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Thorin had heard about Hobbits. Heard that they were merciless demons of the sea, pillaging and plundering, breaking and burning everything in their path. Hobbits were the worst pirates of the seven seas. Scum of the earth. Their captain, Sting, was no exception. He was the worst of them all, people fleeing at the mere mention of his name. Sting was a true terror. A true monster.
The monster that had to go and kidnap his nephews.
The ruler of the island of Erebor glared at the maps before him, having left his advisor Balin in charge as he lead this rescue mission. He would do all that he could to save his nephews, after all. His poor, sweet, innocent nephews. He knew that their small boat trips to the their small island hideaway was a bad idea. That pirates could easily find them and take them to do what they will to them. He shuddered to think what could be happening to them.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”
He looked up as the door banged open, revealing one of his harried soldiers.
“Commander Bofur,” He replied, straightening. “What is it?”
The jeers and the roars of battle hit his ears before Bofur’s response could.
“It’s the Hobbits, sir! They’re trying to take our ship!”
They both left Thorin’s quarters in a rush, pushing at each other to get to the deck to help their men defend their ship. They drew their swords and readied themselves for a possible blood bath.
When they finally reached the deck, they froze at the sight.
There were indeed hobbits, those bare-footed pirates, demons of the sea. But there was no bloodshed. No screams of agony. Only squawks of indignation and laughs of glee. Thorin’s crew, made up of the strongest, bravest soldiers, had more or less been subdued, tied with ropes and tossed towards the main mast, wriggling and worming about as much as they could. The Hobbits seemed to only be using their swords to disarm rather than harm, kicking weapons aside and pushing the crew down to better tie them up. Three of them seemed to stand off to the side, watching the events unfold, just as Thorin and Bofur were.
One was Sting, which was obvious enough, for he was the only Hobbit that was masked and brandishing a glowing sword. It was a peculiar sight, for pirates seemed like the last kind of people to wear rich fabrics as jackets and waistcoats. This captain seemed more like a gentleman of court more than he did a pirate. But the two next to him truly made Thorin freeze.
They were tall, taller than any other Hobbits. Their clothes looked a little scuffed, but they didn’t looked harmed in either way. Their feet were smaller, more delicate-looking, than the typical feet of a Hobbit, and they also wore masks like Sting did. But despite their disguises, Thorin knew who they truly were.
“Fíli! Kíli!” Thorin cried, rushing towards them, Bofur following suit. All three turned to look at him, and Thorin froze yet again when his nephews, his sister-sons, moved to protect Sting, brandishing swords of their own. “What are you-?”
He grunted, feeling a mass hit his back and sending him down to the deck floor. He fought and snarled as the Hobbits that tackled him immediately moved to take his weapons and tie him up, hearing some do the same to Bofur.
“What is this madness!?” Thorin snarled, struggling against his bindings as Sting approached him. “You! What have you done to my nephews!?”
“Nothing that they did not ask for.” Was the captain’s easy reply. “I met them on a small island off the coast of Erebor, and they asked to join me.”
“No one would join the Hobbits willingly!” He snarled back. “What witchcraft did you use? What threats did you speak?”
“He used none, Thorin Oakenshield.” Thorin froze at the sound of his eldest nephew’s voice as he stood next to him, joined by Kíli.
“We asked, and he agreed.” The youngest spoke, and Thorin felt his stomach lurch as he wrapped his arms around Sting and nuzzled his curly head. “It was all consensual.”
They were met with dead silence, the sounds of the struggling soldiers and the gleeful pirates ringing in their ear.
“Men!” Sting cried, looking towards his crew. “You know what to do! Only the necessities, but leave enough for them to get back home!”
There was another collective cry, and Thorin stared in horror as his nephews joined in, but stayed in their place next to this demon of a pirate captain.
“Are you showing us mercy?” He snarled, struggling anew as some Hobbits hoisted him up to his feet, a difficult feat, for it was hard to balance when your arms and legs were tied.
“We always show mercy.” Sting replied. “We have never killed anyone.”
