Title: Sleep

Author: Forged Obsidian

Rating: T

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Family

Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, various

Setting: Various settings across 'The Hobbit' films and books

Disclaimer: Still not Tolkien

Summary: The five times Thorin woke up, and the one time he didn't.

Sleep

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Erebor

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Without bothering to light the candles, Thorin dragged himself into his rooms, feet scuffing along the floor and arms held limply at his sides. He slipped off his blue coat and let it fall to the ground, the fabric folding and twisting as it got caught momentarily on his large hands. With a practiced flick of his feet he managed to throw off his boots. He simply didn't have the energy to bother with anything else.

Grandfather hadn't left the treasury vault all day, and Thorin doubted that his king had gone to his own chambers and wife since yesterday. Thorin's own father had been called down into the deep mines of the mountain to see to some quarrel or another. That had left Thorin alone with the visiting dignitaries. While nothing too stressful had been discussed, much of the talk had been of tedious subjects that everyone wanted to avoid, and as such they were the worst topics to go over. It would take more time than the young dwarf prince had to count the number of times he had wanted to stand up and yell until everyone was forced to listen to him.

Strangely, none of his anger could be directed toward the elves.

Thranduil, seeing as the trade talks involved the road through Greenwood, was present, though not prominently. While Thorin, as well as most any other dwarf, was not overly fond of elves, in this case the strange peace their race possessed was a calming presence throughout the heated talks. And when the feeling alone was not enough to calm the yelling and chest pounding, when Thorin felt most that everything was going out of his control, the strange elven king would simply look at him and give him a small nod.

You are in charge here, the motion seemed to say. Your father trusts you, and so do I.

The one time the yelling had been near deafening the elf had the self control to look at the young dwarf with a singular eyebrow raised, and a small eye roll. Thorin, who really was not used to the intense court life, had to stifle a chuckle at the strange look on Thranduil's face. Always before the presence of his father had been enough to keep the talks at least somewhat civil, if no more productive. Without him, and with Thorin having learned little of the position of a solo royal in court, the lords and keepers argued to their heart's content.

And that had only been the first half of the day.

The rest had been spent running around Erebor, making connections and arguing points that the council had been pushing forward that needed the input of merchants and craftsmen. The end of the day had seen much less physical exertion, though in many ways it was the worst part. Thorin had taken a plate of food - simple things such as cheese and bread - to the treasury, in an attempt to get his king to take a meal. It had been as if Grandfather hadn't seen him at all. He had simply knelt at the edge of a gold pile, running coins and gems through his fingers. Thorin had talked to him, told him that they needed him back, that the young prince missed the laugh, the strength, the look on his Grandfather's face when the old king picked up his younger sister, Dís, and swung her around.

In the end Thorin left the plate in the treasury, next to Grandfather's knee. He held no hope for it to be empty when it was retrieved in the morning.

The pillow felt blessedly soft, the blanket just heavy enough to hold him together. Another day like this one may tear him apart. He didn't even bother to turn out the candles before letting his eye lids scrape closed over his eyes.

The next thing he knew a small presence was next to him, shaking his shoulder and breathing in his ear, "Thorinthorinthorinthorinthorinthorin . . . "

"Hnnnn?" The young prince raised his head to see his brother on the edge of his bed, one hand curled around the shirt of his older brother, the other gripping his younger sister. "Wha . . . "

"You really should remember to blow out the candles, brother. Otherwise your room would burn down and mother would have to give you Dís's old crib to sleep in," the dwarfling chattered. Dís, rather than being sleepy eyed as Thorin had expected her to be, was wide eyed and climbing up onto the bed next to her golden haired brother. Their braids had been undone before they had been sent to their own beds, and their hair had tangled and snarled into lumps that bulged our of the sides of their small heads.

Raising a hand to rub at his eyes, Thorin sighed and scooted over to make room. "Why are you two here?"

"'Cuz my bed is to small and Dís wouldn't stop moving around. 'Sides, 's more fun to sleep with you." Thorin grunted and grabbed at his sister, placing her on his other side. She burrowed into the blankets, then with a devilish grin, shoved her cold feet against what little bare stomach was peeking through Thorin's shirt.

A very un-princely garble escaped him before he could control himself. Shoving her now-warm feet away, Thorin twisted to look at his sister and said, in the most threateningly way possible, that she was to settle down or she could sleep on the floor, thank you very much.

Dís simply giggled and pulled the blankets up over her head.

Looking to his other side, Thorin saw Frerin had dragged the blankets down so that he could curl up against the thigh of his older brother. The dwarfling was already asleep, one hand thrown out to the side to dangle over the edge of the bed. Thorin sighed, and pulled his brother closer. He could feel Dís settling beside him, her breathing lengthening and becoming deeper. He glanced at the candles.

It could not have been that long since he first fell into bed. The candles still had enough wick and wax left to burn for some time yet. However, how on earth could he possibly blow them out? He had been expertly trapped by two young dwarflings, one of which had even mentioned blowing them out but had not bothered to do so.

Thorin smiled, grunted, and lay back down to sleep, shifting as little as possible so as not to wake his siblings.

Even if the improbable happened and his stone rooms caught fire, he could always make Frerin sleep in the crib.

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Hark! For I have attempted humor!

This is really part 1/6, with the other bits to come soon. This is something that popped into my head. I think a few of you may be able to guess how this little series will end.

Thank you for taking the time to read my work, as always.

While I am in no stretch of the mind a dwarven expert - enthusiast may be a better word - it seemed to me that Thorin didn't mind Thranduil, and was confused when Thráin didn't give the white gems to the elven king. He truly did think that Thranduil was going to help his people in the aftermath of Smaug, and that requires trust.

Originally Published: 2/2/2014

Edited: 7/30/2016