A/N: Well, I think I'm finally ready to start posting this story! it's one I've been thinking about for a while. I really hope everyone likes it. I know OC romances aren't always everyone's thing, but I promise to keep this as close to cannon as possible.

And I'm going to be honest here, I am no Tolkien Scholar. I do love the books and movies, but the details here aren't going to be perfect, just a warning. I write fanfics for fun and I don't have time to go into a ton of research for them, so if that's going to bother you, don't read. There's no King Hroth or Princess Solveig from the Iron Hills, I just made them up specifically for this story.

As for the rest of it, Thorin is about the human equivalent of 21-22 in this story. It's set before the fall of Erebor and apart from being a romance is also a family story. I'm going to be exploring Thorin's relationship with his father and grandfather and Thror's impending madness. I always kind of thought that maybe Thorin had a better relationship with his grandfather than with his father and that's kind of how I am portraying it in this story. Since there's not much known about Thrain and Thror's characters, I'm really just guessing here, but I hope you all like it anyhow. It's been a long time since I've written an OC romance or any kind of romance for that matter, so let me know how I do :)

And now that that's over, on to the story!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters apart from Hroth and Solveig, they belong to Tolkien and I just borrow them from time to time

A Different Kind of Madness

A Hobbit Fanfic

Chapter One

Thorin sighed deeply as he wiped the sweat from his brow onto his sleeve. He let his sword point rest against the ground for a minute as he regained his breath. He wished he could keep this up for hours, work out all his frustration and growing anxiety and not have to worry about anything else. He had all too much to worry about these days, it seemed, and it was beginning to wear on him. Especially with his father's latest news.

"Are you finally done?" Dwalin panted, sinking down on a bench at one side of the training court. Thorin looked over at his friend and offered a smile, raising his sword and pointing it at the taller dwarf.

"What, can't keep up with me, Dwalin? You're getting soft. Father's not going to allow you to be my training partner anymore if you can't even outlast me."

Dwalin glowered at him, wiping his face with a cloth before throwing it at Thorin. "I can outlast you any day, my prince. It's just that you seem to be quite determined to run yourself into the ground. You know it's not going to make any difference."

Thorin sobered again, and went to sit next to his best friend, reaching for the bucket of cold water to take a drink from the ladle before offering it to Dwalin. "I'm aware of that, Dwalin. But it keeps my mind from things that I would rather not think about."

"It might not be that bad, Thorin," Dwalin said, jostling his shoulder with a grin. "I've heard the princess is a great beauty. She'll have that, if nothing else."

Thorin turned to him with a serious glare. "You know that's not what I'm worried about. Not that I want to marry—not by force, anyway. I want to find a girl of my choosing and marry when I'm ready. Not now for political reasons. Whether she's beautiful or not, I don't care to marry Princess Solveig, and I won't if I can at all help it. Who knows if she has already set her sights on someone else? Then our marriage would be of convenience and not love and never could be, and I would never get the chance to find someone I cared for."

"You do raise a good argument," Dwalin said with a smile. "Have you discussed this with your father?"

"I haven't stopped since he announced the proposal!" Thorin groaned. "But you know how much good that does."

The last few weeks had been a hectic time of activity in Erebor, for the mountain kingdom was being readied for a contingent of dwarves from the Iron Hills. Thorin's father, Thrain, and King Hroth of the Iron Hills had been talking about a marriage to strengthen the alliance between their two kingdoms, and who better, it appeared, to do that, than their children, Prince Thorin and Princess Solveig? Yes, Thorin was quite aware of the way of things. He had known that eventually he would be faced with that problem, especially since entering the traditional year of manhood this last birthday, but it had still seemed something in the future, and nothing he would have to worry about for a long time.

But then came the problems with his grandfather, Thror. It had long been expected, and Thorin will admit that he had probably seen it before many of the others, even his own father, but it became undeniable that King Thror was slowly succumbing to the gold sickness. It had not yet consumed him completely, and for the most part he was fine, but on the days he spent too much time with his treasure, these strange bouts of madness would come over him: jealousy, even toward his own loved ones, sometimes anger and lashing out, and it was seen to be inevitable that eventually he would be consumed by the madness completely, and would no longer be able to rule Erebor as it needed to be ruled. Thrain would take the throne, yes, but he thought it prudent that Thorin ready himself for any unforeseen events, and in the uncertain times they lived in, Thorin knew it wasn't just idle precautions that drove his father to the decision. But that was his main problem with the entire situation.

