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- none of the company believed they could find someone in all of arda that spoke as loud as sugar-rushed kíli or sang as cheerfully as bofur deep in his ale
- you proved this assumption very wrong very quickly, loathing the silence that made you feel like your head was dipped in molasses
- there was always some form of song flowing from your lips when your hands were too full to tap them to whatever song you’re hearing in your head, every footfall against the earth synchronized to the same tune (sometimes you skipped as you sang, hummed, or whistled, much to the disbelief of the others)
- your joining of the company happened in rivendell. as a half-elf, there was only so much respite you could find in the last homely house, surrounded by what many (somewhat accurately) believed to be the uptight half of your bloodline. it was safe, yet stifling, and you felt akin to a caged bird yearning for the open sky
- the presence of a half-elf in their company didn’t bother as many of the dwarrow as you believed it would. your jovial disposition rubbed off on them quickly, and soon you were joining several of them in a modified chorus of ‘that’s what bilbo baggins hates’ to coincide with more recent events of their quest
- bilbo took the playful jabs with a grin, getting small bits of payback by “accidentally” knocking members of the company in the ankle with the walking stick you procured for him
- bofur, nori, and the princes took to using you as a shield when they feared the hobbit was about to strike, laughter all around
- despite the grim nature of what lay ahead of the company, you’d never had so much fun. it’s why you found such joy in your new companions, your new friends, because that’s what they were
- you ignored the tense glances from the king under the mountain and his stalwart captain during these moments. there were vague ideas to be had of why the two royals saw you as a liability at best and a threat at worst, and many of them pertained to your blood
- logic (and well-meaning princes) reminded them that you were of neither faction that caused such strife for the dwarves of erebor, and had proven yourself as a loyal member of the company ten times over
- the distrust ended, but you could still tell they were wary of you even on a good day
- in the beginning, your charming disposition and lackadaisical attitude had thorin seething. every smile and laugh and song boiled the blood in his veins. did you not take this quest seriously? was he saddled with a jingling fool of an elf by lord elrond as a plot against his mission?
- now, months later, watching you dance with your friends in beorn’s fields, he realized just how faulty those thoughts were
- kíli was riding fíli’s shoulders while you held his hands, the three of you playing merrily around to bofur and nori’s tune raunchy tune
- thorin was sitting on a stump nearby when he heard your voice across the field, your laughter joining the silly little ditty
- thorin knew better than to let himself grow distracted while cleaning his blades, but he was so lost in your merriment and sweet-sounding do-doos that he didn’t notice his hand moving wrong before it was too late
- “FUCK!!”
- his exclamation scared some of the local fauna away and startled several members of his company. fíli whipped around so fast to check on thorin that he forgot his brother was on his shoulders until he suddenly wasn’t, and the two princes found themselves toppled in the grass in a true dwarfling pile
- you were on your knees in front of thorin before he could fully register the pain and embarrassment of slicing his finger on his own blade. your nimble hands held his wounded one gently, tending to the cut with precision
- you gently cleaned his ill-gotten wound while he growled with all the dignity of a wet cat. “oh you silly king, just let me take care of you”
- “this is all your doing.” you smiled at his facade, knowing that his grumpiness wasn’t actual malice and he was just frustrated at his own folly
- you felt his gaze on your head while you threaded the needle. “tell me, my king, how exactly is this my fault?” the words were an almost teasing whisper, a small attempt to goad him into better spirits once again
- in the distance, you could hear various members of the company whispering amongst themselves like a group of gossiping old biddies, and it took strong effort to not cackle in thorin’s face. he was already iffy about you tending to his little scratch, you didn’t want to jeopardize what pride he had left by calling attention to his nattering company
- the small huff of exasperation that escaped him would have been mistaken for a wince by someone who didn’t know him. “you’re distracting. it’s difficult to get things done when you jaunt around with your heart on your sleeve and a song on your lips. you weren’t made for battle, nor for the hardships of the world, so i have to keep an eye on you lest you fall victim to your own nature.”
- when thorin noticed you smiling at his chiding, he was not amused. this was exactly his point! you didn’t take his warnings seriously, which attested to how desperately you needed to heed them.
- “thank you for your concern, thorin. it’s touching. but you must know by now that i don’t ‘jaunt around’ anyone if i don’t feel safe, i have at least a few skills in self-preservation, you know.” your voice was soft as you finished the last suture, securely wrapping the wound and taking a risk by placing a small kiss atop the bandages
- he stared at you speechless, mouth gaping like a fish and cheeks ruddy. you give him a smile as you walk away, feeling every moment his eyes stayed on your back and hearing his personal scolding about keeping his head straight around you