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Author Topic: Dragon Dreams  (Read 1629 times)

Ori

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  • Alias: Jo
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Dragon Dreams
« on: January 09, 2015, 11:24:00 PM »
The crowd that had gathered at the steps of the royal family's lodgings in Ered Luin exuded fury, and thirst for justice. The guards did nothing to stop them from jeering at and spitting on a few figures in their midst; they were finally dragged to the forefront and thrown on the stone steps. The chorus of screams called out for the King to bring justice, to cast out the Elf-lovers, beardless traitors, thieves and liars. The guards took hold of the three figures clad in poor, ragged clothes too big for them, and placed bags over the accused's heads, as was required by the law. A majestic figure walked down the steps to greet his people; it was Thorin Oakenshield in a coat of royal blue and bedecked in gold. A crown masterfully crafted glittered on his head, and his beard was long and flowing as it had been before the days of the reign of the Dragon on Erebor.
"Milord, rain down your wrath on this miserable filth!" screeched a dwarf woman in the crowd. It roared in response, appreciating her every word. One of the accused struggled against the guard holding him, and he was beaten down to his knees for his impudence. More savage approval from the crowd, but Thorin lifted a stern hand for silence, and his command was obeyed.
"Under what charge are these criminals brought to me today?" growled the king, terrible and fierce. Gold glittered in his eyes, and his word was akin to the growl of a dragon.
"They have taken the Kingsjewel, prize of the hoard of Thrór, and heirloom of the House of Dúrin! The Arkenstone!" was the hoarse reply of one of the guards. From the tallest in the three, they wrestled a cord-bound pouch from his pocket. The king's eyes softened when the thief's loot was passed to him, but all it took was an instant to wake his rage.
"Let them be headless!" was his furious reply. "My own kin! My men-at-arms! Traitors!" The crowd went wild at his words; the thieves tried to resist, but the guards were already at the ready, with axes drawn.
But first their bags were removed. The king was emotionless as he stared down the faces of Fíli and Kíli when they were revealed. Lastly, the third thief was unmasked.
It was the face of the downtrodden Thorin Oakenshield of No Land.


 The young Ori bolted upright to escape his hideous nightmare; at least he could fill his mouth with his rich fur bedspread to stifle the scream growing in his throat. Eyes still half closed, he looked around just in case there were anyone around. Then he fell on his back on the mattress. Ori could almost hear his thudding heart echoing across the empty lord's hall he was sleeping, travelling across the rooms to the one Dwarf in the palace that was leaping at the first sign of guilt in any of his Company...so Ori turned to the left side of the bed and clutched the sheets closer for comfort. I should be getting too old for bad dreams, he tried to tell himself. Especially now. We've fought goblins and orcs and trolls and dragons. Why should I be afraid of dreams? Except, that terrible King Under the Mountain in his dream was real, and he was Ori's lord.

 When Ori was a child and had bad dreams, he would scurry to the attic and scrounge for the most peaceful books he would find, in the middle of the night, and Dori sometimes would wake and try to coax him to go back to bed. The boy did not often tell him his dreams, when they were truly silly to be afraid of, but Dori was kind and mothering and would eventually lead him back to bed. Eventually such nightmares became scarcer and scarcer, but he'd had one soon after Moria. The-heart-to-heart he'd had with Dori had been very enlightening. He would have no nightmares until...these ones began.

 The first dream was soon after Thorin had chosen some of them to scrounge for the Stone, and had made him bleary and red eyed the following day, and he'd been pestered by Dori and even Nori about it. Whatever the case, he had stayed far away from Thorin and tried to keep his brothers with him. Because, in the first dream, the three thieves had been them. Dori, Nori and Ori. It terrified him so much, to be at Thorin's paranoid, gold-hungry mercy, and even worse, his brothers. And that was just the first dream. If the first dream had made him deeply fearful, the second had left him a sense of great injustice. It had been the Ur brothers this time, accused of the theft for being lowborn. The third had been almost petrifying, with Óin, Glóin, Dwalin, and Balin all losing their head--the last two being Thorin's most trusted advisors! But this last one...Ori dug his head in his hands. Fíli...and Kíli! His own nephews! The third thief had confirmed Ori's suspicions. The dragon roaring out commands to the Thirteen was not Thorin Oakenshield.

