So this is a prompt I found on AO3 and it really interested me. So I'm going to write it and I hope you all like it!
Prompt: Bilbo/Thorin Modern AU setting reincarnation
A reincarnated Bilbo finds a journal (or a scroll) in a second hand book shop. He quickly finds out that it holds clues to a hidden treasure of some sorts and is caught in the middle of a conspiracy. He starts remembering a past life where he went with a company of 13 dwarves and a wizard to reclaim Erebor. The Battle ended with Bilbo dying instead and everyone else living with the guilt of causing his death. Because of their treatment to Bilbo,they are cursed to a sickness where they live off of blood. (The Dwarves, men, and Elves did not treat him kindly when he Bartered with the Arkenstone) They are basically vampires. Over thousands of years, times have changed the cursed ones changed (meaning they become like men or humans today). They cannot leave their land until the one they have wronged has come back to them.
*If you include the men and elves into the curse somehow. They did not like the way that Bilbo had bartered with them.
**Not only the dwarves evolved, but so did the creatures of Middle Earth.
***There are others that are reincarnated.
Paring: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Rating: T, can be changed.
The Hobbit belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.
"The eagles are coming Bilbo, just hold on a little longer."
"This is all your fault! Thrice cursed are you and the others that did this to me!"
"Bilbo please, BILBO!"
William was a perfectly normal hobbit from a perfectly normal family; sure he may be living alone at the age of thirty-five. Other than that he was a very respectable person, whom was held in high regard. A smile here and a grin there and he could melt the coldest of hearts.
His mother and father were proud of him when they were alive and often encouraged their only son to follow his dreams; ah, he missed both Isabella "Bella" Baggins and Martin "Bungo" Baggins. They truly were the best parents he could ever have dreamed of; it was a shame when they passed all too soon from Middle Earth. Though they were in the gentle hands of Yavanna now and he wished them the best in her Green Fields.
The home he lived in was the traditional home of the hobbit race, outdated it was, but the home known as "Bag End" was loved all the same. He traced the ownership of his home out of curiosity and found that it was passed from father to son. Except for the black sheep of the family: no the Bilbo Baggins of the Third Age died in some forgotten battle and Bag End was passed to a "Drogo Baggins". From there Drogo passed it to his son Frodo, so on and so forth, though over time the home had to be enlarged to meet with the demands of evolution. Or it was supposed to, William never believed that hobbits were smaller than four feet five since he himself was a good five feet six.
He groomed his head accordingly, well as much as the blonde-brown curls could be groomed and wore contacts to hide his too green eyes. His now honey eyes were completely respectable and he was one of the most sought after bachelors in the bustling city of Hobbiton. William dressed like all of relatives expected from him, a white button down and khakis with no shoes of course. Sometimes for flare he would wear a bright red coat and an ascot.
His ears were perfectly pointed and his feet were an acceptable size with well groomed curls on top.
Overall he was one of Hobbiton's crowned jewels.
But there was always something in his life that he felt was missing, something he couldn't put his finger on and it drove him nuts.
Though enough of that, he was perfectly happy to get on with his life and that was how he found himself where he was today. In a second hand bookstore, holding what he presumed to be the missing tome of Ori the Wise's Priceless Collection.
It was truly an accident to how William ended up in the bookstore; he was merely trying to get himself out of the rain when the wind ripped his umbrella from him. Soaked to the bone and in a horrible mood he decided to that it wouldn't be a waste of time to browse the bookstore for its wares. He was always looking for a way to increase to size of books he had in his study.
"Can I help you?" and poor William nearly jumped out of his skin and dropped the book he was holding. There was a man, very old and wizened by the looks of it, and he had such a long grey beard and hair. He had on very similar grey clothing, a cardigan over a grey sweater with a darker grey business pants. William looked much more colorful in contrast to him in that red coat and green ascot. "B-Bilbo? Is that you?" the old man asked.
