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Title: Tattoo
Author: Evandar
Fandom: The Hobbit
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Gen, AU
Warnings: Body modification, traditional tattooing techniques
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: After the quest, Bilbo and the Dwarfs get tattoos to mark them forever as a Company. Bilbo isn't entirely sure about this.
AN: Inspiration for the tattoo design comes from the actors in the LotR Fellowship.
It didn’t help that Ori looked as terrified as Bilbo felt. The young dwarf was wielding a sharp blade very close to his King’s arm and the expression on his face didn’t fill Bilbo with any confidence – confidence that was sorely needed, as he was next.
A tattoo to commemorate their Company had been Kili’s suggestion originally. He had looked upon the elaborate designs that covered Dwalin’s head and arms with no small amount of admiration during their quest, and his suggestion had been well-met by all.
Well, most, actually, as Bilbo – while he thought it would be a nice reminder in an abstract sort of way – had absolutely no desire to intentionally undergo something that looked so brutal and barbaric.
But here he was, next in line, watching Thorin Oakenshield sit calmly, his right arm outstretched on a table, as Ori pressed the blade into his skin. Immediately, red blood welled up, but Ori kept cutting, dabbing his work with a cloth to wipe the blood away so that he could see what he was doing. His hands were surprisingly steady for someone who looked like they were about to faint.
Thorin didn’t so much as flinch. Not until the carving was done and the inking was started. He hissed through his teeth – but remained still – as Ori pressed an ink made of iron oxide and wood ash into the cuts. The skin around the tattoo blossomed red under the excess smears of black and blood, and Bilbo felt faint.
He tried to slow his breathing, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He would not faint again. He refused to. He absolutely refused to, now that he had earned the Dwarfs’ respect.
He watched as Oin bound the new tattoo in fresh linen, and Thorin stood – straight back and proud as always – looking almost unaffected by the ordeal. His face, under his beard, looked a little pale, but he did not waver as he made his way to a different seat. Behind him, Ori cleaned the blade with strong liquor and hot water, and offered Bilbo a shaky smile.
Bilbo whimpered. All eyes were on him, watching to see what he would do. Even after everything, these Dwarfs were still testing his mettle – though they saw it as ‘presenting him with a great honour as thanks for his services and a declaration of the kinship now between them’. Refusing would be a bad idea, but Bilbo couldn’t seem to get his feet to move.
Then, from across the room, he met Thorin’s steady gaze, and suddenly he could.
He drifted forward as if in a daze and sat upon the chair offered to him. It was still warm from the heat of Thorin’s body, and he shifted until he was comfortable before stretching out his arm and waiting.
The tattoos would be in the same place on all of them, the same design, to mark them as a Company – as a family.
Ori gave him a tentative smile that he couldn’t bring himself to return, and then the blade was pressed to his skin…and into him.
It was sharp, incredibly so, and Bilbo watched with fascination as the first line was painlessly drawn in blood in the crook of his arm. Then the pain started: a sharp sting that burned and ached as the wound was first blotted and then added to. The corners were the worst, and as the first of those was drawn, Bilbo bit his lip to keep from crying out and yanking his arm away again. But still, he could not take his eyes away.
“Almost done,” Ori murmured. “Half-way now.”
And they were. The tender flesh of his inner arm was red and puffy around the cuts, but they were finished – clean, neat lines forming the Khuzdul number fourteen. He had no real time to admire it before Ori’s calloused fingers returned to press the ink inside. Bilbo couldn’t stop the noise of protest, nor the reflexive jerk of his arm, but he forced himself to remain as still as he could with his whole arm burning from the pain. Spots swam in front of his eyes and he realised that in his determination not to scream he had stopped breathing.
And then it was done, and Oin’s large hands were gentle as he wrapped a linen bandage around Bilbo’s forearm and patted him lightly on the shoulder.
