When Blossom came to, she had expected it to be a dream. Her pantry would still be full and she would not have more than a dozen dwarves in her smial. Seeing an unknown dwarf at her bedside proved that she had not been dreaming and everything had, unfortunately, been true.
"How long was I out master…?" She trailed off, not sure on his name. She remembered the first four – Dwalin, Balin, Fili, and Kili- as well as the rude Thorin. The others evaded her.
"Oin, Miss. I am a healer in Ered Luin," he explained, smiling to her. Blossom nodded her head, sitting up from the bed. So they had found her room. "You have only been out for half an hour," He confirmed helping her up from the bed. Blossom thanked him softly and headed out of her bedroom. The rough shouts of Khuzdal reverberated through her smial and she entered the sitting room to see just exactly who it was.
The Dwarf from before, Thorin, was shouting at the familiar blond who had been around for all of Blossom's life. She could not remember a good day without him.
"Frerin?" She called, gaining the attention of the shouting Dwarves. She had never seen the blond so angry before. Not even after the Fell Winter. But the second his blue eyes landed on her, kindness and love refilled them.
"Bloss! Are you alright?" The dwarf fussed over her, stepping into her space. His hands trailed over her face, brushing her soulmark as he had done all her life. It was in Khuzdal, but the blond would never tell her what her heart's name was.
"You know this Halfling? You have hidden my brother from me!" Thorin boomed advancing on Blossom, but Frerin stood in the way.
"You will do well to remember whose home you are currently in brother mine," Frerin's voice was deep, an edge to it that scared Blossom briefly. Never in her life had her Dwarf friend been so hostile. Not even with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and her snide comments! So seeing him cold and rude with his family, his blood family, had shaken something within her. The Dwarves around the royal family seemed just as afraid, as off put as herself.
"My Prince," one of the Dwarves began, taking a step towards the blond and his Hobbit, but a growl stopped him. Frerin held his dear friend protectively to his chest, despite her struggles against him.
"You would also do well to remember that I gave up that title more than forty years ago, Balin," He snarled, his grip tightening on Blossom. It got to the point where the pain of the grip caused her to cry out softly. Surprising her, it was one of the younger princes who voiced their concern.
"Uncle please release our Hobbit," the blond prince, remarkable in his similarities with Frerin, spoke, gesturing to his uncle's bundle. As if to prove his point, Blossom let out another small cry. Frerin's arms immediately fell and the Hobbit lass quickly backed away from him. The blond princeling hooked a hand in the cook of her elbow and pulled her from Frerin and Thorin. Blossom settled between the blond - Fili, her mind supplied - and Kili. Both princes could sense how important this Hobbit was to their "lost" uncle and each put a hand on her back to comfort her.
"Thank you," she whispered meekly, watching her Dwarf friend warily. She was worried for him and the princes' touch calmed her significantly.
"At your service," Kili nodded his head, Fili's head bobbing as well though he did not speak. He was focused on his uncles as they practically stood toe-to-toe with each other, both tense and appearing to be in an intense stare off.
"What do you mean you gave the title up?" Thorin finally broke their stare off, chest heaving. Something, however, vulnerable flashed in those blue eyes. Blossom felt a surge of empathy for the brothers. There was something between them.
"I told Dain! Stop pretending you do not know! I relayed to Dain where I was and my desire to stay with Belladonna Baggins; the hobbit who cared for my injuries. You are the one who never came!" Frerin's voice cracked as he revealed the last part. Blossom had no doubt in her heart that her Dwarf had seen the vulnerability in his brother's eyes. Frerin was the middle child and probably not accustomed to – or ever – seen his big brother weak and open.
"Dain! You told Dain! Why did you not write myself or Dis?" Thorin's anger was back with vigor, betrayal showing on his face. Blossom could feel the princes grip the back of her shirt. She leaned closer to Fili, feeling the tremble in the prince's body. The tension was clear in the room, all the Dwarves shifting awkwardly as they watched the brother seethe in each other's faces. It was clear to see that emotion was not easily shown in Dwarven culture and to see the brothers so open had shaken their company. There was an underlying feel in the air. That something had not been said yet. Something that would ruin the brothers.
You, dear reader, will see soon enough, but as for Blossom she focused on Fili and how he clenched her tighter, though mindful of how tight his grip was. Seeing as they called Thorin and Frerin uncle, she concluded they were the princess Dis' sons. They probably had spent a long time without their mother's touch and, seeing as she was a woman, Blossom was the stand in. She did not mind much, it had been long since someone had sought her for support and the princes touch made her calm as well.
