Authors Note
This was written as inspiration from the song "Iscariot" by Walk the Moon. Perhaps I'm just in a biblical mood!
Anyways, I just wanted to make something clear, I'm not looking for a religious debate of any sorts. I just wanted to delve a little deeper into some of the dwarves' backstories. A lot of what you'll be reading is my own personal head canons, mixed with some information provided in the films.
I'm also considering doing another series the "Seven deadly sins" for non dwarvish characters, or even LoTR. The best thing about this prompt is that is spreads throughout all fandoms!
I don't own The Hobbit.
Envy: Nori
He called himself a dwarf of little maintenance.
He appreciated the little things in life, the beautiful stones glittering in cave walls, the way children giggled as they ran through the streets, the feeling of freshly braided hair, the click of a case being opened, the cool surface of coins as they slipped from someone else's pockets into his.
"You stay away from us!" his brother said, waving a meaty finger in his face as a little Ori backed up behind his leg. "We've made a name for ourselves, we've gotten ourselves out of the gutter. We don't need you ruining our reputation with your thieving ways!"
Nori's ears turned red at his words. "My thieving ways saved us from starving more times than you can count!"
"Well it doesn't matter anymore." Dori spat. "We've had a steady income for weeks now and you still refuse to stop stealing. Don't you know when enough was enough?"
"I know when I've been cheated by the world." Nori said. "I know what it feels like to sit in rags for clothes while the rich flaunt their possessions and prance by me like I'm not worth their time! I've begged on the streets to feed us while you found a job, I got what we needed to scrape by. I did what I had to do to fill Ori's belly!"
Dori's eyebrows set. "I know." He said calmly, letting out a rumbling sigh. "But those days are past. You don't have to steal anymore, brother."
"But why shouldn't I?" he argued back. "The rich are corrupt and obviously not interested in the welfare of people like us. They would surely survive losing a few sets of spoons if it meant Ori could have more notebooks for studying."
"They are not corrupt." Dori said, shaking his head. "You are."
The door shut cautiously in front of him, and he let it.
Years later, after Dori had moved himself to a rather high social status and Ori had just finished school; they would be called on a quest to restore their former kingdom.
On said quest, Nori would steal a few candlesticks from the Imladris elves, and Dori would pretend he hadn't noticed.
Greed: Gloin
"Money cannot make you happy, but it certainly won't make you upset." Gloin's father had told him when he was young as he sat at the kitchen table, counting the coins he had made from that week's endeavors.
Perhaps he should have listened to his mother when she said that his father was not a notably good influence.
His wife's name was Niv, and she was the most beautiful thing he had seen in all of his long years.
The wedding was, naturally, extravagant. There was an array of food served, dances preformed, a great quantity of ale, as well as her beautiful dress. By the time the wedding had finished and they had settled into married life, the sum was much greater than he had imagined. Their son was wearing handed down clothes for, well, as long as he could remember. Whatever was cheap was what they would buy, and whatever wasn't absolutely necessary they would avoid.
Their humble life style wasn't just due to the wedding, but also to save for their son's own education and dreams. They put away whatever they could and remained closed mouthed to acquaintances regarded monetary matters. Gifts to friends included whatever they could scavenge from their house.
He stopped being embarrassed about it long ago, as well as Niv, who kept her wedding dress safely tucked away in her closet while she sold the rest of her belongings to pay for Gloin's participation in the quest for Erebor.
Wrath: Dwalin
Anger was not the word he would use to describe how he felt.
Neither would discontent cover it.
Ire. Ire would work.
The battle of Azanulbizar was actually a short one. The Moria orcs were driven back due to Thorin's brave retaliation, and Dwalin followed the crowd of yelling dwarfs as they charged forward, preparing to unleash whatever energy they had yet in them.
The battle escalated into a full on blood bath, with the dwarves slaying anything that stood in their way. A shout echoed to his left, and with a grimace he turned to see his father knocked to the ground, a sickly green orc towering above him with a club in hand.
Dwalin ran then, and with a shout pushed the orc out of the way, pushing his axe into the beast's hip. He bellowed in pain before crumbling to the ground to clutch his wound. The dwarf then moved to his father, and knelt by his side to see that he was in fact alive, only unconscious.
