inspiration to participate so that it can reach those that might be interested! Thank you!
I’m looking forward to seeing what everybody comes up with!
Schedule and Prompts beneath the cut:
Day:
Gimli
Dori
Durin & the other first dwarves
Gloin
Thrór
Fíli
Náin I, Thráin I, Thorin I
Balin
Frerin
Bombur
Borin & Farin
Nori
Mîm & sons
Bofur
FREE
Dís
Thráin
Oin
Glóin, Óin, Náin II, Dain I (Kings in the Grey Mountains)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
For anyone posting their works for Khazâd November on AO3, there is now a collection.
In case anyone is just stumbling across this event just now, feel free to join in even though the month has already started! You can find the specifics here.
Words: 1221
Rating: T
Summary: Frerin is not jealous of Thorin being the older one. He is, however, jealous of what Thorin has with Dwalin.
Notes: Written for Day 9 of Khazâd November.
Warnings: character death
Prompt: 11 - pain
On AO3.
Frerin was not jealous of Thorin being the older one, the heir to the throne with more rights. After all, Frerin had more freedoms instead and was generally subject to less scrutiny. As a dwarfling, he did sometimes crave the additional attention Thorin got during ceremonies and the preparations for those. As he got older, he realised that that was not the kind of attention that was any fun at all.
At the same time, he also realised that there was another kind of attention he craved that Thorin got rather more of. Frerin watched Thorin’s friendship with Dwalin and now, he really did feel like the second son, the spare.
The door closed on him when they discussed politics. When Frerin asked to join them on one of their excursions across the countryside, they told him he was still to young for it.
It took Frerin a few more years to realise that it was Dwalin he wanted to spend time with, not just the two of them. But whenever he asked Dwalin to train with him, he had already agreed to train with Thorin.
“I’m sorry, Frerin, but Thorin and I really have to practice this complicated new movement. Maybe some other time.”
“I could practice it too? Gróin says I’m really good for my age.”
“You’re too small, Frerin,” Thorin stepped in as Dwalin looked on awkwardly. “You’ll learn it yourself in a few years. Until then, go and practice with dwarves your own age.”
Frerin fumed and stomped away. He was only five years younger than Thorin, and three younger than Dwalin.
Sometimes, Dwalin took pity on Frerin and trained with him briefly before going back to training with Thorin. Happiness struggled with shame inside him, since he did not want to be pitied. Frerin could not say exactly what he wanted though.
He figured that out when he turned the corner of a disused tunnel and saw Thorin and Dwalin pressed against the wall, their mouths fused together. Thorin’s hands were under Dwalin’s tunic and the sound that escaped Dwalin’s mouth would haunt Frerin’s dreams for weeks. Frerin turned back around the corner he had come from and fled. Frerin had not realised emotions could be this painful.
He stayed away from them. He avoided his brother’s eyes and Dwalin’s presence. Still, Frerin noticed them looking at him and exchanging glances and whispers when they thought he wasn’t looking.
One afternoon when Frerin was writing and essay about Harad, Thorin stepped into his room and closed the door behind him.
“You must not tell anyone, do you understand? Not a single person. You do know what they might do to Dwalin if somebody finds out?”
Frerin stared at Thorin. It had not occurred to him to tell on them. He only wanted to forget, forget what he had seen and most of all, forget what he felt. And now he wanted to forget the tone in Thorin’s voice when he used Dwalin’s wellbeing as a way to pressure Frerin. The tone that implied that Thorin knew.
“You might want to be more careful then,” Frerin said evenly and turned back to his homework.
It became a bit like a sixth sense to Frerin to know when Thorin and Dwalin both left a celebration for half an hour or claimed to be at training when they weren’t. His blood thumped loudly in his ears, his stomach churled unpleasantly. He didn’t want to know, he would have given anything not to know. And he hated the satisfied look on his brother’s face when he returned, shortly after Dwalin did.
In exile, once they had acquired tents, it was Thorin who shared with Dwalin.
“You could share a tent with Frerin,” Thráin had suggested towards Thorin when they got the tents.
