Arthur would later swear that he would have thrown the lot of them out if hadn’t been for that bloody glyph. As is, when the first dwarf came in and Arthur was pulling himself up to point the (broad shouldered but strangely lean) stranger down to The Green Dragon, he felt the thrum of a Geas.
That was Old Magic, so old that it wasn’t even old. It was the magic of not just any vow but the sacred hospitality. His tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth; his spine trembled, the hairs on his feet uncurled.
As Arthur unfroze as he tentatively accepted the idea of extending hospitality to the scowling dwarf (who was smoking a long thin pipe of peculiar smelling tobacco), he swore that he would find whoever put up the sign (he had a pretty good suspicion, though) and they would have Words.
…
“You could have just offered to cook for them,” sniped Gilbert, ungrateful bastard for all that he was the first one to be untied from the troll spit.
Arthur took advantage of the dwarf’s unarmored state to kick him in the shin. Small blessings in great losses, as his father said.
…
If the Dwarves hummed with the restive power of Mountains (as Arthur’s mother had told him), of shifting boulders and molten hearts, then Lord Elrond was like a deep river or starlight – distant, deep, seemingly still while still ever moving, ever glowing.
Arthur felt very small indeed (a candle to a star, a pebble to a mountain, a brook to a river). And then Lord Elrond smiled at him kindly and escorted him personally to the libraries. There Arthur would have very happily stayed (Gilbert and Ludwig practically had to frogmarch him out between them, having in their favor size, strength and a still sleep sodden Arthur).
…
“You’re running away?” Funny how Gilbert could just fade into the background like that and then suddenly make himself visible.
“If you lot don’t need me, then there’s no use in me going along with this madness,” Arthur said stiffly.
Gilbert uncoiled slightly like a cat from where he was comfortably slouched against a wall. He was the only one of the group that had purplish eyes. They weren’t the pale lilac of Norge’s eyes. No, these were deep red-purple, all the more alarming against his pale skin.
“I’d almost say you’re afraid,” Gilbert said conversationally. “But you’re not.” He paused and tilted his head.
Arthur bared his teeth. “I never said I was. I’m shoving off now. Happy?”
Gilbert replied, “Not really.” Then the floor dropped out from under everyone.
…
“I’m stuck with you lot now. I’m coming along with you, even if you don’t want me,” Arthur said, his hand hovering over his suddenly very heavy pocket. “And a Baggins also never reneges on a contract. Especially one for treble damages,” he added and he felt his Words wrap around him and weave around the whole Company.
He may have had more than a twinge of regret when they were caught up by the Eagles.
…
There were worse things to be called than “bunny,” Arthur reflected. Especially when it resulted in his mug of milk and honey filled first and most often, an extra blanket and a cake of particularly fine creamy soap, and certain sniggering members of the Company being chased up trees by a rancorous bear.
…
Arthur rather didn’t like talking about Mirkwood. Not when at night he would stay half-awake and two sets of whispers at different pitches teased at his brain.
Neither of those voices was actually heard by his ears.
…
Even though the red wool coat with the dark fur trim and white silk lining was very fine indeed, Arthur found himself missing the once familiar twinkle of brass buttons. When he glanced back at Laketown and its happy hopeful faces lit by the gold dawnlight, he felt unexpectedly chilled, as it was far too easy to imagine the high peaked buildings on fire.
-Note – events and characterizations are a hybrid of the book and the events of the film adaptations. -This was trickier to write than I would have liked. I imagined Arthur as Bilbo with the cantankerousness cranked up to eleven and less of a mind- mouth filter with regards to snark. Because Bilbo is a pretty snarky guy; he’s just pretty good about keeping most of it under wraps - The only reason why the dwarves left Arthur’s house without succumbing to serious food poisoning is that Arthur spends no small amount of his inheritance on the services of a very skilled housekeeper. -I think that hobbits do have a little innate magic past very good sneaking skills, centered around the earth. It’s a very domestic sort of magic, one that ensures order and peace and fruitful harvest as it’s centered around the home. Arthur just has a little stronger and less tightly focused than most of his kind, like his mother. Dwarves are also with their own magic, but in forging and rock and the earth as a medium, not a living thing (mountains, not the pastures).
