Kili x reader The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey (Completed)

Prologue

"My dear Frodo. You asked me once if I told you everything there was to know about my adventures, and while I can honestly say I have told you the truth, I may not have told you all of it.

I am old now, Frodo. I'm not the same hobbit I once was. I think it is time for you to know what REALLY happened.

It began long ago, in a far away land to the east. The like of which you will not find in the world today. There was the city of Dale. Its markets known far and wide, full of the bounties of vine and vale. Peaceful and prosperous. For this city lay before the doors of the greatest kingdom in Middle-Earth: Erebor.

Stronghold of Thror, King Under The Mountain, mightiest of the dwarf-lords. Thror ruled with utter surety, never doubting his house would endure, for his line lay secure in the lives of his son, and grandson.

Ah, Frodo, Erebor. Built deep within the mountain itself, the beauty of this fortress was legend. Its wealth lay in the Earth, in precious gems hewn from rock and in great seams of gold, running like rivers through stone.

The skill of the dwarves was unequaled, fashioning objects of great beauty out of diamond, emerald, ruby and sapphire. Ever they delved deeper down into the dark. And that is where they found it. The Heart of the Mountain.

The Arkenstone.

Thror named it 'The King's Jewel'. He took it as a sign, a sign that his right to rule was divine. All would pay homage to him, even the great Elvenking, Thranduil.

As the great wealth of the dwarves grew, their store of good will ran thin. No one knows exactly what began the rift. The elves say the dwarves stole their treasure. The dwarves tell another tale. They say the elf king refused to give them their rightful pay. It is sad, Frodo, how old alliances can be broken. How friendships between peoples can be lost. Slowly, the days turned sour, and the watchful nights closed in.

Thror's love of gold had grown too fierce. A sickness had begun to grow within him. It was a sickness of the mind. And where sickness thrives, bad things will follow.

The first they heard was a noise like a hurricane, coming down from the north. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot, dry wind.

He was a Fire-Drake from the north.

Smaug had come.

Such wanton death was dealt that day. For this City of Men was nothing to Smaug. His eye was set on another prize. For dragons covet gold with a dark and fierce desire.

Erebor was lost. For a dragon will guard his plunder as long as he lives. Thranduil would not risk the lives of his kin against the wrath of the dragon. No help came from the elves that day, nor any day since.

Robbed of their homeland, the dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness. A once mighty people brought low. The young dwarf prince took work where he could find it, laboring in the villages of men. But always he remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon, the trees like torches blazing bright, for he had seen dragon fire in the sky, and a city turned to ash. And he never forgave, and he never forgot.

Far away, in another corner of the world, dragons were only make-believe. A party trick conjured by wizards on midsummer's eve. No more frightening than fairy dust.

That, my dear Frodo, is where I come in. It was the beginning of an unlikely friendship that has lasted all my life. But it is not the start of my story. For me, it began... well, it began as you might expect.

In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit.

Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, full of worms and oozy smells. This was a Hobbit hole, and that means good food, a warm hearth, and all the comforts of home"