#thorinxreader

[raisedinerebor]

Moments with Modern Reader.

Thorin: It is deep into the night. The two of you on watch. There's the smell of woodsmoke and pipe tobacco. The sound of owls and croaking frogs. You don't say much. Listen to the steady sound of Thorin's breathing. Watch the night stars.

It's at night it hits you the hardest. With no one to speak to or distract you. The heavy pangs of homesickness. It turns your guts. Makes you worry, sick.

"Y/n?" You heard Thorin rumble from beside you. Unlike the others he's still the only one to call you by your name. No nicknames. "You are going to hurt yourself if you continue to do that." He pulls your hands apart. The skin is red on the back of your non-dominant hand. When did you?

"Your mind is heavy." You look at him. And with burning ears you look away.

"I suppose." You tell him going back to looking out in the distance. You squint your eyes. Trying to make out something in the darkness.

"There is nothing out there." Thorin tells you. You scoff. Shake your head.

"And how can you tell?" Thorin chuckles.

"Dwarves have keener eyes in the dark than man." It is then you realize Thorin has most likely seen you every time you've made a face or stuck your tongue out at him.

Thorin brushes the back of his hand against your arm. "What ails you?" You say nothing. Shrug.

"It's nothing. Honestly." You tell him. And truly were you to burden him with these thoughts?He has enough on his plate.

Thorin's staring at you. Looking at you as if he were pulling you apart piece by piece. Smoke bellows from his lips. His eyes dart. Then, once again, he separates your hands. This time holding one in his.

It's comforting. You think. A grounding warmth. It's safe.

"It is something. If the mere thought of it makes you hurt yourself Givashith*." He turns your hand. Rubs his thumb across your knuckles. "So tell me. So that I may ease your mind."

You begin to pull in on yourself. Thorin says nothing. Only watched as you pulled his hand towards you. Fiddle with his rings. Twisting them around his fingers. You take a breath. Ground yourself.

"I miss home. That's all." Still you stare at his hand. Wait for a laugh. A mock surely. You miss home. He lost his. His people. Your family is still safe and.

"Relax. You are not being judged." He pulls his hand away. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer. He pauses. Waits to see if you'll move.

As if. It's comforting. The smell of him. Rich leather and tobacco smoke. His arm was heavy around you. You leaned closer. Resting your head on him. You felt Thorin tighten his hold around you.

Safe. It was safe here.

"I know that feeling. Missing home. You worry for your family. Your friends. It weighs on you. Pulls you down. The wondering if they are safe or not." You could feel the vibration in his chest as he speaks. Feel the tears in your eyes well. Threaten to spill.

"I would tell you not to worry if I knew it would do you good." Thorin exhaled smoke. Tamped out his pipe. "But I can assure you that you will be kept safe with us. We will find you a way home if we can. Search the ends of Middle Earth for what sent you here. To us." Thorin's head lowered and he brushed away the tears that fell.

"Until then. You will have a home always, in Erebor. Our home. You have helped my Company. I will help you. In this life and the next." The tears fell more freely. "You are apart of my Company. My people. And for as long as you remain, under my protection." He pulled you in. Held you tightly. "I do not say this nearly enough. But you are a gift sent to us. My little Khajimel*. A guiding star in these dark times. Stay. And I will give you a home."

* Givashith: Treasure that is young.

* Khajimel: Gift of all gifts.

Fili: The day had been long. Tiring. At the very least the group had gotten to bathe in the river. The cool water welcomed in the summer heat.

As you were washing you noticed the chipped paint on your nails. Most laid bare save for one or two stubborn blue blotches.

When you got back to camp you pulled your pack into your lap. Digging out a small bag stuffed with things from home you couldn't bear to part with. Out of it came your phone. Long dead. Car keys, chapstick. Mints which you stuck into your pocket. A lighter, a paper bound book and. There! Gods knew how it was still in one piece. Or how you still had it. But it was there. Half empty. But there. Your nail polish.

For the most part the group ignored you. Busy re-braiding their hair or stitching up holes in their clothes. So you left in peace to repaint your nails. A sense of normalcy you hadn't had in months.

Until it came to paint the nails of your dominant hand. You grumbled. Muttered curses.

"What are you doing?" Fili asked. Sitting across from you. You look up. Noticed most of his hair was still loose. Still damp from the river.

"Painting my nails?" More a question than an answer. You held your finished hand up. Fili took it in his. Studied your now blue nails.

"What is it?" He asked still holding your hand.

"It's nail polish? Do you not have that here?" You asked. Fili shook his head. Still holding your hand."Don't touch it!" You almost yelled. "You'll smudge it because it's not dry yet."

"Sorry." He told you. You gave a laugh and took back your hand. Picking the bottle back up to restart your other hand. Or were. Fili stopped you. Took the bottle.

"May I?" He asked. "Paint your nails. I mean." You face flushed. On one hand you didn't have to paint your other hand and mess it up. But also. Fili got to hold your hand.

Actually. That's not bad.

"Ya. Go ahead." Oh ya. Real smooth. Your voice squeaked when you said that. Fili smiles. Laughs. Blasted dwarf.

Fili took your hand in his . Pulled the brush from the bottle. His nose scrunches. "It smells weird." You shrug your shoulders.

"It goes away after the paint dries for a while." With little else to do Fili painted your nails.

It sends butterflies to your stomach. The way he was treating you. Softly. Gently. Careful not to turn your fingers too far. Made sure not to smudge the paint.

"There." He told you. All too soon it ended. "It's very pretty." His fingers brush your palm as he pulls away. "Almost as pretty as you." At that your faced burned. Feeling as if though you would combust you'd sputtered out a thank you.

For what you weren't sure.

Dwalin: You know. You were pretty sure that this was how you were gonna die.

Sure. You did have a part in The Battle of Five Armies. And maybe you did help Slayer Azog the Defiler. You certainly had the scars to show for it.

But this was Dwalin. The dwarf you were sure wanted you dead for most of the journey. It sure felt like it with all the quick lessons he would give you every time the Company rested.

He trained you as if each lesson could end in your death. In the end you learned it was because he cared for you. Worried about your safety as one the most inexperienced in the group.

It was because of his training you lived. Through Goblin Town in Mirkwood. Against the orcs and against Azog.

It was because if Dwalin you were able to keep the Durins' safe. And it was Dwalin you carried your battered body to the healers tent. It was him who stayed by your side until you woke.

It was because of that you were here now. A wooden training sword in hand. Weighted with led to mimic a real one. Dwalin across from you. Seeming like a towering giant at the end of the beanstalk.

Your breathing was heavy. Focused. You hung to every word he told you. Went through drills more familiar to you than the roads of your hometown. You knew it set his mind at ease. Always to keep you safe until he could come. It made your heart warm that he cares so deeply.

Dwalin cared for you like family. With it came an undying loyalty.

For the fifth time that day the wooden sword was knocked from your hands. For the first time you were able to move. A quick roll and a spring from your legs. An unseen pull of the short swords at your hips.

The smile in Dwalins face was nothing short of brilliant. His loud laugh and words of praise filled you with pride.

"Rest pebble." Both of you were breathing heavily. Clothing stuck to sweaty skin. "I'll go and get the water. Wait here." You did. Immediately sitting on the floor when he left as to catch your breath. A smile still at your lips. Both from success and Dwalins praise.

You found it funny he still called you pebble despite your age. An adult by the terms of man. Still a child in most dwarven eyes.

You heard the doors open and close to the training room. A group of young dwarves spilling in. Loudly to.

You stood moving away from the floor to give them space. Instead you sat on the bench that held the shedded outerwear of yours and Dwalins clothes.

You picked up the small silver circlet that marked you as the family of Durin. It was Thorins hands that made it.

It was made of a thin silver. There was only one gem and it rested on your brow. The metal wove around itself to your temples. There it stopped at two ravens on either side. Thier wings held open in flight.

It was precious to you. Not for what it was made of. But from who it came from and what it stood for.

.

You knew Dwalin was going to give you an earful later. You hadn't noticed that the same group of Dwarves came up to you.

"You're y/n. Right? The so called "Slayer of Azog "?" You cringed. Died a little bit on the inside. They laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

It wasn't even the proper title.

"Depends on why you're asking." You told them. Every warning bell your body had to offer was going off. The group numbered three and we're trying to surround you on the bench.

Your stood. Placed the circlet on your brow purely out of habbit. The redheaded dwarf. The one who asked the question, screwed his face in disgust.

"We only wish to meet the person who our King holds in such. High regard." Lord almighty. He could have just said he wanted to spill your guts with the amount of venom he spilled on those words.

Slowly you turned yourself towards the exit.

"Were friends." Family actually. But they didn't need to know that. The red head laughed. Shouldered the other two.

"We also came to see your skill. Surely you must be a fine warrior to have fought alongside the kings and Prince's." At this the others snorted.

Ya well. That was mostly luck and enough spite at life to not die on anyone's terms but your own. And the fact you were kinda pissed Thorin left you behind. Understandable but still.

"I." You shook your head. "No thanks." At that the red head smiled. It made you sick just to see it.

"There isn't a choice here. You will show us. We can't have the king with a weak "friend" can we?" He spat out the word friend as if he had personal beef with it.

They came closer. You stepped back. Still they came. You found your body moving without you telling it to. Shifting and moving into a more defensive posture.

"I have nothing to prove to you, Nidoy*" His face curled into a snarl. Clear disdain for that name. You'd call him worse but then would come the conversation from Balin on how you knew more swears than actual conversation in Khuzdul.

You'd blame Dwalin of course.

"That's sad. Really. I'd hoped you would be more willing." He gets cut off. The moment he made a move to grab you you threw an open palm. Connected the heel of your hand to his nose. Listened to his wail and the crack of bone.

He fell to his knees. Face in hand. Blood spilled from between his fingers. A string of curses left his lips. He barked out something in Khuzdul too quickly for you to fully understand.

The other two gripped your arms. Held so tightly you knew there would be bruises deep within your skin. You swallowed thickly.

When was Dwalin coming back.

Your answer was soon. Very soon.

The red head was in his feet one moment. Coming at you with a fury rivaling Smaug's.

Then he was gone. A blurr of movement in front of you. A cry that rattled your chest.

Dwalin.

The two holding you left quickly. Scrambling out the door and leaving their companion behind.

Dwalin looked murderous. Speaking rapidly in his native tongue. The dwarfs now bloodied shirt was held in one hand. His feet just brushing the floor.

Shit.

"Dwalin!" You yelled. Lord's above you were not about to break that up physically. "Dwalin!" Louder this time. More desperate. Shit please. "Dwalin!" At last he turned. Gaze softening when his eyes landed on you.

"Y/n?" He spoke. You swallowed thickly. Watched as the dwarf tried to run. Dwalin jerked at his shirt. Practically snarling for him to stay out. "Are you hurt?" You shook your head.

"No. I'm not." Dwalin sighed heavily. Shoved the now trembling dwarf.

"Go boy. Get your friends." He leaned forward. Whispered something in his ear that had the dwarfs face drain of color.

He ran. Scrambled to the door.

Dwalin came to you. Turning your head side to side. Checking your hands. Your ribs. He stopped at your arms. Large bruises already forming against your skin. Dwalin ran his fingers over it.

"I am sorry. Pebble. For not coming sooner." You shook your head. Punched his chest.

"Don't be. You can't control what they did. Or even have known it would happen." You pulled away. Looked up at him. "Dwalin. I'm safe now. Besides. I got a good hit in at least." At this Dwalin roared with laughter. Pulled you close.

"Aye. You did. You did."

"Dwalin. You're kinda squishing me."

*Nidoy: Boy

[anki-of-beleriand]

Moments with you

Gif is not mine, taken from @enigmaticlook

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshieldx Female!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: some light smut, fluff, confussion

Summary: There afre some moments in life you can't forget

Notes: This is my summer gift for the amazing @middleearthpixie I really hope you like the story and that you enioy it!

This story is part of the @gatesofsummerexchange!!!

Thanks for letting me participate, guys, hope you enjoy it!

The first time you two met it was at Thranduil's presentation.

He was supposed to be at the archery tournament, his equipment all ready and neatly organised back in his room while you waited for him and Legolas to show up. 

You were bored, wearing baggy pants and a tank top. Your hair was put up in a ponytail just because your mother told you to wear something girly, and you felt like obeying her request was against your basic principles. 

Making her life a living hell. 

Oropher didn't mind, and your stepbrothers just encouraged you so you didn't see the harm in doing what you wanted. 

"Thranduil!" There came a roar, the door of the room banged against the wall and there was a young man, not older than Thranduil, standing with his mouth hanging open and a flush crossing his cheeks.

Dark hair, broad shoulders, tall with deep blue eyes, the man was certainly quite handsome and you would have the opportunity to hit Thranduil for never introducing you to him.

The young man had face contorted in a rictus of anger and disbelief, his naked chest covered by black ink. You arched a brow, looking appreciatively at the man, just before you let out a chuckle at the non-permanent tattoo on the man's chest. 

I'm a loser for you was written with hearts and smiley faces all around it. 

"He is not here." You broke the silence, your lips curled in an amused smile. 

The young man stood there, shook his head and soon you spotted a nice, flustered expression on him. 

"Right, where… and you…" Then he cleared up his voice, straightened up and try to cover his chest with his hands. "Where is he? Who are you?" 

"Out. I'm Y/N." You replied leaning back on the bed, your lips curling teasingly. 

He blinked a couple of times, and you could see he was having a hard time keeping his eyes on you and not the rest of your body. 

"Oakenshield!! What the fuck are you doing?? Are you flashing yourself to my sister?!" 

In came the voice of Thranduil, the man squealed when a Thranduil threw cold glass of water to his back. 

"Sister?!" 

A fight broke out afterwards, and you realized that coming to the campus to see Thranduil was not such a bad idea after all. 

The image of young Oakenshield quite engraved in your memory. 

The second time the both of you met you were adults. 

He was the head of the Oakenshield Company, he inherited it as soon as his grandfather died and his father was incapable of taking over the empire. 

You learned of the hardships life brought to him, the tragedy surrounding his growing success. The passing of his grandfather, the craziness of his father and the death of his sister and brother. 

It seemed as if life was making sure Thorin Oakenshield was either a fighter or a quitter. 

He ended up being a fighter. 

You admired him from afar, your mind always bringing the memory of that first meeting. It always brought a smile to your face, and made you wonder… 

Now, almost ten years after that first encounter you saw him coming down the stairs after a passionate speech. The crowd was standing up, clapping at the young man that many congratulated with huge smiles and promises of support to his new projects. 

"They said he wants to run for office." Thranduil whispered, his eyes following Thorin then settling on you. 