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Getting There (and Hopefully Back Again)
(Anonymous) 2014-01-24 10:05 am (UTC)(link)That was Old Magic, so old that it wasn’t even old. It was the magic of not just any vow but the sacred hospitality. His tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth; his spine trembled, the hairs on his feet uncurled.
As Arthur unfroze as he tentatively accepted the idea of extending hospitality to the scowling dwarf (who was smoking a long thin pipe of peculiar smelling tobacco), he swore that he would find whoever put up the sign (he had a pretty good suspicion, though) and they would have Words.
…
“You could have just offered to cook for them,” sniped Gilbert, ungrateful bastard for all that he was the first one to be untied from the troll spit.
Arthur took advantage of the dwarf’s unarmored state to kick him in the shin. Small blessings in great losses, as his father said.
…
If the Dwarves hummed with the restive power of Mountains (as Arthur’s mother had told him), of shifting boulders and molten hearts, then Lord Elrond was like a deep river or starlight – distant, deep, seemingly still while still ever moving, ever glowing.
Arthur felt very small indeed (a candle to a star, a pebble to a mountain, a brook to a river). And then Lord Elrond smiled at him kindly and escorted him personally to the libraries. There Arthur would have very happily stayed (Gilbert and Ludwig practically had to frogmarch him out between them, having in their favor size, strength and a still sleep sodden Arthur).
…
“You’re running away?” Funny how Gilbert could just fade into the background like that and then suddenly make himself visible.
“If you lot don’t need me, then there’s no use in me going along with this madness,” Arthur said stiffly.
Gilbert uncoiled slightly like a cat from where he was comfortably slouched against a wall. He was the only one of the group that had purplish eyes. They weren’t the pale lilac of Norge’s eyes. No, these were deep red-purple, all the more alarming against his pale skin.
“I’d almost say you’re afraid,” Gilbert said conversationally. “But you’re not.” He paused and tilted his head.
Arthur bared his teeth. “I never said I was. I’m shoving off now. Happy?”
Gilbert replied, “Not really.” Then the floor dropped out from under everyone.
…
“I’m stuck with you lot now. I’m coming along with you, even if you don’t want me,” Arthur said, his hand hovering over his suddenly very heavy pocket. “And a Baggins also never reneges on a contract. Especially one for treble damages,” he added and he felt his Words wrap around him and weave around the whole Company.
He may have had more than a twinge of regret when they were caught up by the Eagles.
…
There were worse things to be called than “bunny,” Arthur reflected. Especially when it resulted in his mug of milk and honey filled first and most often, an extra blanket and a cake of particularly fine creamy soap, and certain sniggering members of the Company being chased up trees by a rancorous bear.
…
Arthur rather didn’t like talking about Mirkwood. Not when at night he would stay half-awake and two sets of whispers at different pitches teased at his brain.
Neither of those voices was actually heard by his ears.
…
Even though the red wool coat with the dark fur trim and white silk lining was very fine indeed, Arthur found himself missing the once familiar twinkle of brass buttons. When he glanced back at Laketown and its happy hopeful faces lit by the gold dawnlight, he felt unexpectedly chilled, as it was far too easy to imagine the high peaked buildings on fire.
ooc:
(Anonymous) 2014-01-24 10:09 am (UTC)(link)-This was trickier to write than I would have liked. I imagined Arthur as Bilbo with the cantankerousness cranked up to eleven and less of a mind- mouth filter with regards to snark. Because Bilbo is a pretty snarky guy; he’s just pretty good about keeping most of it under wraps
- The only reason why the dwarves left Arthur’s house without succumbing to serious food poisoning is that Arthur spends no small amount of his inheritance on the services of a very skilled housekeeper.
-I think that hobbits do have a little innate magic past very good sneaking skills, centered around the earth. It’s a very domestic sort of magic, one that ensures order and peace and fruitful harvest as it’s centered around the home. Arthur just has a little stronger and less tightly focused than most of his kind, like his mother. Dwarves are also with their own magic, but in forging and rock and the earth as a medium, not a living thing (mountains, not the pastures).