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Thorin looked down at the little bundle in his arms curiously.
This was - apparently - a Hobbit. Balin had told him that Hobbits were considered to be off-shoots of the race of Men, but this one had pointy ears like the Elvenking and his son did.
The Hobbit’s parents weren’t taking their arrival very well. While his amad, the Princess Rís, was trying to be diplomatic with them, his adad wasn’t helping by glowering from across the room. Frerin wasn’t really helping either, running around the…hole? while asking improper questions and he’d scraped his boots on a box when he’d arrived, which had cause the adult hobbits to flutter complaints…something about glory boxes, whatever those were.
The little hobbit didn’t seem to notice any of this though, honey brown eyes fixed on Thorin and, with a pudgy fist, reached out and tugged one of Thorin’s braids, the one that showed he was one of Durin’s heirs. The princeling chuckled slightly, before becoming serious.
“I’ll always protect you little one," he promised lowly in Khuzdul, "From now until my dying day." He pressed his lips on the tawny curls, by way of sealing the vow.
“Thorin!” Thrain barked suddenly, breaking the moment, “Come along son, we have to go now.”
"But…but-" Thorin began to protest. He’d only just found the little one and he didn’t even know his name!
"Come now, my little warrior, you’ve found him, you’ll know where he’ll be." Rís soothed her eldest, running her hand down his dark hair. Thorin pouted slightly, before shuffling towards the - his - little one’s mother.
“I’ll come back, I promise." he whispered.