The Hobbit One-Shots And Preferences

Bard

  Based on an imagine: "Imagine Bard getting angry after one of the Dwarves insults you"  

"Ma, there are dwarves coming out of our toilet," Sigrid announced, her voice disbelieving and shocked. She was pale and if you hadn't known your daughter, you would laugh it off and call her silly for imaging such things.

However, Sigrid was never one to come up with fantasy stories and, by all means, she would never say something like that without witnessing it with her own eyes.

"What dwarves? There are no dwarves in Dale."

"Well, there are now," Bain entered the small kitchen you were all in, Tilda sitting by the table and finishing her supper.

"Bain, tell me what's happening," you demanded, your brain wouldn't quite process the events. You had not seen a dwarf since Smaug attacked the Mountain and you were sure that it was impossible that their kin would come back there. Not with a dragon still living inside.

"They came in barrels. Dad brought them here," your son explained and you inhaled sharply, trying your best to not curse. Of course, Bard would do it. He couldn't refuse to help when it was needed and, considering that dwarves always carried gold with them, he was offered a pretty payment for sneaking them in the city.

"Sigrid, take Tilda to your room and stay there," your older daughter nodded and took Tilda's hand, waling her to their room. As of now, there was more urgent matter to take care of.

"How many of them are here?"

"I've counted more than ten. One of them seems to be hurt."

"What have your father gotten himself into?" you murmured, cleaning the kitchen table quickly and frowning when a company of short men stepped into the room. It was thirteen of them and one even smaller one, who you recognized as a hobbit.

After them, entered Bard with an apologetic look on his face. You only shook your head at him, noting to scold him later.

"That's Y/N, my wife. Dear, those are dwarves of Erebor. They need our help."

"They surely do," you agreed, gazing from one dwarf to another, taking in their ripped clothes, scratched faces. You noticed the injured one Bain told you earlier, and he seemed to be masking his wound pretty well. Not well enough for you, though.

"Bain, bring the blankets. I will add to the fire. You all must be freezing."

You did as you said, throwing some logs into the fireplace as Bain handed the blankets over. You got a kettle on, making hot tea for those who wanted.

During it, you had learnt the names of every member of the Company of Thorin Oakenshild, as they called themselves. Some of them were quiet, apparently not trusting you enough, but Balin and Ori told you some about their quest and previous adventures. The hobbit, Bilbo, was kind enough to offer you his assistance but you thank him, suggesting that it would help you more if he warmed himself up first.

Bard was discussing something with the leader of the dwarves, Thorin but you couldn't catch even a single word. You only assumed it was either about the black arrow, hidden in your house, or Bard's collection of weapons or at least things that could be used as a weapon.

"You're Fili, right?" you asked when golden-haired dwarf walked to you. You smiled softly, imaging Tilda's gleeful squeak upon seeing such a beautiful hair. She would bug him to no end to let her play with it.

"Yes, why?" he turned suspicious, his gaze becoming hard.

"Your brother, Kili, is wounded. Yes, I have noticed," you lowered your voice, guessing that it wasn't something everyone knew. Fili opened his mouth to say something, but you caught him off with a shake of your head. "Can't fool a healer, darling."