"Good for him, that would be a nightmare, but he could win." You said taking another sip from your champagne. "He has the money, and the influence to do so."

Thranduil nodded, cocking his head, your eyes following the young man until he was in deep conversation with a group of older men. You could tell Thranduil was dying to say something, rolling your eyes as you looked up to see him smiling. 

"Are you imagining him without a shirt?" His lips curled into a mischievous grin, you laughed shaking your head. 

"You're impossible." You placed a hand on his forearm shaking your head, your eyes flickered towards the man and your breath caught in your throat when you saw him looking back at you. 

"He wasn't that impressive back then; I don't think much have changed right now." You were trying to sound confident, uninterested but sometimes it was impossible to fool Thranduil. 

The both of you had become real siblings, and while the older man could be a pain in your ass you loved him as much as he loved you. 

"Thranduil Oropherion I know if I offer Dorwinion wine you will come." His voice had not changed much, perhaps it is deeper, commanding, and entrancing. 

You couldn't help yourself, your eyes flickered up finding those blue ones looking directly into you. 

"Of course, I wouldn't show up to these boring reunions if there wasn't something I'm interested in." Thranduil offered a hand that Thorin shook with real happiness. 

"It's good to see you again, Thranduil and in the company of such a beautiful girlfriend."

It was subtle, a casual conversation amongst friends. A chance for Thranduil to first introduce you and second establish his real relationship with you. 

Your lips curled into a half smirk, you stepped forth stretching out your hand. You felt a shiver run down your back when his hand, warm and big, wrapped tenderly around yours. 

"Y/N, his step-sister, Mr. Oakenshield." You replied letting go of his hand slowly, almost teasingly. "And we met before, you were using less clothes than you're doing right now."

A flash of embarrassment went through those blue eyes, but it soon was replaced by an interesting glance he sent your way. 

"Of course, the beautiful sister he hid from m… his friends." Thorin said lowly, almost invitingly. 

Thranduil scoffed at this, your smile only grew. 

"Let me guess: a genius, billionaire, playboy and philanthropist." You straightened up, your heart almost stopping at the sight of his laughter. 

"Did you really quote to me Iron Man?" 

"Oh, my… you are a genius, not many get the joke." Then you made a face, a know-it-all smirk on. “Though, that’s from Avengers.”

In an instant you and him started talking, Thranduil got bored and left the two of you discussing everything and anything. He was a DC lover, you were a fan of Marvel, he loved Harry Potter and you preferred Tolkien. 

It was strange, the conversation soon changed and then you were talking business. His plans for the future. Your plans for yours. 

You would try to act cool, as if you didn't care he was closer and closer, his eyes on you at all times. As if it didn't matter your heart was beating fast and hard against your chest, or that your eyes would drift to his lips every once in a while. 

The night advanced and, as it did, you found yourself alone with him in a private balcony, his perfume overwhelming your senses, his body warm against yours. 

"May I kiss you?" He asked, always the gentleman, nothing that had led to that moment was done without your permission. 

And yet, you just wished he would throw his manners out of the window and just… pinned you and kissed you until you forgot how to breathe. 

He was teasing, and you knew he was doing it by the twinkling in his eyes. The insufferable smirk he wore just as his warm breath played on your skin making you shivered. 

Two could play that game, though. 

You smiled innocently at him, biting your lower lip, you let your hands travel down his shoulders to his arms then moving up until you were rubbing his chest coming dangerously close to his crotch. You almost let the triumph show on your face when you heard his gasp. 

"Tell you what, make your people call mine and we will see next time." Your lips brushed against his before you placed a kiss on the corner of his lips. Your card in his hand. 

You left, the smirk on your face and the gleaming on your eyes told everyone who wanted to know that you won this round. 

Thorin stayed behind, your card in his hand. His smirk softened into a smile. 

It wasn't until your sixth meeting that something changed between the both of you. 

He made sure his people called yours, and an appointment was made. He brought a single flower, your favourite: azalea. And, on top of that, a business proposal. 

You thanked the flower with a kiss, and the business proposal with a headstrong personality.  The discussion went far beyond lunch time, and he ended up inviting himself to your lunch until the deal had been settled. 

In the end you conceded. He called it a win, you called it a weakness. He was rather hot when negotiating, and he was just as passionate as you were about your legacy, your people, your future. 

On that sixth encounter he invited you over to his ranch right outside the city. His nephew was to turn sixteen and he wanted you to meet him. 

You panicked. 

So far the both of you had played a dangerous game, whenever the both of you met it was games and teasing, whenever you spoke over the phone things heated as much as they did when you two texted one another. You weren't sure what was happening, at least for a couple of weeks this man had occupied your mind as if he had always been a part of your thoughts.

Your heart shrank with emotion whenever he was closed, or whenever you knew he was writing to you. It was more than the sexual innuendo in your conversations, it was his questions about your day. Or what you thought about a book or a song. It was his interest in what you did or what you thought. 

It was the fact he made you stay up until it was dawn talking about anything and everything. 

"You look thoughtful," he offered you a beer, his fingers lingering on yours for a moment. "Did you like the celebration?" 

You smiled knowing he was closer than was probably necessary.  You lifted your face and realized just how utterly handsome he really was. His lips curled into a relaxed smile, his short hair unkempt after the afternoon games and dancing, the casual clothing he wore making him look handsome. 

"I did, you are a great man, Thorin and a great uncle."

"I try my best, my sister would have done a better job." There was sadness there, and you couldn't take it whenever he tried to downplay his love and his passion and everything he was. 

"You are the best at what you do, Thorin. You are an amazing uncle, an amazing friend, an amazing man." you declared knowing your cheeks were burning at how evident you were being at the moment. 

Thorin smiled dipping his head, you placed a hand on his forearm clearing your throat until his eyes were on yours. 

"You really are the kind of man I considered to be by my side without a hint of hesitation." That was as far as you go with this confession. 

You were nervous not knowing how he would answer. 

Your voice was trembling, his hand placing on your waist. Without any warning, he leaned in brushing his lips against yours, then with a tilt of your head and your hands on his shoulders and chest he deepened the kiss. 

The fireworks he had planned for the afternoon ignited the sky around you. 

Without a doubt your relationship with Thorin Oakenshield changed 

"You taste so delicious, love." He growled in your ear, his hands were holding you up, your dress around your hips and his pants on his thighs. You gasped, throwing your head back, whimpering as his lips travelled down the length of your neck. 

He knew what he was doing, his hips grinding against yours, his length filling you in ways you never thought possible. Your hands on his shoulders, nails digging on his clothes. 

You dared to look at him trapping his lips in yours, his hips thrusting making you groan into the kiss. 

The tenth time you two met, was to go out on a date. Something different. A club. Dancing and some teasing made him jealous, pressing his body to yours as the both of you danced into the night until your grinding was far too much and he dragged you to a more private setting. 

It had been this way for quite some time. 

The teasing, the games of dominance… 

Until he finally had you where he wanted you. And you were right where you wanted to be. 

He was everything you didn't know you were looking for.  You moan his name into the night, he sucked on your skin speeding up the movement of his hips, your inner walls clenching around him. 

"Gods, Thorin I love you…" The declaration left your lips at the same time as you finally gave in and came around him. 

Instead of stopping or being shocked, Thorin speed up his movements reaching his climax while grunting in your ear. 

"I love you too."

Many would say it wasn’t romantic, it was the heat of the moment. As the both of you are coming down from your climax, you knew it wasn’t like that. It had been a declaration that define your relationship with Thorin. Passionate. From the heart. From the very soul.

Time passed.

You were still the head of a great company; your name was in the mouth of everyone that was a someone. It wasn’t only because you were a shark for business, or that you singlehandedly were managing the fortune of two families and doing an amazing job at it. Everyone had something to say about the woman that, in less than two years, had captured and conquered the heart of no other than Thorin Oakenshield.

It had been a rumour at first. Many had seen the both of you together, some said Y/N was the new conquest of the night. Many envious girls (and boys) dismissed her, for Y/N was known to be a cold-hearted bitch that had no man around her, not now and not ever.

You didn’t mind the rumours, really. Never bothered to hear them or to actually felt affected by them. If anything, as of late, she enjoyed them

Thorin stood close to you, his hand on your lower back. He was talking with Dwalin and Balin, you were playing with the flute of champagne while looking around the room to try and locate the idiot of a brother you had. He and Legolas promised to be there, but of course they were late.

“So, you heard the latest gossip?” Dwalin turned to you, he was smirking winking at you while you just chuckled taking a long sip from your champagne.

Thorin blinked confusedly, though he turned to you amused.

“Latest gossip?” He asked and you shrugged.

“Yes, apparently you are cheating on me with Tauriel, a jailbait girl that spends an extremely inhuman amount of time in your ranch going around in underwear.” You replied as if you were talking about the weather, Balin almost choked on his drink, and Dwalin burst out laughing when he saw the pale expression on Thorin.

“That I what?” He exclaimed and many guests turned to your group shooting curious glances your way. Thorin sputtered indignantly, he took your hand making sure to look into your eyes. “I would never do something so…who the hell is spreading such hideous rumours?”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed alongside Dwalin and Thorin had to blinked away his confusion as the both of you hold onto one another waiting for the amusement to stop.

“What’s so funny? I don’t think you should be laughing!” Thorin grumbled out crossing his arms, “This is serious, what would happen if you didn’t know me or if…”

You silenced Thorin with a deep kiss, your body pressing against his humming pleasantly when his hands placed themselves on your hips putting you closer to him.

“Oh, get a room…” Thranduil drawled with disgust, Legolas scoffed at the scene lifting his chin glaring daggers at Thorin.

“Already have one, Thrandy, just waiting to get away from here.” You winked at the blond-haired man who merely rolled his eyes.

“And you, my dear lover,” You turned to Thorin who was slightly daze after the kiss. “as I said, those are rumours, partially.”

You waited until the words registered in Thorin’s mind, he turned sharply to you with a frown.

“What do you mean?”

“She is dating Kili.” Legolas explained enjoying the sudden transformation in Thorin’s face. “And they really spend a ridiculous amount of time in your ranch, Mr. Oakenshield. Doing god knows what.”

The rest of the night went with everyone teasing Thorin, the man later on would admit to you he never noticed this unexpected development. Though, he didn’t regret it. Kili was a good lad, and Tauriel was a nice young woman.

You had laughed, enjoying how he was trying to sound like a mature adult instead of the concern father figure he was.

By the time the both of you reached the room you had booked for the night, you thought it would be a complete surprised for Thorin but the one that ended up surprised was you.

The room had been decorated with candles and azaleas.

There was wine, and a nice melody filling out the romantic atmosphere. When you turned to him, he was on one knee, a ring on his hand. You almost fainted, your breath caught in your throat.

“Y/N, I never thought I would find someone like you,” he started and you could see the sheer emotions gleaming in those eyes of his. “I thought that love was meaningless, nothing important. And then, I met you and I realized, love was everything.”

You swallowed down your emotions, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. You almost jumped out of your skin when his hand reached to yours, his features softening in a look of pure and unadulterated love.

“I can’t imagine a future without you, and my heart is completely devoted to you.” Thorin continued, he took a deep breath before continuing. “I would be honoured if you were to spend your life with me, by my side. So, Y/N, would you marry me?”

You broke down, for the very first time you broke down kneeling right in front of him and wrapping your arms around him.

“Yes, Thorin, I will marry you.”

Every day was a new day, every meeting with Thorin was just another fabulous meeting.

The day you two married had been one of the happiest days of your life, the both of you had been happy amongst friends and family. Your life as a married couple was filled with sweet moments, as much as they were filled with hardships and fights and tears and love.

Thorin never changed, not even once.

He was always a great man, sweet and attentive. He took it upon himself to work hard to keep up with you; because, even after the marriage the both of you were still business partners with separate business.

He always respected you, as a person, as a woman, as her partner.

He kept the details and the flowers, everyday he made sure to make you fall in love with him all over again.

You leaned against the threshold watching as Thorin argued with Thranduil, your face breaking into a softened expression as your hand went directly to your abdomen.

Thorin was everything you wanted and more.

You never thought you would find love. You didn’t even believe in it.

Until he was there.

Until he loved you.

Until he gave you a family.

Rubbing your abdomen lovingly, you pushed yourself from the threshold to make your way to your husband. Thorin stopped all argument, his eyes gleaming at the sight of you, his hand outstretched to take your in his putting you closer to place a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Now, my love, tell me who is right.” You chuckled knowing you were being dragged in a childish argument, loving every minute of it.

The news about the growing family could wait, right now you just want to enjoy this moment with him.

[gwen-ever]

Until My Last Breath (Chapter 1)

Summary: When Smaug arrived, he not only killed the dwarves of Erebor, but he also destroyed the lives of the few who survived... whether he did it on purpose or not.After a hundred years, a part of Thorin's past will come back to haunt him in the form of a dwarf who last knocks on the door of Bilbo Baggins' house, resurrecting old grudges and the pain of a life no one wants to talk about. Geira, daughter of Geiri, is anything but an open book, an exiled who no one wants around, a warrior who has no one to fight for, but only an oath she must fulfil.

Relationships: Thorin x FemaleOC

Rating: M

Warnings: angst,sad,

AO3 LINK: HERE

Notes: I would like to thank all of you, who commented the prologue, rebblogged it and liked it. It was a very heartwelming and I hope i wont let you down with this first chapter. In particular i need to thank@lathalea for always checking my chapters and make surei dotn mess up and, trust me, this week she really put a lot of effort to do so hahahahahha.The style its quite different from the one I will use in the rest of the story, it is just a general introduction but i really hope you cvould guess some things <3 <3 <3

Mashkil: Dirt

'Angûna: Filth

"What is she doing here?!" roared Thorin Oakenshield, an accusing finger pointing at the newcomer, who in the meantime had placed her wooden bow in a corner and removed her heavy black travelling cloak, worn out by numerous weather conditions.

She felt the king's gaze burn like fire, but tried avoiding glancing at him, even when he took one step towards her like an animal ready to attack. She shifted her gaze upwards, focusing instead on the tall figure of the sorcerer who was smiling at her with the side of his mouth.

"My dear, let me introduce you to the master of the house, Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf announced in a quiet voice, ignoring, as she did, the dwarf lord's question.

With small steps Gandalf stepped to the side, indicating a small hobbit in the middle of the hallway with his hand.

The hobbit bowed his head slightly to the side to get a better look at her. He probably didn't like being surrounded by all those intruders, and now that another one had been added, he was in complete panic. She could understand him, as she could imagine him being unaware of everything that was going on around him.

