Me When He’s The Closest Thing To The Divine

Hi guys! You are probably wondering why I haven't posted the first part of this fic on Friday. Well, I have been busier than anticipated due to uni, and... stuff also happened.

As a recompense to my negligence and lack of punctuality, I will post chapters 1-12 from December 20- 31, meaning that we are starting off the year 2025 with Visions of Mandalore.

Regarding my fic The Way It Comes To Be, I will try to update it whilst writing Visions of Mandalore!

I am sorry pookies.

Love

-Lux

FIC ANNOUNCEMENT

PERSONAL PROJECT

Hi, I also came here to announce my Star Wars fanfic Visions of Mandalore, which is heavily based on the Mandalorian Civil War. This event was basically the war in which Obi-Wan and Satine met before the Clone Wars. I really wanted an official Star Wars story based on this event, but then I thought: I will just write my own story. This story will include a little bit of everything: romance, friendship, teamwork, politics, drama, and so much more.

Coming to Tumblr and Ao3 November 2024

KORKIE KENOBI NATION RISE

Korkie is a Kenobi and I will die on this hill!

just started watching house and I thought yall were exaggerating but no. every episode is just like three wrong diagnoses that almost kill the patient and then house is like "he has underwater skunk herpes" and they give the guy a new butthole and he's cured. and then house chugs vicodin while talking about wanting to rail wilson.

That time of year again

I LOVE THIS OMG

You ever get inhabited with the need to draw Satine? A rare drawing of someone who isn’t a clone.

I wanted her to look like a lily/flower which is why it’s a gold accent rather than silver or blue. The design down the back of her dress is inspired off the throne. It’s been a bad art day so maybe I will revisit this when I feel better. I am trying to push myself to post art even if I’m not 100% happy with it as a way to track my progress and to get myself comfortable with sharing my work. Love ya.

I AM SCREAMING RIGHT NOW

I NEED TO WRITE THIS ASAP

Imagine a Hobbit musical and in it Thorin and Bilbo get a love duet, then Kili and Tauriel get their own love duet; and during Five Armies there’s a reprise of both duets in one song as Tauriel and Bilbo watch their partners die

CHAPTER 4 EDIT IS UP

This chapter was so hard to rewrite, because I added extra plot to the story. However, this chapter is one of the most important ones in the whole story.

Enjoy!

The Way It Comes To Be- Chapter 4 (DIRECTOR'S CUT)

Chapter summary: Everything seems to be going okay, but now Thorin has to face his own destiny.

Link on Ao3

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Thorin x Bilbo, Kili x Tauriel

***

Chapter 4: Dawning Renewal

The days in the Lonely Mountain were growing colder with each passing day. The few trees that dotted the area had nearly shed all their leaves, and snow continued to fall steadily. The harsh weather wasn’t making the rebuilding of the Kingdom Under the Mountain or Dale any easier; snow buried new constructions, and the ice threatened to deform them. This placed enormous pressure on all the workers, who were racing against time to finish everything before the full force of winter set in.

Everyone had a role to play in the restoration of the city: men, elves, and dwarves worked together on the external structures, rebuilding houses and public buildings. Many of the women and some elves focused on creating farms for agriculture and beautifying the city with plants to make it more elegant. Dáin’s surviving soldiers, along with some humans and Thorin’s Company, were hard at work restoring the palace, both inside and out.

Thorin's Company, loyal to their soon-to-be king, moved constantly between Dale and Erebor. They handled a variety of tasks: attending diplomatic meetings alongside Thorin, inspecting progress in Dale, overseeing the work in Erebor, and laboring to restore the palace.

Despite the frantic pace, there was a palpable sense of unity and determination among the workers. Dwarves and elves, once bitter enemies, now worked side by side. The men of Laketown, grateful for the refuge and aid given to them, worked tirelessly, feeling a deep sense of obligation to repay their allies.

Bilbo, though uncertain whether he would stay or leave, found himself increasingly involved in these activities. While not a builder by nature, his sharp mind and keen eye for detail made him indispensable in overseeing the progress and ensuring that nothing was overlooked. He often found himself darting be tween sites, relaying messages, and coordinating the various efforts of men, elves, and dwarves alike. His small figure became a familiar sight amidst the bustling crowds, a reassuring presence in the midst of all the chaos.

One chilly morning, Bilbo stood atop a scaffold, looking out over the bustling scene below. He could see Thorin in the distance, directing a group of dwarves as they hauled a massive stone into place. The king’s regal bearing and commanding presence were unmistakable, even from afar. Despite the challenges, Thorin's determination never wavered, and his leadership was inspiring to all. 

As Bilbo watched, he felt a surge of pride and happiness. The Lonely Mountain was slowly coming back to life, and he was a part of it. The thought warmed him against the biting wind. He knew there was still much to do, but with each passing day, the dream of a restored Erebor came closer to reality.

Below, in the bustling streets of Dale, Bard was equally busy. The townspeople respected him greatly for his leadership and bravery, and they followed his guidance as they worked to rebuild their homes. Bard’s efforts were focused not just on physical reconstruction but also on ensuring the people’s morale remained high. He often visited families, listened to their concerns, and offered words of encouragement.

Meanwhile, in the newly established farms, elves and women of Dale worked together, their hands deftly planting seeds and tending to the growing crops. The collaboration between elves and humans was a rare and beautiful sight, symbolizing the newfound alliances forged through shared hardship and respect.

Inside the mountain, Thorin’s company worked diligently. Balin, with his extensive knowledge of Erebor’s history and architecture, directed efforts to restore the grandeur of the palace halls. Dwalin, ever the warrior, took charge of reinforcing the defenses, ensuring that Erebor would be well-protected against any future threats. Fili and Kili, young and energetic, were always eager to lend a hand wherever needed, their enthusiasm infectious.

Bilbo’s frequent interactions with Thorin grew more meaningful each day. They shared brief, intense conversations about the progress and the future, their bond deepening with each encounter. The tension between them, a mix of unresolved feelings and mutual respect, simmered beneath the surface, adding an unspoken layer to their interactions.