“No, he can share with Dís.”
It was amazing what they got away with under the veil of being sword brothers.
Frerin was aware that his parents probably expected him to keep an eye on Dís’s virtue. He could not care less when she snuck out at night when she thought he was asleep.
On the evening of the fifth day Dís had rushed out of the tent with a hand clamped to her mouth, Frerin decided he was done pretending he didn’t know about his sister’s secret in addition to his brother’s secret.
“So will you be marrying Víli then?”
Dís grinned at him. “I don’t think our parents will have much choice but to allow the connection now, no matter how much they disapprove of it.”
Frerin hadn’t looked at it from that angle. “Congratulations, then. Although I think I should probably wait with my congratulations until you have suffered through the inevitable yelling. But good on you that you managed to get what you wanted.”
“It’s not that difficult if you know how to make things work for you,” Dís grinned. “Is there anyone you have your eyes set on? I might be able to help you figure things out. It’s not as if Thorin needs my help in getting what he wants.”
“You know about that?”
Dís laughed. “Well, they aren’t exactly subtle, not if you’ve got eyes and half a brain that isn’t too walled in by old conventions.”
“You can say that twice.”
Something in his tone made Dís scrutinise Frerin in that way only she could and that nobody particularly liked being looked at.
“Are you going to make a fuss about them? I wouldn’t really have taken you to be... Oh. Oh shit.”
Frerin never should have started this conversation, never should have allowed it to flow in this direction.
“What?” He asked, doing his best to seem confused and innocent.
“Why didn’t I realise earlier?”
“Maybe because there’s nothing to realise?” Frerin tried.
“I’m so sorry, Frerin. That has got to hurt.”
It did. It hurt more than he had wanted to admit and before he really realised it, Frerin was sobbing onto Dís’s shoulder, all his hurt finally having found an outlet.
Dís had told him to be careful, that she needed him to help her teach her child to be a decent dwarf once it was born.
Except that there was no way to be careful in a battle, especially not in one like Azanulbizar. The arrow struck him and he fell, fading in and out of consciousness, snatches of battle coming to his awareness through the pain.
It was Dwalin who found him. Dwalin who assessed his wounds and tried to stop the bleeding. It was Dwalin who told him to stay awake, that help was coming soon.
It was quite nice really, that it wasn’t a stranger who had found him. Nice to have Dwalin talking to him, possibly longer than he had ever talked to Frerin before. Nice to have Dwalin to himself for once.
And Dwalin kissed him. Softly, hesitatingly on the forehead. It was then that Frerin knew what he had been fearing. He was dying.
He wanted to meet Dís’s little one, to teach his little nephew how to pester his Amad and be a general annoyance. He wanted to live.
But there were worse ways of going, completely alone on the battlefield or tortured by orcs. And he was so tired and Dwalin was smiling at him through his tears.
Characters: Balin
Words: 654
Rating: G
Summary: Balin insists the dwarves observe the religious ceremonies in exile, even though many of them believe Mahal has foresaken them.
Notes: Written for Day 8 of Khazâd November.
Warnings: character death, religious themes
Prompt: 10 - Mahal
On AO3.
Balin insisted. Their community was small and scattered, and every gathering was an effort. Feasts were expensive, so they settled on meals that were only a little more lavish than their everyday food, everyone contributing their bit. All the great dwarven halls left in middle-earth had been usurped by terrors beyond description, so they held their ceremonies in caves, under the sky high up in the mountains or even in roughly hewn stone houses.
“Mahal has forsaken us,” Balin heard more times than he could count. “Why should we honour him?”
“He will remember us if we try hard enough,” Balin insisted. “We must do the best we can amidst our struggles. He created us and for that, we will show him respect, him and our ancestors who showed us how to honour him.”
Even though Balin was still young, something of the wisdom of his forebears must have shown through, for they listened to him. The traditions were upheld as best they could. Dwarflings were presented to Mahal and their ancestors on their first birthday, food was collected for the festivals, stones and food were taken to the burials of the dwarves that took their way towards Mahal’s halls. Whatever dwarves could be notified in the area gathered, laughed, sang, cried and told stories together.