For a moment she felt genuine compassion for him, yet it was not as if she had entered in the best of moods and maintaining that facade of indifference was beginning to be difficult for her.

Keeping her composure she smiled at him slightly, making a small bow with her head as brought a hand to her chest grasping the flap of her red tunic.

"Geira, daughter of Geiri, at your service," she introduced herself.

"Traitor to her folk!" Dwalin added contemptuously, shouting at the top of his lungs.

She tries to ignore the dwarf words smoking with the side of her mouth to the Hobbit infront of her. But then another voice spoke, a voice which she could never forget either in a thousand years.

"What are you doing here, you dirty mashkil?!" Thorin growled loud, his voice echoing between the whole of the whole house.

Her intention to remain calm was shattered like a crystal glass thrown to the ground. A shiver ran down her spine and a sigh escaped her mouth. She slowly lowered her hand from her chest and the armour of indifference she had built up wavered at the mere sound of the dwarf speaking to her.

Geira looked up, finally returning Thorin's gaze. His blue eyes stared at her as cold as a winter night in a blizzard, and what she felt was... nothing.

She felt nothing, or so she told herself.

"You have not been asked for introductions, King Under the Mountain," she spit, as angry as ever.

As soon as she finished those words several elderly dwarves around the table burst into exclamations and in the blink of an eye some of them stood up and she recognised them, every single one who stood up..

She knew who they were and they knew who she was.

One dwarf in particular kicked the stool he was sitting on and slammed his two iron fists into the wooden table, making it creak under his force.

"You filthy traitor, say that again!" roared Dwalin, looking her straight in the face. “Try to say it again!”

Geira didn't have time to dwell on how much she could recognise him even after all those years, for her gaze was caught by the muscles in his arms that seemed to flare with anger, and the scars on his forearms seemed to come alive with a life of their own. So many years had passed, yet she felt no nostalgia, only a great emptiness, that was all she had to feel. Yet she had to pull herself out of that situation, for the sake of what she had promised herself.

"Sit down, Dwalin..." she murmured, brushing her fingertips over the pommel of her sword strapped to her side.

"Don't you dare tell me what I must do, you 'angûna, just breathing your air disgusts me. You should die just for daring to show your face here!"

"This is not dwarven territory..." she explained, gritting her teeth.

"As long as I'm under this roof, everything around me is dwarven territory!"

At this point, however, she could not control a grimace. "Ironic how you're watching and paying attention to my presence instead of thinking about how to take back your territory." she spit glaring up at him.

The dwarf roared, moving away from the table in one swift motion. "One order from you Thorin, and I will make her bitterly regret it! Bloody traitor!" he yelled out of himself.

Geira shifted her gaze to the dwarf king still standing, looking him straight in the eye as she waited for a silent response to the demands of the warrior dwarf beside her: and she got it.

The frown in the middle of his forehead deepened, but his eyes remained as cold, as icy, and as terrible as the ones he had looked at her with one last time so long ago.

A dominance in his gaze, an anger, a hatred that had brought her to her knees back then. A look that had drained her of all light inside, like the words that had followed shortly afterwards, the last words he had ever spoken to her.

But this one she was not begging him at his feet. If he wanted to take her life away once again this time, Thorin would have to do it by looking her straight in the eyes and fighting as equals.

Thorin had opened his mouth to give an order as she sharted to count her breath and moving her hand closer to her hip, but they both were preceded by the most unlikely voice of all, which unexpectedly defended her.

"Excuse me, but I don't think that's any way to talk to a lady." All eyes shifted to the side of the hallway, to Bilbo, some admiring, some confused, some threatening, even her owns, which grew wide eyed at such words. The hobbit stammered under that attention and linked his feet, "though, I mean... that's what you say it is.... that it is," he concluded, glancing at Thorin, "at least, not in my house. No sir!" he adjusted the braces of his trousers, more out of the discomfort he felt than anything else.

Geira let go of the hilt of her sword at her side, surprised at how the little hobbit had spoken to Thorin, perhaps because she didn't know who he was, but that small gesture of courage intrigued her, as something hadn't intrigued her in a long time. She noticed an amused look from Gandalf at the hobbit as he continued to rock back on his heels, probably expecting for Dwalin and Thorin to sit back down in their seats, but they did not.

Instead a clatter of crockery and a couple of chuckles rose from the door next the living room, intruding on the vast silence that had spread across the room, breaking the layer of ice that was growing thicker between all of them.

"Uh. uh someone has angered Master Dwalin, hold this pint brother, be very careful."

"I am careful, you're the one standing on my foot Kili!"

"Then move it, no? We're missing all the fun because of you!"

The entire room quickly turned towards the source of the noise, all but one dwarf, Thorin, who didn't take his eyes off the dwarf maid figure for a moment, and like the others, kept his attention towards the side door of the dining room.

Before Geira had a chance to wonder what was going on next door to the small dining room where the dwarves were sitting, two young dwarves appeared, two pints each in hand. One with hair as golden as molten gold, the other with brown hair, frizzy and terribly familiar.

Geira held his breath for a few seconds.

"Oh shut up Fili, you're always in the way, if you'd move over maybe I'd see why they stopped shouting too," the younger dwarf mocked his brother, raising his pints in the air to go sit in his seat.

"Surely uncle has finished," replied the other making the same movements as the brunette, "or the other burg...lady... has arrived...".

The blond-haired boy could not complete the sentence as soon as his blue eyes rested on Geira.

His mouth opened wide, causing the two beads on his moustache to sway to the side of his mouth.

The hazel-haired dwarf tilted his head to the side as he looked at his confused brother, slowly sitting back in his seat. "What is a burg...lady?"

Finally, his gaze landed on her as well, but unlike that of the dwarf still standing beside her, his open mouth soon turned into a warm smile.

"SO YOU ARE THE OTHER NEW MEMBER! WELCOME!" he yelled, opening his arms in the air, raising the two pints he still held in his hand.

Geira said nothing, remaining impassive, feeling the other brother's eyes still on her.

"WELL WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? TAKE A SIT! I ALSO HAVE ANOTHER PINT, IF YOU WANT IT !" The other dwarf invited her with a dramatic gesture of the goblet, but she did not move an inch.

“Kili…” Thorin murmured to the brown haired young dwarf, glancing at him.

“Why were you yelling like that then? And why are you still up, we were about to tell Mr Beggins how-”

“Kili,” the older of the two brothers, froze suddenly, casting a glance towards Geira's side calling his brother to attention.

Geira noticed him and casually covered the visible seal on the pommel of the sword with one hand and knew from the glittering brown eyes of the younger dwarf that he understood.

His big brown eyes widened, as did the blonde-haired dwarf's mouth. "You are a..." the dark-haired dwarf murmured as his mouth curled up in a small smile.

"Fili, Kili, be quiet!" Thorin stopped them, but the two young brothers continued undaunted, not realising that they were only making things worse.

"Oh, come on uncle, it's wonderful! It'll be all..."

Uncle.

"I said silence!" roared Thorin, slamming his fist on the table.

At the dwarf lord's growl the two brothers were astonished, opening their mouths wide but remaining as he had ordered in silence, however, casting pointed glances towards the opposite side of the room. They knew immediately that something was wrong.

Geira's hand slipped away from her pommel and she did not let them see what had caused her to hear those last words as the two young dwarves did as their uncle told them, sitting down in silence, but not stopping to look at her.

Geira looked up at Dwalin, who glanced at Thorin, who most likely replied with another glance, because he nodded in return. However, he did not fail to look at her one last time with a look full of fury.

The dwarven king narrowed his eyes slightly before he turned his attention to the sorcerer once more in complete silence.

"I want her to leave," he said emotionlessly.

"I am afraid it can't be possible," replied Gandalf calmly, as he returned to his seat.

"I won't let her stay here. I won't let her stand around my company, and put them in danger by only her presence," he growled low, talking as if she wasn't there listening. "I don't trust her! And I don't trust anything she says!" Thorin retorted seriously, not once looking at her face.

Geira clenched a fist, trying to keep her composure, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

How dare he speak of trust? Him of all people, when it was he himself who had betrayed hers. How dared he!

She gritted her teeth as a blind fury clouded her vision.

Gandalf remained silent for a few moments, observing the king of all dwarves before replying.

"You will have to, I did what I thought was right and calling her back from exile is the right choice," he explained.

"The right choice?" resumed Thorin, his blue eyes twinkling menacingly "And how, shall we hear?"

Gandalf gestured with his hand towards Geira, inviting her to speak with a movement of his head; thirteen heads turned towards her, and even Thorin laid, finally, his eyes on her face.

For a moment his gaze alone made her flinch, making her eat back words she had not yet spoken. And yet, she had to say them. For herself, for her father, for her one hundred and seventy years of exile and for all the pain she had to go through because of that damn dwarf who was staring at her. She swallowed up her anger and her vision slowly became clear again.

"I am here, to fulfil my oath," she explained, looking the dwarf king straight in the eye.

A thin chill spread through the room, seeping into the bones of the newcomers; Bilbo, however, watched the scene in curiosity, struggling to understand. Perhaps now he would receive the answers he had been waiting for since the beginning of that exhausting evening.

A dull clatter echoed through the room, the sound of a cup slamming against the wooden table.

"This is too much!" roared Dwalin as he pulled himself up onto his seat again. "One word from you, Thorin, and I will rip her head off her shoulders, as I should have done years ago!"

Thorin didn't answer; he stood up, continuing to look her straight in the eyes as if what she had just said was none of his business at all.

"Your oath?" he asked her calmly, too calmly. With a couple of strides he approached her, his fists clenched and his jaw contracted. "Your oath is worthless now. It was broken long ago. Your words, your oath are nothing more than a pile of cold ash," he began growling low.

She almost dug her nails into the skin of her hand.

"It is a lifetime oath, you were there when I had sworn it," she addressed him as calmly as he had.

Thorin's jaw clenched a second time and his breathing became irregular.

"And I was there when you broke it," he uttered a low growl. "I saw you break it, you did it before my eyes..." he added contemptuously.

A pang of pain cut through her chest as everything that had happened that day appeared in her head. She seemed to see his gaze again, to feel the tears running down her face, to feel her heart being torn from her chest. She seemed to see her world burning before her eyes, her life burning before her eyes, and then... the exile.

The exile to which he had condemned her.

"I don't want to keep my oath for you if that's what you're worried about, King Under the Mountain," she spit staring directly into his eyes.

"I don't care why you want to keep it, I don't need you to keep it!" Thorin shouted at her, roaring out of his mind. "Your words mean nothing to me, a'lâju Mahal!”

A scraping of a chair followed the dwarf lord's words. "Thorin..." whispered Balin, but Thorin was as unstoppable as a blazing fire.

"You have no place among us, you have no honour, you have no name, you have no clan, you are nothing!

Your oaths were broken when you turned your back on us! Your blood is as tainted as your father's!"

For Geira that was the final straw. He shouldn't even dare to mention his father, shouldn't even try, king or not! Oath or no oath, he had no right.

Her hand tightened on the pommel of her sword. This time she approached him, with a couple of strides. She looked down at him as words began to pour out of her mouth like a flood.

"Then let Dwalin cut off my head now, this instant, for I assure you, Thorin son of Thrain, that I would rather be buried underground than fulfil the words I spoke to your kin years ago!" she retorted mercilessly. "If I could, I would retreat them one by one!"

"Be quiet, traitor!" he yelled at her, slamming his fist on the wall next to him.

"ENOUGH!" the darkness fell over those present before Geira could reply; they all fell silent at the power unleashed by Gandalf, who now stood menacingly over them, glowering. He glared down at them, a gesture that made them feel almost smaller than usual. Almost. For, as certain as the sun rising in the east, dwarves were not so easily frightened, not even if the subject in question was a wizard.

"You dwarves and your stubbornness! You will bring us to ruin before we even begin our journey! Geira will come with us. If I say her presence is essential, then it is essential! Her reasons do not matter to me as they should not matter to any of you!"

"It does matter," Thorin's deep voice rose from the silence that had enveloped his companions. "You cannot ask us to trust her, Gandalf. What she has done is..." the dwarves' attention shifted from her to Gandalf again.

"I know of it, but I ask you for the sake of this quest to leave old grudges aside; otherwise, we will not get very far if you continue to quarrel. When we reach the Lonely Mountain..."

Gandalf froze for a moment averting his gaze to her for a moment and then back to Thorin again. "Geira will accompany us there and then help us to reclaim it and th-"

"Then I will leave, if that is what you wish for Thorin Oakenshield," she concluded, giving a glance to his hand still on the wall next to her.

Thorin raised an eyebrow and slowly began to back away a few steps returning to his seat. "It is what I wish for as of now, for you to leave us, and that will not change," he stated, casting a glance at her hair, so short that it showed her neck, and her shoulders and part of her hear. The same length she had when he saw her for the last time.

"I don't want it to change..." she answered back as after a long time she felt ashamed again of those short locks.

The cut he gave to her.

And that was what they were for, to make her disgusted with herself, and in the absurdity it had been her choice to cut them so much that she had scratched her scalp the first time she had done it. She had cut every single lock and braid, counting them one by one as well as the short sideburns on the side of her face, shaving as short as she could the side of her head, leaving her right side a bit longer than nothing.

And with a last disgusted glance of Thorins on her head the discussion stopped.

Geira bit her tongue, lowering her gaze, and after that long wait, accepted a chair that the Hobbit gently offered her with a smile on his face all the while the chatter that had taken place before her arrival resumed.

But the grave atmosphere continued to permeate the walls of the room.

Nor did the tense mood change when everyone's attention turned to the Hobbit.

Geira wondered if his stammering was from the bewilderment of the various news stories, or his actual way of speaking: probably the first option. She saw him frown, countless wrinkles forming on his forehead as he tried to figure out what kind of trouble they were getting him into. She felt tremendously close to him at that moment: she would have gladly walked through the round door to get away from there, but she had promised Gandalf that she would stay. She had promised herself and her father; no more running, no more hiding. It was time to show everyone that she was not what they said she was, she had never been.

She paid no particular attention to the various explanations Gandalf and Thorin gave Bilbo, but it was when they handed him the long contract that her attention was caught again. She saw the hobbit intent on reading it, concern palpably making its way into his thoughts and gestures.

"Incineration?" he asked incredulously, unfolding the parchment better; perhaps he was convinced he had read it wrong. "...I'm going to faint.... " he said, his voice uncertain and trembling.

"Think of a furnace with wings: a flash of light, searing pain, and poof! You are nothing more than a pile of ash!" began Bofur, looking out of the doorway where she sat.