Bilbo found himself gravitating toward Thorin more often than ever, and even more than when they were on their quest. Their exchanges had always been purposeful from the beginning, but lately, there was a bigger weight behind every single word they spoke. Thorin’s glances lingered just a moment too long, his tone even softer whenever he addressed Bilbo.

Once, while discussing the day’s progress, Thorin’s hand brushed against Bilbo’s as they both reached for the same blueprint. Bilbo felt his heart jump at the unexpected contact, but neither of them pulled away immediately. Thorin’s fingers hovered near his, a brief hesitation that sent a jolt of awareness between them.

“There’s still much work to be done,” Thorin said, his voice lower than usual, almost as if they were discussing something far more intimate than construction plans.

Bilbo cleared his throat, forcing his focus back on the scroll in front of him. “Yes,” he replied, his voice sounding steadier than he felt. “But we’ll manage.”

There was a moment of silence, the air thick with something Bilbo couldn’t quite name. Thorin stood just close enough that Bilbo could feel the heat radiating from his body, his presence grounding, yet it set Bilbo’s nerves on edge in a way he had never anticipated.

As the days passed, these small moments became harder to ignore. Thorin would stand just a little too close to Bilbo during their briefings, his gaze more intent than necessary when the hobbit spoke. Another time, after a long day, Thorin’s hand lingered on Bilbo’s shoulder just for a heartbeat longer than it should have, before he muttered a gruff “Good night” and disappeared into the darkness.

Bilbo found himself waiting for these fleeting touches, though he would never admit it aloud, and when Thorin’s gaze would meet his, steady and unyielding, Bilbo would feel something stir in the pit of his stomach—a mix of anxiety and anticipation, as if they were standing on the edge of something neither of them dared to speak of.

Then, one evening, as the sun dipped low, casting the mountains in hues of amber and crimson, Bilbo stood beside Thorin atop the palace. Below, the workers finished their tasks, the clatter of hammers gradually fading into the evening air. The silence between the two of them felt charged, not awkward, but thick with something that neither quite knew how to articulate or manifest.

“We’ve come a long way,” Thorin said at last, his voice low, almost thoughtful as his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Bilbo nodded, though his thoughts were far from the construction efforts. “And we still have a long way to go,” he replied, his voice steady despite the strange tightness in his chest. He glanced at Thorin from the corner of his eye, feeling the unspoken tension that lingered between them electrify the atmosphere.

Thorin turned then, his sapphire eyes resting on Bilbo with an intensity that made Bilbo’s heart race exponentially. There was something different in Thorin’s expression, something softer, more vulnerable. “I didn’t expect… to have come this far with you by my side,” Thorin murmured, his words deliberate, almost as though he was testing the weight of them. “Now, I cannot imagine seeing this through without you.”

The hobbit swallowed, caught off guard by the rawness in Thorin’s voice. His pulse quickened exponentially, a sudden warmth creeping up his neck. He didn’t know how to respond to that, at least not with words. “We’ll see it through,” Bilbo said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, though there was a determination in it. “Whatever comes… we’ll finish what we’ve started.”

The air between them grew heavier with the words unsaid, and the silence was charged with a tension that felt almost palpable. Thorin didn’t move, but the way he looked at Bilbo was enough to make the hobbit’s breath hitch. There was an intensity in his eyes, something that made the space between them feel smaller than it actually was. The world seemed to shrink for a moment, leaving just the two of them standing on the edge of something deeper.

Bilbo shifted, his heart pounding in his chest. The sun continued its descent, painting the sky in soft purples and golds, but neither of them moved to break the silence. It was as though they were waiting—both unsure of what exactly—but knowing that something was there, just beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged

“Thorin?” Balin called from afar. Thorin and Bilbo turned around and faced the white-beard dwarf. 

“Balin, is everything alright?” Thorin asked.

“Yes. There is someone waiting for you at the gates. He wishes to see you,” Balin answered.

“And who is this mysterious person you're talking about?” asked Thorin.

“Come see for yourself,” Balin teased. Thorin's expression changed to an inquisitive and serious one, but he still followed Balin. Bilbo was also really confused about who would be looking for Thorin right now. Could it be anyone dangerous?

When they got to the main entrance, both Bilbo and Thorin approached the gate carefully. A tall, lean figure was approaching them from the shadows. 

“Greetings, old friends,” the figure greeted, got closer, and revealed himself.

It was Gandalf.

Thorin and Bilbo couldn't believe their faces. He left shortly after the Battle of The Five Armies and said he would return at some point, but didn't say when. The dwarf and the hobbit ran to Gandalf and hugged him. After such a treacherous battle, the old wizard was delighted to see both of them alive and safe. 

“Gandalf!” Bilbo gasped, “I can't believe you're here!” 

“I wouldn't miss the rebuilding of the great Kingdom Under the Mountain,” said Gandalf happily. 

“It is a pleasure to have you here,” said Thorin, smiling. 

“I am honored by your hospitality, Your Majesty,” Gandalf kneeled in front of the dwarf to show him the uttermost respect. Bilbo decided to copy Gandalf, not really sure of what he was doing. Thorin was left speechless and didn't know how to react at the moment. 

“Well, thanks,” Thorin said awkwardly.

“Oh, Thorin, you haven't changed a bit,” Gandalf laughed, but the comment made Thorin feel very uneasy since Gandalf didn't know how badly Dragon Sickness affected him. Thorin and Bilbo then decided to show Gandalf around the palace. He was amazed by how quickly the construction progressed in just a couple of weeks, and congratulated both men on the efforts they placed into rebuilding Erebor.

“There is still a lot to be done,” Bilbo told Gandalf, “We haven't even started on reconstructing the back of the palace!”

“Well, I think that without Bilbo's great attentiveness to detail, the palace would be a horrendous mess,” said Thorin, looking attentively at Bilbo. The hobbit got flustered and smiled sheepishly at the dwarf king. Gandalf noticed this and simply smiled to himself, sensing the bounded connection these two men have developed. 

“Now, Bilbo, if you don’t mind, I need to have a little talk with Thorin about a very important matter and to get updated about the last few weeks I have been gone,” Gandalf told Bilbo. The hobbit simply smiled at both men and left the hallway, while the two men headed towards the great gates of the Throne Room. Once they were inside, Gandalf began speaking. 

