( archive )

Thùragâl The Darer ˚ ˚ ˚ ˚ ˚ ˚ ˚ Independent ˚ Private Thorin II Oakenshield Please read rules before interacting

[thuragal-archive]

[ this blog is now an archive.  i will be moving thorin to a new blog and will be selective with who i follow and rp with.  thanks for sticking with me here but i need to do what makes me happy ]

[thuragal-archive]

x

[thuragal-archive]

foryourhxme

     “Merlin, stop staring.  I’m still breathing.”

[thuragal-archive]

This blog is now private, the rules have been updated, I am dropping some threads and have unfollowed a few people.  It’s nothing personal but for my own ability to be on this blog and enjoy myself I need to change some things.  Thanks for understanding.

[valdomarx]

thrashbash asked: porter + roughing dudes up

[riepu10]

Richard Armitage - TVLine interview x

[foryourhxme]

Empty Home

[foryourhxme]

Are you happy?

No. No, I’m not.

The answer was there, burning hot on his tongue, but he couldn’t give it voice. Over a year ago now, he’d taken off on a journey to help a group of dwarves retrieve their home. The possibility of death had been outstanding from the get go, and yet it hadn’t quite sunk in.

Not until he had found himself at the gates of an Erebor that finally belonged to the dwarves again——with three less faces to say goodbye to.

No, in Bilbo’s mind, Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews had never regained their home.

And then Bilbo had returned to an empty one, pilfered of everything he had once thought valuable. It was oddly fitting, considering how unfulfilled it had all felt in the end.

Was he happy? No. No, he was not.

“…I’m home.” He said instead, and it sounded empty and numb to his own ears. 

[thuragal-archive]

He could read Bilbo’s expression.  It spoke much louder than any words could convey.  Yes, the hobbit was home, but he was not happy.  Thorin was not happy either, but there was nothing he could do for himself.  Truthfully, he did not know what he could do for Bilbo, either, beyond lending an ear, but was it a cruel joke to keep this up?  

Knowing what to do; what was right, was a difficult task. in his current--- state.

“You are indeed, Master Baggins.  It is so very quiet here.”  Thorin’s head tilts as he listens.  The wind outside is gentle, there are insects and animals.  He knows other hobbits are near, cozy and comfortable in their homes.  Living their lives as they always have and always will.  They know nothing of what Bilbo has gone through.  They cannot possibly understand.  

His friend is so very alone.  With nothing but a ghost in his ear, and for all Bilbo knows, in his head.  Apologizes sit heavy on his tongue.  “Could you not go back to Erebor?   Surely you would be welcome there."

[sprsoldier-archive]

get up get up  get up - dust is blowing in your face. you’re lying, facing upwards, on the cold ground. you laugh. your heart hurts, and you realize this might have been all for nothing. you realize you might have lost the fight before it even started. your bones splinter (and isn’t that ironic? in these dying moments, you feel alive) you pray to ares. your breath is threatening to leave your lungs, but you need to know. you need to know this wasn’t all for nothing (but this is war, what did you expect?) can you hear them? warriors just like you, their soulless cries echoing through eternity - what are you still doing here? why don’t you follow them? (maybe you are different after all, you and them) get up. the war is not over and you are not done (your heart still hasn’t broken your ribs after all)

// s.z (via sprsoldier)

[eurekastrike]

[boromirs]

To battle!

[foryourhxme]

thuragal replied to your post://I’M DONE I FINISHED I’M FREEEEEEEEE

great! *puts on pants*

…

if you tell me it took you this long then that will be the end of our midnight snacks

[thuragal-archive]

    ................... ♥

[thuragal-archive]

Crimson Splendor ( closed )

[dragonslayerofdale]

     The Elves had found a survivor, and even as relief swelled it receded nearly as quickly. Their fears were realized, and the time they might have to save the others dwindled as the sun steadily made its way across the sky— if they’d not found them by the time darkness fell, there would be little hope, even with such skilled trackers as the Elves and Bard’s guard could offer.

    There would be no cheerful ending this day, regardless of whether the lady Dís was found free of harm or not. Bard’s heart ached for Thorin and his kin already, few enough without suffering further loss, but there was nothing more to be done for them than what they now did. 

    Finding the ones responsible would at least see their souls safely on, and prevent their murderers from harming other innocents beyond the reach of he or Thranduil’s people.

    Returning to his mount, Bard urged her forward, following close behind, his bow strung and half-drawn as he searched the shadows, alert for any sounds beyond their passing.