 Ori stepped off his bed and scampered to his bedroom door, and fell to his feet there. Where was he going? He had no attic for books! Thorin had forbbiden him entrance to the Archives until the Arkenstone was found, an edict his brothers and even Balin and the others had protested against. But Thorin's word was law, and there was no protesting. Ori's one escape from life had been cut off from him...he could not even write down what was happening; what with the Captain of the Elven Guard holding his full chronicle. Perhaps he could scribble something in the loose sheets he'd been given at Laketown...but it had become increasingly difficult to write objectively of late. So it had been so very emotional accounts he'd gotten down. Sometimes the scribe could not even stand the sight of those pages!

All he would have to do was stay at his bedroom door, trying to quell his growing fear and sadness.

Played by Jo

Dwalin

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Dragon Dreams
« Reply #1 on: January 11, 2015, 02:15:00 AM »
There were very few things, truly in this world, that could frighten Dwalin. He had faced many battles, wore many scars, had looked death in the face and screamed a challenge, and even in those moments when all had seemed lost, he had not truly known fear. Some might say he had a deathwish or that he was simply mad due to the fact that he could simply shut off any concern for his own well-being but that was not where his fear lay.

Dwalin’s fear was in a failure to protect those he loved and it was the pursuit of this which gave him such strength in battle. He would die a thousand times gladly to save the life of his king, his kin, or his brothers in arms.

As he sat in the cold darkness of one of Erebor’s sleeping quarters. The whole of the company had bunked down for the night in a series of old rooms which lined a corridor just off the main living quarters of the old king. The “Lord’s Hall” had been long since bereft of any living souls in it, not since the dragon snuffed out all the life for miles around, but much of the old furniture was still in place and dwarves made things to last.

Dwalin sat on the edge of his bed, restless and unable to sleep. He scowled around the room, taking in the moldy tapestries, the cobwebs, and the thick layers of dust that lay like a pall over everything. It was a reminder of what had been lost. Dwalin could recall these rooms from his youth. They had been bright then, full of finery and fancy carved beds. Light had reflected off polished mirrors set to spread and direct sunlight, moonlight, and torchlight throughout the dark recesses of ancient Erebor.

This had once been a magnificent home unlike any other and Dwalin would have happily fought any who dared say different. He sniffed and frowned, a low disapproving grumble working its way up from his chest. The room stank of must and decaying fabric. It was a far cry from the glory days but Dwalin still had faith that they would see it shine once more.

That is…if Thorin could overcome whatever had taken hold of him.

It was that thought which had kept Dwalin’s mind from rest all night. There were few in this world who knew the king the way he did, they had grown up together, fought side by side on many occasions, and had shared more life and adventures than any other in the company could boast. Frankly, Thorin wasn’t just his king, he was Dwalin’s best friend. The person he knew and trusted, however, seemed to have become conspicuously absent since they had first stepped into the treasure room of Erebor.

Dwalin had argued and stubbornly refused to listen to anyone who had warned him that the curse of the gold might take hold of Thorin’s mind up until then. He had utter faith in his king. In his friend. Now, he wasn’t so sure anymore. The Thorin he knew would not have broken his word to the people of the lake, nor would he have dared accuse any of his own people of stealing something from him.

They had all come through so much together and each member of the company had proven themselves trustworthy and stout-hearted, everything a good dwarf should be. Even some of the more soft members who Dwalin had been sure would fall out somewhere along the way had made it. He’d been sure at least Dori or Ori would have decided this mess wasn’t worth it and bailed but they had stuck it through and had garnered a begrudging respect from the surly dwarf.

Giving up on sleep at last, Dwalin slid to his feet and eased out of his door. He certainly didn’t need the grief of dealing with Thorin accusing him of sneaking about right now. Any suspicious activity by any of the company was sure to draw Thorin’s anger regardless of how innocent it was and Dwalin could see how much the rest of the company had taken to walking on eggshells around their king. Everyone was holding their breath, hoping to go unnoticed and just get by.

Dwalin, along with his brother, were among the few willing to even raise a word of protest against Thorin’s actions of late. Both knew him well enough and cared deeply enough to want to save their friend, no matter the cost.