“I can see that you two have become inseparable,” Gandalf said. Thorin slightly blushed and smiled. Thinking tenderly about his hobbit. 

“Well, you can put it that way,” said Thorin, “Bilbo was been such a skilled burglar… and an amazing person. We’ve grown close.”

“Oh, it’s very obvious,” Gandalf teased, “It looks like my decision on bringing Bilbo along with the Company on the quest has been a very asserted one.”

“It was,” replied Thorin,”At first, I underestimated Bilbo’s courage and abilities, but he proved that he was braver and more skilled than anyone I’ve fought with. He’s saved my life more times than I can count. I owe him... more than words can express.” Thorin’s voice faltered, hesitation creeping in.

Gandalf’s knowing smile widened as he watched the dwarf. “It’s clear that Bilbo means more to you than just his skill,” Gandalf said, his voice gentle.

Thorin remained silent for a moment, his thoughts veiled, but his feelings were unmistakable. In all the years Gandalf had known Thorin, he had never seen him care for anyone like this. Bilbo had become something of a lifeline for the dwarf king, and was even more valuable to him than the gold under the Lonely Mountain. 

“Well, Thorin, I did not just come to pay you a well deserved visit,” Gandalf said in a serious tone. “There are rumors circulating about another Orc attack around these lands. After the death of Azog and Borg, the Orcs seemed to have sworn revenge for the death of their leaders. There have already been a few raids down south and in the far west, near the Blue Mountains, but they will not stop until they get to Erebor no matter what.”

Thorin’s eyes filled with preoccupation and distress. Even if his features remained still, the way his blue eyes darkened conveyed the storm of emotions that just rose up from his mind. He clenched his jaw, the weight of his kingship settling heavily on his shoulders. Erebor was his responsibility— its people, his kin, the kingdom he had fought so long to reclaim. The threat of another Orc attack stirred a huge wave of anger within him, but alongside it came a pang of fear for those he cared about.

“They would dare challenge us again?” Thorin’s voice was low, almost a growl, as his hand tightened around the armrest of the throne. 

“The only thing these Orcs want is revenge, and would do anything to get it,” Gandalf said. “However… I also fear that there is something darker and more sinister behind all of this.”

Gandalf began talking about some of his discoveries in Don Guldur, how he met a being called the Necromancer, a strange entity that he later on discovered was another entity called Sauron. Gandalf did not go much into detail about Sauron, but even if Thorin did not get all of information and only heard rumors about him in the past, he could sense that the idea of his return was already very dangerous. 

“We’re… not entirely sure if Sauron is the one behind all of these attacks,” Gandalf said in a low voice. “ We are not even sure if he was the one who intentionally sent Azog to kill you, but if Sauron is indeed orchestrating all this chaos, his return is inevitable. The only question is when he will return, and how prepared we will be”

Gandalf’s words hung in the air like a stormy cloud, heavy and foreboding. Thorin remained silent for a moment, the weight of the crown feeling heavier than usual. The torches in the throne room shone against the polished turquoise walls, but the light seemed to dim with the breaking news. 

“We cannot afford another war,” Thorin finally said, his voice low but steady. “Erebor has just begun to rebuild. There’s been enough suffering for us all.”

Gandalf’s keen eyes softened, sensing the inner turmoil within the dwarf king. “I understand your reluctance, Thorin, but you must also understand that this is no ordinary war. Sauron is no ordinary foe. His power can spread like a sickness, corrupting everything in its path. We aren’t very sure why Sauron wishes to return, but no matter what happens, it will affect ALL of Middle Earth.”

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before continuing, “Sauron is not simply after a kingdom or gold. He craves dominion over all of Middle Earth. His darkness doesn’t merely destroy…it enslaves. Those who fall under his influence become mere shadows of themselves, twisted and bent to his will.”

Thorin’s brow furrowed deeply. "You speak of him like some kind of god. How could one being hold so much power?"

Gandalf sighed. "It is not just his mighty influence on the battlefield that makes him dangerous, Thorin. He wields fear like a weapon, preying on the weaknesses and desires of others. Once, long ago, he deceived even the most powerful of rulers with gifts: the Rings of Power. They were meant to strengthen their bearers, but in reality, they were chains, binding them to Sauron’s will."

The mention of the Rings caused Thorin to straighten, the ancient stories rising from the depths of his mind, pressing on his consciousness. “The Rings,” Thorin murmured, eyes narrowing. “I’ve heard of their power… even the Dwarves weren’t immune.”

Gandalf nodded solemnly. “Yes, the seven given to the Dwarf lords were not as easily controlled as those of Men, but they still brought ruin. Their greed became greater… that endless pursuit of wealth made them more vulnerable to fall. Your people have always been resistant to domination, Thorin, but the pull of power—of gold— can corrupt even the strongest hearts.”

Thorin’s jaw clenched as the truth behind those words stirred something within him. The memory of his own family’s fall to dragon-sickness still fresh in his heart. His own fall to that wretched sickness also gnawed at his heart, filling it with the guilt of almost making Erebor crumble completely to pieces. 

"Erebor nearly fell once to the lust for gold," Thorin said quietly, his eyes hardening. "I will not let that happen again."

“That is why you must prepare,” Gandalf urged. “The fate of Erebor and more is at stake. If Sauron indeed rises, the lands of Men, Elves, and Dwarves will all fall in turn. There will be no safe haven… not even here.”

Thorin’s gaze fell to the golden floor beneath him, his fists tightening at his sides. He had always fought for his people, for his homeland, but now, he realized the fight was larger than he had ever imagined. It wasn’t just about Erebor anymore, but about the entire world. His heart weighed heavy, but he also knew that he could not run from this fight at all. 

“And what would you have me do?” Thorin asked, his voice gruff, yet steady. “I will not abandon my people, but if what you say is true… What chance do we have against such a force?”

Gandalf smiled slightly, though his expression remained serious. “I do not ask you to fight alone, Thorin. There are others who will stand with you: Elves, Men, Dwarves, and even Hobbits. You must forge alliances, and unite with the free peoples of Middle Earth. This battle cannot be won by one race alone. The only way we can possibly fight this foe when he returns is together.”