William was affronted but kept his disgruntlement on the inside; the poor chap must of mistaken him for some other bloke. Bilbo was not an uncommon name so it could have been easy for someone of his age to mistake him. "Nope, sorry my name is William Baggins," he said amicably. He felt sorry for the disheartened man, who immediately deflated when William corrected him.
"Though people did call me Bilbo when I was a child," a boldface lie but it made the elder man feel better. There was a hopeful look in his eyes that William felt bad for putting there, but it was done and there was no taking back what he said.
The man then stuck his hand out and William shook it, nearly wincing when he felt the gnarly hand under his own. "And I am Ian, though you can call me Gandalf," and so Gandalf then picked up a pipe and lit it. Blowing out oblong rings of smoke into the dingy bookstore as William then picked the book he dropped up and kept looking around.
He immersed himself into the world of literature as the soft sounds of Gandalf's radio buzzed in the background. William smiled at the small pile of books he accumulated, some titles included: The Death of Durin V, Lady of Light: Legend of Lothlorien, and The Myth of the One Ring. Then he saw it, the old leather was worn significantly and the rough Westron was written in what looked to be gold.
The Journey for Erebor, the Lonely Mountain
O-i -on o- Kori
William gasped and set down the book he was idly looking into; his fingers reaching out to touch the worn-out spine with awe. As a graduate from a literature school this was a treasure trove of missing literature. There were only three copies of this book, all made by the same scribe in the late Third Age and three different ages later here William was. With one of the three books.
He slid the book from the case carefully and winced at the sticker that stood out boldly, proclaiming the worth of the book to be three dollars.
"You know what they say about that book?" and poor William nearly had a heart attack.
"Do you have to sneak up on me like that?" he asked Gandalf, who proceeded to ignore the question.
William shook his head negatively, the only thing he heard about the book was that it was worth more than three bloody dollars. "Then you must figure it out yourself," and William nearly dropped the priceless book. He dug into his pocket a pulled out a wad of bills and counted the three it would take to purchase the book; when he finally got the money ready Gandalf all but disappeared from view.
"Umm, hello?" he asked, but got no response.
That ladies and gentlemen was how he found himself just holding one of the few known books of the Lonely Mountain.
So he walked up to the counter and lay the money right next to the pipe that was slightly smoking. There was no way that he was letting this treasure go and with one last look to the store he set off.
Well, the one good thing that happened today was the fact that it was no longer raining when he left the store, The Grey Havens, William reminded himself. Odd, why Gandalf would name the store after the lands in where the elves of old would sail to for asylum, William will never know. Though he had to be thankful that he had the bad luck to have to find sanctuary in the store. Else he would have never found this book.
With a soft smile William was finally able to reach his intended destination, the Gaffer; it was a sweet little cafe ran by the Gamgees. Long time friends of the Baggins family and personal friends of William's; the hobbit fondly remembered the awkward high school days with Hamfast. Now look at that chap; a sweet wife and four children with one more on the way.
"William! Do come in, its about to start pouring out there!" Hamfast's wife Bell cried out. Her stomach was swollen and large, but she never looked happier than she did then. Bell's arms were holding up large trays filled with all kinds of confectioneries, ready to fill the demands of the hungry customers. William hurried forward at took the trays from her after setting his book on the counter.
"I've got this for you Bell!"
"Oh, no need-"
If he didn't like Bell then he wouldn't help her, but knowing him and his kindness disposition William couldn't help himself. Now he was serving some of the patrons in order to lessen the pregnant hobbit's workload. Every now and then between taking some orders using the notes app on his smart phone William would look over and watch her fiddle with the book.
Bell was not the most studious hobbit in the nation, though even she could see the value in the book with how the book seemed to be made of old parchment. Instead of the copy paper that most books were printed on, this was something she had never seen. "A slice of blueberry cobbler and a cup of chamomile tea Master Hobbit. Does my nerves well," and William looked to the patron he was serving and was thoroughly confused.