Even Thorin and Dwalin, whose anger at the grief they had suffered was great and who had listened to Balin with pursed lips and performed their ceremonial duties only reluctantly at first, soon began emphasising the importance of honouring Mahal with the old traditions.
Whenever Balin could find them, he studied old records of Durin and the things he had said about Mahal. His convictions deepened.
They regained Erebor, though at a terrible price. King Dáin offered Balin to become the chief of ceremonies in the refounded kingdom. Balin declined. Although the damage Smaug had caused in the library was horrific, he now had access to more scrolls than ever before. He wanted to continue his studies instead.
Balin did not know what tempted him more, the possibility of regaining the home of their ancestors, where their traditions lay ingrained in the very stone, or the chance to recover more of Durin’s secrets in ancient scripts. Balin knew it was folly, it was a mission too big for him. Except that he had been on such a mission before, and it had succeeded.
Flames and ashes were what he found, pain and death.
He had expected death. He had not expected to meet his Maker.
“Mahal?” Balin asked, the name he had used so often in his life suddenly reluctant to cross his lips. There was little mistaking Mahal. Balin could instantly recognise him from all the images across the ages, though they fell short of his magnificence and power.
A deep rumbling laugh rang out. “ You thought I did not exist. You thought there would be darkness and emptiness. Welcome to my halls, my son.”
Balin bowed low, then decided bowing was not enough and lay on the ground. “Forgive me, Mahal. I was faithless.”
“There is nothing to forgive. You lived well, Balin. You created, and you helped keep together my people. That is what I judge by, not your belief.”
“I used your name without faith, as a means to an end, even if that end was to keep Durin’s folk united through our exile. I thought you had been invented by Durin to create unity and something that would make dwarves live good lives.”
“And he and you did just that. You created unity and helped dwarves live those good lives. I do not care to be worshipped, though I am glad if my name leads dwarves to live their lives as they should.” He extended a mighty hand towards Balin. “Come my son, there are feasts for you to enjoy, so eat and leave your hardships behind you. They are waiting for you.”
Characters: Thorin I
Words: 100
Rating: G
Summary: Thorin I is haunted by strange dreams.
Notes: Written for Day 7 of Khazâd November.
Prompt: 9 - joy
On AO3.
Thorin knew his people were happy to have a home. The loss of Khazad-Dûm was still close and painful. Still, he dreamt of a dragon every night. Red and golden it rose in his dreams, destroying the new kingdom his father had founded. Countless enemies marched on the mountain and death found him.
When his duties allowed it, he travelled, for many reasons. Mostly, Thorin was looking for a new home. When he walked towards that peak of the Grey Mountains, his feet led him on. His boots told him, and his beard. He was home. Joy filled his heart.
Characters: Fíli, Bofur
Words: 2654
Rating: G
Warnings: past character death
Summary: Bofur wants to go the traditional way and let Fíli take the first step, but eventually, he does start wondering why Fíli won't take that final step.
Notes: Written for Day 6 of Khazâd November.
Pairing: Fíli/Bofur
Prompt: 8 - Forget
On AO3.
Bofur finally spotted Fíli at a small table at the back of the tavern and grinned at him.
Fíli grinned back, a grin warm enough to relight the sun should it ever need rekindling. Bofur felt his grin grow even wider as he looked at him. This couldn’t be healthy, he thought, surely his head would split open from grinning at Fíli one day.
Bofur slid onto the bench next to Fíli and took the jug of ale Fíli handed him.
“Thanks,” Bofur said, still grinning like a lunatic.
“You made it,” Fíli replied. “Long day in the mines?”
“You could say so,” Bofur said, flopping his head onto Fíli dramatically.
Bofur could hear Fíli’s breath hitch slightly and his own heartbeat was loud in his ears.
“Yari again?”