Thorin considered Gandalf’s words, the tension in his shoulders easing only slightly. "If it is alliances we need, then I will speak with more Elves and the Men. Erebor will not stand alone in this fight."

Gandalf nodded approvingly. "That is a wise course of action, Thorin Oakenshield, but remember, Sauron’s strength lies not only in his armies, but in the fear he instills. If we stand united, with courage and resolve, we can resist him, but if we let fear divide us, all will be lost."

“We must do everything to prevent that,” Thorin said with determination, though fear was installed in his oceanic eyes. “We cannot be further divided… not now.”

Gandalf’s eyes softened even more, sensing the inner conflict brewing within Thorin. He took a deep breath, knowing what he had to reveal next would strike at the heart of the dwarf king standing in front of him.

“There’s… something else, Thorin,” Gandalf said, his voice dropping to a more somber tone.

Thorin’s brow furrowed in confusion as Gandalf’s demeanor shifted.

“During my time in Dol Guldur, I encountered a tortured soul,” Gandalf began, his eyes dropping. “It was your father…Thrain.”

Thorin stiffened, his hands tightening into fists. “My father? You’ve seen him?”

Gandalf nodded gravely. “I found him imprisoned there, broken in both body and spirit. He had been taken by the Necromancer’s forces many years ago.”

Thorin’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing. “But why…how could this happen?” His voice was thick with a mixture of disbelief and anguish. 

Thorin knew Thrain had survived the Battle of Moria because he never found his body among the fallen, but he never knew where his father went. Some said that Thrain was driven mad by greed and went missing, while others said he was dead. Either way, Thorin never found him, or even a trace of him, which limited his search for his father, and led him to think he was most likely dead. 

Gandalf began speaking again. “We all know that Thrain went missing during the Battle of Azanulbizar, but we never knew where he went. I found out that he wandered into the Dimrill gate after the battle, where he was captured by Orcs and taken to Dol Guldur as a prisoner. He was tortured by the enemy to get information about the whereabouts of the map to the Lonely Mountain, and the key to the kingdom. However, he did not want the gold…. He wanted the Ring of Power that was passed down to Thror, and Sauron captured it.”

“Why would he want that ring?” Thorin asked. “Why would Sauron even need….” Thorin’s voice faltered as realization hit him. He remembered the old Elvish poem he heard when he was a child:

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them…

“The seven…” Thorin murmured. “Sauron… he wants them. He wants the Rings! He’s…”

Gandalf nodded gravely. “Yes. He seeks to reclaim them all, to regain his power, and the worst is yet to come, Thorin.” Gandalf’s eyes met Thorin’s deep blue, filled with sorrow. “Thrain… your father did not survive his imprisonment. He died there, in Dol Guldur.”

Thorin froze, the weight of the words sinking into him like a blade. “Dead?” His voice cracked, disbelief and grief flooding him. “He… he is gone?”

“Yes,” Gandalf said, his tone soft, yet unwavering. “I tried to save him, but I was too late. The torment he endured… broke him. By the time I found him, he had little strength left. His mind was shattered, yet he remembered you. He spoke of you before the end, Thorin.”

Thorin’s face was stone, the anguish beneath barely held at bay. His father, his blood, lost not in battle, but to Sauron’s darkness.

“And he was alone…” Thorin whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “All those years… alone.”

“I am so sorry, Thorin,” Gandalf whispered. 

Thorin’s fists clenched, his knuckles white as a storm brewed in his heart. “Alone in that wretched place, tortured for information that would only serve the Enemy. I should have searched harder, fought harder to find him.”

“Do not blame yourself,” Gandalf said gently. “No one could have known about Sauron’s demise easily.”

“At least I could have tried!” Thorin exploded, slamming his fist against the stone table with a resounding crack. His chest heaved heavily with fury and grief, which was pouring itself  out in waves. “I should have honored his memory! Instead, I let him be forgotten—let his suffering continue while I lived, while I… believed him lost to madness or death. I let him down, Gandalf. I let my father down.” 

Gandalf watched Thorin for a long moment, his heart heavy with sorrow for the dwarf before him. “You did not know, Thorin,” he said softly, his voice full of understanding. “Your father’s fate was not yours to bear alone. Sauron’s darkness has touched many, and even the bravest of us would have been powerless to prevent it.”

Thorin shook his head, his breath ragged. “But I should have been there. I should have done more. I should have known…”

“Grief clouds all our minds, even the strongest ones,” Gandalf continued, his voice unwavering but full of compassion. “But your father’s memory lives on in you, in the choices you make now. That is how you honor him, not by carrying the burden of his death, but by living in his name, by fighting against the very evil that took him.”

Thorin stood still, Gandalf’s words washing over him, but he could not shake the weight of his guilt. He could almost see his father’s face now, haggard and broken, trapped in the darkness of Dol Guldur… Alone.

“He spoke of you, Thorin,” Gandalf added gently. “He was proud of you, and he loved you. He wanted you to know that.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Thorin’s rage subsided into a heavy, aching sorrow. He let out a long, trembling breath, his gaze fixed on the floor. His father’s shadow loomed over him, but now, he knew what had to be done.

“There is still hope in this world, Thorin Oakenshield,” said Gandalf, breaking the silence, “You are hope itself. With you as ruler of Erebor, the people of Middle Earth will slowly begin to trust again. Your victory at the Battle of the Five Armies is spreading like wild fire across the lands.”

Thorin simply nodded silently, feeling the intense pressure of his role as king heavy on his back. The dwarf always desired to rule Erebor someday, but actually facing that reality felt even more daunting and intimidating than ever. 

“I know I have to do this, but I wonder how I will be able to rule over this kingdom if I do not even have hope in myself,” Thorin replied in a tone of surrender. 

Gandalf looked at Thorin with a mixture of compassion and firmness. “Thorin, the strength of a king is not measured by the absence of doubt, but by his ability to rise above it. You have faced dragons and armies with courage. Now, you must face your own fears with the same resolve. Hope is not something you find, it is something you create. And it is clear to me, and to all who follow you, that you have the power to do so.”

