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The snow caught everyone by surprise. And it wasn’t that the Lonely Mountain and its surrounding lands were strangers to snow or anything–but, snow in September? That was a bit of an oddity.
Nevertheless, it didn’t stop a good number of dwarves and humans alike from going out and playing with their children in the wet, white fluff that was perfect for packing snowballs.
This included one Thorin II Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain.
He gazed fondly on his nephews running about, kicking up snow and building opposing forts for the impending snowball war. He couldn’t hold back a chuckle at Fíli and Kíli’s antics–those boys would never grow up, swear to Mahal. But…that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes Thorin envied their youth, and their childlike enthusiasm. It was important to maintain a sense of fun and carefreeness even in hard times, but it was hard times that shaped much of Thorin’s personality and that was hard to let go of sometimes.
It was then that a snowball hit him on the side of the head, catching him off guard. He shivered as some of the frozen chunks slid down his neck and beneath the collar of his robes and tunic. Whoever had thrown that at him would pay dearly, oh yes.
Bilbo just chuckled from a few feet away, hiding what Thorin assumed to be another snowball behind his back. His consort wore the most shit-eating grin on his face, his cheeks rosy from the cold. “Something the matter, Thorin?” he asked innocently. Thorin didn’t buy it for a second.
Shaking the remaining snow and water from his hair, the dwarf king leveled his husband with something he hoped resembled a glare, but he couldn’t help the playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I hope you realize you’ve just declared war,” he said, crouching down to roll up his own snowball.
“Then I hope you’ll better equip yourself,” Bilbo replied, whipping the snowball out from behind his back and pelting Thorin right in the chest with it before dashing off towards Fíli‘s half-constructed fort. Thorin followed suit, his own snowball at the ready.
He gave his throwing arm all the power he could, sending the snowball flying and hitting Bilbo square in the back. That didn’t deter the hobbit, though, for he kept running and dove behind the snow wall that the blond dwarf was still building.
“Quick, Fíli, your uncle’s coming!” Thorin heard Bilbo yell. Oh, so now Bilbo was going to drag his nephew into this? So be it. As quickly as he could, Thorin packed a few more snowballs and made for an attack on the fort guarding his consort.
Just then, both Fíli and Bilbo sprung up from behind the wall, armed and ready to attack, and Thorin stopped dead in his tracks.
“Don’t you dare throw that snowball–” he said before two snowballs exploded all over his face. “Damn it!” he swore as he prepared more of his own snowballs and gave chase after Bilbo and Fíli, who were laughing all the while.
And Thorin couldn’t help but laugh along.