A Hobbit Advent Event!

Day Twenty-Five - Family: The Company plays fill-in-the-blank. Also on AO3.

That’s it for now, folks! Happy Boxing Day!

Cibia’s 25 Days of The Hobbit;

|Day 1| |Day 2| |Day 3| |Day 4| |Day 5| |Day 6| |Day 7| |Day 8| |Day 9| |Day 10| |Day 11| |Day 12| |Day 13| |Day 14| |Day 15| |Day 16| |Day 17| |Day 18| |Day 19| |Day 20| |Day 21| |Day 22| |Day 23| |Day 24| |Day 25|

Ori doesn’t have a father. At least that’s what his mother would like him to believe.

Rating: T

AO3

Sunrise

History Repeating

No one was quite sure who had originally come up with the idea of a snowball launcher, but all of them — Fili, Kili, Ori, Gimli, Bombur’s eldest and Hrerar’s youngest — had a hand in making it. Supplying ammunition in the form of solidly packed spheres of remarkably uniform size and density. Arguing over who would have the honor of firing the first shot. Ori drew the long twig. The first volley flew beautifully far, sailing the length of the field, perfectly (and inadvertently) aimed for one of the snowballs to land smack on Thorin’s shoulder, another just miss Dwalin’s head. 

The Dwarflings held their breath, prepared for anger, remonstrance, even retribution in kind. They were not at all prepared for the sight of Thorin (all too often somber and reserved), after a moment of startlement and a perhaps unwise glance at Dwalin, to positively dissolve into laughter. They, of course, had no way of knowing that long ago and far away, on a snowy day very like this one, a very young prince and his inseparable companion had similarly landed two large, wet snowballs square in the chest of Thror, son of Dain, son of Nain, King under the Mountain.

That was a bit of history no-one, least of all Thorin, had ever expected to be repeated. Thror had been delighted to join the fray, giving pointers on aim and snowball construction to his erstwhile assailants. The lords with whom Thror was walking were not best pleased, but could hardly complain. It was a fond memory, though neither Thorin nor Dwalin had recalled it in years. Thus, once he had recovered his breath, the King-in-Exile and his War-Master inquired into the particulars of the launcher, admired the quality of the projectiles, and proceeded to enjoy themselves thoroughly in lighthearted snow-battle.

____

I got a little behind, what with Yuletide. Hopefully I will catch up tonight. 

Barkâl Urkhûs*

"It was a gift." Orcrist was a gift several times over. Before Thorin had fully adjusted the harness and scabbard for best fit the blade had given swift death to orc and warg alike, singing in his hand. Lord Elrond, who by kin-right had undoubted claim to the blade, had, after pronouncing it’s history, given it back into Thorin’s hand with formal blessing. In the goblin warrens and dens it had earned it’s name over and over, cleaving goblins with ruthless, sharp efficiency. It had withstood the defiler and dispatched the loathsome spider-spawn. The Elf was the thief, not Thorin.

Yule-night, among dwarves, is a time for family — a time to gather for feasting, celebration, the exchange of gifts, and the counting of blessings. In one house in particular, some years on from the reclamation and resettling of Erebor, there is a large (and growing larger by the year), noisy, patchwork sort of family that comes together — a family built on the road, forged in dragon-fire, and tied together by memories both bright and dark.

(Or: Yule-night party at Bombur’s house and EVERYONE’S INVITED. Basically just a warm, happy holiday vignette; pretty darn long behind the cut.)

***

Bera starts fussing when they’re still two streets away, managing to get one small hand free of her blankets and catch hold of Bofur’s ear-bob. She gives it a tug and lets out a shrill squeal, and as Bofur grimaces and gently tries to disentangle the little fingers from his treasured warg-fang, Bilberry leans over, laughing, and says, “I believe that’s as close as she can get to, ‘Adad, aren’t we there yet?’”

"Well, if you’re playing translator, perhaps you won’t mind telling her, ‘Nearly, and for pity’s sake let your Da’s poor ears alone,’" Bofur replies, but his tone is light and fond. "Ow — ow, Bera — I don’t suppose you’d like to take her for a moment?”

"Once we’re inside," Bilberry promises, shifting her own load — two covered dishes and an enormous platter of biscuits — in her arms. "Ah, and here we are, and… hmm. You haven’t got a hand free to knock, have you?"

Hobbit Advent 25: Family

One of the last holiday portraits of the siblings commissioned by the royal family before a little something called Smaug happened. 

Merry Christmas Peops! It’s still Christmas Day where I am so I actually made this on time!  Thanks for sticking by me while I stumbled my way through this challenge and even though I missed a few days it was loads of fun!

Yule-night, among dwarves, is a time for family — a time to gather for feasting, celebration, the exchange of gifts, and the counting of blessings. In one house in particular, some years on from the reclamation and resettling of Erebor, there is a large (and growing larger by the year), noisy, patchwork sort of family that comes together — a family built on the road, forged in dragon-fire, and tied together by memories both bright and dark.

(Or: Yule-night party at Bombur’s house and EVERYONE’S INVITED. Basically just a warm, happy holiday vignette; pretty darn long behind the cut.)

***

Bera starts fussing when they’re still two streets away, managing to get one small hand free of her blankets and catch hold of Bofur’s ear-bob. She gives it a tug and lets out a shrill squeal, and as Bofur grimaces and gently tries to disentangle the little fingers from his treasured warg-fang, Bilberry leans over, laughing, and says, “I believe that’s as close as she can get to, ‘Adad, aren’t we there yet?’”

"Well, if you’re playing translator, perhaps you won’t mind telling her, ‘Nearly, and for pity’s sake let your Da’s poor ears alone,’" Bofur replies, but his tone is light and fond. "Ow — ow, Bera — I don’t suppose you’d like to take her for a moment?”

"Once we’re inside," Bilberry promises, shifting her own load — two covered dishes and an enormous platter of biscuits — in her arms. "Ah, and here we are, and… hmm. You haven’t got a hand free to knock, have you?"

Day Twenty-Four - Morning: Thorin and Dís have a heart-to-heart and Thorin gives his newborn nephew a present. Also on AO3.

I’ve fallen behind, but I’m almost done, so I will fic on!

Hobbit Advent:

In my last (T^T) entry for TheHobbitAdvent with the Family I chose Bard and his sons because they’re simply perfect for me!!! *-*

…

Characters: Teen!Dwalin, Teen!Thorin slightly Dworin devotion: Ladynorthstar About young dwarves that got a punishment and what they make out of it. —————