                        The forest was eerily, unnaturally silent.     He wasn’t certain what drew his eye after an indeterminable time of silent travel, perhaps a gleam of some wayward sunbeam on battered, nearly blackened metal, or perhaps the white of a large, malicious eye. His arrow flew before he’d even called alarm, dropping the first orc still crouched in the underbrush even as a score of others and more began to filter, bellowing through the trees.                   “To arms, we are met!”      Another arrow already in flight as the third was readied, Bard took a moment to survey the others, reassuring himself as he found Thorin’s dark hair and Thranduil’s bright amongst their forces before he turned his attention back to the approaching enemy. They seemed blissfully unaware of their danger, bloodthirsty warcries echoing throughout the trees as they engaged, but they were in truth sorely outmatched. And they would soon learn quite intimately of their folly.

[breniarchive-blog]

     Beyond the southernmost borders they have ridden, and the elves have partitioned themselves between the canopies and the earth. They are all of them dressed for the hunt from head to toe; bows and javelins strung and poised. 

     It is narrow here where the trunks are broad and twisting, thick and gnarled with bark black and grey. Though the sun shines and arc steadily westward, the Wood gives no quarter. It is Thranduil astride his silver dapple who takes lead, with the Men and Dwarves close behind. He has one ear upturned; the most mild of angles afforded in neck and jaw, as though the trees themselves whispered to him the things he did not know. 

                                           It does not last.

     Bard’s arrow flies a mere margin passed the point of the Elvenking’s ear, stirring his hair. Before the feathered fletching can so much as pass his head, Thranduil’s sword is drawn.

     They spill from betwixt the great trees like oil from barrels into the glade, and the silence breaks with their snaps and snarls and shrill threats. From every side they begin to pool and form lances of themselves; even in equal number they mean to divide them all.

                       But this is a misfortune that would not befall them, this day.

     The first arcing fall of Thranduil’s blade draws all light forth, swift and bright and deadly as the streaking sun. What few archers they have on the ground fall to closed ranks behind mounted Dwarves and infantrymen, and the arrows begin to take flight. Before the orcs can slip past Thranduil’s carving wrath or the Dwarves with their might, the remainder of the Elven hunting party returns, and they fall as sharpened rain from the branches high above.

     At equal numbers no longer, the battle-tide begins to shift. The orcs stop coming, and Thranduil rides ahead. If there was a chance they had been tracking still when their party had come upon them—

     And there, past a fallen copse of mangled old trees, Thranduil catches the more vibrant murk of spilled blood upon the rocks.

     thuragal

[thuragal-archive]

               A growl of rage and frustration bubbles up from Thorin’s chest and as the orcs spill from the wood, he meets them head on quite literally  His ram with its armored head plows into the ones who dare come at him, and with Orcrist in hand he takes off the heads of those at either side.  Arrows fly and metal clashes with metal as the sudden battle wages on.  

               Still, Thorin does not go back.  He is one dwarf among many; among elves and men.                                       They could win without him.  They could survive without him.

                                                                      Dís could not.

               More orcs fall and soon he has moved beyond them.  Now he does stop, breathing heavy and eyes wide and alert as he scans the trees for any sign of life.  Any sign of his sister and those who escaped with her.  The earth is trampled the way the wretched creatures had come, so he turns his ram and follows, leaning forward to gain speed, even as branches whip at his face and snag his hair.  

                                                         More blood.  Not black, but red.

                                                                  Torn, ruined clothing.

                                                                          A dead orc.

                                                      A dead dwarf.  Male.  Not his sister.  

               Thorin breathes a plea to Mahal and stops so fast the ram’s hooves dig into the soft dirt and kick it up high.  He fairly leaps from the saddle, sword still drawn and chest heaving with exertion and fear.  

                                          “Dís!”

                                                      “---- Thorin!”

               An orc drops from the trees and lands right on top of him, knocking him backwards as more of its kind rain down around him.  Thorin only just manages to bring his sword up and deflect a deathblow that rattles his very teeth.

dragonslayerofdale

[thesickr0se]

Richard Armitage on his favorite behind-the-scenes moment. (x)

[immortalspxrrow]

“Not sure if I ought to protest the only slightly worse as a descriptor, or feel unduly flattered.

Besides, there’ll be no unraveling at all, as long as you’ve not blabbed to the wrong people. Perhaps you should switch to tea.“

[thuragal-archive]

“I drink plenty of tea, and this is not my first mission, thank you very much. I will not blab to anyone.  Do you think me stupid?

            Never mind, don’t answer that.”

