eowynsowl

[eowynsowl]

For Heroes Only

Requested by @increasinglywired , so sorry, you must hate me for how long it took. And also because it’s so jumpy. There’s no way I can be forgiven

AU, pre- and past BOTFA. I so wished it to be better, but ah. Any mistakes or typos are the direct result of my stupidity.

Also tagging @fromthedeskoftheraven , may be, you’ll be interested.

Imagine messing around with Fili’s knives, accidentally hurting yourself, and him giving you a bit of a scolding, - That’s how I remembered the request, sorry if it’s wrong.

+ Also your imagine:

 For Heroes Only

The silence was unexpected and unpleasant.

At the very least, you could have counted on a bad language. Something that could have brought it home with you that when you’re asked to watch the weapons of your fellow, you’re not supposed to juggle them like you’d been born with a knife in your fist.

You most certainly had not.

Keep reading

[eowynsowl]

Requests Open!

My requests have technically been open but I’m making a formal post for you guys :)

I’m not new to this fandom, however I’m a new contributor and I’m very excited to be here writing for you all! As excited as I am to start writing some of your requests, I really feel like I should make a list of characters I’m writing for and just general information to follow if you choose to request.

Let’s start with the boring stuff: if you want to request I definitely prefer through my inbox, but you can also message me and I will get to it that way as well. and if it’s taking a bit longer than you’d like, feel free to message me for communication on it so I can lyk what’s up and where I’m at with it :)

At the moment, I have certain characters I prefer to write for because I feel like I have their characterization pretty down. Trust me, you don’t want me writing a Legolas fic if I can’t write him properly. Here’s the CHARACTERS I’m accepting at this time:

- Thorin Oakenshield

- Fili

- Kili

- Bard

- Bilbo

- Dwalin

- Thranduil

- the rest of the company :)

I am working on being able to write the other characters just as well, but it’s taking me some time to get it right for you guys and I’m a PERFECTIONIST so bear with me.

If you have any questions for me feel free to send them in or comment on this post! I’m super excited to receive requests from you all and thank you for your support 💚

[eowynsowl]

𝒫𝓇𝑜𝓁𝑜𝑔𝓊𝑒

A/N: Hey everyone :) This is my prologue for my first fic! I am still coming up with a title for it, and suggestions are more than welcomed. I debated doing a "Meet My OC" before I posted this, but I didn't want to give too much away ;) I really hope you guys enjoy this, thank you for reading!

The air in Estelmar carried a quiet moment of peace, a lullaby sung by the rustling leaves and the steady rhythm of the river coursing through the northern lands of Ered Luin. It was a kingdom of light and hope, a bastion of wisdom, healing, and art, ruled by the Barathir family, whose name meant "Steadfast Guardian." Their people revered them as both protectors and leaders, chosen by the Maiar themselves to safeguard a sacred artifact: Gûrhael, the Heart Protector.

The blade was unlike any other in Middle-earth. Slender and elegant, its surface gleamed with intricate engravings of vines and stars, symbols of the Barathir family’s divine connection. Etched along the blade in flowing Sindarin script were the words: "For those who heal also bear the strength to protect." It was said that Gûrhael bore a life of its own, choosing its wielder not by tradition, but by heart. For centuries, it had been passed down to the eldest child of each generation, a symbol of leadership and the unwavering duty to protect Estelmar’s people.

That was, until it chose Amicia.

She had been only thirteen. Her brother, Moridan, twenty years old, had been groomed his entire life to both wield the blade and rule over their people. He was kind, noble, and steadfast—the perfect image of a leader. Yet when the time came, Gûrhael passed him by, choosing the youngest child instead. The blade’s decision shattered the harmony of their family. For Amicia, it was an unwanted weight. For Moridan, it was a betrayal.

The day Estelmar fell began like any other. The golden light of dawn bathed the castle halls, and Amicia had been in the gardens, her mother’s gentle voice guiding her hands as she learned the art of healing. They were tending to a small bed of herbs together, Anidwyn’s hands deftly showing Amicia how to pluck the leaves without damaging the stems. “These plants give life,” Anidwyn murmured, her voice soft yet filled with purpose. “They are fragile, but in the right hands, they can mend what is broken. Remember, my love, the strength to protect lies in knowing when to heal.”

Amicia nodded earnestly, her fingers mimicking her mother’s as she worked. It was a quiet moment of learning, one that carried the weight of their family’s legacy even in its simplicity. Inside the castle, her father, Rondorin, and Moridan stood side by side in the armory, laughing as they prepared for a sparring match. Rondorin’s laughter boomed through the stone halls as he handed Moridan a wooden practice blade. “Come now, son,” he said, a teasing glint in his eye. “If you’re to wield Gûrhael one day, you must learn to defeat me first.”

Moridan grinned, the warmth in his gaze a testament to the bond between father and son. “One day, Father, I will best you. Just wait.”

Rondorin chuckled, clapping his son on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Let’s see if today’s the day.” Their laughter echoed as they began their match, the clash of wooden blades ringing out like a melody of kinship.

But the peace was short-lived. The first screams tore through the air like a cruel melody, and before Amicia understood what was happening, the castle was under siege.