Bofur nodded, taking his head from Fíli’s shoulder again. After all, he didn’t want to push too hard, especially since Fíli was generally slow to initiate physical contact. “Yes, as usual. He keeps being an insufferable know-it-all and making snide allusions to being better than the rest of us.”
Fíli huffed. “As if that arrogant elfwit could ever even reach up to you! You’re kind, witty, always willing to help others, more than prepared to put your family over your own needs, not to mention humble and generous…”
He trailed off and Bofur felt himself blushing, which he usually didn’t make a habit of. Bofur looked down at his mug.
Fíli cleared his throat and when Bofur looked up again, he could see that there was quite a pink tinge on Fíli’s ears and face too.
“… and he is just an arrogant piece of brick,” Fíli finally finished his sentence.
“But Durin the Deathless himself once sneezed on one of his ancestors,” Bofur pointed out, trying to diffuse the awkwardness.
Fíli broke into laughter. “I should probably ask Balin if it counts as blasphemy to imply Durin ever did something as undignified as sneezing.”
“Oh dear, I’d have to be arrested a hundred times myself then,” Bofur said, making an exaggeratedly worried face before bursting into laughter as well.
“Well, then I maybe shouldn’t ask Balin after all,” Fíli replied. “I meant what I said about you earlier, you know,” he murmured, shifting slightly closer to Bofur, their legs warm against each other now.
“Thank you,” Bofur replied.
He held his breath. Perhaps this would be the moment for which he had been waiting for so long.
Instead, Fíli waved at the dwarf at the bar. “Two more ales, please!”
Fíli walked him home as he always did. It wasn’t strictly necessary since the settlement was rather secure, it was just a habit quite a few dwarves had developed in the years of exile. Bofur definitely wasn’t going to complain.
Silence stretched comfortably between them and they walked close enough to each other that nobody would have even been able to wedge a piece of slate between them.
Bofur hoped he would finally get a kiss or at least a hug when they said goodnight, but Fíli gave him his slightly formal little bow as usual, which Bofur returned with a smile. The bow was slightly silly given how close they usually were, but Bofur found it endearing, if increasingly frustrating.
He had decided a long time ago that he would stick to the rules with Fíli, do things properly, even though he usually didn’t care too much for rules and etiquette. But he felt it was the right thing with Fíli, so he waited patiently, for the traditions said the dwarf of higher position should take the first step.
So Bofur watched as Fíli walked into the night, waving whenever Fíli turned around yet again.
Bofur had drunk hardly anything at the celebration of the shortest night of the year, but he still felt slightly dizzy. It felt intoxicating to spend this much time with Fíli, to listen to him talk all night, to hear him laugh at Bofur’s jokes, to dance beside him. The night wasn’t as warm as it usually was and Bofur could feel the warmth of Fíli’s leg beside him. Fíli hummed along to the melody the musicians were playing, leaning slightly against Bofur.
Bofur hummed along too, but the thoughts in his head were louder than the music, buzzing through his head like a swarm of bees trying to decide whether to stick with the previous hive or to build a new one.
Before his thoughts could settle on anything, Fíli turned to face Bofur. The smile he reserved for Bofur was on his face, his breath warm on Bofur’s skin. The buzzing of bees loud in his ears, Bofur reached out a hand and cupped Fíli’s face in it.
Fíli froze.
They stared at each other for a moment, Bofur’s thoughts having gone silent.
“Please don’t. I can’t,” Fíli whispered, but Bofur’s hand had already recoiled. Bofur couldn’t meet Fíli’s eyes, so he looked down at the offending hand instead, balled into a tight fist in his lap.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Except that I like you, like you very much in fact, and I somehow got the impression you felt the same way, but were somehow to shy for some reason. So I gave up on my intention to let you take the first step like tradition requires because I thought you felt the same way. I was wrong, obviously, and I’m very, very sorry. I…”
“Bofur. Stop, please. This is my fault, not yours. I do like you, but I can’t.” Fíli’s voice sounded tired.
Bofur stared at him, but Fíli wasn’t meeting his eyes either.
“What do you mean, you can’t? ‘Don’t want to’ I can understand, but ‘can’t’?”