Bilbo lost all colour in his face, turning pale, too pale. It sounded like an alert to Geira; she held her breath until the other fainted, falling to the green carpet like a sack of potatoes.

Had his courage in speaking to Thorin been a flash of courage, then?

It was only then that they all sprang to their feet and tried to reach him, but in doing so they created an immense confusion, whereupon Gandalf ordered them all to go outside for some air. Dwalin and Nori helped him to lift Bilbo up and bring him to his senses, while Geira, again on Gandalf's advice, fumbled around in the kitchen to make him a cup of tea, trying to do as little damage as possible. She risked, for example, to spill the water from a nice blue and yellow cup, plus splash the boiling water from the teapot all over the place. Cooking in a real kitchen, that was something she hadn't done in a long time, as well as tinkering with this kind of fine crockery. She adjusted her black armguards and with a sharp movement of her hand and rolled up her sleeves a bit. She completed the laborious mission, delivering the drink to the owner of this house who, in the meantime, had woken up and was sitting in the living room in a comfortable armchair.

As soon as he heard her coming, he followed her every gesture with watchful eyes, until she broke the silence, handing him the cup full of aromatic tea.

"Your gaze has not ceased to follow me since I crossed your threshold, Bilbo Baggins; I have a feeling you have many questions for me," she told him, trying to force a smile and be as friendly as she could be.

It was all so difficult.

"Well, I... " he was stunned, not knowing how to continue, perhaps embarrassed at being caught in the act. He watched her in silence as she found a place by the lit fireplace, resting her back against the side of it. "Well, you... you're like them, aren't you?"

"A dwarf?" she asked him in turn, hinting at a smile at such innocence.

He nodded his head, passing the hot cup through his hands. "But, well, I had heard that dwarf women... they had..." The hobbit froze suddenly and fell silent, passing his gaze quickly to her face just above.

A sigh escaped her and she decided to tell him a half-truth.

"I cut them off a long time ago..." she explained hastily, but without ever trying to offend him in any way. She took a breath, trying to find an excuse in her head that would satisfy his curiosity. "A sign of... mourning..." she murmured.

It was not the whole truth.

Bilbo looked at her carefully, trying to see in those black eyes all the suffering they concealed; and suddenly his mind asked so many questions that it became involved: how long had it been since he had felt so interested in someone? He had kept to himself as much as possible, letting those four walls envelop him like a warm, soft blanket, in a slight torpor that had been shattered by the arrival of the dwarves. And Geira's.

His curiosity got the better of him, and he could not keep his mouth shut, not even putting the cup to his lips and sipping the hot tea.

"M-may I ask you another question?" he asked her, watching her eyes gradually lose themselves in the flames of the fireplace. "Is it true what they told you earlier? Those names they refer to you... are they true?"

"Are you afraid I will stab you in your sleep?" she answered him piquantly, raising an eyebrow.

Bilbo cursed himself, cursed him and his curiosity Tuc.

"N-no... no..." He was about to apologise when the girl shrugged, evasive.

"I'm exiled, it's true, but a traitor... that... no... no, never…” she looked again into the fire, which was crackling quietly before them. "I am here for one purpose only, and to keep a promise I made, long ago, far too long ago..." she murmured, turning back to him: curious but respectful grey eyes in deep, haunted black ones.

"You all have a purpose, a mission in this whole thing... I...I am just a hobbit, I am not what you all think I am..."

Geira watched as the hobbit's fingers held the cup and his gaze suddenly clouded over.

These were good questions he was asking himself, yet Gandalf believed in him, and the dwarves in the other room believed him more than they did with her, one of their own kind.

For a few moments he reminded her of a young dwarf lady in a large luxurious room in a distant mountain years and years ago wondering what she wanted to be in life.

Slowly she approached him, kneeling beside his green armchair and resting her hands on the armrest.

"I think you will only find out if you come with us; there is more to you than meets the eye, Bilbo. I saw it before, and... even if you don't see them, they're there, they're always there," she told him gently, marvelling at her own words.

Why was she talking to him like that, in that tone, as if she knew him? As if another person, as if he was interested in her opinion, perhaps because she hadn't spoken to someone like that in months. Still, it wasn't enough of a justification, but Geira found herself continuing.

"The journey will be fraught with danger, from outside and within the Company. That will take courage, but also a deep fear of the unknown to do what we must do. Because what we will find on the other side of the known world could be anything… or nothing. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to come with us.”

"Danger… within... the Company?"

Geira was about to answer, but their eye contact was interrupted by the arrival of the wizard, who had come to make sure of his friend's health.

"Excuse me," the dwarf-woman took her leave of the two, leaving them alone to talk; she fastened her cloak, but as soon as she placed her hand on the door knob, Bilbo's voice reached her.

"Thank you, miss Geira," he said.

“You can call me Geira” she answered, turning her head to the small hobbit sittin on the armchair.

H just nodded, looking at her with big eyes before shifting his attention to the cup in his hands

She turned, seeing a tense but grateful smile on his lips; she half-smiled as well, opening the door and stepping out into the light night breeze.

She had to calm her nerves, she had to calm down in order to regain her self-control and her coolness, which had been severely tested by the events of the evening: from an inside pocket of her cloak she took out her long white wooden pipe; from another, she took out her pipe-weed. Shortly afterwards she was blissfully smoking, sitting on the bench just outside the door; the long puffs produced small clouds that dispersed in the air: she followed them with her eyes until they disappeared, while her mind was lost in the meanders of her twisted thoughts. Did Bilbo feel out of place? And she, what was she to say? Of course, she had known from the beginning, from the moment Gandalf had introduced himself to her in that village of Men, that this would be anything but a walk in the wood: too many prejudices hovered among the dwarves, including herself, too many things left unsaid.

She felt like a flower in the frost, or perhaps she was the frost.

She shook her head, sucking in another breath that made her think better: she was there for a good reason, she had explained it to Bilbo; she just had to concentrate on that and that was it. It mattered little if they ignored her, if they did not speak to her along the leagues they had to travel, or if they were suspicious and indifferent. She would let them, their gazes should slide over her like water over her skin, she should just... just end those years.

What the wizard had told her had been gnawing at her for weeks. The likelihood of a hope, that if she fulfilled her oath perhaps, if she didn't die in the process, she would restore her name and she could... return home. But the real question was, did she want to go home and why was she still holding on to a broken oath?

"Are we interrupting?"

A young voice shook her from her outcast thoughts, finding one, or rather two young dwarves beside her... They were the two who had tried to convince Thorin to include her in the group - Fili and Kili, if she remembered correctly, the ones who had figured out what she was, who she was... Thorin's nephews. Two princes.

She took the pipe from her mouth and a mixture of emotions stirred in her chest, a desire to drive them out mixed with the urge to ask them to stay.

They were waiting for an answer to the question, she realised only after she found two pairs of puzzled eyes, waiting.

"Depends on what you want," she replied cautiously.

She didn't like the answer much, but the two stood there, undaunted. The black-haired dwarf with a youngster’s stubble sat down beside her, not waiting for an invitation; although he sensed Geira's suspicious glances, he did not pay heed to them. He took out his pipe and, after lighting it, squatted down more on the bench, puffing out small clouds of smoke.

"We just wanted to share some tobacco with you, nothing else," he insisted, sketching a brief smile.

"But maybe I don't want to share," Geira replied stubbornly.

The boy widened his eyes and looked at her almost displeased. Geira scolded herself, perhaps that wasn't the right way to go: they were her companions now, and she should at least try not to pick a fight with them. Yet it was proving so complicated, and the second boy's blue eyes didn't make it easy for him at all.

The nephews... the sons of…

"You should, if you don't want to isolate yourself before we leave..." the blond-haired, bearded dwarf attacked her: even in the moonlight she could see his blue eyes shining; so familiar it hurt.

Her fingers gently touched the inlaid hilt of her long sword, with which she never parted, seeking some form of strength, courage or, why not, peace of mind.

She forced himself not to let the acidity of his words show, "I thought I was already an outcast before I left, Master Dwarf. And forgive me, but I still don't know your names, which doesn't seem fair since you know mine."

The one sitting next to her laughed, throwing back his head, "You are right, forgive us, but the circumstances before did not allow us. I am Kili, this is my brother Fili, we are the sons of Vili and princess Dìs,"

Sons of Dìs.

A bite in her stomach made her pipe clench in her hand and suddenly her chest became incredibly heavy. The sons of Dís, Princess Dís.

How many years had passed? Had it really been that long? Had time around her really begun to move so slowly that she did not know how many years she had lived that life?

They were kids, but they were older than she had been when everything changed.

“Very well, then, Fili and Kili…” she murmured under her breath.

Geira remained silent and tried to calm her heartbeat after the latest information she had received. She sucked in another puff of smoke realising that there was, in fact, no more tobacco; she cursed silently and wiped it off, then put it back in her pocket. She wrapped herself a little more in her cloak as a gust of air penetrated her heavy clothes, fit for travel.

"Not very talkative, are you? Yet with the hobbit you spoke, I heard you!" asked Kili, sitting too close.

"You are talkative for both of us, young prince," she said, his eyes widening for a moment and then narrowing to slits, unexpectedly suspicious.

Geira caught herself explaining before the situation escalated. "You called Thorin ‘uncle’ earlier; I do not possess magical powers, if that is what you fear,"

"I didn't think so. But I am surprised that you called me young: yet, you do not seem as old as Balin, or Dori or Master Oìn..."

This time it was Geira's turn to smile. She barely lifted a corner of her lips, but it was enough for Kili: if only he had known.

"Looks can be deceiving: to me, you are certainly quite young, just boys."

"Then how many..."

His brother Fili interrupted him forcefully, "The sword, where did you t-"

"Lads, please return; the hobbit has made up his mind," Balin interrupted Fili's question, and allowed Geira to avoid answering uncomfortable questions to say the least.

The old dwarf gave her a brief but penetrating glance, but he did not bother to ascertain whether she was following him or not, so Geira opted to stay out there a little longer, alone; she left the door to Bag End half open and, from the confusion that followed, deduced that Bilbo had denied her help. Part of her felt terribly sorry and sad: she had accepted the fact that she would be leaving in the company of dwarves who hated her, but the torture seemed less heavy, knowing that a face less hostile than others would be at her side. She sighed loudly, trying to catch screams, reproaches or furious, stubborn phrases, but her ears met with the silence that reigned in the house; curious, she got up and, without making the slightest noise, looked out of the door to peek inside. She recognised Thorin's broad back covered by a fur cloak, his long, neatly wavy hair falling past his shoulders; he was leaning against the fireplace in the hall, where she had been standing before while everyone else was standing around him.

A melody sung with his mouth closed emerged from the silence; then his voice, deep and warm, filled the room, spreading through the air like perfume.

Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away, ere break of day

To find our long-forgotten gold.

Geira held her breath, melody from the very first notes, but.. the words, they were different from what she remembered. She frowned but then stop to worry and started to listen as Thorin's voice passed through her ears and went straight into her heart. She felt a strong grip on her chest, as if some invisible hand had tightened around her heart; those words tasted of something long forgotten, of longing for something lost. They tasted of home, of family. Her mind played the terrible trick of making her see again the places she had walked in Erebor as a child: squares, streets and alleys, palaces full of gold, stables, armouries... and then dwarves walking, working, children running and screaming. All this had died with the city, swallowed up by the terror of the dragon, and she had not had the chance to see it one last time. Soon, Thorin was not the only one singing; the others joined him, singing the last verse that reminded them of the same feelings.

The pines were roaring on the height,

The winds were moaning in the night,

The fire was red, it flaming spread,

The trees like torches blazed with light.

The song ended, but the sadness lingered on. Geira drew back quickly, returning to the embrace of darkness, her long-time friend; far from prying eyes, she wiped away the tears that had mockingly escaped her lashes, forming a small furrow on her rosy cheeks. She blinked several times to squeeze out more tears and breathed deeply, trying at the same time to calm down and listen to the king's instructions for the next morning's departure.

"Try to get as much rest as possible; Gandalf will show us to our quarters..."

There followed a great commotion, a sign that everyone was gathering their knick-knacks: as she did not want to show himself in such a pitiful state, she decided to wait outside; perhaps, with the favour of darkness, no one would notice the signs of crying.

As expected, the others came out, dark in face; they glanced at her in passing, then disappeared down a path towards a small inn. As soon as the last of them, Ori, was out of sight, she went into the house, looking for her bow, which she found where she had left it, leaning against the wall of the small kitchen. She took a quick glance around, noticing the cleanliness and order that once again reigned supreme, as if nothing had happened. It was indeed a fine home, fit for someone who loved his life and would not change it for all the gold in the world.

She secured her bow to her back, picked up her quiver, and hoisted it over her shoulder. She reached the hall with great, heavy strides, but froze when her eyes fell upon the long contract written by Thorin and countersigned by Balin on the footstool in front of the chair. With a knot in her throat, she saw that the place for Bilbo's signature was spotless, empty. She sighed again, brushing it with her fingers.

She felt guilty: it was she who had warned him of what lay ahead, who had told him that she would not blame him if he refused, and that she, too, might leave the Company to its fate; so when he had thanked her, had she already decided in her heart not to take part? She ran a hand through her short hair, touching every lock from her forehead to the back of her neck.

"He will come, do not fear," her left hand ran quickly to the scabbard, drawing the sword she carried at her side; it was only when she was in a defensive position that she recognised Gandalf, who had entered without her hearing him. He walked towards her, his hands clasped behind his back and the usual sardonic smile always on his lips; he watched her for long moments, with those blue eyes that could dig into you, until they read your soul. And Geira, in her heart, was afraid of it.

"That contract will be signed very soon," he insisted, now closer to her.

"'Are you so convinced? The young hobbit wasn't convinced, I've seen that kind of look too many times, from young soldiers, recruits, and even head guards," almost without realizing it, she found himself again brushing against that yellowed paper, and those handwritten characters of those who had once been part of her world.

"Oh, I hope so! But, usually, my convictions always turn out to be correct!"

"Like me coming here?" she said directly as she looked up at him.

Gandalf took a deep breath, tilting his head down slightly to keep it from slamming into the ceiling. "That is the uncertainty that, though you will not believe me, has plagued me these many weeks," he explained quietly. "I will not hide from you that I thought you were not coming.”

"I didn't want to," Geira admitted. "I waited in Aldburg for as long as I could," she concluded, smoothing out the traveling bag on her shoulder with a movement of her shoulder.

The wizard nodded his head before speaking. "I see. What made you change your mind?"