“Liar!” Bofur cried. “You attacked my cousin and his fleet! You killed his mother and child! He told me himself!”
“That was not my doing.” Sting stated, and his eyes held a sad gleam. “Never have I harmed anyone, nor has my crew.”
“He told me!” Bofur snarled.
“Sting has only saved people!” Kíli shouted. “He only takes what he and his people need, and then leaves enough for them to travel home!”
“Do you truly believe such lies, Kíli?” Thorin grated. “Those lies over what I have taught you?”
“Yes, because I’ve witnessed it.” Was his easy reply. “And so as Fíli. The Hobbits are gentle pirates. The only true terrors of the sea are Admiral Smaug and Azog’s Orcs!”
Thorin stiffened, for he had heard of those pirates as well. But they were far enough away that they couldn’t do any harm. They were also terrors, but easily chased away.
“The blade that was lodged into Bifur’s brain,” Fíli cut into Thorin’s thoughts. “Was an Orc blade.”
“Liar!”
“None of my crew wields an axe. They are too barbaric in our eyes.” Sting cut in. “We only use small blades and staffs, and we only subdue with them. We never kill unless it is absolutely necessary. Smaug and Azog’s Orcs, however, attack ruthlessly… and they try to frame us for their crimes.”
“I don’t believe you.” Thorin hissed, spitting at Bilbo’s feet. His nephews, his precious nephews, moved in Sting’s defense, but the captain stopped them.
“Easy, boys.” He soothed, and they backed down. He then approached, holding Thorin’s icy blue gaze with his own warm green one. “I met them quite some time before I agreed to let them join me, you know. I tried to hide the fact that I was… who I was… for I didn’t want to be seen as a pirate. Just a person. When they first asked to join me, I refused.”
Thorin felt his eyes widen at those words, even as Sting’s remained firm.
“They join me because I am trying to reclaim my people’s home.” Sting continued. “The island of the Shire, where Smaug currently resides.”
Thorin had heard of the Shire. A small, peaceful island filled with kind, gentle people. They were also a reserved, closed-off people who did not openly trade with anyone. They didn’t always welcome newcomers. They didn’t always travel themselves.
“I don’t believe you.” Was his final response.
“I don’t ask you to.” Was Sting’s. There was a sharp whistle in the air, then, and Thorin looked up to see a Hobbit wave at them before hopping back onto their ship. “We’re done here. Fee, Kee, go back to the ship, loves.”
Loves? Loves? “No!”
He tried to charge them, even as he saw Fíli and Kíli move to follow his orders, but a couple of things tied him up. One was his literal ties, for the ropes still held him securely. Second was Bofur, who was at his feet, tripping him up. Third, and the most prevalent, was Sting and the blow he delivered on him with the butt of his sword, sending him into darkness.
The next thing he knew, he was back in his quarters, a damp cloth being pressed to his head, and Bofur being the one treating him.
“Are they gone?” He asked, and Bofur gave a sharp nod.
“They untied me, and told me to release the others when they were out of sight.” His subordinate explained. “I did not wish to anger them, Your Majesty, and for that I apologize.”
Thorin immediately moved to sit up, but his head throbbed and his world spun, and he flopped right back down.
“Easy!” Bofur scolded. “He really knocked you out, there! Need to lay yourself up for a little while.”
“Where were they headed?” Thorin asked, lips thin.
“Your Majesty…”
“Where?”
“East.” Bofur responded. “They were travelling East.”
Thorin frowned, for he knew that the Shire was in the East. “Set course, then.”
“For East?” Bofur asked. “Are you sure that’s wise, Your Majesty?”
“I don’t care if it’s wise or not.” Thorin hissed. “I’m going to save my nephews if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Aye, Sir.”
Bofur then left, leaving him to his thoughts and devices, and he bore holes into the planks above him. He did not care if Sting was truly as merciful as he claimed, nor did he care that his nephews were sweet on him, for some reason. All he cared about was getting them back, and making sure they were safe. Freedom of the Shire was not relevant at all to him.
Only his nephews.
Only ever his nephews.