His head swiveled upon hearing Balin calling to him, and as Dwalin turned to answer he felt the full weight of someone- the orc, he would later realize- crashing into his side. Bones cracked and he grunted as he got back to his feet. By then however, he could not stop the club that came down onto his father's head. He could not stop the crunch of his skull being split open, nor could he stop the shout that left his mouth.
In a rage he swung his axe wildly, slashing the beast against his abdomen and then finishing the job by removing said beast's head.
Breathing heavily, he let his eyes wander back to his father, only to have his mouth overflow with vomit that was soon spat out.
Tears left his eyes then. He promised himself then that if he ever hit anything again, he would not hold back in the slightest.
Gluttony: Bombur
Bombur had an eating problem.
It wasn't his fault, he reasoned. He had always been a little large; there was nothing that could have helped him from this spiral into his current state.
Bofur looked at him from across the table as they sat in the hobbit's rather small dining room. The food had been set up; Bombur's eyes were wide with anticipation.
The warning look from his brother had no effect on him as the dwarves began to eat, or in his case, feed.
Later that night he would sit up against the fireplace, head tilted back as the waves of nausea passed. He took out the biscuits that he had stolen from the pantry and forced them down his throat, chewing slowly as he clutched his stomach.
After all, he had a reputation now; he had to stick to it.
Lust: Kili
The youngest of the company rested his head against the bars of his cell, watching as the red haired elf walked away. He smirked easily to himself. Women were the most fascinating creatures.
He sat back against the stone wall, eyes traveling around his empty cell. You are a son of Durin, He reminded himself. You are a dwarf!
It was true; dwarves were not ones to lust, since the women of his race were so scarce. It was usually the females that felt the intense need to mate instead of the males.
So why did he feel this way? About an elf of all things?
His throat constricted. It was in her voice, in the way she walked, in her rich amber eyes. It was the way her hair fell well below her hips and the way she smirked at his snarky comments.
He let out a sigh, resting his head against his knee.
All of this was so unnecessary.
Sloth: Ori
The scribe ignored the aching in his feet in favor of the conversation he was currently having with Bilbo. No one had told him that an adventure would be like this.
His schooling was much different, he simply sat at a desk all day, tracing words and learning languages. Riding the pony was easy enough, but running from Warg packs? Fighting Goblins? Walking for days on end? He didn't know how much more he could take.
"You alright?" Bilbo asked from his side. "You seem winded."
"Fine," Ori mumbled, wincing as the blister on his toe rubbed against his boot.
"You know," said the hobbit, "I'm not particularly fond of exercising either. I enjoy resting in my armchair.
Ori grinned politely. "But you seem fine with all of this walking about!"
"Oh, that would be the Took in me, I'm afraid."
The dwarf nodded, he knew of Hobbit bloodlines, had studied them for an entire day actually.
Up ahead Thorin and Dwalin marched steadfastly, eyes set on the horizon. How did they do it?
That night he would collapse into a heap on the ground and curl up into a ball. The next morning he would let out a soft sob as Bilbo's hand touched his shoulder to wake him up.
Pride: Thorin
"Your pride will be your downfall." The wizard had told him harshly as they stood beneath the canopy of a decayed house.
The king grinned at the irony of it, pressing a hand to his wound.
He had gotten everything he had wanted. He had regained his kingdom, Smaug was dead, his treasure was no longer poisoning him, his friends no longer hating him. He had not tried to avoid war. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind. He would win. He always had.
Because always, somehow he would pull through. Gandalf would arrive, a last minute effort would work after all, or the enemy would falter, leading to their demise.
But there was no 'despite the odds' factor, not this time.
"Hold still," The hobbit said to him, letting out a whimper at the sight of the dwarf king's wounds.
Words were exchanged after that, some he did not remember, some that would stay with him until the moment he died. Which was very soon, actually.
Bilbo's hand grasped his, his eyes pleading. Thorin smiled weakly at the hobbit.
He truly did have everything.
If only a little too late.