"You fell Thorin!" Frerin shouted, the Dwarves and Hobbit sucking in a breath and tensing. It had been said, the unspoken words that would bring the brothers down. "Who was I to send it to? A corpse? Our grieving sister?" The instant Frerin had finished, he was crushed into Thorin's chest, both brothers clinging to the other as their shoulders shook. Kili let out a soft noise of distress at the words of Frerin. Blossom acted without preamble, pulling the brunet to her. The prince secured himself to her side, clutching her waist while reaching across her to grab his brother. Fili stood stock still until his brother touched his arm. That is when the Hobbit lass found herself crushed between two distressed Dwarrow princes. She held fast however, cradling Kili's neck and stroking Fili's forearm from where it was wrapped around her waist. She held them close because she knew their fears and worries. You see, our dear Hobbit was well versed in the nightmare that had been the Battle of Moria.
It was foolish for them to believe this was anything, but a suicide mission. Their King, Thror, was desperate, their whole race was with the desolation of Smaug so close to their hearts and fresh in their minds. Sure they had found a home within the Blue Mountains, where the women and Dwarflings were currently waiting for them to return. Nothing held, however, to the King's wish for a grand kingdom. Gold sickness had plagued the king since before Smaug and he was beside himself without his heart of the mountain, the Arkenstone. A gem that will come to mean a lot by the end of Miss Baggins' story.
The battle was helpless, their numbers easily diminished by the orcs and goblins that over ran the once beautiful Dwarven kingdom. Frerin understood the desperation his grandfather felt. Erebor was his home as well and he longed for another, but this was a losing battle. Their army was already wearing thin after Smaug and to even think of fighting another battle was moronic. But Frerin was not the king or even the direct heir, he was third in line with his sister-sons being fourth and fifth. They were too young, Kili barely off Dis' breast. Hopefully the young Dwarves would never have to face the harsh realities of being heirs or, Mahal forbid, king.
"Duck!" Thorin's voice sounded over all of the mess of battle, the younger brother following his brother's orders even if it was not directed at him. As always though, it was and Frerin ducked out of the way of a goblin archer, twisting around to gut the creature. Frerin stayed close to his brother, his non-dominant hand pressed to Thorin's side whenever he was close to him. Their brother-in-law, Vili stood at their side as well against the beasts. It was looking well before a shout sounded from Frerin's back. Thorin. The blond prince spun, trusting Vili to cover him. The giant orc, white and ugly, held their grandfather's head in his grasp, tossing it to the ground. Frerin could feel the blood run cold in his veins, hands reaching to grab his brother. Thorin attempted to jerk from his grip, but Frerin was quicker.
"Thorin think!" He shouted, spinning his brother and pressing his forehead to the brunet's. Thorin was heaving, trembling in rage. The older prince pressed a kiss to his brother's cheek and cupped his cheek.
"Stay safe brother," Thorin ordered, pulling away and pressing his forehead to Vili's forehead. Frerin watched helplessly, knowing he could not stop Thorin. He was the king now with their grandfather killed and their father lost. Frerin intended to follow Thorin to help him fight, but the lull in the battle only lasted long enough for Thorin to leave his side and advance on the white orc. Soon enough Vili and Frerin were surrounded by feral goblins.
The young prince fought. He fought for his brother and his kingdom – their kingdom. He fought for Dis, who had two Dwarflings at home that deserved their father and uncles back in one piece. He fought for himself, for his will to live and see a new day. To see Fili and Kili. To see Thorin's coronation, even without a throne. Frerin gave his all to the fighting, feeling as if they could actually win. That feeling, as you must know by now dear readers, did not last.
It had all happened when Frerin turned to check on his brother, his king, and saw Thorin thrown into a mess of goblin corpses. The prince, however, focused entirely on his brother's prone form, tears burning his vision as the orc Azog stood over Thorin, sword ready to deliver the killing blow. Frerin turned, not willing to watch. Had he watched, things would be much different. Frerin grabbed Vili's shoulder and squeezed with all his might.
"Long live the king," he said, his voice cracked and rough from battle and heartbreak. Despair drew over Vili's face and his heart filled with sorrow for the prince and his family. The boys would be crushed. The blond prince began to fight their way out. The battle was lost without Thorin. Frerin had nothing to live for, hollowness filling his soul. He paused to brush the symbols just along his jawline. Vili urged the despairing Dwarf on. The two raced from battle, killing any goblin that followed. It was only once they reached a river that the two stopped breathing heavy.
