#hardlythestuffoflegends

He surely has, Bilbo thought to himself looking at the Dwarf’s white hair, the wrinkles around his eyes, and he felt somehow embarrassed for asking if he could walk. Of course, he could! He opened his mouth to apologize for asking such a stupid question, when he felt Balin’s hand on his shoulder. He felt a sudden wave of warmth in his soul - quite unexpected on such a chilly morning -, and all he could do was to smile at the Dwarf.

“Alright then,” he finally said, “but let me know if you need a handkerchief,” he added, hoping that Balin would not offend by an Elven-made handkerchief offered to him. Because even though he appreciated Bofur’s generosity for giving him a cloth to blow his nose into, he asked for a proper handkerchief in Rivendell. The Elves gave him three.

Balin was at a loss for words. He was near to death, nearly falling off a peak when this blue behemoth came barging through the shrubbery and saved him. He was troll of some sort, that much was obvious, and all of Balin’s past experiences with trolls during his very long life, had not been positives ones to say the very least. But now…one had saved his life and was even curious to ask after his well being. The old dwarf just didn’t know what else to say except “i uh..Aye”

Bruce had previously anticipated happening across many an individual of various races during his escape from Mordor- and all allied lands- but the Olog had yet to expect anyone of the Dwarven descent. After all, for all that his Easterling scholar friend- the late Maliku- had mentioned about Dwarves, they were a secretive and proud group, and often preferred the underground world to that of the above. At least, as far as Maliku had known. 

Something of an anthropologist, Maliku had studied various communities of peoples ranging from Man villages in the West, to Goblin caves within the Misty Mountains, to the Elves of Lothlórien. But Dwarves had been so careful about their culture that rather than press further and risk offending them, Maliku had retreated politely and asked no further questions. And when the scholar was captured in Mordor and made prisoner, he had befriended the strangely pacifistic Olog, Bruce, and the rest was a long yet painful history. 

Such, Bruce had neither seen a Dwarf before and only vaguely heard of them, but nothing specific besides their often bearded faces and shorter stature. After all, the Olog escaped before he knew battle. Thank Eru. The horrors of everyday life in Mordor was enough to keep Bruce’s night wracked with night terrors!

“I didn’t expect a Dwarf this far west,” Bruce said, studying the other individual rather curiously. It was in the Olog’s nature, after all, if only for Bruce... much to the chagrin of the Orcs and Ologs who had lived around him. Questions weren’t taken kindly in Mordor. “I mean... at least not until the Blue Mountains.”

Walking through the halls of her home, on her way to rest, the Elven woman could not help but catch sight of one of the dwarven guests stood watching the outside world. His thoughts were a mystery to her, and yet she felt compelled to join him, a grin spreading across her features.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Staring at the dwarf Viola reached for her bow, she didn’t much like dwarves, she didnt have much luck with them either seeing as how she was an orc “Comin near an orcs camp ain’t a wise thing to do.” She called

hardlythestuffoflegends

The battle of the five armies had been a brutal one, and though Thorin and his nephews, and the others who had fought in the battle, had survived. He himself had taken a very bad wound from Azog’s sword arm, into his left side the blade had sunk, but he was strong enough and brave enough to have slid his own sword, Orcrist, into the pale Orc’s guts, and rolled over until his blade sank through the beast’s body, and down into the ice below.

He had spent a month inside the healing tents, in a deep sleep, and did not find out until he awoke more than a week later, how the Elvenking himself had healed him, and his nephews. He eventually regained his strength, and was able to move into the mountain, which was still littered with rubble. It had taken quite awhile rebuild everything, and with the help from Dain, his cousin, and his strongest Dwarven soldiers, and the rest of the dwarves, the men of Dale, Bard was included in the help of rebuilding both Erebor and Dale.

Thorin now stood on the ramparts of the mountain, overlooking the mostly built up city of Dale, his hands pressed on the cool stone. Erebor was mostly rebuilt, but there was still some work to be completed.

He had yet to deliver the chests of gold to Bard, and the men of Dale, and also to meet with the Elvenking to return his precious white gems of Lasgalen. That would all come in the days ahead, for now, his ears perked up when he heard the sound of familiar boots as they approached him from the stone steps behind the ramparts. He continued to stare out over the slopes of Erebor, and smiled proudly, knowing who it was that was now approaching him.

Am I a cinnamon roll or a problematic fave