This dwarf, he assumed due to the shorter statue of his frame in contrast to the men and elves that littered the dining area, had a head of red hair and a very impressive beard. Though was puzzled him was the golden beads that filled his hair and the scars on his face, but William was not going to let his curiosity make him into an ass. "Very well, anything else?" he asked politely.
"Your name perhaps?" the redhead looked hopeful.
William smiled, sarcastically Bell noted, and said, "Your cobbler will be out in a minute." He walked up to the counter and pushed pass the wooden door that separated Bell and any workers from the other customers. "Last one Bell, then I'll order for myself," William muttered. He gave the order to one of the cooks through a small window and waited by the window with a tray at the ready.
"I'll get it for you now. The usual?"
The ringing of the cook's bell brought his attention back to his current order; the cobbler and tea. He sighed and put the dishes on his tray before making his way back to the man. William gracefully lied the cobbler in front of the dwarf, followed by the tea, "Here is your receipt, please pay up front. Have a nice day." Somewhere else, William couldn't help but to think as he returned to the counter.
"Nice book you got here," Bell commented as she place some apple tarts in front of Bilbo with some green tea. William nodded his thanks to her and then began to eat his food. He will always savor the taste of the famous Gamgee apple tart; it was better than anything his family had ever made. "Oi! What game are you playing?! We take bills, cards, and checks! Not this coin!" he heard Bell yell out in frustration.
The dwarf merely threw another coin her way then stomped his way out of the little cafe; not without one last look at William though.
"How dare he?! He didn't even touch the things he ordered!"
William could listen to her complain if he wished but the coins that man had given her were no ordinary coins. He leaned over the counter and plucked one from Bell; scrutinizing it and then slowly looking to the book. "Bell, I think this is gold," he whispered as he looked to the same stencils on the cover of the book. It certainly looked the same and the heaviness of the coin had the weight of real gold.
"What?" she stopped her bickering to look at the coin carefully, and she noticed that it was much more different than what she felt during her little fit of anger.
William was confused, and he knew when he looked out the window and saw the man wave at him that something was wrong. There was something happening with William out of the loop and he found that he didn't like it. He left ten quid on the counter and with one last look to the coins he took his book and headed for the one place he could have some peace.
He was going back to Bag-End.
What he failed to miss was the raven that flew across the sky with a message attached to its leg, and the red headed dwarf that made his way east. His mission done for now until he was given a new one. With a swipe of his tongue he licked any trace of blood from his lips; making him seem normal once more to the unsuspecting person.
He was enriched by the amount of history and information that the book held; the rich history of those from the THIRD AGE! Thousands of years of missing history of the dwarves of the east had been found and appreciated deeply by him. William ran his fingers across the old ink delicately as he read throughout the night and before he knew it he had spent eight whole hours reading the book.
From chapter one to chapter twenty it was filled with long pages of information, written in a dialect of Westron that was hardly remembered. Good thing he had a graduate in both literature and Westron. So William was soaking up all the legend and lore that he had never heard of before from Smaug the Terrible to the establishment of the Dwarven Kingdom after the loss of Khazad-Dum, or Moria. Which William could hardly believe; he had vacationed in the ancient city when he had been a tween with his parents; the stone pathways were filled in every now and then with steel bridges and the walls had deep groves that were filled in with gold.
So reading of the state it had been in before was a little shocking.
Though when he finished chapter twenty he grew suspicious when he saw the next chapter.
Then in the last chapter he noticed a change in the ink; instead of the black pigment of the ink previously this one had a red tint to it. As if it were written in blood.
The Treasure Hoard of Thror and Thorin
They, my brothers, had always told me of the great mounds of treasure that were housed within the sole mountain; and yet their words never came close to the actual size of the hoard. It was much larger than actual description and it was said to be the bedroom for Smaug the Terrible, a great fire drake, for many centuries.