At that unexpected question Geira stiffened all of a sudden. She had spent weeks in the room of the inn in the small village in the kingdom of Rohan, mulling over the offer the wizard had made to her, and up until a fortnight ago she had been more than sure that she would not participate in the expedition. Why should she, why should she accept what Gandalf had told her outside that inn as true. He knew nothing of what was to come, and yet the prospect he held out to her was too much even for a hardened soul like hers.

He could revoke the exile, you could go back home, fulfil your oath and be free, Geira. Isn't it what you want? Being free again?

"Because I don't want to die like this, in the dirt of a Men’s village with an invisible chain wrapped around my chest ... I don’t want to be bound to him anymore, I want his nephews to see their home,they are the new hope for Durin’s folk" she explained hastily, speaking like a dirge she had learned by heart.

"And not him?”

She looked up to Gandalf . “Would you ask this to a victim of an executioner? Or to a leftover wife of a soldier?”

“It depends on how much the victim cared for the executioner, and vice versa,” he explained with a soft voice.

For Geira it was like receiving a punch in the middle of her sternum; she felt a sudden urge to shout out her frustration, her anger, to give vent to the rage she had kept jealousy inside her all evening. He knew, Gandalf knew, yet he dared to say that to her, if it was to achieve a goal of his as he had already seen him do, it would not work this time, not with her.That was the point of no return for her; controlling her tears was almost impossible, as was not taking the sword from the hilt and pointing it at the wizard, even though she knew what would happen.

Furious, she began to tremble, looking the wizard straight in the face and finally and, after months, asked him the question that was eating her alive.

“Why did you want me to come?!” she growled “You have warriors, you have clever dwarves and useful ones. Why did you come to me, and do not tell me you did it for me!” she nearly roared.

As he had done for the rest of the evening, Gandalf remained silent for a few seconds, watching her. He did not get angry or upset, but he looked at her in such a way that everything around her seemed to grow cold and sad and for a moment she felt the same way.

“Because you have to fulfill your oath,” he told her again.

“I did not intend to fulfill it! That oath was broken long ago as was the one that he swore to me! Stop lying to me! ” she insisted, pleading with him with her eyes.

He owed that to her, an answer a simple answer, she was not asking more. She just wanted to know why Gandalf wanted her to torture heself, why he wanted her so bad in that Company why he cared that much that forced Thorin to accept her as a member of his Company.

He sighed softly, smiling sadly with the side of his mouth “I didn't, I did it for the executioner, for the warrior, for the king...”

Geira parted her lips, astonished but quivering with anger; unexpectedly she smiled, a sad smile, without a hint of joy painted on her face. “You know Gandalf, now I understand why you lied to me, because if these are the real reasons, you know I'm sure I would have turned down your invitation back then.

And without saying anything more she turned and walked out of the rounded green door.

She left the hobbit’s house behind her, following the same path the others had taken, passing other green mounds - hobbit dwellings - and finally resting at the inn where the whole company was already staying, but still awake. And she would know that that night, like many others, she would not find rest, because a question had begun to arise, a question about a story she had been telling herself for too many years: was she really only doing this for herself? Yes was the answer, because if it were otherwise she would rather die by his hand than go through it all again. To feel again. To be betrayed again.

The flames burned up to the sky. The fumes came out of every window from every balcony from every hole in which they found a passage. The screams rose high in the air and thundered in the valley below her. The yellow and blue fabrics danced a dance of death and destruction as they walked out the shattered marble door. Children clung to their parents' necks in fear. The women and men wept as they watched the bodies scattered on the door under the rubble as they were pulled away by those few who had not yet been gripped by grief.

The once green pines and grass on either side of the mountain had become a heap of ash and coal.

Her tears would not stop flowing, her armor had become heavy as a boulder that prevented her from moving.

Then a desperate scream under the hill where she was about her came to her ears making her almost fall to her knees under the weight of her helplessness and guilt.

His formerly desperate blue eyes turned to pure amazement as they landed on her.

One scream, one last scream before the realization of what would happen as she watched her heart burn in the rubble with her oaths and with the one dwarf who possessed it.

"I told you coming here would be a waste of time!"

"To hire a hobbit, where did you get such an idea?!"

"I did not think such a small body could possess so much..."

"Stubbornness, Oìn?"

"Well, why would he help us if he doesn't even know us?" noted Bofur, returning to light his pipe with a tinderbox and sitting down better on the window sill.

"Gandalf promised us the hobbit would accompany us; and if he said so, we must trust him."

"How about a bet, then? Come on, Nori! What do you say?"

There began a long chatting that involved them all, those who bet for or against Bilbo's arrival by the next morning. The commotion that permeated the small room of the inn, where they were to sleep, allowed two dwarves to move into the corridor, away from prying eyes and ears.

"What do you think, laddie?" asked the older dwarf, smoothing his long white beard.

The other sighed wearily, the ever-present wrinkle in the middle of his forehead more than worth a thousand words; even after he had removed his heavy cloak and remained in his long blue tunic covering his breeches, his figure was imposing and commanded awe and respect.

No matter how hard Balin tried, he still found it hard to believe that this dwarf, a child, who later became a young boy, would become king so soon, faced two major battles that had taken everything from him and with which he had to deal every day, every night; the old dwarf knew this for sure: not even in his dreams was Thorin Oakenshield free, safe from rancour and remorse.

"I think this mission has started under the worst of auspices: I wonder..." he paused, not quite sure what to say next.

"Whether we should proceed?"

The king nodded, but his gaze was far from convinced, lost in thoughts unknown to most, but intuitable to Balin; or, at least, most of the time. But, to be on the safe side, he decided to broach the subject calmly, one step at a time.

"Don't distress yourself about the hobbit: if you hadn't beckoned to me and brought me here, I would have placed a bet in his favour, you know?" he gave a half-smile, but that did not relax his companion’s tense features, quite the contrary. He made a contemptuous sound, halfway between sceptical and desperate.

"Dwalin was right: it was a waste of time coming here. It was folly to believe in his help; but even without him, we must proceed. No, it's not his presence I'm worried about... no... not him."

Here was the raw nerve, the sore point: just as Balin had imagined; it was not the thought of the failed burglar that plagued him.

"Thorin..." he began, laying a hand on his forearm. But as soon as he did, the muscles under his shirt twitched and the old dwarf was stopped with a raised hand and a grim look.

Seeing him in that state did not help Balin either, after all: after all, he was like a son to him. And fathers were always distressed when their children were not calm and happy.

"No, Balin. I don't want to talk about it," was his curt reply; and no matter how much the elder dwarf insisted, he would not be heard. His king's pride was mightier than reason, which struggled to prevail: for if he had even tried to think, Thorin would have understood; but stubbornness and anger blinded him.

Balin sighed loudly and shook his head, but he hoped in his heart that this journey would bring other victories than the lost pride of the dwarves.

Dawn came too soon, and continuous yawns surprised Geira as she rinsed her face with cold water and then strapped the sword to her side, but first she pulled it from its sheath, examining the blade for new scratches. Daylight broke over it, sending blinding glints down the walls: her hand stroked the inlaid and worked hilt, which gave the sword its name, more closely. Forged by her, for her alone, and branded on the hilt by... him.

That sword was her past, her present, her future perhaps. All she still possessed was that sword, all that bound her to what she had been was that sword that had allowed the two princes to know who she was and what she had been. She had managed to avoid their questions but she was sure, having seen the two princes, that they would ask Balin, Dwalin... Thorin for confirmation. And what would they answer? Was her oath really broken and she was just fighting the wind? No. She was to the death and would fulfil it, or die rather than live like this any longer. Without being able to speak a word to any dwarf.

She put the sword back where it belonged, and stopped losing herself in useless thoughts; she took a quick, final look around the room, tracing the outline of the simple wooden bed, the chest against the wall, and the windowsill, on which was a vase of fragrant lilac and yellow flowers: perfect, she had forgotten nothing. She arranged her traveling back better on her shoulder and closed the door, going downstairs; he thanked the innkeeper with a nod and a coin, then went out into the warm morning air. Outside, a riot of colours and scents invaded her, leaving her stunned: everything was so wonderfully green, and as the evening before she wondered what life could be like there.

"Good morning!" Kili's smiling face took her mind off her pesnier again, just like the night before in every way.

He stood in front of her, crunching a stick of beef jerky between his teeth, soon joined by his brother Fili, who had two in his mouth. "Come, we'll show you your pony," he said.

"My Pony?" she asked, incredulous.

With a gesture of his head, Fili invited her to follow them, or rather to follow her younger brother, who had already started walking with his arms behind his head. They took her to the back of the inn, where three animals stood in a large enclosure. Kili opened the wooden gate and pointed out the pony, a female with an entirely white coat, tame and quiet: Geira approached her, stroking her gently; she neighed, appreciating the gesture and making her new mistress smile. From the bag she took out a red apple and handed it to her, watching her devour it voraciously: yes, she liked it, she admitted; and it would be a good companion for the journey.

"Thanks, lads" she said with a smile turning towards the two brothers.

The dwarves bowed their heads in response, finishing lacing up the last of their bags of supplies, then dragged their steeds out of there, where the others were waiting for them; Geira followed, not receiving any greetings from the other members, just a deep silence, making her clearly remember what the others thought of her. Even the smile on her lips vanished in the blink of an eye.

Without a word, she hoisted herself up onto the saddle, settling in better. When they were all still and ready, Thorin cast his gaze over them all, including Gandalf, as if seeking some support, some security... or fear.

He made no speech, there was no need: they all knew what they were getting into, what the risks and dangers were, but they were ready; they were going to regain their homeland, there was nothing nobler than that,

their hearts were for their home. They were for Erebor: and they would hardly be discouraged or lose the purpose of their journey

The king turned his pony, leading it along the streets of Hobbiton, followed by the others.

Geira did not look back, but kept her gaze fixed ahead, her heart a little heavy and a little relieved, she could not quite explain why. She remained silent as they left the city and entered the large clearing lined with huge old trees, thinking with regret of the sort of friendly figure who might have cheered her journey and comforted her when all seemed lost. Who knows, perhaps Gandalf tended to overestimate himself a little too much, if he believed that his convictions always turned out to be right and positive …

"Wait!"

"Wait!"

"Wait!"

A familiar voice brought her to a halt, and so did the others; she turned swiftly in the saddle, hardly able to believe her eyes: Bilbo Baggins had just stopped beside Balin's pony, exhausted from his long ride; he caught his breath and wiped the sweat from his brow as he held out the contract to the elderly dwarf with one hand, claiming to have signed it. As soon as Balin verified the authenticity of the signature - a gesture that Geira found amusing anyway - he announced that he was welcome to Thorin Oakenshield's company; applause and whistles of welcome followed, interrupted by the king.

"Give him a pony!"

Bilbo tried to object, as he had never ridden a pony before, but Kili and Fili cleverly hoisted him up; Geira managed to catch the hobbit's eyes and, to his great surprise, he was stunned: she smiled at him, a warm and sincere smile.

And then the hobbit knew he had made the right choice.

[theplaid-wearingmoose]

Falling For the King ~Thorin x Reader fluff for dany-draecarys~

Hi! I wonder if you still take request. If you do, I would like to read some Thorin x reader, where reader is Bard's oldest daughter and falling for Thorin Oakenshield.   Thank you :)

When your father first came home from work with 13 Dwarves and a Hobbit, you weren’t expecting to like them. But after escaping the fires of Smaug and surviving the massive battle in Dale and Erebor, you found yourself becoming more attached to them, to the king in particular. You were intrigued by him. After hearing his story from Bilbo and remembering the tales your father used to tell you as a child, you grew to be fascinated with him.

You’d quickly become friends with Bilbo during your time with the Company. You didn’t see much of him during the battle but you were relieved when you found out he was safe. He had taken an interest in hearing about your family and how you became a healer when your mother passed away. Seeing as you were the oldest, you had to find some way to help your father bring in money and you’d always enjoyed helping people. You swapped stories with him about your family and he told you about the journey from the Shire.

Thorin Oakenshield, on the other hand, hadn’t said much to you after he and his company had climbed through your family’s toilet. Other than a gruff “thank you” and few other words here and there, he mostly kept to himself. There were a couple times when you managed to have a conversation with him, about life in Erebor and how Dale looked before the dragon, but it was usually cut short by someone needing your assistance or one of the members of the Company. You actually enjoyed talking to him and found yourself wanting to be around him more. You tried to talk yourself out of it, after all, he was a king and you were but a poor human girl from a small village. But you couldn’t help but start to really like Thorin. The concern for him you had felt all throughout the attack on Dale and the Mountain was very real and the relief when you heard he was alive was incredible. But it quickly turned to fear when you were told about his condition.

During the battle, he had been seriously injured. Being the most practiced and skilled healer in Dale, your father asked if you would help. The inside of Erebor was unlike anything you could’ve imagined. Despite being partially destroyed by the rampage of the dragon, it was still more beautiful than how it was described in the stories. You were led to Thorin’s room by two of the guards. When you arrived, it was a lot more chaotic than you had expected. Thorin was surrounded by members of the company and various others, all trying to help heal him or figure out what to do, now that the battle had been won. You could see the exhaustion and pain on his face and immediately felt great sympathy for him. Being crowded like this with injuries like his was causing him great discomfort and you wanted nothing more than to kick every single person out of the room. You cleared your throat to announce your presence. No one even turned in your direction, all busy bothering the king. Only Bilbo, who stood off to the side, noticed you and came over. “It’s madness in here. Thorin’s only just woken up and they’re already pestering him.” Anger grew in you as you watched Thorin try to sit up and let out a choked noise of pain.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” You shouted, stamping your foot on the stone floor. All heads whipped around to face you and the noise quickly stopped. You walked over to the bed and pushed past the muscular Dwarves in your way. “Everyone get out! Can you not see he’s injured and exhausted and frustrated?! I’ve been called here to take care of the king and that exactly what I’m going to do. But I cannot work with all this noise and for the good of my patient, you all need to leave. Now.” You demanded. Everyone around you stood still for a moment, stunned. You glared at them all and they quickly began to move towards the door. Bilbo, the last to leave, smiled at you and mouthed a “thank you” before shutting the door behind him. You turned to look at the Dwarf on the bed next to you. “That’s better.” You said, a small smile on your face. Thorin nodded and shifted on the bed, wincing slightly. “Yes, much better. Thank you, my lady.” He muttered, his voice low and hoarse. You grabbed a glass from the side table and filled it with water. You went to help him drink it but he sat up and took the glass from you. The pain from his injuries showed on his face and almost caused him to choke. You took the glass away from him and gently pushed him back down onto his pillow. “If I’m ever going to heal you, Your Majesty, you’ll have to actually let me help you. Don’t sit up.”