As Dwalin slowly made his way down the hall, he heard a soft thump of feet hitting the floor in one of the rooms to his right. It was the room Ori had taken up and the older dwarf paused to listen for a moment to make sure the boy was ok. He had developed something of a protective drive when it came to the youngest member of their company. Ori had worked hard on this trip to prove himself and had held out despite all the odds and all the adversity they had faced. The boy deserved better than to see his king slowly descending into madness.

The noises stopped but Dwalin could make out the faint sound of strangled breathing just on the other side of the door, as if the boy had come that far but realized he couldn’t go anywhere. Where WOULD he go? There was no safe place within Erebor for him, nowhere Thorin wouldn’t come looking. Dwalin had scowled at Thorin when he’d witnessed his friend snap at Ori that he wasn’t allowed into the Archives to even read or write until the Arkenstone was located. He’d even dared trying to argue with his king about it some after everyone else had headed to bed but Thorin had promptly shut the door in his face and all but accused him of being a traitor for arguing back.

Dwalin sighed. There was little chance that the boy would go back to sleep on his own without talking to someone and he thought for a moment of waking Dori before letting it go. What was the point in stealing sleep from someone else when he wasn’t going to get any anyway?

His mind made up, the older dwarf walked up to the door and, without bothering to say anything, he put his shoulder to it and gently pushed the door open. He could feel Ori’s weight on the other side and knew he was basically scooting the boy across the floor but he didn’t dare say anything in the hallway lest he wake their king.

“It’s me lad,” he said gruffly as he poked his head through the open door, “I’m coming in.” Without waiting for an invitation, Dwalin sauntered into the room and closed the door behind him. He glanced down at Ori and then motioned to the bed with a jerk of his head. “Lay back down, lad, and tell me what’s on yer mind.”

Ori

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Dragon Dreams
« Reply #2 on: January 11, 2015, 05:02:00 AM »
Ori had almost fallen asleep right there by the door, tossing and turning his troubles fainter and fainter in his mind. He was being summoned off to sleep by faint tapping sounds...probably some bird knocking about in the palace...they often did…He was still in fur clothes and finery, so the cold did not bother him much, except for his feet. And the tips of his fingers...His head bobbed forward a bit, and the fear of falling asleep only kept his eyes open for a few more minutes before he was knocking his head again...

But then the door knocked his head to the side. The boy fell back on the ground with his mittened palms back, and he scurried to let in whoever was going to enter. Being drowsy, he did not even consider who on Middle Earth it could be that was visiting. But he gasped in startlement when a rough greeting was his answer. “It’s me lad,” spoke the newcomer. Before Ori could manage to stammer out an incredulous call, Dwalin was already saying, “I’m coming in.”

The warrior motioned to the bed to him in his usual, blunt way, and immediately ordered, “Lay back down, lad, and tell me what’s on yer mind.” Ori stood at his order, and it dawned on him. “You heard me.” He covered his mouth when all sorts of possibilities raced in his head--if Dwalin had heard, who else might have? Balin? Someone else willing to tell Thorin? But he quelled those thoughts with some common sense, and followed Dwalin’s lead to sit on his bed and speak.

Yet how to start?

“N-nevermind that. You know what I’m afraid of, and it’s...it’s silly.” With a sigh, he slumped his shoulders to the point the burdens of his mind almost seemed physical, set upon his back. “I guess...dragons.” Of course, he had to specify. Dwalin might not get his metaphors and literary talk. “The one in the crown and the cape, who doesn’t care about the mountain anymore. Who only wants…” his sentence trailed into a whisper. The boy paused, too fearful to even stutter out the name of the Kingsjewel.

When he hit this snag in his words, he sighed again. “Is it the gold that is cursed? Is it the Mountain? Is it what he wants? Because if it’s the gold, I…” once he again he fell into whispering out of fear of being listened. “I’d rather leave and be penniless back at Ered Luin in exile with my books and in cowardly safety..” With a shuddering sob, the boy turned away. “Mahal curse me for saying such a thing.”

He couldn’t bear seeing the leader of the Dwarves of Erebor sunken into the madness of the glittering gold, looking for that single glint of white...Why would the stone matter so much? There was no one that was going to question their claim for the land, they had enough gold to scatter apiece around Rhovanion and still have a fortune in their hands, but Thorin was not giving out any of the treasure to the torn apart by Smaug, who had taken the blows meant for them!

Played by Jo

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