He loved his grandfather dearly. In many ways, he had been more a father to Thorin, and Frerin and Dis than Thrain had. Thorin remembered many days in his youth when he would sit on his grandfather's knee and listen to the stories he would tell; so many wonderful tales that he had never wanted them to stop. And he had been the one to present Thorin with his first sword on his tenth birthday, and showed him how to use it. In recent years, he had been the one Thorin went to with his questions and when he sought advice, and he didn't want to think of their relationship ending. He hadn't told anyone about how badly his grandfather's impending madness was affecting him. Dwalin and Frerin probably knew more than anyone, and Dis, being so young, knew only that Grandfather was sick sometimes, but Thorin didn't want them to have to bear this burden too. He needed to protect his siblings, and that was just another thing that would be made more difficult if he were expected to marry and produce children of his own. Since his mother was dead, and his father was busy with the business of the kingdom, he looked after his brother and sister for the most part. And if he had children of his own, how would he be able to do that to the best of his ability?

But there was no reason to dwell on it anymore now. It wasn't set in stone that he would marry Princess Solveig, and certainly not during the time they were to visit—his father couldn't be that desperate. At the most, he would be forced into a betrothal, but he thought that he might be able to cope with that if pressed. A betrothal was not, after all, totally binding.

He was broken from his thoughts as he heard footsteps running onto the training ground and in another moment, he saw Dis run up, her skirts in a shambles as usual, and her dark hair everywhere. He couldn't help but smile and stood up to meet her, grabbing her as she ran to him and spun her around as she shrieked and giggled.

"Put me down!" she cried and he set her down on the bench so she was at eye level, and she grabbed his twin braids, yanking on them fondly.

"What are you doing out here, you little rascal?" he asked with false menace as she giggled. "I thought Frerin was with you."

"He told me to come tell you and Dwalin that it's time for supper," she said, yanking his braids again and using one to tickle his nose with.

"Oh, he did?" Dwalin asked, standing up and launching a swift tickle attack to the back of Dis' neck, making her scream and press closer to her brother. Thorin smiled, never able to be sad or angry around his little sister.

"We best go get cleaned up then," he said. "Thank you, wee one."

"I'll give you a piggy-back ride," Dwalin told her and Dis shouted in delight and leapt onto his back, kicking her heels into Dwalin's ribs.

"Giddyup!" she squealed, as he charged off inside. Thorin grinned, watching them and bent to pick up his sword, sheathing it at his side.

He knew Dwalin would get Dis back to Frerin so he took a slight detour once he got back inside and went to his grandfather's rooms. He was surprised to find Thror wandering the halls, looking lost, and Thorin went to him, a bit wary. Sometimes, if he was caught in the throws of the gold sickness, his grandfather could become violent, though he hadn't yet hit Thorin. He seemed to be one of the only people left who could calm him during one of his fits.

"Grandfather?" he asked softly, reaching out a tentative hand to touch Thror's elbow.

The old dwarf started, looking up with clearing eyes. "Ah, Thorin. I—I seem to have gotten lost. I can't remember what I was doing." He shook his head and offered a small smile. "Hazards of getting old, my lad."

Thorin forced himself to smile back, but was afraid it didn't reach his eyes. He tucked his grandfather's hand into the crook of his elbow and led him off down the hall. "It's almost suppertime, Grandfather, I was just going to get cleaned up after my practice."

"And how is your swordsmanship improving, my lad?" Thror asked.

Thorin smiled. "I think I might come to prefer it to the axe after all, Grandfather."

Thror smiled and chuckled. "Well, it is a fine princely weapon to be sure, if not quite as traditional. I don't know if your father would approve completely, but he is one for the details."

"Do you know much about King Hroth?" Thorin asked suddenly, unable to help the subject of tomorrow's visitors encroaching upon his mind. "I can't recall ever meeting him."

"Oh, you wouldn't, lad, the last time he came to our halls was when you were a wee babe. He is a good dwarf, and all that entails. And I hear his daughter is a beauty," he winked.

Thorin sighed. "That is what people keep telling me."

"You know, Thorin, your father had the same misconceptions before meeting your mother, and he ended up loving her more than I personally thought him capable of!" he sighed with a long lost look in his eye. "He has not been the same since she died, your father."

"No," Thorin said, his voice suddenly tight. His mother had died soon after Dis was born. It had been a hard birth and she lost much blood and finally succumbed to a fever a few days later. Thorin knew his father wasn't the same afterward. He had hardly spared a fatherly word for his children and would have almost nothing to do with Dis at all, so Thorin had taken in upon himself to look after her.