Bilbo stood, wavering only slightly, and made it to his chair before his knees turned to jelly and he collapsed into it. He’d never felt any pain like this before, not in his life, but as he watched Fili swagger over to the table and place his arm confidently upon it, he couldn’t help but feel a little pride.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: The Hobbit
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Gen, AU
Warnings: Body modification, traditional tattooing techniques
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: After the quest, Bilbo and the Dwarfs get tattoos to mark them forever as a Company. Bilbo isn't entirely sure about this.
AN: Inspiration for the tattoo design comes from the actors in the LotR Fellowship.
It didn’t help that Ori looked as terrified as Bilbo felt. The young dwarf was wielding a sharp blade very close to his King’s arm and the expression on his face didn’t fill Bilbo with any confidence – confidence that was sorely needed, as he was next.
A tattoo to commemorate their Company had been Kili’s suggestion originally. He had looked upon the elaborate designs that covered Dwalin’s head and arms with no small amount of admiration during their quest, and his suggestion had been well-met by all.
Well, most, actually, as Bilbo – while he thought it would be a nice reminder in an abstract sort of way – had absolutely no desire to intentionally undergo something that looked so brutal and barbaric.
But here he was, next in line, watching Thorin Oakenshield sit calmly, his right arm outstretched on a table, as Ori pressed the blade into his skin. Immediately, red blood welled up, but Ori kept cutting, dabbing his work with a cloth to wipe the blood away so that he could see what he was doing. His hands were surprisingly steady for someone who looked like they were about to faint.
Thorin didn’t so much as flinch. Not until the carving was done and the inking was started. He hissed through his teeth – but remained still – as Ori pressed an ink made of iron oxide and wood ash into the cuts. The skin around the tattoo blossomed red under the excess smears of black and blood, and Bilbo felt faint.
He tried to slow his breathing, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He would not faint again. He refused to. He absolutely refused to, now that he had earned the Dwarfs’ respect.
He watched as Oin bound the new tattoo in fresh linen, and Thorin stood – straight back and proud as always – looking almost unaffected by the ordeal. His face, under his beard, looked a little pale, but he did not waver as he made his way to a different seat. Behind him, Ori cleaned the blade with strong liquor and hot water, and offered Bilbo a shaky smile.
Bilbo whimpered. All eyes were on him, watching to see what he would do. Even after everything, these Dwarfs were still testing his mettle – though they saw it as ‘presenting him with a great honour as thanks for his services and a declaration of the kinship now between them’. Refusing would be a bad idea, but Bilbo couldn’t seem to get his feet to move.
Then, from across the room, he met Thorin’s steady gaze, and suddenly he could.
He drifted forward as if in a daze and sat upon the chair offered to him. It was still warm from the heat of Thorin’s body, and he shifted until he was comfortable before stretching out his arm and waiting.
The tattoos would be in the same place on all of them, the same design, to mark them as a Company – as a family.
Ori gave him a tentative smile that he couldn’t bring himself to return, and then the blade was pressed to his skin…and into him.
It was sharp, incredibly so, and Bilbo watched with fascination as the first line was painlessly drawn in blood in the crook of his arm. Then the pain started: a sharp sting that burned and ached as the wound was first blotted and then added to. The corners were the worst, and as the first of those was drawn, Bilbo bit his lip to keep from crying out and yanking his arm away again. But still, he could not take his eyes away.
“Almost done,” Ori murmured. “Half-way now.”
And they were. The tender flesh of his inner arm was red and puffy around the cuts, but they were finished – clean, neat lines forming the Khuzdul number fourteen. He had no real time to admire it before Ori’s calloused fingers returned to press the ink inside. Bilbo couldn’t stop the noise of protest, nor the reflexive jerk of his arm, but he forced himself to remain as still as he could with his whole arm burning from the pain. Spots swam in front of his eyes and he realised that in his determination not to scream he had stopped breathing.
And then it was done, and Oin’s large hands were gentle as he wrapped a linen bandage around Bilbo’s forearm and patted him lightly on the shoulder.
Bilbo stood, wavering only slightly, and made it to his chair before his knees turned to jelly and he collapsed into it. He’d never felt any pain like this before, not in his life, but as he watched Fili swagger over to the table and place his arm confidently upon it, he couldn’t help but feel a little pride.