“Do you remember that orc attack on the trade caravan some years back?”
Bofur nodded, confused.
“I was in that caravan, together with Torvi.” Fíli’s voice cracked on the name. “Torvi and I, we were a couple, nothing official yet, but we intended to be soon. I was going along on that caravan to spend time with Torvi, though I was officially there to protect the caravan, not that any of us expected any problems. The orcs came at night, in far greater numbers than we thought were present in the area.”
Bofur remembered. It had been a few years before he got to know Fíli. There had been a fair number of casualties, and there had been talk of one of the princes being involved. Bofur had never thought about it much in the years since, not after the remaining orcs had been hunted down soon after.
“Torvi got an orc spear into his stomach. He lived through the immediate attack, but the wound would have been fatal even if the spear had not been poisoned. I held his hand in those final hours, trying to tell him it would all be alright. He just wanted me to promise I wouldn’t forget him. It was the only thing I could do for him. Not forget him.”
Fíli was not crying, but his voice was flat and his hands clenched in his lap. Bofur wanted to pull him into a hug and would have done so in any other situation, but he knew he couldn’t.
“So I can’t,” Fíli repeated. “I’m sorry I let you believe otherwise, but I can’t.”
Bofur tried to think of something to say, but for once, he was at a loss for words.
Fíli took a shaky breath. “Maybe we should just not see each other for a while. I think that might be for the best. I’m sorry.”
Bofur nodded dumbly. “Of course, if that is what you need. I’m sorry, Fíli, for your loss and for all of this.”
The musicians started a new, lively tune as Fíli got up and stumbled away. Bofur remained on the bench, deaf to the music and laughter around him.
Bofur was fine. He drank a few ales too many and he shocked himself by planting his fist in Yari’s face the next time he pushed too far, but he was fine. He mined as though the stone had insulted him personally and spent the time he usually would have spent being out and about playing with his nieces and nephews. If he laughed a little less than usual or sometimes had to look away from Bombur’s and Vida’s happiness, well, that was just the way it was.
It was Fíli who worried him. When he passed Fíli in the streets a few days after the celebration, there were dark shadows under Fíli’s eyes and there was none of the usual spring to Fíli’s walk. Fíli didn’t see Bofur and Bofur decided to leave it at that. He had by now come up with plenty of replies to what Fíli had said, but it wouldn’t feel right to say them.
Whenever Bofur walked past Fíli after that, the shadows were still beneath his eyes and he noticed that Fíli had become even thinner than usual. Sometimes, Fíli didn’t see him or avoided his gaze, it was hard to tell. Other times, Fíli smiled a sad little smile at him when walking past, a smile that was more a grimace than the sunrise it had once been.
Two or three weeks after the longest day of the year, Kíli rounded on Bofur.
“I don’t know what you did with my brother, but I don’t like it. I was expecting you two to announce your engagement at any time, or at least expecting to walk in on you two in a compromising situation. Instead, this happens. I expect you to fix it.”
“I’m sorry,” Bofur said, at the same time embarrassed that even Kíli had figured it out and guiltier than ever that he had hurt Fíli. “I don’t think this is something I’ll be able to fix, as much as I would like to.”
“What happened? Did you cheat on him?”
“No! We weren’t even a couple!”
Kíli looked taken aback. “Why not? I thought you had been for months at the very least. Did you reject him?”
“Torvi.” Bofur immediately regretted saying it, after all, this was not really any of Kíli’s business.
“Oh no. That idiot! Somebody must have replaced his brain with goat dung at some point. I’m so sorry, Bofur.”
“Fíli is not an idiot,” Bofur said sadly. “Just loyal. Very loyal.”
“Loyal to the point of being an idiot,” Kíli insisted. “He’s making both of you miserable and it’s not even as though poor Torvi has any benefit from it, lying in his grave. If I were you, I’d try to reason with Fíli.”
“It’s his choice,” Bofur said quietly.
“It’s a choice someone with a head full of goat dung would make. I’m sorry my brother is being such an idiot, Bofur.”