They had reached his door by then, and he turned to his grandfather with a kind smile. "Can you find your way to the dining hall, Grandfather? I need to wash up, otherwise no one will want me at the dinner table."

"I think I can manage it," Thror said with a twinkle in his eye that Thorin was extremely glad to see. "But a word of advice, lad, if you meet Princess Solveig looking like that, she won't be able to resist you! The lasses love a man fresh off the field of battle."

Thorin laughed genuinely then, shaking his head. "You really are determined to get me in trouble, aren't you? I'll see you at supper, Grandfather." He turned and entered his room where the servants had already readied a bath for him. He stripped out of his clothes and got in the tub, washing quickly before getting out and brushing his hair vigorously, knowing it wouldn't dry in time.

He was just dragging on a clean pair of trousers, when the door opened and he turned to see Frerin walking in, already dressed for supper, with a grin on his face as he watched his older brother hopping precariously with one leg in his trousers.

"Still not ready yet, brother? I hope this doesn't happen tomorrow as well, what with our important guests!"

Thorin growled and threw his wet towel at Frerin as he tied his trousers securely and grabbed his shirt off the end of his bed where the servants had laid it. "Stop reminding me about it. I just lost track of time in the lists."

"Trying to beat all thoughts of your impending doom out of your head at the mercy of poor Dwalin?" Frerin asked, lounging against the bedpost and ignoring his brother's snarl. "I noticed he had acquired quite a few bruises."

Thorin pulled on his tunic finally and reached for his belt before he turned back to Frerin. "Grandfather lost his way again," he said quietly.

Frerin stood up straighter, a sad look coming over his face. "Oh."

Thorin meticulously did the clasp of the belt so that he wouldn't have to look Frerin in the eye. "It's happening more and more often, Frer."

"I know," his younger brother said, scuffing his boot against the stone floor. "But everyone says there's nothing that can be done about it. It's not the kind of thing a potion will fix."

"We can get rid of the damn gold," Thorin said firmly, jerking one boot onto his foot. "It's no good, none of it. I swear, when I become king, the first thing I will do is throw it all away, or lock it somewhere deep in the earth where no one will ever find it again."

Frerin stepped forward and put a firm hand on his brother's shoulder. "I know, Thorin. But you know that will never happen."

"I know," Thorin spat and stood up with a sigh, putting an arm around Frerin's shoulders. "Come on then, let's go have supper."

They ate in the casual dining hall, just the royal family and some of their closest relations and advisors. Dwalin, and his brother Balin were there as well as Gloin and his family and Oin. Thorin felt a bout of longing, knowing that the next day they would in the grand dinning hall with dwarves he didn't know who would all be judging him to see if he was good enough for their princess, and even worse, he would be forced to fraternize, even flirt with said princess in front of everyone. He took his seat to the left of his grandfather and Frerin next to him. A servant immediately came to pour his drink.

As his plate was filled, he looked across the table, feeling his father's gaze on him.

"Have you prepared properly for tomorrow, Thorin?" Thrain asked as he picked up his knife and fork.

Thorin nodded, wishing there was some other topic of conversation, but knowing that was too much to wish for. "Yes, Father."

"You've learned all the proper protocol? Have gone over the list of proceedings?"

"Yes, Father," Thorin said again, cutting a little too vigorously into his meat.

"You have an appointment with the tailor in the morning to make sure your new outfit fits properly," Thrain continued, making Thorin wish he could hit his head against the table. "King Hroth and his convoy will be here by noon tomorrow, and you will need to be there to greet them; however the Princess Solveig will not be presented until that evening."

Thorin buried his snarl in his goblet. Presented; like she was a gift. He began to feel just as sorry for the princess as he did for himself. He felt Frerin's boot knock against his in support as he saw his older brother tense with anger.

"I'll do what I have to, Father," Thorin finally said.

Thrain have him a long look before going back to his meal. "It is what's best for the kingdom, Thorin. I know you understand that."

"Of course," Thorin said, but had nothing more he could say without letting slip something he would regret. They finished supper in near silence and Thorin left right afterward to retire for the night. Not wanting to be around anyone anymore.

He did make sure Dis got to her room and gave her a kiss, regretting leaving her without a story as he usually read to her, but the motherly dwarf maid who looked after her took her promptly in charge.

Thorin retired to his room and stripped out of his formal clothing into his nightclothes and flung himself onto his bed. He grabbed a pillow and buried his face in it, muffling his groan. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.