The wizard smiled gently, seeing the realization dawning in Thorin's eyes. “Exactly, Thorin. You have always had the strength within you. It’s the same strength that led you to reclaim Erebor and to protect those you care about. Now, that strength must guide you as a ruler.”

Thorin’s mind lingered on that thought for a while. Gandalf did have a point about how hope is something that is created, yet the task felt so difficult to Thorin. He has faced thousands of foes in the last 24 years since Erebor’s capture and today, but how? He wasn’t so sure how he actually found the strength to do so, but he actually did. That courage in him was still inside him, stirring his body and his heart. Thorin soon enough realized that he was the one who created that wave of moving energy that gave him the courage to face any threats, and he could use it to face his fears and weave veins of hope.

He was the only one who could change his destiny.

He was the architect of his own destiny (1). 

The battle was finally over, and now, it was time to face the real challenges ahead: to rule Erebor. It was finally time to do what he wished to since his use of reason, time to face what was soon to come once and for all.

Gandalf placed a reassuring hand on Thorin's shoulder. “Remember, Thorin, you are not alone. You have your kin, your friends, and allies by your side. Trust in them, as they trust in you. Together, you will rebuild this kingdom, and hope will flourish once more.”

Thorin looked into Gandalf's wise eyes and felt a renewed sense of determination. “Thank you, Gandalf.”

Gandalf nodded, his eyes twinkling with pride and affection. “Then go forth, Thorin Oakenshield, and lead your people into a brighter future. The road will be difficult, but I have no doubt that you will succeed.”

With those words, Thorin felt a surge of resolve. He turned to face the vast halls of Erebor, the kingdom he had fought so hard to reclaim. The challenges ahead were daunting, but with hope and drive, he knew he would lead his people to greatness.

***

Notes: 1. Amado Nervo, a Mexican poet, wrote "porque veo al final de mi rudo camino / que yo fui el arquitecto de mi propio destino," meaning "because I see at the end of my rough road / that I was the architect of my own destiny."

KW 2024- Day 8: Free Day

Day 8 of Kataang Week 2024 hosted by @kataang-week

Prompt: Free Day, Monday, August 5

Summary: Korra and Asami have brought Katara too many long lost memories of her beloved.

Word Count: 1.7 K

Rating: General audiences (except for mentions of death)

When Korra first introduced Asami to Katara, she felt an unexplainable and sad feeling in her. It was not anything against Asami since Katara’s own daughter, Kya, liked women, but it was a wave of nostalgia attacking her like a tsunami. 

“Master Katara, I want you to meet my girlfriend, Asami Sato.”

Katara remembered clearly the day Korra properly introduced Asami to her. She remembers her caring gaze and how sweet and polite she was. Asami was great for Katara: she loved her sense of humor, cared for her, teased her, connected so well with her, and placed Korra at ease. Korra also cared for this young woman dearly, probably more than anyone in the world. The way they would gaze at each other’s eyes proved their unwavering bond and love for one another. Every time one of them spoke, the other would gaze at them with a look of eternal love Katara hadn’t seen in a long time. 

It reminded her of the old days, when her beloved Aang was still alive. 

“Aang!” Katara would exclaim. “Stop looking at me with those eyes!” 

“What eyes?” the Avatar would ask playfully, not taking his grey eyes from the Waterbender. They were profound like the mountains, and Katara could sink in them forever. He would look at her as if she were the most precious and beautiful thing on this world, even if she did not feel like it. 

“You always stare at me like that!” Katara would laugh. 

“I just do it because you are the most beautiful, wonderful, smartest, and kindest woman in the world,” Aang would tell her lovingly, making her heart pound. They would laugh wholeheartedly and continue to tease each other. More than a simple romantic couple, Aang and Katara were also best friends. 

But most importantly, they were soulmates. 

The last time Aang looked at Katara with those loving, silver eyes was in his last few days. He was really sick and weak, but still tried to keep his spirits up, even if his energy was fading. 

“Aang, what are you doing?” Katara would ask, sitting next to him. 

“I am just looking at the most gorgeous woman in the world one last time,” he whispered, his misty, silver eyes gazing at her, caressing her face with his weak arm. 

“This won’t be the last time you see me,” Katara would tell him in denial. “I promise that you will get better, and we will keep living in peace.”

Aang’s hand brushed a white strand of hair from Katara’s face. Even if age had wiped off her youthful features, he still thought she was ethereal. She looked wiser, and her eyes were now a darker blue, like the oceans at the South Pole. 

Unfortunately, Aang was right, and only two days after that conversation, Aang passed away. 

Korra always reminded Katara of her beloved Aang, and not just because Aang was Korra’s past life, but because she had his loving and cheerful spirit. She never told Korra how much she reminded her of her late husband, but she was always there for the young Avatar no matter what. 

The day Aang passed away, Katara had to tend to Senna since she was giving birth. It was a complicated labor, and Senna was in a lot of pain. Katara feared that the birth would worsen, but she was not hopeless and knew that Senna and her baby would have a chance in the world. 

“It’s alright Senna,” Katara would say soothfully. “It will be over soon, and you’ll be okay.” The young woman could only grunt in pain, and her hand was glued to Tonraq’s hand, who was doing an amazing job of calming her down. 

“Master Katara!” a young healer entered the hut. “You need to come home quickly! It’s Avatar Aang!”

“What?” she asked, having a bad feeling about what the healer intended. 

“I will cover for you,” volunteered the healer. “Go! He is not doing well.”

Katara rushed to her home with the help of Bumi and Tenzin, and when she got to her home, Aang was clearly not doing well. His body was fading, and his energy was already down to a minimum. Although she did not want to believe it, Katara knew that he only had minutes in this world. 

“Kat…ara,” Aang whispered with a raspy voice. “You have to promise me… train… the new Avatar… They are going to be… Water Tribe.”

“I promise Aang!” Katara cried through tears. “I will train them but please, don’t leave-”

“Not everything is forever,” Aang whispered. “Everything comes… and goes… I knew that my time on this earth would be short after you found me… in the iceberg… but every year of it was worth living it… especially with you by my side…” 

“Aang,” Katara cried, tears streaming down her eyes. She kissed Aang’s forehead, which felt cold to the touch. His breath was starting to slow down, and Katara knew that this was it.