[thuragal-archive]

If you get this, that means you make someone happy! Send this to ten other people on anon - or not anon - once you get this, and who knows, you may just get one back! (◕‿◕✿ spy bullshit and all

ain’t no bullshit like my bullshit

[timothechallamet]

[archerofdurinsfolk]

                  “ Liar. ”

It is the sick hiss of a snake that slips from Kili’s mouth, the words spat out as venomously as he can. It hurts Thorin, this disdain, he can see it in the hurt in Thorin’s eyes, in the literal agony that doubles him over as aging wounds pain him, but he hardens his heart against it. Once upon a time, Kili would be up and bounding to his Uncle’s side, urging him to rest and heal and take care of himself, but that was before. Before the war, before the sickness, before—- “ It is not different. It never will be! That thing almost destroyed us and you would see it happen again. That thing—- it killed my brother, your heir, and you don’t even—– you barely acknowledge that! It killed him, and may yet kill me. But you—- you would see our line die before you let go of that thing. ”

Thorin is begging, actually begging him to understand, but Kili will not hear it. It will break his mother’s heart, he is sure – though how much more broken it can be after all this, he couldn’t bear to think – and he knows it will trouble more still, but they are pinpricks compared to the blows already suffered. He has made up his mind, and be that through pain, delirium or just simple rage, he will keep it.

“ Get out. ” He snarls, and even as the pain screams through him, sending waves of nausea and vertigo surging through him, he fights to sit up, fists clenched so tightly in the bedsheets that his knuckles have turned white. “ Out, damn you! I will not hear you, I will—- I will not look at you! I won’t—– ”

His words dissolve into a bout of wet, hacking coughs, every breath laboured and his chest on fire. He slumps back, his chest fluttering erratically and sweat beading on his forehead, but his jaw is set. Even at death’s door, he looks so akin to his Uncle at that moment, stubborn determination in every haggard line.

“ Fetch—- Oin. ” He whispers, and while the thought of ordering his King would have once made him quail, he has no qualms about it now. “ Bring him here. Call on Balin… and Dwalin too—- Fetch them… but you… will not step back into this room. ”

In those moments of deep despair he had hoped for death, welcomed it, but now, with disgust and rage coursing through his veins, he wishes for anything but. It may well be a choice he cannot make, given his injuries, but he will be damned if he does not try. Oin will know what to do, and Dwalin and Balin…

                       Fili, dear brother… wait for me a little longer.

He may yet die, and he may not, but Kili knows one thing: he will not retreat to the halls of their fathers with things standing as they are. He cannot. With Fili gone, he is Crown Prince, heir to the throne of Erebor. 

                 “ Go. ” He will do his duty, whether Thorin likes it or not.

[thuragal-archive]

               It’s as if he’s been run through all over again, but higher in his chest is where he feels the most pain.  Thorin can barely see to stumble through the canvas flaps of the healing tent and outside. The air is cool, but not cool enough.  Even outdoors he is stifled and cannot catch his breath.  The stitches holding his wound closed have torn and blood runs down his side, but he pays no mind until there are hands upon him, and his legs no longer hold him up.

               He has no idea how much time has passed, but he awakens in a dark tent, torch light flickering on the table and, to his surprise, Gandalf at his side.  The wizard sits quietly on a chair too small for his frame and puffs on his cigar, grey-blue eyes holding steady on his face.  Thorin groans when he tries to shift, and feels a swell of nausea stir within his gut.

                      Only one word passes his dry lips, pushed past them by a heavy tongue.

                                                                                        “Kili?”

               For a moment longer, Gandalf says nothing, then removes the end of his pipe from his mouth and points it Thorin’s way, a look that just might be sympathy deepens the lines on his face.

               “He still lives, though he is very weak.  As are you.  For a King, you’re awfully thick-headed, Thorin Oakenshield.  We nearly lost you once, and that was once too many.”

               Thorin has no patience for Gandalf’s words and summons the strength to grab a hold of the wizard’s arm, fingers curling into the loose sleeve of his robe.  Wild eyebrows lift as Gandalf looks down and then back to Thorin’s face.

                                “Gandalf... you must do something for me.  It is... please---”

                “Now, now, calm yourself, Thorin,” the old wizard set his pipe down now, covering the dwarrow-king’s hand with his own.  “What is it you need?”

               Some time later, after Gandalf finally managed to get Thorin to take his medicine and fall asleep, the wizard made good on his promise to the King and then found his way to Kili’s tent.  Oín was still there, but Balin and Dwalin had gone.  The older dwarf gave Gandalf a concerned look, but muttered to hismelf and slipped away quietly.

               Taking another chair too small for him, Gandalf set it beside Kili’s cot and then set himself down.  As was his way, he silently studied the dwarf and waited for him to acknowledge his presence.  He reached into his robe and slowly withdrew the offensive stone.

               “Thorin has asked me to take the Arkenstone away from Erebor for safe keeping.  He has been... quite distraught since collapsing outside of your tent and practically begged me to take it off of his hands.”  The stone glowed, lit from within as Gandalf turned it over in his hand and studied it.  When he lifted his gaze to catch Kili’s eye, it held a hint of disapproval.  “I do understand your concern, but perhaps the two of you could air your differences without nearly killing one another.  I’m quite sure the rest of your company would appreciate it.”