Frerin could not tell if it was the rushing water or the rushing blood in his ears that was hindered his hearing. The only thing that echoed through his head were Thorin's last words to him. Stay safe brother. He should have made his brother promise the same thing. He should have made him swear to live or forced him to run. Mahal knows Thorin would not win had he taken the orc down anyhow. Emptiness spread through Frerin's body as he watched his brother-in-law lean down to the river to wipe the blood from his face. Frerin was sure he looked like a sight as well. But he could not do that. No, he could not move from where he was rooted to the side of the river bank. Even when more enemies approached.
"Frerin!" Vili shouted in warning, picking up his bow and started to pick off the goblins before they reached them. Frerin held his sword loosely in his hand, knowing he should fight, protect his sister's husband, that Thorin would want him to fight, but the thought of even lifting the heavy steel tired him. He was so tired. It was not until the first arrow sunk into his shoulder that the blond prince snapped back to his senses, the pain anchoring him to the earth. Anger like no other spread through his core, lifting his sword and with a cry, he tore through the first handful of goblins that tried to encircle them. He wanted revenge. He wanted to avenge Thorin. He fought hard, ignoring the arrow in his shoulder. The warrior even broke off the part not embedded in him so he would not be hindered in his movements. Snarls and rushing water were the only sounds that filled the air. Both Dwarves were angry and desperate to live.
Before too long the mass had begun to shrink, the prince killing anyone who got too close to his archer. With Frerin focused fully on the goblins who were in close reach, he was easily surrounded and herded away from his sister's husband without even realizing it. Frerin had just managed to cut down the last of the goblins surrounding him when the whizzing of an arrow sounded through the air. He looked up from where his blade was buried in a goblin's head to see that Vili had emptied his quiver long ago and was fighting with one of his swords. So where had the arrow come from? Frerin was about to call to Vili when he realized the only one who would have arrows.
It happened in slow motion. Vili was turning to look at his prince when a arrow went straight through his throat, halting the dwarf in his question. Frerin let out a roar in outrage, fighting his way to Vili as the Dwarf fell to the ground, arrow protruding from his neck. Frerin dropped his sword once he reached Vili, not caring that more goblins were coming. He gently touched the wound, his eyes wide as he allowed the tears to fall. Vili's own eyes were widen and he was shaking. He was trying to say something, but Frerin had quickly shushed him, not wanting him to hurt himself more. Vili was relentless however, tugging the prince's hand from his mouth.
"Live. For Dis and the boys. For Thorin," Vili stuttered out, slowly choking on his blood as it filled his throat. Frerin let out an agonizing sob, burying his face in his friend's chest. Not only had he lost Thorin and a friend, but his sister a husband and his nephews their father. And he last wish was for him to live? Frerin would honor that. The thought came a bit too late for the prince seeing as he reached for his sword, a deformed blade slammed through his back, almost clean through if the blade was not so distorted. Frerin raised his sword, beheading the goblin who had pierced him, but more followed and he could not keep up. Arrows and stab wounds littered the Dwarf before he finally managed to get to the river. He had planned to take Vili with him, but the fallen Dwarf was swarmed and the prince fared no better. With a deep breath, Frerin prepared to enter the rushing rivers and prayed that he ended up in the Iron Hills or even with the Elves. Before Frerin could ease himself in the water, an arrow sunk into his back knocking the prince off his feet and into the rushing rapids. Frerin's last thought before he lost consciousness was Thorin's last words. Stay safe brother.
As you know, this is not the end of Frerin or Thorin of the line of Durin, but it felt like the end to the two brothers. Both assuming the other had fallen in the battle. Frerin did not know that Thorin had actually taken up an oak branch as a shield, earning the name Oakenshield and Thorin did not know that his brother survived floating down the rapids. What neither of them knew was where those rapids led. Frerin found out however when he awakes, something he did not believe he would ever do, to a young woman dressing the many wounds on his chest. He was in a comfortable room, the bed a tad big for him, but it did not matter in his injured state. He was not sure how he had survived or how he had come to be in this home. He last remembered the shooting pain of an arrow and the cold embrace of the water.
"Oh good you are awake!" The woman smiled brightly, reaching around his head to fluff his pillow. Her curls hung wildly around her face, framing in perfectly and her eyes were kind, if a bit mischievous like his sister's. He fumbled to get his mouth to work, to answer her, to ask where he was, but only a rough grunt came out. "Where are my manners!" The woman exclaimed, bounding out of the room to go grab something. Frerin was taken aback by lack of shoes or more simply the hair on the slightly big feet. He knew that Dwarves were hairy beings, but he did not know any to have hair on their feet. And he did not think the Big Folk did either. So what was this creature?