“I… love you,” Aang barely whispered. “I will always, be with you…” After breathing out those last words, he shut his eyes and felt how he slowly sank into the dark. Tears began flowing violently from Katara’s eyes, and she began to sob as her beloved Aang passed into the afterlife. Her children were all crying beside her, and tried comforting her. Some healers came into the room and covered Aang with a large piece of animal fur. Aang was gone, and this time, forever. 

A few hours later, another healer came to Katara and Aang’s residence, and requested to talk to Kya. 

“Senna’s birth was successful, Master Kya,” the healer said. “She gave birth to a healthy baby girl, and Senna sent me to tell you the news and to thank the two of you.”

Katara heard Kya and the healer’s conversation from afar, but she did not say anything, for she was overtaken by the grief of losing Aang. She wanted him to be with her by her side, and she could imagine him talking to the healer instead of Kya. Aang would then go to her and tell her the news, and Katara would smile. 

Even if 20 years passed since Aang’s passing, not a single day would pass when she did not miss him. The spirit of the Avatar could be reincarnated as many times as it wanted, but Aang’s spirit couldn’t. 

One particular day, on one of Korra’s stays at the South Pole, she saw Korra and Asami laughing and playfully teasing each other. 

“Asami!” Korra squealed. Asami was trying to tickle her, and she was behind Korra trying to tickle her waist. Asami was cackling at Korra’s reaction, and she tried to sneak her hands more into her ribs. She playfully kissed all of Korra’s face, making her blush intensely and giggle. 

In a breeze, Korra overpowered Asami and placed her on her shoulder with easiness. “Korra!” Asami laughed. “Put me down!” 

“Not until you admit that I love you more!” Korra smirked.

“No! I love you more!” Asami snapped back teasingly. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” Korra remarked. Asami was trying to get down from Korra’s shoulders, but the Avatar kept her up there. As Korra tried walking with Asami, who was taller than her, she tripped and both of them fell into the snow. They giggled at the incident and gave each other a loving Water Tribe kiss (1). 

“Aang!” Katara would yell from Aang's shoulder. “Put me down now!” 

“Not happening, sweetie!” Aang would tell her playfully. 

“Please!” she would yell, trying to hold back her laughter. 

Aang would spin around, his laughter infectious. “Only if you say the magic words!” he teased.

“Fine! You win, mighty Avatar!” Katara would surrender with a dramatic sigh, only for Aang to gently lower her to the ground, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Katara’s heart ached with the memories of their youthful antics. She would remember everything she lived with Aang when she saw Korra and Asami.

She remembered the days when they would race through the Southern Water Tribe’s icy terrain as teenagers, laughing and shouting. 

“I’m going to get you!” Katara would warn Aang as they were skating through the ice. 

“Oh, no you won’t!” Aang would smirk, getting on his air scooter and skating away. 

“Aang, that’s not fair!” Katara would laugh, catching up to the young Avatar. She tackled him to the ground and was on top of him, both of them giggling hysterically. 

She remembered the quiet nights under the stars, when they would stargaze and spot as many space phenomenon as possible. 

“I’ve never seen that star before,” Katara would point out at the sky. “It’s so beautiful!”

“The Airbenders would say it is extremely far away,” Aang would tell her. “This star is rarely seen in the sky, but Fire Nation legend tells that it is a symbol of eternal love. Whichever couple spots it, will be together for eternity.”

She remembered the warmth of his touch, the way his eyes would light up whenever he looked at her, and the softness of his kisses, filled with all the love in the world.

As she watched the two girls, Katara felt a tear slip down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away, not wanting to interrupt their joy. She knew that Aang would be happy to see the love and laughter that Korra had found, even if he couldn’t be there to witness it himself.

“Master Katara?” Korra turned around and noticed the tears slipping from Katara’s eyes. Asami and her quickly approached her to see how she was. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is the way it’s supposed to be,” Katara answered, with nostalgia in her voice. (2)

“If you need anything, you know where to find us,” Asami told Katara. The Waterbending master nodded with kindness and let the girls go back to playing in the snow. 

Korra and Asami’s laughter echoed around the snow-covered landscape, a beautiful reminder that love, in all its forms, continues to thrive. Katara felt a sense of peace, knowing that while Aang was gone, his spirit lived on, not just in Korra, but in the love and happiness she shared with those around her.

“Live fully, my dear Korra,” Katara whispered to herself. “Cherish every moment, just as I did with Aang.”

***

Water Tribe Kiss: Reference to the famous Eskimo kiss.

This scene (and story) is heavily based on that one Korrasami comic where Korra and Asami's relationship reminds Katara of how she used to be with Aang. (I couldn't find the creator of this story anywhere, but shoutout to them)

I hate my inmune system, so, so much.

Fuck infections.

Anyway, I am gonna rewrite the first chapter of TWICTB and expand it. Expect it by the end of the week

The Way It Comes To Be- Chapter 3 (DIRECTOR'S CUT)

Chapter summary: Thorin is already recovering from the hardships he endured at war, but now he has to face new situations that are ahead of him.

Link on Ao3

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Thorin x Bilbo, Kili x Tauriel

***

Chapter 3: New Ways To Rebuild

Thorin stood at the head of the round table, surrounded by the key figures of the newly formed alliance: Thranduil, Bard, and their respective advisors. The room, though tense, was filled with an air of ambition and determination.

Thorin began speaking. "Indeed, we have much to discuss if we are to ensure a prosperous future for all our people."

Thranduil nodded in response, his expression serious yet hopeful. Bard leaned forward, hands clasped together, ready to engage in the critical discussions ahead.

"The people of Laketown are in dire need of assistance. Winter is approaching, and they have lost everything. We must prioritize their relocation and the reconstruction of their homes."

"Erebor will provide the necessary resources,” said Thorin. “We have ample treasure, and it is our duty to use it wisely. However, this assistance must be part of a larger and mutual agreement that benefits all of us."

"Agreed,” Thranduil said. In return, the Woodland Realm can offer our expertise in sustainable forestry and agriculture. We have knowledge that can aid in rebuilding Laketown and ensure it thrives once again."

