Saving Durin {Hobbit/Thorin}

Chapter 53: Azog's jazz hands

"Of course not--" Thorin replies in a hurry, horrified at the notion that he needs paper to express his deepest darkest secrets and inner tranquility.

"Are you writing about your obvious attraction to Master Baggins?" I cut in with a question before he can continue his rant of denial. It's obvious both to myself and the remainder of the company, that Thorin and Bilbo have a unique friendship. There are people that you come across in life that you connect to on a deeper level, a spiritual one. In these cases, it's as if your soul has come alive and your heart beats louder with the presence of that one person. But, as in Thorin's case, it is not always a romantic connection, just one of deep friendship and understanding, despite a difference in backgrounds and personalities. Bilbo and Thorin have just this, and it's absolutely adorable to watch.

"No, do not be absurd!" Thorin exclaims with the addition of a scoff. I giggle a bit at the strange feeling against my back as Thorin's denials pour out of his chest and mouth.

"It's healthy to be attracted to the same gender. Just as you have Bagginshield, I have Terudian," I respond playfully, knowing full well that Thorin is not romantically interested in the hobbit, but teasing him nonetheless. My own shipname, in conjunction with Tauriel, is actually true, however. The she-elf is absolutely adorable in every way, and Kili is very lucky to have her. Don't get me wrong, I am very happy with Thorin's courtship and would never exchange the dwarf king for another lover; Tauriel is just too cute to ignore.

"Have you always been this blunt?" Thorin asks, failing to deny my accusation of him loving Bilbo. I smile in victory, turning my head around to look at the gruff dwarf king.

"Yes...my mum always said that I was born without a filter. Oh well, all the better for you!" I shout in response, probably awakening our neighbors. Thorin cringes away at the volume of my voice, but chuckles all the same at my very blunt answer. It's the truth.

"What are you writing though--Ooh! Is it a recollection of our journey?" I ask in the raised excitement of my voice. "I have the perfect beginning:

'It all began in a small Hobbit hole within the small and quaint village of the Shire. But this hole was not dirty, with mud trodden on doormats and worms within the crown moulding. No, no! This was a hobbit hole of warm habitation, in both color and temperature, and friendly company. Bilbo Baggins was of a strange folk, both curious in spirit yet denying in adventure. His hole of great beauty was his refuge, and he couldn't think of leaving it for some smothering adventure...'"

"No, it's not a story!" Thorin exclaims, breaking off my narrative rant, and therefore, my train of thought. I growl at him, trying to remember where I left off in my story.

"Write this down for me, then!" I yell before continuing with my story:

"His hole of great beauty was his refuge, and he couldn't think of leaving it for some smothering adventure. That was, until the dwarves of Erebor came. With thick boots of mighty footsteps and harsh beards that could clothe the human children in winter, these men stormed upon Bag End as if it were a stronghold to Thranduil's folk. The hobbit would recount the story as a pillage, taking no heed of his hung poetry on the walls and rich cream carpets of Lothlorien. And yet, the dwarves were a wonder of houseguests, even cleaning the dishes for the disheveled halfling while he screamed upon their antics. But none of this would be a story without a song, the music for dwarven generations of yore."

"Write it yourself," Thorin cuts in again with a grunt as I babble on about our story.