Upon entering the mountain my first t-o time to appreciate the magnitude of Thror's treasury seeing as I was being chased along with the others in the Company. Only the Buglar and those born before the Fire had seen the wealth for what it was, before this attack for the Mountain. I digress; there was an impossible amount... this Mahal forsaken mountain.
In the weeks after Smaug's ejection from Erebor there had been an affliction that ailed all of the Company except for our Burglar; even me I am ashamed to admit. Though this sickness was something that affects all dwarves to a degree, its called the Gold Sickness. We lust for gold much more than a race should, Thror included but he took it to lengths that were insane.
Gems of all kinds, shapes, and sizes were kept away and gold poured night and day to keep with the selfish king's demands; his lust for this metal affected those of his line. ... King Thror even neglected his children for the sake of all this gold and it was said that he knew of the dangers for al...d.
As far as I can remember underneath the Gold Sickness was the fact that our Burglar stole the one item that would have cemented Thorin's rule: the Arkenstone. The very stone that was said to drive Thror mad with this gold lust and the one thing that Thorin treasured above his sister and her sons. The only thing he loved more than gold and family. He loved it even more than Bi... it was obvious to see that we were blinded by greed. All except the Burglar and he stole it for the better good, ready to sacrifice it all for us to live. I found that he died in the Battle and his shirt of mithril was buried with him along with numerous treasures from Erebor.
However all of the Company was promised a fourteenth share of all the treasure in the mountain and the Burglar claimed the Arkenstone as his share.
In his Gold Madness, Thorin nearly flung our Burglar from the rampart for trading the heirloom of his people. Though after the Battle of the Five Armies it was said that the Arkenstone was returned to Thorin, but it wasn't even documented in the Archives that the stone had been in the Mountain. All known entries into the Lonely Mountain have been covered except a sole... for air. The treasury was not opened to the public population, which included all thirteen dwarves from the original company.
It is here in this treasury that our sins have been made a reality, and it is here in this treasury in which we will repent. Blood have and will always be spent while in this Mountain, until the very day we are absolved of our sins.
We wait for the cur...ifted from our sp...ts when we see the you...of ...End.
For now and forever we will waited for our redemption.
May we one day be absolved of our sins.
Though as my last thoughts I will say one thing: Damn you Gandalf.
Ori, son of Kori
The Last Scribe of the Lonely...
Gandalf? That was the name of the owner from the Grey Havens! Surely that was just a coincidence! Nothing more than that obviously since only elves could live that long, and he didn't look like an elf.
Though for the most part William was very disappointed to find that many places in the text had been scratched out or smeared when they had been written. Also there looked to be stains in the pages where the Scribe seemed to let his tears fall. He rubbed at his eyes after setting the book in his lap and looked at the time; dear Yavanna was that the time!
He stood up and let his burgundy blanket fall to his feet along with the book; William groaned and picked the book up by the cover. The sounds of falling paper caught his attention to see a dozen pieces of paper fall out. Thinking he somehow ruined the millenniums old book he stooped to pick up the pages only to notice something.
They were drawings; portraits if you will and they all had the titles and names to fit the faces.
Ori was a weird looking dwarf with that bowl cut as opposed to someone as deadly looking as Dwalin. He passed the faces of them from Fili and Kili to the dwarf that he saw earlier that day. At first he looked exactly like the one in the picture and upon further inspection he saw some slight differences. Like the eye shaping as well as the nose structure.
"No, it's just a coincidence and nothing more than that," he told himself firmly, but even he couldn't refute the evidence in front of him. "Oh, bugger me! Of course it's not a coincidence that this looks like the same chap!"
Besides from the myths of the huge and hidden treasures; there was something that was obviously hidden under the surface of this book. Something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He shook his head and gathered all the pictures together and set them down on the book. The night was well in the middle of transitioning to morning when William went to bed.
Though as William Baggins slept Bilbo Baggins woke.