The elves in the council nodded in agreement and Thorin spoke up again. "And what of trade? A steady flow of goods between our realms will foster stability and growth. We need to establish clear terms and routes for trade."

"Trade is essential, but so is security,” replied Bard. “We must ensure that our borders are protected. Our recent alliance must be solidified with mutual defense agreements."

“I think a joint defense initiative would be the best idea,” Thorin collaborated. “Erebor, Dale, and Mirkwood could be standing together as a formidable force against any potential threats."

Thranduil placed his head to the side, unsure if he agreed with Thorin or not. "We can establish regular meetings between our military leaders to coordinate and share intelligence. Trust is key, and transparency will be our strength."

At that moment, Bilbo entered the room, carrying a stack of maps and documents. He placed them on the table and looked around, sensing the weight of the discussions.

"I found the maps and the initial draft agreements for review,” Bilbo began. “I believe it’s crucial that we have a clear understanding of the territories and resources at our disposal."

Thorin smiled at Bilbo, appreciating his diligence and foresight. "Thank you, Bilbo. Your assistance in these matters is invaluable. Now, let us review the maps and start drafting our agreements."

The group gathered around the table, examining the maps and documents Bilbo had discovered. They began to outline the details of their trade routes, resource allocation, and defense strategies.

Bard then said, "We could also have cultural exchanges between our peoples. Understanding and respecting each other’s traditions will strengthen our alliance."

Thorin and Thranduil looked at each other questionably, unsure of what to think. The elves and dwarves despised each other since the beginning of time. Even if some clans have formed alliances with each other as a necessity, the disagreements between them still lingered through the course of existence.

“I think we should simply leave that to the people of our respective societies. I wouldn’t impose any unwanted interactions,” said Thranduil.

Thorin rolled his eyes and said, “What are you trying to imply with that, Thranduil?”

“I was not implying anything, Your Majesty,” Thranduil responded with a hint of sarcasm. “I was just saying that it should simply be up to the people to decide who they want to exchange cultural engagements with or not.”

“Listen here, if you still have a problem with us dwarves let me remind you that YOU REFUSED TO SEND HELP WHEN EREBOR WAS BEING CAPTURED YEARS AGO! IT IS YOUR FAULT THAT WE ARE IN THIS SITUATION RIGHT NOW!”

“Well, it is not my fault that your people failed to stop Smaug from wiping out your entire race!” responded Thranduil.

“Our fault? NOBODY ANSWERED OUR CALL FOR HELP!” yelled Thorin.

“Enough!” Bard raised his hands, stepping between the two leaders. “This bickering will NOT help us rebuild our societies. We must look to the future, not the past. Stop focusing so much on your differences and let us move forward once and for all!”

Thranduil took a deep breath to calm himself. “You are right, Bard, let us focus on our common goals.”

Thorin nodded, though his eyes still burned with anger. “Agreed. We need to find a way forward, together.”

Bard continued, “If cultural exchanges are to happen, they should indeed be voluntary. But we can still create opportunities for our peoples to interact, should they wish to.”

“Perhaps we could organize joint festivals or markets. Places where people can come together naturally,” said Thrnaduil, regaining his calm.

Thorin, softening slightly, added, “And maybe we can establish some neutral zones where trade and dialogue can flourish without old grudges interfering.”

Bard smiled, seeing the conversation return to a constructive path. “These are steps in the right direction. Let us put aside our differences and work towards a future where all our peoples can thrive.”

These discussions continued long into the day, with each leader contributing their ideas and concerns. Despite the challenges that lied ahead, a sense of optimism filled every corner of the room. They were forging a path to a future where cooperation and unity would bring prosperity to their lands.

When the sun began to set, the leaders decided to pause the meeting and continue early the next day. The council had seemed to be successful, and everyone hoped that it would continue to be like that. The elves went to their respective tents, Bard and his advisors headed towards Dale, and the dwarves headed to the gates of Erebor.

On the walk to the palace, everyone was talking to each other and talking about the success of the meeting. All of Thorin’s company was now filled with hope and excited to rebuild Erebor.

“I almost thought Thorin was going to beat the living shit out of Thraundil for a sec!” laughed Dwalin.

“Let us be glad he did not, because that would have started a complete new war,” interfered Balin.

“If it weren’t for Bard, I don’t think we’d be walking out of here in one piece,” Bombur added. Thorin just rolled his eyes and shook his head in amusement.

“And once again, our Master Burglar came in handy once more! How did you manage to find all of those dusty maps in the huge mess the palace is?” asked Bombur.

“Oh! Well, I already explored the library multiple times since we got to Erebor. I was trying to find something to read multiple times until I stumbled upon those maps a few times,” replied Bilbo.

“Bilbo DOES have keen eyes,” Gloin said, “He was the one who found the keyhole to the gates of Erebor. Without him, I don’t think we could’ve found it at all!”

“Even if Bilbo has keen eyes, Thorin is the only being he has eyes for,” whispered Kili to Fili. The blonde dwarf then burst into bouistrous laughter and to started to spread the joke to the rest of the company, which made everyone have fits of loud giggles. Thorin just placed his hand agianst his forehead, knowing exactly what they were talking about.

“What are you all giggling about?” asked Bilbo, curious.

“Oh, just Kili saying something dumb once again!” said Bifur, trying to play dumb. Bilbo just shrugged and continued to walk with the rest of the dwarves to the palace. As they made their way to the palace gates, Bilbo could sense the tension from Thorin’s energy. He seemed extremely stressed and tense about something, probably the meeting. Bilbo could sense it by the way he had been so quiet and slightly isolated from the group. However, the hobbit felt that the meeting wasn’t the only thing that was stressing him out.

When the Company got inside, Bilbo went after Thorin to check on him. The dwarf was in the Throne Room, looking absently at its surroundings. It looked a lot more organized since the battle, but it still needed a lot of work. Some pillars were still needing to be built, and there were still some scraps from the walls. 