Thorin sighed and let his head fall back. “I am not used to bed rest.” He growled out. You raised an eyebrow at him. “Well considering you nearly died, you’ll just have to become used to it, Your Majesty.” You replied. He gave you a slightly shocked look which quickly turned to amusement. “You’ll have to let me remove your shirt. The bleeding has started again and I need to take care of that.” You told him, your voice a little softer. Thorin began to protest that he could do it himself but a pointed look from you shut him up. He held still as you slid one arm and his head out of the shirt before carefully peeling it from his injured side. You felt your face turn pink as you examined his bare chest. You could tell by looking at him that he was very strong. You forced yourself to focus back to the wound on the left side of his chest. Whoever had taken care of him before you was smart enough to use King’s Foil to stop the bleeding, but they had been very quick about it and rushed it, causing the wound to start bleeding again. You quickly grabbed fresh bandages and more of the useful plant and began mixing it with water. Thorin hissed with pain as you applied it to his chest. You worked as gently as possible but you had to work fast or he would lose more blood.

When the solution was applied and his chest bound in new bandages, you moved down to the stab wound on his foot. He didn’t even try to fight you as you removed his heavy boots and cleaned and dressed his foot. Once you were finished, you looked at him and sat next to him on the bed, relieved to see the pain and discomfort no longer showing on his face. “How do you feel, Your Majesty?” You asked, gently. He breathed a sigh of content. “Better, but still very tired. Thank you, my lady.” You smiled back at him and poured more water into the glass beside him. “You don’t have to keep calling me that, Your Majesty. Y/N will be fine.” You said, blushing slightly. “I’m going to get you something to ease the pain and help you sleep. You look as if you need a good week’s sleep.” You joked. You stood up to leave when you felt his hand grip your wrist. “Thank you, Y/N” He said, before shutting his eyes slowly. You nodded and quietly left.

The following days were spent taking care of Thorin as he recovered. Everyday you came and replaced the bandages and gave him medicine to help with the pain. When he was well enough to stand, you made sure he used the crutch as you instructed, though he tried to fight you on it. “Lady Y/N, I can stand fine. I do not need this.” He would protest. “Last time you tried to stand on your own, you almost fell over, Your Majesty. You’re using that until your foot is healed completely.” Thorin wasn’t used to being bossed around but he actually didn’t mind when you did it. There was something about your sharp tongue that intrigued him. He stopped fighting with you about his injuries and became a nearly perfect patient. Even Bilbo had noticed a change in the king. He seemed to brighten up when you were around. He even asked that you stop calling him “Your Majesty”. “Thorin will be fine.” He told you, repeating your words to him. You blushed and agreed to just call him Thorin. A few more days passed and Thorin was finally healed. You went back home and the following week was spent taking care of the survivors from the battle in Dale.

One day, you came home to find a massive bouquet of flowers on the table, your sisters Sigrid and Tilda giggling madly at the sight of it. “What is that?” You questioned. Tilda clapped her hands excitedly. “There’s a note, Y/N. Read it!” You picked up the card and looked at it. The handwriting was so neat, you could already assume who it was from. “My lady, I do not feel as though I have properly thanked you for all you have done for me these past few weeks. It would please me greatly if you would accept these flowers and accompany me for dinner tomorrow evening. -Thorin”  Your face turned bright pink as you read the note. Just then, your father walked in and saw the flowers on the table. “Who are those for?” He asked, curiously. Sigrid beamed. “They’re for Y/N, Da.” She giggled. Bard frowned as he looked at you. “Who are they from? What’s going on, Y/N?” Before you could answer, Tilda jumped up excitedly. “Y/N has a date with the king!” You felt your face turn red as you looked at your father. “Y/N?” “It would seem that way, Da. I do have a date with the king...”

[and-im-a-fangirl]

Help me

I need help below is a very brief description of a fanfiction, I cant find the link anywhere, so if any of you know it please help, or even know of one that sounds like it, please help me!

The hobbit Thorin/reader fanfiction on ao3.

Reader gets a section in erebor, eventually in love with thorin. She finds things that were lost to time, like jewels and tapestries.

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Cultural Differences

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairing: Thorin x Reader

Warning: N/A

Writer: @imaginesofeveryfandom aka @thequeenofthehobbits

Summary/Request: Requested by @ani808: Can I request a oneshot of the thorin imagine you did where he tries to court her but dwarven courting traditions go over her head? Please and thank you 🙂🙂🙂

Thorin Oakenshield is by no means a young dwarf, but he’s also not an especially old one. But in all his time he’s never tried to court anyone, not a dwarf, not a human, not a hobbit nor an elf. Until he met you. Human, impossibly stubborn and by all rights shouldn’t even be with the company, but you are because Gandalf wants you there and in truth Thorin wants you there as well. 

You’re a pretty ‘little’ thing, but that’s not what has him carving little figures for you each time they camp. You’re stubborn, he likes that, likes that you fight him on things, that you stand up for what you believe, what you think is right. He thinks that would be a good quality in a consort, a partner. He likes that you work hard, try to learn new skills to help out the company. That you refuse to do nothing, to stay idle.

He likes a lot of things about you. He feels ridiculous, a seasoned dwarf acting like a dwarfling with his first crush. But he wants to court you. So he makes these little figurines (gifts made by his own hand as is tradition) and he painstakingly carves them, each one different, each one meant for you. 

You’re stoking the fire when he approaches and hands one to you, you take it with a confused smile and thank him. It’s a pretty thing, a pony, you realise, and you do love it, even if you’re unsure as to why Thorin of all people is giving you gifts. 

The others know of course, they’re dwarves, the gifts are a sign of courtship and acceptance is an acceptance of that courtship, but they know better than to take it at face value. Thorin knows you don’t understand, knows that your acceptance isn’t an acceptance of courtship...as frustrating as that is. 

He doesn’t know much about human courtship and it seems far more complex than dwarven courtship, nonetheless he tries another tactic. Flowers, the Hobbit said flowers were a universal sign of affection. Dwarves don’t give flowers, they’re hard to come by in mountain halls. But they’re in the wild right now and flowers grow abundantly.

You’re setting out your bedroll when he hands them to you. You thank him, once again confused, but slightly more aware that flowers are not necessarily a friendship based gift. You still do not realise his intentions and Thorin realises rather quickly that if he is to court you he will have to ask with words and not with items...humans are...troublesome, complex...and it frustrates him that you don’t just understand his attempts. 

“Y/N, may I talk with you for a moment, in private?” You’ve just finished eating your evening meal when he approaches and you’re unconcerned about the request. He had been so nice to you lately, sweet gifts making your mood brighter. You have no doubt that he isn’t going to be horrible to you. 

“Of course, Thorin.” You smile at him brightly and he wants to bottle it, capture it and look at it whenever the pressure is too much, whenever kinghood becomes too much. 

The two of you walk off to the side of camp, close enough to still be safe, but far enough to not be overheard.

“I...have been trying to ask you something in gifts lately, but it seems that Dwarven and Human tradition does not match...and so it is perhaps better if I ask you with words.” You’re confused, but perhaps it explains the sudden gifts, that there was a meaning behind them that you didn’t see. You feel rather bad that you didn’t see it. 

“Please...go ahead.” You can see that the question has weight, Thorin, even the mightiest of dwarves you’ve met, seems to be struggling to get the words out.

“I...wish to-” He isn’t sure if court is a word humans use, but he can’t think of many others, “court you and those gifts were an offering of that...”

“You wish to court me?” It seems bizarre that a Dwarven King would wish to court you a simple human, but then who are you to decide what another wants? Who another wants? 

You like Thorin as gruff as he can be. He is regal in every sense, but it’s the way he leads, the way he treats those he cares about that matters most. Courtship doesn’t mean marriage, it’s a period of learning about each other, of growing affections together and you think that you’d quite like that. 

“I would like that, Thorin...although humans typically ask outright, we give gifts during a courtship, but not to engage one...perhaps you should tell me more about dwarven courtship?”

“Aye, and perhaps you should tell me about human ones?” 

[daffodelilia-writing]

Rose by any other name pt 6

We continued on our journey after breakfast. You and Bilbo rode at the end of the company discussing what name we would give our new found companion. It sat bundled up with Bilbo upfront while you sat behind.

“How's about Nutters? Or Fluffers?” Bilbo suggests looking down at the small animal in his lap.

“You seem pretty drawn to names ending in ER.” You reply laughing lightly as Bilbo blushes in embarrassment. We bounce ideas back and forth for the a while as your troupe marched on. Some of the others even tossed out a suggestion or two.

“Perhaps Acorn?” Ori suggests,” could name it Fox. Would be funny and certainly a conversation starter.” Dealing had suggested which had made you and Bilbo both laugh.

“Perhaps you should make it silence, seeing as it is the only one who knows what that is.” Thorin interjects, annoyed at our efforts.

“Maybe, or maybe I should name him Hope, seeing as his presence effects the others positively!” You reply, but do not stay close to hear a response. Bilbo leads your pony back to the of company as you continue to brainstorm.

You noticed Gandalf’s cheerful mood had lessened a bit during the day and when Thorin declared that the company stop for the night at a small abandoned farm. Gandalf's headed over a hill wishing to be rid of the company of dwarves for a while. That had left Bilbo confused but we all quickly got into the routine of making camp. Fili and Kili were to tend to the ponies and once Bombur had fixed up dinner, you and Bilbo were tasked with bringing them each a bowl. As you approached the barn, the two young dwarves shot out, looking frantically around them. They spot you both and at that moment you could practically see the wheels turning with an idea.

“Boys? What's happened?” You ask them, easily looking over their heads to try and peek into the disaster that is the barn.

“Well you see.. we ran into a slight problem.” Kili stated looking towards Fili expectantly.

“The ponies got taken… by trolls…” Fili finishes.

“ Trolls!” You exclaim, dropping one of the bowls in surprise and running in to see the lack of ponies and a large footprint leading into the trees.

“We were hoping our burglar could help us steal them back.” Fili told Bilbo, clapping him on the back.

“Seeing as you are the hardest to spot and the lightest on his feet.” Kili added.

“You could be in and out with the ponies before they knew it.” Fili smiled encouragingly at Bilbo, but Bilbo was certainly not excited about the idea.

The boys managed to convince him, leaving you behind as they went the direction the large footsteps pointed. You watched after them a moment before picking up the bowl you dropped and taking them back to camp. You were greeted by little squirrel, it climbing up and sitting on your shoulder. Your eyes were wide and worried as you placed the bowls back by the fire. Bombur was the first to notice your state, asking what was the matter. This caused the others to turn curiously towards you.

“ The ponies were taken, Fili and Kili took Bilbo to get them back.” You explained.

“Taken by what Lass?” One of them asks. You look back towards the trees hoping they would be coming back.

“ Trolls..”

((hi! Sorry it's been so long, i needed to find motivation and a bit of inspiration to get back into the groove. Hopefully next we will have some action that will be okay-ly written. Thanks for reading!))

[raisedinerebor]

I am so close to crying right now. This really pulled at the heart strings. The ending as well. Poor Thorin! You've got Thorin who wants what's best for you. He's rather you not live through heaetbreak. And then Geralt. He doesn't like the dwarves and seems like he wants nothing more than to take. I'm wondering if that would change as time went on or not. If you do plan on doing this as a series I would absolutely love to be tagged in it. It looks like this would be an amazing story to read!

A Dwarf or a Witcher? (Thorin Oakenshield and Geralt of Rivia)

Day 25 of Lyn’s Writing Event

Event Masterlist

Summary: The Witcher has been staying in Erebor, generously given lodgings and food by the Dwarves of Erebor. But Geralt has taken a liking to you, and the King of Erebor is concerned that your heart will be broken. 

Warnings: Very slight language, angst, love triangle (a bit. Sort of?)

Comments: I was considering writing this a while ago. I may expand on it more and make it into a proper fic later on. This is purely testing the waters. For the prompt ‘I can’t be with you.”

Keep reading

[raisedinerebor]

Home Is With You

Pairing: Thorin x Reader

Song: Home- Edwards sharp and the Magnetic zeros.

Warnings: N/A

An: This was a request from wattpad! I hope you enjoy.

This was not quite the life he had imagined for himself as a child. Then again. He was still within Erebors' halls at the time. Still surrounded with plenty. With family. Without a want in the world. His father's father's people had plenty. And soon to be his people.

When he had first thought of home and a wife it was draped in fine jewels. With rich wines and delicate foods at ready lips. It was a whole kingdome he could give to his future one. His Amarlime. His kings jewel.

It was supposed to be a life of ease and plenty. A handful of children if time allowed. And his one in his waiting arms. Not a single need of want in the world pressed into thier minds.

Instead it was bare feet pressed against soft grass. Warm summer air deep within his lungs. His subjects his friends instead. It was with people who valued food and song over horded gold.  The most valuable thing you could give one another was your time. The most valuable, and most limited gift of all. He was happy to say he had a little bit more to give than most.

Oh. And flowers. Of most kinds. Pressed into your loved ones hands. Flowers here were like gemstones back home.

Even now his kingdom was a small house settle deep into the ground. A goat round back and a garden teaming with life up front. His wife still draped in fine fabrics, gifted from friends, let loose on the front to allow room for her still growing belly.

She was still as stunning as the day he married her. As the day he knew he was in love with her. Even with her feet bare and flour in her hair as she kneeded dough. Her hair loose and tousled, his beads gleaming in her hair. Claiming her has she had done him.

A silent proclamation of love amongst his kind.

After the fall of Erebor he hadn't thought of a life like this in a long time.

A life of ease. A life worth having.

Until he had met her. The little lass who stole his heart the moment they steped into the Shire. She who was so full of life it spilled over and infected those around her.

He had her in his thoughts throughout the entire journey. Of what if's and what what could be. He fell for her and he fell hard.

He thought of what he could give her after he reclaimed his home. The jewels. The gold. His love pressed into her waiting palms.

To his surprise she only wanted his love. She never cared for riches. She only needed him. His love. His time. His future. All she wanted was him.

And she had him.

She had him through thier son. Thier first born child who was just as rambunctious as he was at that age. He played with the other children in the shire. Bringing home bugs and shiney rocks he thought his mother would like. The bugs would go. Each rock was displayed over the fire place. 

Thick brown hair with his mother's eyes. His son was his greatest gem.

And even still his wife had him. With thier second child. Her stomach soft and rotound with new life. The fabrics of her dress flowing and moving like water  down a river with each fluttering move she makes.

He goes to her then. Leaving flowers on the table as he splays his hands over her hips. He dips down to kiss at her neck. Feeling her shudder as she laughs. Batting him away with flour covered hands.

He glances around his home. Dried food hangs from the ceiling. Plants crawling along the walls and over windows.