Frerin had so many questions by the time the woman returned, a man trailing behind her nervously. He appeared to be her husband if the fond looks he sent her were anything to go by. The woman had a glass of water, which she offered to him, helping him take careful sips from the small glass. The water cooled his throat and the roughness disappeared after a few sips.
"There we go; now would you like to cry again?" She asked, her smile kind and Frerin's stomach curled with memories of his mother. Mahal, how he missed her. He cleared his throat slightly, shifting up on the bed. The lass did not take to kindly to that, fussing about his upper body and grumbling about how he was going to injured himself even more.
"Sorry ma'am," he said sincerely, bowing her head to her. The woman stood still at his voice, obviously not expecting his dialect or the deepness of it. She did gesture for him to continue, her smile never falling from her lips. Frerin had instantly knew he would like this woman. "But who are you?" He continued, biting his lip nervously. He did not want to see rude or ungrateful for her help. With her easy smile, he knew he had done neither of those things.
"I am Belladonna Took, soon to be Baggins. This is my fiancée Bungo Baggins," she introduced, gesturing to the man at her back. He looked like a rather nice man, though seemingly protective of his future wife. Frerin could respect that since he was a stranger and a tad bigger than them both.
"It is a pleasure to meet you Miss. Belladonna. I am Frerin," he bowed his head in welcome, deciding that he did not want to be a Durin if Thorin was not alive. He sent a silent apology to his sister and her sons, knowing that he had ruined Fili's childhood by refusing to take the throne. It was never his dream to take the throne and Dis could do so until her Fili was old enough to take it.
"Pleasure Frerin," she nodded, while Bungo said his own welcomes. He was more reserved than Belladonna, though he seemed just as curious as Belladonna did.
"If you do not mind my asking, where are we?" Frerin asked cautiously, hoping they were not going to hold him hostage. He was injured yes, but he would heal before too long and he would like to wander the world before going to join his brother in Mahal's halls.
"Why you are in the Shire of course! More specifically Hobbiton."
As soon as the moment had happened, it was over and Frerin had pulled back from his brother. He was facing away from Blossom, but she was sure that she would be able to see the tears in his eyes that mirrored Thorin's own. Blossom brushed her fingers through Kili's hair, not caring that they had just met. The young Dwarf need comfort, comfort that he had sought from her apparently. Her mother would have comforted their guest, should they need it, and anything Belladonna would have done to sooth her guests, Blossom would do too. Fili was a bit more composed than his brother, but he held them tightly, one arm around her midsection while the other circled around to hold Kili's shoulders. He was whispering in Khuzdal over her head, Kili responding to whatever his brother had said to him. She had always loved the gruff language, but Frerin had been adamant of not teaching it to her. It was a secret language and even though Frerin had left his Dwarven life behind, he would not break the trust of his people. She knew the very simplest of words, mostly curses from the multitude of times Frerin had said them.
"Fili, Kili," Thorin's rough voice sounded through the quiet sitting room, the princes straightening at the stern tone in their uncle's voice. They slowly, almost reluctantly, pulled away from her and made their way to their uncle. For an odd reason, Fili seemed the most reluctant, giving her waist a quick squeeze before he released her fully. Blossom was cold without their touch, but seeing Thorin wipe the tears from his youngest nephew's eyes, she knew it was for the best. The young princes took their place behind Thorin, both staring at Frerin with longing, but did not step to him. They did not want to overwhelm him.
"We have much to talk about, about our journey brother. Halfling, fetch us some tea." Ever the gracious host, Blossom had moved to go start tea, but a rough growl paused her in her steps. Frerin had backed away from his brother once more, shaking his head in disbelief.
"You will not talk to your host like that. At least not around me," Frerin said, his throat rough, but his eyes sure. Stubborn Dwarf, Blossom thought fondly, reaching forward to clasp Frerin's wrist to gain his attention.
"It really is quite alright Frerin," she smiled gently, patting his shoulder reassuringly. Her eyes stopped on the strange markings on his jaw, having looked at them all through her childhood. She remembered how she had begged for him to tell her what the letters meant, but he had refused. Told her that his heart was long gone and that it was just a tattoo now. She did not believe it as a fauntling, lost too broad of a subject to manage in her small head of wondrous worlds outside the Shire. As she grew up, she began to believe her own heart had passed as well. Frerin had insisted that she would find him, he had at least confirmed he was a male, but would tell her no more.
Gathering tea for the company, Blossom settled in her armchair, Frerin perched on the arm as he glared at Thorin. The brunet glared right back, jealousy and betrayal easy to read on his face, even Blossom could tell that he was upset with his brother's fondness from her. She did not feel much sympathy for Thorin however. He had brought this upon himself, treating her as the mud that would plague his boots when it rained.
