Erebor, Lonely Mountain

14. Thorin | BBQ Madness

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... Lost to Gold Sickness Thorin is forced to entertain a traditional presentation of dishes from possible Consorts. Let's just say the one who wasn't allowed to lift a finger cooking on the Journey has some mad skills in the kitchen...

...

There is a strain of madness in that family. The words had been somewhat etched in stone and with the frequency the words had been spoken weakening the resolve against the enchantment that had claimed his grandfather's life. Sharp and bright those same Durin eyes now sat in a black fur coated face above the snout housing the sharpened fangs on the upright standing Wolf King Under the Mountain growling and snarling his way through the return of his kin. The coronation ceremony would be in a couple weeks and with it came a hope that in that time a Consort could be named to strengthen ties. They knew this evil and there was one way to break it, straight out of a fairytale true love could shatter the bond between the King and the Gold Sickness. Each Dwarf hoping to find the King's One where his grandmother lost years prior to Thror's fall was lost to her chance to save him.

Hundreds of Dams within the forces sent from the Iron Hills and other kingdoms who had aided in the battle. One maiden of each clan in a try for a throne of her own. One bouncing beard or swaying sideburn or mustache would sit around the smile of the Dam next to wear a crown. "What are you cooking?" Bofur had asked and wide eyed your head turned from your communal breakfast with the Company members to him with all eyes on your stunned self.

"I'm eating toast," you said with the rest of the slice and fingers blocking your lips while you continued to chew your mouthful of the butter less beginning to your meal still scalding from the pan you were allowing to cool.

At that Bofur chuckled in Thorin's gaze shifting between you clearly aching for the answer himself, concerned for what Queen he might have to be saddled with on top of this waking nightmare of an enchantment no doubt to be passed down through his bloodline should he have an heir or not. Most likely paired with resentment from said Queen for the lost chance of children for being saddled with a beast like him. He could choose you, the oddest duck of the bunch found climbing out from under a boulder at their first campsite past Bree that had the boys clinging to his and Dwalin's shoulders in their spring away from the hand that grabbed at them.

.

No wishes for anything more than a new home after escaping the sheer hell your former life was turned into in a single evening. Waking up as your home collapsed in a freak earthquake. That harsh eviction bound the pair of you, in a way even he hadn't expected and between months of obstinate cockiness for your own abilities the men refused to let you test yourself on the weak moments of freezing cold nights and minor ailments lingering too long a night on watch was used for the usually distant King to come and bolster those sails on your ship of impossibilities again. Those same sails that in a sudden idea had a tarp and wagon used as a net to fling the wargs and Azog off the cliffs stunning the Dwarves up in the trees who turned in time to see your smirking self collapse forward in the grip of a giant eagle's talon not four feet from where Thorin was being dangled upside down from his waist like a grumpy kitten picked up by its mom helpless to fight back.

You had mentioned to Bilbo once a fear of being alone forever and that was something he could prevent, far from terror you seemed to be quite annoyingly amused by his dilemma, and the tail he tried to keep hidden after the first time you had spotted it and badgered him until he mastered wagging it. Pouts for his swatting away your hands had him huffing and his brows dropping allowing you to stroke his cheeks and playfully straighten his one floppy fur tip to his right ear. Even his paws were not free from this game of yours and in his reluctance to meet with Thranduil for the trade talks out of the uncertain Company out you strode confidently to go an outright demand a trade of a bag of acorns and two jars of water, one with lemon slices and the other with cucumbers. Pounds of other odd plants and roots were added to the outright demands flooring the Elf King who simply shifted in his seat, brows furrowed with chin now resting in his palm for the rest of the Trade talks, the first of two meetings from what he had expected to take a month at best cut to two, the second of which would be a trading of goods. You were impressive beyond words and even in mutual friendship he could keep you safe and far from alone in a comfort you more than had earned by trapping Smaug in the shape of a beta fish thanks to your trusty go to spell bought off a street salesman peddling magic tricks that you were quite fond of entrapping cruel people with.