Like in the Blue Mountains.

Nothing like Erebor.

He grins. Truly lights up for the first time in a long time. Since the Battle Of The Five Armies. Since his injuries. Since he lost his home.

His wife chuckles as she smears bread dough along his nose. Oh Mahal. This was his kings jewel. And no other could have it. He spins her to face him. His hands upon her face. Her hip. And kisses her deeply. Her stomach pressed against his. Both laughing as the child within kicks in protest.

"My home." He mutters against her lips. "Is with you."

[averil-of-fairlea]

A rock and a hard place

Incorporating this imagine from @imaginexhobbit: Imagine getting into an argument with Thorin and him saying, “I am a king!” And you look him in the eye and reply with, “I don’t give a sh*t!” + this imagine from @imaginethorin: Imagine arm wrestling Thorin for the best sleeping spots along the quest || More Thorin fics || Fanfiction masterlist

You didn’t ask for much. Just a sharpened knife (Fili made sure to keep yours in tip-top shape); a filled water skin (Kili eagerly took care of that need); and, after the troll incident, claim to the largest, flattest rock wherever the company members decided to lay their heads at night.

Ever since you were tossed about like so much garbage in a burlap sack, your lower back needed the support. You were surprisingly alright during the long days of walking, but at night, you had to have something solid against your back.

“Your blade.” Fili offered an exaggerated bow before you with your trusty weapon across his open hands, presenting the finely sharpened knife.

“Thank you, sir.” You mirrored his bow and took the knife from him, tucking it in its sheath inside your waistband.

Kili scurried up, his toothy grin nearly blinding you.  

“Your water, milady.”

“And thank you.” As you accepted the water skin and nodded your thanks, you heard - and felt - your lower back crack. You yawned.

“I suppose that’s my signal to turn in.” You thanked your friends again, then took a look around the camp. The company was finishing up supper and preparing for slumber. The large rock you’d claimed with your bedroll had something tossed over it: Thorin’s coat, made of a thick wolf pelt and black leather.

Your tied pallet still lay at the base of the rock where you’d plopped it as soon as Thorin settled on this stretch of woods for the night. Another scan of the area and you saw him heading to the rock, taking his last swig from his own newly-filled water skin, also courtesy of Kili.

After you snatched his pelt, you practically flew up to him, creating a barrier between him and the rock.  

Thorin lowered his water skin slowly, staring at you with those blue eyes as if you’d lost your marbles.   

“I’m sleeping here,” you said.

You handed him his coat. He tried to hand it back to you. When you didn’t take it, he grabbed it from you and tossed it back on the rock.

“I’ve already claimed this spot,” he said.

“Uh...no. I claimed it with my bedroll. First.”

He sighed and gave a fast, slight eye roll - not quite up to the sky, but enough to let you know he didn’t feel like arguing.

“There are perfectly strong trees all around us. You can lean on the one where I left my things.” 

“Tree roots sticking up from the ground poke my ribs.” 

“Choose another place with a stone, then.”

Fili piped up enthusiastically. “I’ve got one! Here!” Fili pointed to a stone the size of a cheese wheel next to him.

“Yours isn’t big enough for me, Fili.”

Of course, the company took your reply in the crudest way possible.

“OHHHH-HO-HO!” the Dwarves roared. Bilbo buried his smiling face in his hands. Gandalf puffed his pipe as he chuckled.

“That’s not what I meant, you beasts.” No one heard you above the laughter. You rolled your eyes deep into the cosmos and refocused on Thorin.  

“AnyWAY….” You lifted your voice and your chin, trying your best to look defiant. “Why don’t you sleep against the little rock?”

Thorin glanced at it. The mere sight of their leader swiveling his head in their direction made the members of the company settle down.   

Thorin faced you again, arms folded.

“You must be joking,” he said.

“Thorin, my back has been aching off and on since the trolls. You know that. I need the hardness of this rock for support or I’ll be no good in the morning.”

“Have you not noticed me grunting and holding my side? I have been tormented by splitting pains in my back since escaping Goblin-town.”   

You looked from side to side. Should I say it? you asked yourself.

“I thought that was because of old age,” you mumbled.  Thorin glared at you.

You shouldn’t have said it.

“Shall I try massaging you both again?” Oin called out as he cleaned the last bits from his plate.

“NO!” You and Thorin said it in unison. Oin meant well, but his rough hands did more scratching and twisting than therapeutic kneading.

“You say that now, but as soon as I get my hands on some wintergreen oil, you two will be fit as fiddles,” Oin promised. “Let’s hope there’s some in the next village we come across.”

“Until then,” Thorin said, turning to you, “perhaps you can find some other hard place that will suit you.” 

Eyes wide, you looked around frantically. “What other ‘hard place’?”

“Level ground.” He shooed you aside, sat on the rock, and began unlacing his heavy boots.

“Level ground alone won’t do,” you protested. “Neither will sloped ground. I’ve tried both.”

“Thank you for the advisory. Now, if you will excuse me...”

“Let’s fight for the rock,” you proposed.

He sighed. “Another joke.”

“No joke. Let’s arm wrestle.”

Thorin smiled an incredulous smile and shook his head. His shoulders bounced but you heard no laughter from him.  

“You have guts, I’ll give you that.”

You placed your hands on your hips. “What, are you afra-”

Thorin bolted from the rock before you finished. The fact that the top of his head only came to your bottom lip made no difference; he seemed to tower over you.

“The only thing I fear is accidentally breaking your arm. If you cannot wield your knife, if you cannot fight and help protect us as you were hired to do, you will not be paid in full when I retake the mountain.”

“Oh, don’t worry -  I’m getting paid. Worry about finding level ground to sleep on. Or a strong tree. Or some other hard place!” You repeated his quote and imitated his voice down to the growl.

At hearing his words used against him, Thorin’s lips twisted, parted, then clamped shut.  He stomped to the other side of the rock, groaned as he knelt, then started rolling up his tunic sleeve. The company crowded around the rock.   

Thorin nodded toward you. “Come on, then. I haven’t got all night. Neither have you.”

You knelt beside the rock and rolled up your sleeve, your jaw dropping as you beheld Thorin’s bare, bulging arm muscles for the first time.

“Fine, fine. Just sleep on that side,” you said, backing down.

“It’s too jagged. I do not need my back sliced open.” Thorin cocked his head at you. “What, are you afr - ”

“Grrr!!!!” You propped your elbow up, and Thorin clasped his hand around yours, palm to palm.

Twelve Seconds Later....

You unfurled your bedroll against the rock as Thorin paced before you, wearing the same defeated look on his face that he had at the end of your short arm-wrestling match.

You still couldn’t believe you’d bested him. Oh, Thorin may have had brute strength, but you had the motivator of pain pushing you to victory. The tense muscles in your arm strained your shoulders, and the stress there triggered the pangs in your lower back that only leaning against something solid could alleviate. You needed that rock!

I can do this, you’d thought, willing a sly grin to your face, replacing the fierce gaze you held with Thorin. And that’s when, without warning, he loosened his powerful grip. You slammed his hand to the rock, triumphant. The company cheered for you for a moment, until Thorin barked “Silence!” for every dwarf, Elf, man, woman and orc to hear within 50 kilometers.

You went about preparing your spot, getting it nice and comfy, when Thorin made another announcement - lower in volume this time, through gritted teeth.

“By all rights, this spot should be mine,” he seethed. You heard the others, save for Fili and Dwalin who had already gone to their posts for watch duty, giggling as they snuggled into their sleeping sacks.   

“How is it yours? I won!” you reminded him.

“I am a king!”

You shrugged and didn’t flinch at his dagger-eyes. That’s when you said the coarse and disrespectful thing that got your mouth washed out with soap when you were little and exploring your verbal boundaries. You’d have to apologize later, but at that moment you were tired, and not a little nervous about how dearly your muscles would pay come morning for that daft arm-wrestling suggestion. You sure hoped the wintergreen oil would be plentiful in the next town.

You lay down and scooted your back against the rock. Perfect.   

“Hmph!” Thorin turned away, coat in hand, and headed to his bedroll near a tree. All at once he grabbed his right side and bent at his hips, groaning and gritting his teeth until his back pain subsided. You felt terrible, but not enough to give up the rock yet.

“You can have the rock when I go on watch,” you suggested, a little too cheerily.

“A fine idea, if we weren’t on watch together.”  He straightened up slowly.

“Then trade watch duty with someone else, Thorin.”   

He grunted and let out his bedroll. 

“King Thorin, I should say,” you added.

“Aye, you should.” He didn’t turn around. 

As you chuckled into your sore palm, Thorin lay on his threadbare coverlet and folded his pelt. He slammed the side of his face against it, using the pelt as a pillow, and muttered something about slick smiles being an unfair advantages in battle before he fell asleep.

[enter-fandom]

The Long Road (part 1)

Fandom: The Hobbit Pairing: Thorin x Reader (eventually) Rating: General Warnings: General, Canon Compliant Violence Theme: N/A Request: N/A Words: 1521 Status: Part 1 Notes: I’ve seen so many “Reader Falls into Middle Earth” stories, and while I love every single one, it’s always an unprepared reader with very few skills that translate. I wanted to rectify that, if I could. Warnings are for each individual part. Later parts will likely contain Smut. Secondary Notes: For those who have never been to a Ren Faire, or a convention, peace tie is the act of rendering a weapon (usually a blade) unusable, by making it unable to be unsheathed. This is often done using zip ties. This is done for the safety of actors and patrons. All faires I’ve ever been to peace tie weapons upon entry. Some peace tie weapons bought in shops on fair grounds, others do not. Also, some faires allow patrons and actors to camp on premises, but outside the faire proper ----

It was your third weekend of Faire, and one of your first times off of the season. Wandering through the various shops, speaking to the artisans and other actors you knew as the morning faded into early afternoon, you immersed yourself in the painstakingly crafted world around you. Despite being off for the day, you’d chosen a simple tunic, trousers, and leather armor, sword peace tied to your side. At your back, your pack contained a few essentials you refused to leave in camp, as well as a change of dress should the afternoon call for it. Stopping at one of the carts on the path, you bought a packet of candied nuts and moved toward the open grounds for eating, roving actors amusing the patrons, some of whom were in garb themselves. Settling under a tree, you enjoyed your snack, the sun warming your skin and your eyes closed, the sounds of activity around you lulling you into a nap, feeling safe with people around whom you knew wouldn’t allow any harm befall you. You woke, however, to a different sort of clatter. It sounded more like camp, than the grounds, and you blinked, far more trees in your sight, and the sun much lower in the sky than should be. Following the sound of voices, you peeked over what appeared to have once been a stone fence, gasping softly at the sight before you. You knew these figures, though not in the same way as your fellow actors. Short, bustling, bearded and armored men - dwarves, you corrected - moved about what was clearly a camp, calling to one another as they worked. Among them, a head of short, curly blond hair bobbed, pitching in where the figure could, but mostly just staying out of the way. A quick headcount brought the number to twelve, and your lips pursed in thought, remembering the all too familiar story and trying to place who was missing and why, realization hitting you. You shrank back when a head turned your direction, and you took a slow, quiet breath, uncertain of what would happen if they found you. Your gaze moved to your sword, and you cursed the peace tie. If things progressed the way you thought they might, it would serve you no good. The sound of gravel and twigs crunching underfoot caught your ear, and you moved, wishing more fervently that you had use of your blade, just in case, when a hat-clad head hovered above you, “Oi, lads. We’ve got company.” You quickly found yourself surrounded, studied and questioned by too many Dwarrow at once, and you stood, holding your hands up to stay the commotion, “One at a time, or I cannot answer anything.” Thorin, of course, took the lead, sneering your way, “Who are you?” “Y/N.” That was simple, at least. His brow furrowed at the name, unfamiliar to his ears, not a common one for Middle Earth, “And are you friend or foe?” “Friend, I should think,” you said with a laugh, “Though, this is unexpected.” “How so?” “This is most certainly not where I’m from.” At the questioning looks, you sighed, shifting your pack from your back and holding a hand up again, “Nothing I’ve got in here will cause harm.” The closest would have been your flintstone, but even that was useless without tinder. They still watched with unease, and you could not fault them for it, even as you reached into a side pouch and pulled out two very foreign items.

You glanced around the group,  locking eyes with Thorin and handing him your wallet before holding your phone out to Ori. While the leader of the company took the offered object,  the scribe looked a little nervous,  a few nods urging him to take it from you.

Thorin was had already unfolded the leather and was studying the construction as well as contents,  “What's this?”

“My wallet,” you reached out, pulling a card from the confines, flicking it, “This is plastic. It's made from different compounds to be used in place of things like glass and metal.  These cards are linked to accounts and allow me to make purchases where I'm from.” He took the card from you with a frown, studying it before returning it where it belonged,  his attention turned now to your license.  “That's my identification.  It has my name,  address,  date of birth.”

He looked from the picture, to your face with a frown, trying to reconcile the difference that ten years had made in your features. “And what's this,  Miss?” Ori asked, still turning your phone over in his hands.

“That, is my phone.  It's a device that lets me communicate verbally over great distances. It's metal,  plastic, and glass all bundled to make it.” You reached out and carefully pressed the power button on the side, drawing it to life. Your lock screen was a picture from Faire that a friend had taken,  you in the heat of a match,  sword drawn,  mouth open in a battle cry.  Sliding your finger over the screen to unlock it as the others peered over the younger Dwarf's shoulder,  revealing a sight that made Thorin's frown deepen.

“That's…”

“The Lonely Mountain,  yes,” you finished,  gently taking your belongings back and tucking them away.  

“How?”

“That's a long story,” you offered,  shrugging. “One I'm willing to tell when time allows,  if you'll have me,  but first,  if one of you would be so kind.” Your hand finally found the hilt of your sword and the group tensed,  hands going to their own weapons only to frown when your tug did not unsheathe the bound blade.  Catching onto your request,  Nori moved forward with a knife, cutting the tie and you smiled, “Thank you.”

Stepping back, you bowed low, glancing up,  “Y/N L/N, at your service.”

The company looked to Thorin,  waiting quietly until he inclined his head, “Thorin Oakenshield, and Company, at yours.”

They broke back into their tasks after that, you helping where you could, making light conversation and getting to know the company in ways kept from the stories of your world. A nervousness remained about them, in your presence, but you didn't mind.  You were much the same,  though for a different reason. Questions were hurled your way,  many about your world,  though some about your knowledge of theirs.  You answered what you could,  but begged off some questions for another time,  eventually taking a bowl from Bilbo when he was sent to take Fili and Kili their dinner.  

“I can handle this,  you know.  They aren't far,” he groused as you moved through the trees.