From the physical world if one were to observe William sleep they would have seen him grow pale before his body twisted in the bed sheets. His breathing becoming labored as his eyes moved rapidly underneath his eyelids. But for William it felt as if there was someone else in his poor head; there were memories of familiar people that he couldn't remember for the life of him.
Faces blurred in his minds eye as did locations that he knew he never visited. Races that were said to be extinct were seen from his point of view and it drove William insane. Though the worst thing was those blue eyes and the tears that fell from them as the dream progressed. For the most part, besides the face all he could really focus on was the eyes.
He found that he loved them with a passion even if he felt a deep sense of loathing to the owner of those eyes. WilliamBilbo was confused; his mind was recognizing places that he was sure was supposed to be desolate. No one besides the Natives of the East deemed it necessary to travel across the Misty Mountains and none of the East wanted to come over to the Gentle West.
His body jerked in a phantom pain as those blue eyes in his mind's eye let tears fall and in his dreams William remembered cursing those orbs.
And to top it all off William saw something in those memories that he actually seen before; the glowing blue rune on his front door, still rounded per Hobbit traditions. It had been there for all his life even when he and his parents repainted the front door the rune had always been there, shining through the layers of paint.
When William, or was it Bilbo, woke up in the morning he felt different, like he wasn't himself anymore.
Little did poor William know that his day out in the city had set in motion a series of events that could make or break him, and he was not ready for any changes in his life now. He was thirty-five and ready for his life to fall into place as it had for many of his own family members; there was no leeway for changes now.
Though there would be.
"No! NO! Please, please, please, let me leave! I'M SORRY!" the owner of this voice is a rather beautiful young woman. One of the few to venture from her gentle home in Rivendell to see the rugged yet gorgeous terrain of the East. A young human and fresh meat was something that all on the east of the Mirkwood dearly appreciated, and it was a wonder she made it to Dale at all.
She was circled in by a group of what she once thought were dwarves and humans, but were not; though they held the appearance of the races. The poor woman was terrified and she thought that it was something she had done on accident. Then she saw the red in their irises and their teeth elongate in front of her.
If she was going to die then she would have a name, she was called Sigrid Bowman in her last life and Lily Hale in this one and she was killed once by these monsters.
Sigrid will get killed by them again.
Her screams were silenced swiftly as the people collected every drop of blood in her body; it wasn't everyday that a Western came to them so it was prudent that they not waste this opportunity. There was no mercy for the young photographer and there was no sympathy to be spent for her family; they had done this before for millennia.
They'll do it again.
If anything the original people of Dale and Esgaroth, the ones made into this by that curse, loved the blood of hobbits. It was a sickly sweet taste that they loved dearly, if nothing for the fact that it was a short cry from revenge. The years made them mad or insane with a few retaining their personalities or their damned senses.
Bard the Dragonslayer was one of these few; he had been the first to have the curse attack. His daughter was the first to die, then one after another the call for blood became to strong to resist and the people of Dale no longer looked to crops for food. They looked to the ones not affected for food, and then they all attacked.
It was a slaughter, people hiding out and others hunting them like deer; then the Men of Dale realized that the Elves of Mirkwood and the Company of Thorin Oakenshield were cursed as well. They only figured this out when they saw some of the dwarves drag poor Alfrid Lickspittle back to the Lonely Mountain. The Elves they realized when Legolas hunted down this poor woman as she tried to escape their grasps.
This all happened within the first month.
As time passed them by they began to realize that they could go no further than the western edge of Mirkwood or past the Long Lake to the Iron Hills. So when a dwarven caravan from the Blue Mountains got to Erebor in the second year of their curse, the people affected had learned how to stretch out their supplies. Many of these dwarves succumbed to the curse as well, for reasons they knew not. Princess Dis and Lady Gliah, wife of Gloin, had fallen to the curse almost immediately. Soon many of the newcomers were stricken with this and in their first month they slaughtered the other dwarves.