The rest of the night went rather well, with them talking of business and the logistics of their journey. Blossom kept her eyes down to her lap as she listened, though she perked up at the mention of maps, not wanting to gain unwanted attention from Thorin. She only looked up once and when she had, her eyes had met Fili's from across the way from where he sat with his brother at their uncle's feet. Their eye contact held for a few seconds before the Hobbit looked away, a blush rising to her cheeks. She could practically hear Fili's smirk from across the room however.
"So now you know brother, will you join us in reclaiming our home?" Thorin said, hope laced in his voice as he stared at his little brother. There was no way that Frerin would refuse going to see their home again and reclaiming it from Smaug the terrible.
"You said you need a burglar," Frerin restated softly, his eyes drifting to the Hobbit at his elbow, fondness filling his chest. He had promised Belladonna he would protect her little baby, prepare Blossom for all of her adventures and teach her that the world was not at all like the Shire. Frerin had believed he had done the best he could, but Blossom had taken more to Bungo in the lieu of her parent's deaths. Wanting to uphold the Baggins name and forsaking her practices with him. They used to practice every day and now they would only practice once or twice after Frerin insisted that Belladonna would not want her daughter unprotected.
"Yes," Thorin said, dread filling his chest as he watched how his brother gazed at the Hobbit. Jealousy flared in his chest and his eyes narrowed slightly.
"You believe that to be Miss Blossom here?" Frerin questioned, already knowing the answer. He already knew Blossom's answer. No matter how much his heart yearned to be at Thorin's side, his logic side won. He was to protect Blossom till his dying days, even though she was bound to pass before he would. He would protect her children the same as he would protect her.
"You are asking rhetorics now brother, yes," Thorin sighed, his dread clawing at his ribcage. He could not do this journey without his brother, not now. Not after just getting him back.
"Blossom, are you going to go on this journey to the Lonely Mountain?" Frerin asked softly, turning to look at his friend. She was his family as well. Her and her parents had been. Just as much as Dis and his nephews had been.
"I cannot. Respectable Baggins do not go on adventures," the Dwarves in the room began to kick up a fuss, knowing they needed a burglar if they wanted to ever get in the mountain. Blossom felt bad slightly, but that was her decision. She would not stop Frerin from making his. Even if it was to leave her.
"Then you have my decision Thorin," Frerin concluded simply, hearing gasps from the room, the Hobbit included.
"Frerin you cannot do that! This is your family," she said, feeling her eyes burn as her head shot up to meet Frerin's gaze. He could not possibly stay here with her. He had spoken for years of the Lonely Mountain and his brother and nephews. He had even considered going to the Blue Mountains one day to see his sister, despite telling her he never wished to return to the halls that Thorin once walked. Though that was in vain now seeing as Thorin was alive and Frerin's letter had apparently never reached the princess.
"You are my family too, Bloss. I was there when you were born and I will be stupid to leave you again, especially on a journey that I will not know when I would be back," he said, the unspoken words of winter being translated between the two. Blossom let her tears fall, burying her face in Frerin's side.
"You cannot be serious Fr- "Thorin began, fury on his face, but desperation as well. He could not leave his brother, but he could not go back to the Blue Mountains without claiming Erebor. Frerin held up a hand cutting his brother off however.
"I will not be leaving Miss Blossom," he stated firmly, glancing around at the Dwarves, daring any of them to object. His eyes lingered on Fili a bit longer, wondering how the prince was taking the interactions between him and Blossom, but the blond prince had a cold mask on. "If you will excuse me, my dear Hobbit has had an overwhelming night and should get a good night's rest," Frerin said, standing up from the chair and pulling Blossom with him. The Hobbit was inconsolable, crying into the Dwarf's side with abandon. Frerin had not seen Blossom cry like this since her parents' funerals. He led them to her bedroom, helping her sit on the bed and sinking to his knees in front of her and resting his head in her lap. "You must understand my choice, Blossom," he whispered, begging her to not hate him. He loved his family and missed Erebor, but he could not go on a suicide mission and lose everything. Not again.
"You stubborn Dwarf," she cried, a bitter laugh escaping her throat as she tilted his head up, her fingers prodding the marks on his neck. "It is his name." It was more of statement than a question, but Frerin nodded regardless, burying his face in her lap. The Hobbit comforted her Dwarf, her own tears falling. There the two sat as a soft hum sounded through the smial, drifting from the sitting room where the rest of the Dwarves sat, stunned by their lost prince's devotion to this little Hobbit.
"Far over the misty mountains cold…To dungeons deep and caverns old"