“The delivery, yes.” What came after was more the reason you were going along.

When you came upon the princes, they drew on you,  frowning at Bilbo, “Who's she?”

The Hobbit ignored Fili's question,  glancing around,  “We seem to be short two ponies.”

He looked to the brothers, who looked suitably chastised, “Yes, we were just… what are you doing?” Kili's gaze moved from Bilbo to where you were moving slowly past the uprooted tree, quiet.

Rolling your eyes,  you looked back,  “Investigating.” You didn't need to. You'd learned their quest as a child, and continued to love it into adulthood.  You knew where the ponies were, and what would transpire,  but wondered how much you could change it.  Moving further through the brush,  you were joined by the other three,  sighing when you saw the trolls. “Go tell the others.” There was whispering behind you,  and you didn't bother to see who left,  creeping forward still as the gruesome trio around the fire conversed. You were no match for them,  even with Fili and Kili, doubtfully even with the rest of them.  The only way this could play out properly as close to what would occur without you as possible.  

Taking a deep breath,  you broke through the brush,  “Excuse me, I believe you have something of mine!”

The plan - if it could even be called that - wasn't your greatest,  but you hadn't really had time, intent on taking care of the situation to the best of your ability. If it hadn't been for Bilbo's quick thinking,  stalling for time, and Gandalf's return,  you'd have been troll food. Thankfully things worked out,  however,  and you abstained from joining the group in the hoard,  instead looking over your belongings and making sure nothing was missing, already calculating the events ahead. It all depended, really, but you had a good idea.

You were right.  Radaghast showed,  taking Gandalf aside,  and then the Orcs. The stupid orcs.  Your sword was useless at your side as you ran,  cursing and ducking to remain out of sight.  As the tallest of the group - though not by much - you had to crouch more,  breathing deeply and nudging Kili. He glanced up,  realization dawning,  before looking to Thorin for instructions.  With a nod from his uncle,  he readied his bow and stepped out,  aiming and firing quickly.  

And then you were on the move again, following Gandalf to the hidden path,  already making your way as the Dwarves discussed behind you if they would follow.  

The path opened around you, revealing the breathtaking beauty of Rivendell, and you smiled.  You were safe,  for now.

[theplaid-wearingmoose]

Requests are open!!!

Sooooo I’m pretty bored right now and i have some peace and quiet while the family is out so if y’all wanna request some one shots or something, my requests are open! depending on the number of requests i get i can leave the ask box open for a bit just so those who want one can get their requests in. I got a new laptop for christmas so i wanna break it in you know, get some good typing going on this thing... <3 <3 

[lathalea]

Hi, not sure if you’re open to asks about writing fics (ignore this if not haha) but I’m wondering if you could write Thorinxreader where the reader is having horrible anxiety and he comforts her? Thanks. Much 💕

Hiii 💙 Thank you for your ask!

I’m really sad to say it but I’m not accepting any requests at the moment - this month is all about The Hobbit Advent Calendar - but feel free to send me this ask when my requests are open again.

Here, have a puppy instead :)

[thorinthehottotty]

May 30th - Lyn's Writing Event - Thorin

Prompt - I royally fucked up

A/N: A day late, but here it is. I'm about to write the next one so expect two posts.

Summary: Thorin's wife goes into an early labor. Modern!ThorinxReader

Warnings: Mildly graphic depictions of child birth. Fluff.

"Thorin," calls a meek voice, making the man stiffen and glance toward the woman behind him. "Don't be mad," she murmurs, bracing an arm against the door. It wasn't often his outspoken wife asked for him to calm before telling him something was wrong. The way she called his name had him on edge. The anxiety she gave him lately was enough.

He sets his tools to the work bench, stepping away from his project and toward the woman who had a sheen of sweat across her face, pain etching into her features.

"My love," he murmurs, feeling the spike of adrenaline. His heart stops when blood suddenly splats to the floor below her, trailing down her inner legs. He launches toward her, hands pressing on her enormous belly as his horror soars to new heights. "Y/N! What is wrong?! What's happened!?" His normally low, gravelly voice becomes loud and frantic as she grips his arms for support.

"I royally fucked up. I thought they were just the braxton hicks," she groans through her teeth. "But- ugh!" She grunts and grips his big, tattooed arms hard. She tries to breathe through the pain. He feels his lunch climbing into his throat. "My water broke on my way out."

"You're in labor," Thorin concludes and glances back at the nearly finished crib he'd been slaving at with every spare moment for months. Had his wife not fallen in love with an ancient, splinted crib they'd found at a garage sale back when they'd first discovered they were expecting, Thorin would have just bought one. He was so close to having it ready for the tiny babe he'd dreamed of having his whole life. But that babe was not due for another two weeks! And he was never told that blood was supposed to be flowing from her before the birth! Something had to be wrong.

"We need to get you to the hospital!" He scoops her up from the doorway and into his arms, watching her breath puff in the cool winter air. She gives another pained groan and tucks her head to her chest as he sweeps her from the opening of the barn, carrying her toward the car.

"I was stupid! I should have realized-" this time she cuts herself off with a pained cry Thorin freezes in his horror.

"Your contractions are closer than five minutes!" He nearly shouts. "Much closer."

She gives him a teary look. The closest hospital was nearly forty minutes from their home. "Take me inside," she heaves.

"No! There is so much blood!"

"That was my mucus plug! Please, take me inside. I won't make it to the hospital and I am not birthing him in the damn car!" He was never happier that his wife was a labor and delivery nurse. How many times had she walked him through the process?

"You should have told me!" He roared carrying her toward the house instead. She'd left the back door open in her haste.

"My water broke in the doorway, careful." He moves around the puddle carefully. Knowing his wife was okay, he felt more comfortable helping her deliver in the house.

"He's coming fast," she whimpers and Thorin settles her on the couch before darting to grab her supplies. They were fully aware that this was a possiblity and Thorin knew she wanted to do a home birth.

What was it his wife always said to him? Nurses were always the worst patients. He was a horrible mix of anxious, angry and excited. The whole experience dragged and blurred at the same time. One minute he was trying to set up her tools and the next he had his wife's legs over his shoulders. He barely had time to call an ambulance.

The fire department showed up when he was already supporting the head of his child as it hung out of his wife. The firefighters guided him through the rest of the process, which was fairly quick. Once those shoulders where through, it just kind of... Slipped out. And Thorin was covered in blood and amniotic fluid, holding a tiny wailing babe that the firefighters assured him was a healthy son. The ambulance finally arrived shortly after and there were so many congratulations given as his exhausted wife heaved on the couch.

He didn't even realize his tears until his wife was wiping at them and praising him for doing such a good job. "You delivered him," she whispers.

"Does this mean your going to stop making tuna mac n' cheese?" She laughs through her tears of joy and kisses him.

"As long as you eventually have sex with me again after seeing the atrocities afflicted to my vagina," she heaves. Thorin chuckles and gives his wife a kiss as they wheel in the cot for her.

Taglist: @dabisburntnut @dumbassunderthemountain @fizzyxcustard @tomisbaeholland @queenofmankind

[kibleedibleedoo]

Hero of your own fate

Thorinxreader

No warnings slow burn.

Chapter 1/?

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INTRODUCTION

It had been less that a year since you first met Gandalf or Mithrandir or whatever he called himself on that dreary night you first met him. The wizard by many names had disguised himself as a poor man looking for aid, which unfortunately was not an uncommon sight on the city streets.

Whether for better or for worse you had shown him kindness and understanding, offering a hot meal and making sure he had everything he needed, afterall not all those on the streets want a night in a hostel if it means losing a location that sustains them. He gladly accepted your offer and you both warmed up in a coffee shop as he told you tales of battles between men,dwarves,elves, and orcs from a world nothing like your own. They sounded like the tales your mother used to read to you when you were little, princes and princesses, dragons and warriors, good trumping evil but one story he left unfinished. The tale of Erebor, home of Durin's folk and the terrible dragon Smaug. He leaned closer, his voice grew serious and all background noise faded

"would you join a quest to reclaim a stronghold from evil?"

His tone made you slightly uneasy, this was hypothetical after all surely. You let out an awkward chuckle

"who doesn't want to be the hero of their own story"

Your answer seemed to please the strange man as he sat back in his chair with a smirk plastered on his face. You went to take another sip of your drink when suddenly he stood up, thanked you for your company, and left. His drink was only partially drunk and he had not touched the food you had bought for him.

"wait, at least take these ...." you trailed off as you turned to where he had just been but he had vanished into thin air.

As you left the café the rain, that had only been a fine mist up until this point started to hammer down as the heavens opened up around you. Thankfully you had remembered to put your umbrella in your bag so didnt feel the need to seek shelter as others did. You knew the buses would be rammed and the wait for the next just wouldn't be worth the few minutes in the dry until the bus reached your stop, so you decided to walk home afterall it was relatively close only about a 20 minutes walk. But the further you walked the heavier the rain got. Soon it was so heavy that you could barely see anything outside the safety of your umbrella, you let out a sigh wishing you had followed everyone else and chosen to take the bus. The sky was lit up briefly then back to the dull grey of heavy rain that you could barely see through.One. Two. Three. A rumble of thunder rattled your bones. Okay that was far to close for comfort. Flash. One. Two. Bang! Oh no its getting closer. You had nowhere to turn for safety. Flash. One. Then boom!

The noise was deafening, completely and utterly overwhelming, and left a high pitch ringing in your ears. You didnt notice it initally but the sounds of the city had changed, replaced with chirping birds and a calmness that could only be found in the countryside. The feel under your feet was different, it squelched more like mud than a foot path. Still clutching your umbrella you noticed as the rain eased you could see more and you definitely werent in the city anymore. This had to be a dream, you must've been hit by that blast of lightening you thought to yourself as you tried to pull out your phone without dropping the umbrella. You had heard somewhere that your brain can't process clocks while you are dreaming. You were hoping this was a dream so you could calm down but no the clock read clear as day 18:53. So not a dream. Next course of action was to find somewhere to collect your thoughs and get out of the cold, for while it was now the middle of spring the wind still had a bite to it especially since the umbrella had only protected your torso from tge torrential downpour. You put your phone back in your pocket. Since the rain had decided to stop you also shook your umbrella before putting it away. Not far from the hill you seemed to be on was a cobblestone path which you hoped led to a house or some structure as you could not see a single piece of architecture above ground. Thankfully the path did lead somewhere, a small garden with a cute letter box and a huge green circular door.

"Surely that door must lead somewhere, maybe wherever I am the people choose to live underground" you thought outloud. it was a strange though but no stranger than your current circumstances were. From behind the door you could hear singing and merryment and you hoped you would not disurb the party by knocking. Tap.Tap.Tap. You knocked on the door barely loud enough to be heard over the noise of the party. A few moments passed and the door creaked open to reveal the same desheveled man you had had coffee with earlier only this time he appreaed to be twice the size of you and crouching in what you would otherwise consider a very large room.

"ah another guest is here" one of the men behind him hollered and the others cheered.

"We only await one more then we can finalise preparations" the tall man ushered you inside and closed the door behind you. "it would be polite to introduce yourself to the company".

You were shocked and only managed to splutter out your name.

"I am Gandalf the grey" he watched you as you continued to stare at this impossibly tall man "a wizard" he turned to face the other shorter men in the room "and these are the dwarves who are about to set off on a quest along with our host, master Bilbo Bagins a hobbit" your gaze fell from the wizard, scanned the dwarves, and finally settled on Bilbo and his large hairy naked feet. "now let me continue inteoducing everyone, these are Dori,Nori, and Ori"

"at your service" the three bowed in unison. The wizard quickly continued.

"Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur" as before they greeted you with a bow. "we have Oin and Gloin" All of these strange names and so many new faces. you had no doubt you were going to forget as soon as the conversation was over. "and Dwalin and Balin* this wizard continued "our final pair is Fili and Kili" They had all only just finished bowing and pledging their service, which you found entirely too formal what a knock sounded at the door. In walked a gentleman, your gaze instantly locking on the gorgeous raven haired man with stunning blue eyes.

"Gandalf" his baritone was so smooth and you longed to hear gim talk all day "I thought you said this place was easy to find. I lost my way twice"

"and here we have the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield" it sounded like tge wizard was telling someone other than just you who this new dwarf was. Thorin locked eyes with you for a second, smirking as you quickly averted your eyes.

"so these are our burglars"

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A/N- this is my first fic hopefully it's not too bad, if you can spare a moment please leave some feedback DSO I can improve future chapters. I do not own any GIFs posted

[beautifultypewriter]

If you are still taking requests could I ask for a Thorinxreader where shes a hobbit that Gandalf invited in addition to Bilbo. Thorin has even less faith in her than he does their burglar. She ends up surprising him and he can't help but start to look at her different. I have this going through my head a lot and I know you can do it justice.

Okay, so I wasn’t going to do this because I don’t write for Thorin, but you seem very nice, so I’m gonna just do a quick blurb. I’d just like to say again, that I don’t write for Thorin, so everyone please don’t send me requests for him. This is a one time thing. Thank you!

Honestly, you have no idea what made you jump off that cliff. It wasn’t like you to run into danger like this. You were always the one patching people up after they made stupid decisions like the one you just made.

Though, this may not have been that stupid a decision, you realized as your free hand gripped tightly to the fur of Thorin’s coat. Your other hand was holding tightly to the rope that you had thrown over a rock right before jumping. Your feet tried to find purchase on the rocks, but you were having trouble. Your grip on Thorin was starting to slip and you were afraid that you jumped off this cliff for no reason.

Then you started moving. Your head whipped up to see Dwalin pulling on the rope, lifting both you and Thorin back onto solid ground. Once you made it to the edge, Bofur grabbed you and pulled you to safety while Dwalin grabbed Thorin. Your hand fell from his coat as soon as you were sure he was safe.

Both of you breathed deeply, trying regain some sense of composure. You pressed your hands into the ground, glad to feel it. Thorin stared at you, his eyes wide, “How?” He leaned in closer to you, “Why?” You knew that he had never had any faith in you, but you believed in him.

You shrugged, still taking deep breaths, “Guess I’m stronger than I look.” Bofur chuckled and you cracked a smile. Thorin only continued to stare at you, something akin to amazement in his eyes. Your smile grew more unsure as he stared.

Everyone around you seemed to get back into what they had been doing before the incident. The king stayed where he was though. He shook his head, “I don’t...” He shook his head again. Then he was smiling, “Thank you.”

You nodded to him, your own smile growing, “I’d do anything for you.” Thorin’s look changed to one of surprise, but then he was nodding and smiling at you again. Perhaps his perception had shifted.