The few survivors that managed to escape had been called unstable for their accusations against those in Erebor and locked up for their 'own good'.
Those that had inadvertently caused the curse were unable to leave the East and the ones that migrated from other lands and caught it could. Gimli was a lucky lad to be able to leave the East in his long years, participating in various battles. Though he had been forgotten about in history.
Though everyone there knew the true reason why they were cursed, and it was the reason why they all loved the taste of hobbits so much. They all remembered the small creature known as Bilbo Baggins, and how he died. According to Thorin, his last words were those of hate and malice; said out of the pain of a broken heart, but nonetheless filled with hate.
Bard and the other kings understood that the hobbit didn't know what he had done but in those last moments he had blamed them all. All three races for causing the events that lead to his death and the greed that consumed them to the point where they were too absorbed to see reason. Some wanted glory and others wanted gold.
All of them wanted something, but none of them wanted the price to pay for it.
The Elven King had reassured his people when the bloodthirst first came that they would find a way to repent for their sin. Though as the centuries came and went even he had come to realize how futile that was.
The King Under the Mountain told his people of their sins and how they would devote their time and energy into breaking the curse. Some prayed to their Vala, Aule, but there was no answer from them. They were left on their own and lost all faith and hope.
Long had been the time they remembered what to was like to drink something other than blood, to eat something other than another.
Then as the Ages passed one after the other and the Sixth Age was upon them; and Gimli was taking his annual excursion outside of the East. Just a two days after his arrival in Hobbiton, now one of the largest cities in the West with Rivendell, they all got something they had been waiting for. Thorin Oakenshield was waiting on his private balcony when he received it.
I planted the book and found Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, now called William Baggins. He is just as drawn by Ori and upon closer inspection he gets rather suspicious at times. Tharkun is still alive and the rune is still there.
If is night terrors are anything to go by, he remembers.
Gimli, son of Gloin.
P.S. these daft Westerners use paper as money instead of good ol' gold.
A gasped was wretched from his lips as he ran his hands over the words to make sure they were real, and that this was not some dream. "Get Balin," and a well hid guard left his post to get the Lord.
For the first time in three millennia Thorin Oakenshield smiled happily.
Bilbo Baggins was alive.
William was pissed; this was the third night in a row that he had woken in a tangle of sheets with memories that didn't belong to him clinging to his mind like a leech. He was turned into a paranoid man instead of the gentle hobbit he was and he hated it. Abhorred it even.
The dreams wouldn't stop and he would go out to the city filled with skyscrapers to find anything about Erebor, but the kingdom had been silent for three Ages along with numerous other towns and kingdoms. There were little things to learn of the mountain except that every now and then a tourist would go missing or something like that.
Though they had been attributed to the dangers of the more rural East instead of the industrialized West.
Planes never landed in Dale or Esgaroth, instead flying over Mirkwood all the way to land in the Iron Hills. People never talked of the place and it was all but mysterious. No web page held relevant information about the mountain, and there were barely any books written about that place.
So in order to calm his mind William decided to go to the Grey Havens after the fifth night of little to no sleep, only to find that the place was gone. There was no sign of there ever being a bookstore there. No one he talked to had ever heard of an Ian that liked to be called Gandalf.
There was nothing that told him that everything that was happening to him was real.
At night on the sixth day William was sat at his table with a seared fish and some side dishes, and he was going to have a good dinner for a good night's sleep. Though as he squeezed a lemon across his fish and salad, there was a knock on his door. He looked up with complete annoyance, but nonetheless he stood and tied his bathrobe.
When he opened the door he was face to face with a dwarf, not much of a beard or mustache and he looked strangely feminine.
"Princess Dis, at your service Master Burglar,' the woman bowed at the waist and pushed her way into the home.
To William it felt as if this happened to him before.
Again new story, but since I'm close to finishing Legend it's fine.
Ragehappy Mavin Fan