ᴍᴀʀᴀʟᴍɪᴢɪ | KILI DURIN¹ ❦

➺ Flame for Thought ➵

Gandalf was the one who went to open the front door. His head was hung low from the ceiling, though to his dismay he still managed to knock himself on the chandelier. He let out a muttered exhale for the 29th time. All the dwarves were gathered around the entrance, Bilbo stood behind Gandalf with curious peeking eyes. I was leaning in the doorframe of the study beside Dwalin, who stood firm and intimidating with a permanent scowl on his face, watching intently as Gandalf pulled open the door.

Behind it was the epitome of magnificence: a sizeable dwarf with long, billowing black hair, blue eyes that bled a powerful gaze, and a thick beard framed with two braids extending from the sides of his face. Strands of silver flowed through his wooly mane, complimenting the beads hanging from his plaits. Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain.

"Gandalf," he greeted in a low voice, "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way twice, I wouldn't have found it at all if it wasn't for the mark on the door."

Bilbo's eye twitched, "Mark? What mark? There is no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago!"

Before the angry little hobbit could check the outside of the door, Gandalf quickly shut it behind him, "There is a mark, I put it there myself..."

Bilbo, mouth agape and vexed, whipped his head to meet my eyes, likely hoping I could tell him the wizard was just messing with him. I could do nothing but send him an apologetic half-smile.

Gandalf continued, "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."

Bilbo quickly retained regularity, nodding in acknowledgment at the dwarf, who stood directly in front of him with his eyes fixed on his nervous little face.

"So this is the hobbit," Thorin crossed his arms, analysing the small creature before him, "Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

Bilbo blinked blankly, "Pardon me?"

"Axe or sword? What's your weapon of choice?" the dwarf asked him, striding passed to place his baggage alongside the rest.

The hobbit laughed nervously, "Well, I have some skill in conquers, if you must know, but I fail to see why that's relevant.."

Thorin huffed, "Thought as much. He looks more like a grosser than a burglar."

Low laughter echoed throughout the room. Bilbo just stood there with his lips pressed in a line, while everyone began to dissipate back to the dining room. Thorin strode by me towards the kitchen, eyeing my features with stern furrowed eyes as he went. I could tell he was curious about me, about my appearance. I knew they all were. I was expecting a questioning later in the night.

•••

"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?" Balin asked intently.

"Aye," Thorin nodded, "Invoice from all seven kingdoms."

The table cheered and clapped in response, though it appeared to be too early for celebration:

"What do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?" queried Dwalin.

Thorin sighed deeply, head hung to his ale. He spat with disappointment drizzling from his tongue, "They will not come."

What was once cheering only moments ago, came a collection of exasperation and dismay. Gandalf furrowed his brows, seemingly just as unhappy with the news. The amount of hope that fled from the eyes of the dwarves was devastating; Kili cursed under his breath from beside me. I frowned.

"They say this quest is ours, and ours alone..." Thorin finished, angrily.

"You're going on a quest?" Bilbo piped in, fiddling with his fingers.