Hello Everyone,
So I am hopelessly in love with the movie's portrayal of one of my all time favorite books. As I watched the film for the 6th time I really began wondering what was going through Thorin's mind. He is always so quiet and pensive. So, I have decided to tell the story through the POV of Thorin. All I can say is that there will be nothing (or very little) in here that isn't in Peter Jackson's movie (heaven help me if he releases an extended edition… I may have to add more chapters!). I'm using the movie as a creative challenge to see how well I can stay in character with the very sexy Thorin that Richard Armitage has created. I hope that you enjoy!
Curse that wizard and his blasted directions, Thorin thought to himself as he retraced his steps for a second time. He cast a long look over the vast, hilly, plain before him. He had walked its perimeter – using the forest for cover – once already and had spent the past half-hour navigating the winding walkways. The simple walkways – which were really more like packed dirt that had been trod on by so many feet that the grass was unable to ever grow there than actual planned and constructed paths – told him much about the values of the people who lived here… they certainly did not lay in the building of an effective fortress. Thorin was unfamiliar with these rustic lands and had no idea of the dangers that may lurk in their shadows, but was quite surprised by the evident lack of concern for safety this Shire demonstrated. Though his instincts told him that it must be a peaceful place, he was ever watchful and vigilant. He imagined that a very poor, unwanted and unskilled people must live here if they were forced to dig their homes into the sandy dirt of the hills rather than carve them out of stone – like the proud homes of the dwarfs – or build them from wood and above ground – like the homes of men. He was on his second turn of the area and getting increasingly frustrated. Why hadn't Gandalf just given him a map like any other normal being would have done?
He was about to curse the wizard aloud and return the way he had just come, when he saw a glinting light. He waited, scanning the horizon. The tops of the hills were barely discernible from each other – the quickly fading light of evening having long been extinguished, the light of the pale moon and stars were his only aids. Then, it glinted again. He saw it clearly this time, a silvery-blue light, not far from where he was now. He approached with caution until he was close enough to see that the light was a dwarvish rune that had been scratched on the large, round, wooden door in Gandalf's unmistakeable hand. Thorin heard the sound of deep and joyful voices raised in song along with a lot of the crashing and clattering and the music of whatever accompanying instruments they had managed to find. He hesitated on the doorstep, enjoying the happy sound of his countrymen who had managed, for a short time, to forget their troubles. He supressed a smile when he heard their clamorous laughter at the song's end and wondered what in Middle Earth the others had managed to get into in his absence. He knocked twice, firmly on the door.
"Gandalf," he was relieved and extremely pleased to see the great wizard standing – rather stooping, as was the case, because of the low doorway – before him, "I thought you said this place would be easy to find," he said with a hint of reproach as he moved past the wizard and into the brightly-lit hall. "I lost my way… twice," he openly admitted in hope that the wizards would feel some remorse for his negligence, and also as a partial excuse for his tardiness, "I wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door." He added as he unclipped the fastening of his cape. He glanced around the hall swiftly and was pleasantly surprised by his surroundings which he had honestly not expected to be much better than a troll cave.
He vaguely heard a small, alarmed, voice exclaim in opposition to his comment about the door and Gandalf give some kind of reply, but paid it little attention as he folded his cape and cast welcoming glances over his fellow countrymen. It was good to see them all here… it had been a long time. He turned in time to see the dark curly locks of back of a stranger's head: a small man was standing between himself and Gandalf who was making their introduction, "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company… Thorin Oakenshield."
The stranger turned at Gandalf's sweeping motion and Thorin looked into the large, dark, eyes of a very timid-looking creature with fine, handsome, features. Thorin approached and crossed his arms over his chest as he examined him, supressing a smile at the little creature's awed reaction and strange appearance… "So, this is the hobbit," he said quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. He had wondered what such a creature would look like and was quite surprised to find that a hobbit was simply a smaller, frailer version of a dwarf… and was, oddly, completely beardless. He looked more like a young human child really… hardly old enough to learn to ride never-mind fight. "Tell me Mr. Baggins," he began as he walked around the hobbit who shifted uncomfortably, "Have you done much fighting? Axe or Sword? What is your weapon of choice?" he asked the questions in quick succession, not really expecting much of a reply.
"Well I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know," Mr. Baggins said, puffing out his chest and looking quite proud of himself, "but I fail to see why that's relevant," he added – looking more than a little deflated at Thorin's lack of reaction. He was certainly out of his league if he believed a small children's game of conkers counted as practise with a weapon. The little Halfling hesitantly met Thorin's eye. Thorin glanced at his comrades, thoroughly amused by this being whose face hid nothing of his thoughts from those around him.
"Thought as much," he responded. Then, to his comrades, he added, "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar." His comment gained a chuckle from the entire company, except of course, from the butt of the joke – the hobbit himself – who looked both irritated and a little crestfallen.
Thorin turned into the next room where he was led to a comfortable place to sit and eat. Though he'd maintained his composure, he was grateful for the already prepared meal… he was starving, and a hungry dwarf is a force to be reckoned with. The others joined him around the table, and glanced at him with eager eyes, but he was in no hurry to share the disheartening news he carried with him just yet.
As he gratefully partook of his soup, he cast not a second thought upon the hobbit whose home now sheltered him and his men. He knew from first glance that the weak, timid, little creature would not accompany them in their task. It was the first time in a long time that the instincts of the great dwarf lord would betray him… that a first impression, unbeknownst to him at this time, would turn out to be wholly wrong.