Bofur wished Kíli hadn’t spoken to him. He had been getting to the point where he was close to accepting Fíli’s decision, but Kíli confirming what Bofur had already suspected, that Fíli was miserable, tore open all the old questions again. For several days, Bofur pondered. Finally, Bombur slammed his fist onto the table where he was cutting carrots while Bofur paced.
“For Mahal’s sake, just talk to him. You are driving all of us mad, and what’s the worst that can happen if you do talk to him?”
Bofur wasn’t even surprised, Bombur always knew more than he expected him to.
So by that evening, Bofur had finally made up his mind.
Fíli looked mildly surprised when he opened the door.
“Bofur. How are you?” He asked uncertainly.
“Driving everyone up the walls, apparently,” Bofur replied, laughing too loudly. “What about you?”
That sad smile that was more of a grimace than a smile. “I’m fine.”
Bofur stared at him and Fíli stared back. There was little sense in pointing out that that wasn’t quite the truth, it was rather clear that neither of them was really fine.
“Look, if you want me to leave again, that’s fine, just say so. But if I understood you correctly, you promised Torvi you wouldn’t forget him, not that you would never be happy again.” So much for subtlety.
“Kíli said something remarkably similar,” Fíli said wryly.
“He cornered me the other day and tried to threaten me for hurting you. I’m sorry I let it slip that that is the reason we… um, are being a bit distant. You know thinking before I speak is not really my strong point.”
There was a hint of a grin on Fíli’s face at that. “Don’t worry about that. I’m sorry about Kíli confronting you. I hope he didn’t hurt you?”
“No, don’t worry.” Bofur had not come here to talk about Kíli, he remembered. “What I was saying was that even though I didn’t know Torvi, I can’t imagine he was someone who would want you to be continually unhappy instead of living a good life. You can do that and still remember him. I remember my father and although I’m still sad about how he died, I still don’t let that keep me from living.” That was quite possibly the most unfitting example Bofur could have come up with, he realised. “Look, I won’t try anything like the other night again. I just want things to go back to the way they were before. Maybe not entirely, but enough for us not to be completely miserable. Maybe just going to the tavern and drinking some ale?”
Bofur had been expecting a no of some sort. He had been hoping for a yes. What he wasn’t expecting was for Fíli to stumble forward and burry his face in Bofur’s shoulder, his hands clinging awkwardly to Bofur. Bofur wrapped his arms around Fíli cautiously, a bit as though he were stepping on ground that had not yet entirely been declared safe to mine on yet. This was decidedly not going back to where they were before.
“Fíli…”
“Don’t.”
Fíli was crying.
“Shh, it will be alright. It will be fine,” Bofur whispered and gently rubbed Fíli’s back. He wasn’t sure what ‘it’ was, or if it would really be alright, but he knew he would do his very best to make sure it would be.
They stood like that for a long moment before Fíli pulled back slightly. Bofur raised his hands to gently touch Fíli’s face but he remembered that that had been a bad idea last time. So he froze and looked at Fíli. Fíli looked at him.
And then Fíli cupped his face and kissed him. It was a sloppy, desperate kiss, the kind that happens without forethought and is slow to end from fear of the questions that would follow. It was all Bofur had ever dreamed of and more.
“Could we go out to drink that ale some other time?” was the question Fíli settled for asking, slightly out of breath, when the kiss did end. “I’m rather tired, so perhaps we could just sit and talk?”
Bofur decided not to mention that he hadn’t meant to go to the tavern on this particular evening, just some time in the near future.
“Of course.”
As it turned out, they didn’t do much talking either. Bofur wrapped an arm around Fíli tightly and Fíli cuddled up to him. It didn’t take long before Fíli fell asleep on Bofur’s shoulder.
It wasn’t exactly romantic. Fíli drooled a little and Bofur was not entirely sure where they stood, how many of Fíli’s actions he should chalk up to exhaustion. Still, Bofur wouldn’t have wanted to miss having Fíli sleep on his shoulder for anything in the world. They could sort out all the complicated things tomorrow.