“Thorin?” Bilbo called out. The king turned around to see his hobbit a few feet away from him, looking slightly concerned. His curly, golden hair was messy and tousled from the wind, and his hazel eyes seemed to be almost shining with the gold floor reflecting on them; his shirt was also slightly unbuttoned, which made Thorin stare at his exposed neck for a bit too long. His gaze lingered, but he quickly pulled himself back to the present.

“Bilbo,” Thorin smiled, relieved and nervous to see the man in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

“I came here to check on you. You look extremely stressed out and worried. I know that the council that just happened probably wore you out, but…I feel like there is something else on your mind worrying you,” said Bilbo. 

Thorin sighed deeply, running a hand through his dark, wavy hair. “You’re right, Bilbo. The council was exhaustng, but it’s not just that. The weight of everything...it’s overwhelming. The kingdom, our people, the alliances... and my own doubts.”

Bilbo stepped closer, his expression softening as he looked at the dwarf’s distressed gaze. “Doubts? About what?”

“About whether I’m truly fit to lead,” Thorin admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve made so many mistakes. I let Dragon Sickness consume me, I almost lost everything. And now, rebuilding Erebor... it’s daunting. I fear I might fail.”

Bilbo’s heart ached hearing Thorin’s vulnerability. He reached out, placing a reassuring hand on the dwarf’s forearm. “Thorin, you’ve been through so much, and yet you’re still here, fighting for your people. That takes incredible strength and courage. You’re not alone in this. We’re all here to support you.”

Thorin looked into Bilbo’s eyes, feeling a mixture of gratitude and longing. “Your faith in me means more than you know, Bilbo. I’ve also been wondering about something…”

“What is it?” Bilbo asked, sensing hesitation in Thorin’s voice.

“Are you planning on leaving Erebor?” Thorin asked, his tone shifting to a sad one.

The question struck Bilbo like a lightning. He has been missing the Shire quite a lot since he left it. He missed the green fields, the simplicity of his life, his books, his rocking chair, and the comforting energy of the place. However, he also found comfort in being amongst the Company. They were like his family, the family he never had, yet, the pull of home– his real home– lingered. He knew, deep down, that a hobbit wasn’t meant for the halls of the mountain. 

However, there was something in Bilbo that was pulling him back to the Lonely Mountain. 

But he didn’t know what it was…

Unless…

“I… I am not sure,” Bilbo responded, his voice trembling. “I…I still need to think about it. I’ve thought about the Shire, of course. I miss it– the quiet, the familiar comforts. But…”

Thorin’s eyes darkened slightly, his grip on the edge of his tunic tightening. “But?”

Bilbo swallowed, feeling the weight of the moment pressing on him. “But leaving… you all behind… it’s not an easy decision.”

Thorin stayed still as he listened, his face expressionless and his heart pounding. “You are a hobbit, Bilbo. I would never stand in the way of your return to the Shire,” Thorin said. His voice was steady, but there was a finality in the way he spoke, almost as if he were bracing himself for the answer he didn’t want to hear. Thorin had prepared for countless battles, but the idea of Bilbo leaving was one he was not ready for or could even face. 

Bilbo frowned, sensing the subtle wall Thorin had put up. He was offering Bilbo freedom, but there was an undercurrent of feeling that Thorin wasn’t voicing. “I know you wouldn’t,” Bilbo said gently, his own voice growing softer. “I just don’t know what I’ll do yet. Part of me longs to go back to the life I knew, but another part…” 

Bilbo trailed off, not entirely sure how to explain the complexity of his feelings. He was not even sure what was pulling him back. It wasn’t just the Company, or everything he had shared with the dwarves. It was something else, something specific, something he was not ready to admit just yet. 

Thorin’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, his posture remaining steady, but there was an air of quiet tension. “You are not bound to Erebor, Bilbo,” he said carefully. “You have fulfilled your duties and more. If you wish to return to your home, no one here would hold it against you.”

Bilbo’s heart clenched at Thorin’s words. The logical part of him knew that leaving was his right, that the quest had always been temporary, something to return from. However, the thought of walking away from Erebor, from everything they had built, filled him with a deep unease. 

“Thank you,” Bilbo said quietly, unsure of what else to say. “I appreciate that. I just… I need more time to think. I don’t know where I belong right now since, well, things have changed.” His voice was soft, uncertain, as if he were still trying to make sense of his own feelings.

Thorin gave a small nod, his expression unreadable but his gaze unwavering. “Take all the time you need,” he said, his tone measured, though there was an unspoken weight behind his words.

The silence stretched between them, filled with all the things neither of them could bring themselves to say. Thorin didn’t ask for more, and Bilbo couldn’t yet give it, leaving their conversation suspended in the space between their unsaid truths.

Bilbo shifted slightly, as if uncomfortable with the tension lingering between them. “I’ll think about it,” he repeated, though the words felt small compared to the storm of emotions swirling in his chest.

Thorin inclined his head, his eyes softer than before. “I understand,” he said, though his voice carried an edge of something—perhaps regret, perhaps acceptance. He didn’t press Bilbo for more, didn’t beg or plead for him to stay. Instead, Thorin offered what he always did: a steady, unshakable presence, even in the face of uncertainty.

However, Thorin wanted to beg Bilbo to stay in Erebor. The words hovered on the edge of his lips, heavy and unspoken, but pride, that stubborn companion of his, held them back. He was a king, after all– meant to be strong, unyielding, and self-sufficient. How could he ask, no– plead, for someone to stay for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with duty or the crown?

Because Thorin– no matter how much he hated to admit it– needed Bilbo.

He didn’t need him as an advisor or to fulfill some practical role within the kingdom. No, this need was something deeper, something more terrifying. It gnawed at his insides, a raw and unfamiliar sensation. The Lonely Mountain, restored to its former glory, felt... empty without the hobbit’s quiet presence. Bilbo had brought light into the shadowed halls, a warmth Thorin hadn't realized he craved until now.

Thorin’s fists clenched involuntarily at his sides. This wasn’t the kind of weakness a king should even reveal. Not to his council, not to his people– perhaps not even to Bilbo himself. Yet, it gnawed at him, the fear of watching the hobbit walk away, taking with him that rare, fleeting sense of peace Thorin hadn’t known he was capable of feeling.

And yet, Thorin remained silent.

***

Notes: I wish gay people existed.