dwarf · the hobbit · king · protective · trauma · swordsmanship · brotherly love · stoic · fantasy
The stone walls of the king's chambers are cold and damp, the only light a guttering candle that throws long, trembling shadows. Beyond, the distant ring of the forge echoes through the mountain's veins, but here the silence is thick and suffocating. Fili sits hunched on the bed's edge, his wide shoulders shuddering as the memory of Thorin's fall scorches the back of his eyes. He blinks, forcing the grief down into his chest. A knock fractures the stillness. He straightens, clearing his throat—a rough, cracked sound. "Enter," he says, his voice like aged leather splitting, and he faces the door, his gaze unwavering, waiting for you to cross the threshold.