savetheearth | [Computer, Audio Only]

[Computer, Audio Only]

For anyone in Vegas, if you find an opening into that mountain, don't go in it.

[There's a clink of ice against glass, a muttered curse in a language that's not English, liquid pouring.]

There could be a dragon inside.

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Somehow...

[There's a pause; he's mentioned this, if only to Killian, but out of everything this is his least favorite pulse and the one he doesn't want to think of if he can help it.]

The funeral... that was at Erebor.

[Killian's face falls and he's quiet for a moment]

Oh. I'm sorry.

[There's a moment where the only thing Killian can here is some faint clinking, then a fairly heavy, if small, thud as his father practically slams the glass he just emptied down on the counter.]

Yeah. So you got there.

I'm coming over, okay?

Sure, whatever you want.

[And Killian is over shortly after that. He's got vodka from Ariel.]

Dad?

[Oh Killian, you're a good son. Hjalti's on his black leather sofa - not as obvious as he once was, considering he's now over a foot shorter than he used to be - and there's a distinct smell of cigarette smoke in the air, which is odd because he always smokes outside. Probably more concerning is the bottle of bourbon that's empty on the counter, and the half-empty bottle of scotch next to that (though, granted, both of them were open before this alcohol spree). Killian's got his own key so Hjalti doesn't need to get up to let him in, and he doesn't, staying on the couch and looking at the television set which isn't even turned on at the moment.]

Right here.

[He comes in and sets the bottle down nearby, eying the other two]

You sure you want this vodka? Looks like you already drank today.

This is one of those days where you can't drink too much at all.

[However much he's downed, he doesn't seem to be horribly affected, as his speech is only a touch slurred. He sounds like he has a tiny bit of a Southern accent more than anything. Also, not moving probably helps.]

Fucking mountain.

Fucking mountain.

[What else is he going to say to it. Killian flops down on the chair, sighing]

Why a fucking mountain?!

Because it's a fucking mountain. Thorin wants to fuck it, so of course it came to him.

[Yeah, he's drunk a little too much, the brain-to-mouth filter is almost entirely gone.]

We don't need a fucking mountain but we got one anyway.

Dad, can we stop with the mountain sex comments? That's just disturbing.

[Seriously]

How did he pulse back a mountain? And why in Vegas? Why no Colorado or the Alps?

I'll stop when it stops being true.

[Well... he's right. But for now he does knock it off, finishing off the scotch he'd been working on when Killian walked in.]

Fuck if I know, but shit. I remembered it all and he was... christ, he was insane.

Thorin was?

[Killian is quiet]

Was he...always insane or was it something that happened to him suddenly or...I mean I don't think Kíli'd have adored him as much if he was always insane...

I don' know, we don' know enough.

[He slams the glass down but doesn't get up to get anything else for the moment, trying to sort out what all this means.]

He wasn't totally batshit, but he was... driven. I mean, really, really driven. We found where the fuckin' door was supposed to be, but it wasn't there, and he just looked so broken. The mountain was a huge thing for all of us, I was almost as bad as him, tried to break through a few feet of solid fuckin' stone to get in, but this was it for him.

You think that actually broke him? Made him lose it and go crazy enough to get in a battle and kill us?

I don' know, but something did - last I know of it, we got in. Got the door open, we all started walking through, and it cuts out just like that.

...Funeral's gotta be from later, though.

[He's watching Killian more closely.]

You and Fil weren't there.

Yeah, Thorir remembers leaving us both behind in a city of Men because I was sick.

[He's not really looking at Hjalti, nor is he moving much. He's just sitting on the chair, curled up a little]

So we came later.

But you got there.

[And then you died there.]

If not before that battle then...yeah.

[He sighs]

Just...for the record? Knowing how you died isn't fun.

I bet. [Hjalti's just going to stare grimly at his empty glass for awhile, as if willing it to refill itself. There's a light, almost musical jingling from the main bedroom at that time, and after a moment Fjola comes padding out to welcome Killian with kisses sleepily, having just awoken from a nap. She's getting big, but she's still not finished growing yet, in that gangly stage between puppy and adult.]

We all had to, to get here, but that one...

All of you were too young. [Especially the boys. And if Killian looks, even with the drink there's a look of grim determination spreading across his father's face.] That's not happening again.

We don't know how old Thorin was...and of course it's not happening again. I'm not going to let it.

[He lets Fjola climb on his lap so he can lean against her like a big furry pillow]

Not that much older than me. [He doesn't know specifics, but relative ages aren't that hard to guess - if anything, Thorin seems to be slightly younger (in dwarf terms) than Thorir is now.]

No. I'm not letting it. I'm not losing all you guys again. No fuckin' way.

You're not, Dad. Trust me, I'm training every day and getting really good at stabbing things. I can take care of myself.

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