She found her father first, standing tall amidst the chaos. Rondorin Barathir was a warrior as much as a king, his voice steady as he ordered the guards to secure the gates. “Find your mother, Amicia,” he told her, pressing a hand to her cheek. “And stay safe.”

She ran, her heart pounding as she weaved through the smoke-filled halls. She found her mother, Anidwyn, in the great hall, her face pale but resolute. The chaos of the siege surrounded them, and for a moment, Amicia froze, paralyzed by fear. Her mother grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. “Amicia,” she said firmly, though her voice trembled. “You have to stay strong.”

Amicia’s eyes darted around the hall, desperate for something—anything—to stop the madness. Her gaze fell on Gûrhael, resting in its place of honor near the throne. She hesitated only a moment before running to it, her trembling fingers closing around the hilt. The moment she touched it, warmth surged through her, a pulse that steadied her breathing and filled her with an unfamiliar sense of courage.

The blade felt alive in her hands, its weight both foreign and oddly comforting. She turned back to her mother, who stood frozen as an enemy advanced. Summoning every ounce of strength she had, Amicia raised the sword and stepped between her mother and the attacker. Her swing was clumsy, her stance untrained, but the blade’s power carried her strike true. She drove the assailant back, her heart pounding in her chest.

But courage was not enough. Another attacker struck from the shadows, and Amicia’s inexperience left her vulnerable. She could not stop the blade that cut down her mother, nor the cruel laughter that followed.

She fled. Smoke and ash filled her lungs as she stumbled into the forest, the sword heavy in her grip. Her tears blinded her as she ran, her mother’s screams echoing in her ears. Her frantic flight through the forest left her stumbling, her thoughts too clouded by grief and fear to notice the figure stepping into her path.

“Amicia?” Moridan’s voice was breathless, filled with relief as he stepped from the shadows. Amicia froze for a moment, disbelief and overwhelming gratitude washing over her. “Moridan!” she cried, running to him and throwing her arms around his neck. He hugged her back, his embrace warm and steady, grounding her in the chaos. For a moment, just a moment, it felt as though everything would be alright.

But then his eyes fell to the sword in her hand, and something shifted. The warmth in his embrace vanished, replaced by a cold, unyielding tension. He shoved her to the ground, his movements sharp and sudden. Relief turned to envy, envy to rage. “Why you?” he demanded, his voice breaking. “Why would it choose you?”

Amicia backed away, her heart breaking as her brother’s face twisted with fury. He lunged toward her, screaming curses, his hands outstretched to take the sword. “You ruined everything!” he bellowed, his voice raw with rage. “That blade was meant for me, Amicia! You’re nothing but a child playing at being a savior!” His words were venomous, each one cutting deeper than the last. “You don’t deserve it! Give it to me, or I’ll take it from your cold, lifeless hands!” Terrified, she turned and ran deeper into the woods, his voice chasing her into the night.

From that moment, her life was no longer her own. Gûrhael had chosen her, and with it came an obligation she neither wanted nor felt worthy of. She resented the sword, resented the weight it placed on her shoulders, and most of all, resented the loss it had brought. Her family was gone, her kingdom destroyed, and her brother’s love turned to hatred.

Years passed. At twenty-one, Amicia had become a woman shaped by loss and survival. She had retreated into hiding, far from the remnants of her people, who believed her to be dead. She avoided the weight of her title as though it were a plague. Any mention of the word “queen” ignited a simmering anger within her, a reminder of the role she had never asked for. Instead, she found solace in the simple act of healing. It gave her purpose, a way to carve out her own happiness in the lonely life she led. Through healing, she felt a flicker of the approval and love she had once sought so desperately from Moridan, though she knew deep down it would never fill the void he had left behind. Yet deep down, she still felt like the girl who had fled into the woods, crying for her brother to return to her, even as she knew he never would. Moridan was long gone, corrupted by darkness and the promises of Sauron. But Amicia could not stop chasing the faint hope of his love, even as it led her closer to danger.

And so, she carried the sword. Not for herself, but for the people who believed in it. For the family she had lost. For the hope that somewhere, somehow, she could find a way to heal the wounds of the past.

You guys are MORE than welcome to ask questions and let me know what you think! I am so proud to share this with you all :)

[eowynsowl]

Twin Peaks

Based on this imagine from imaginexhobbit: Imagine Bilbo seeing you naked and being so fascinated by your beauty and breasts that he accidentally tells the Company all about what he saw || Setting: at camp, in the woods || Genre: humor, hint of romance || More Bilbo fics || Fanfiction masterlist

Pt. 2 is here: Double Whammy

Keep reading

[eowynsowl]

“You need to be more subtle with your expressions”

“I am subtle”

My subtle expressions:

[eowynsowl]

Could I please request a fili x reader where the human reader is his wife and lives with him at Erabor. Since it’s hard for her to be underground all the time she’s been sneaking out to go for a swim in a nearby lake and Fili, after following her and finding out what she’s been doing surprises her with a picnic in the forest? No worries if this isn’t your vibe and thank you either way!! I’m so happy to see someone else still writing on here :))

Notes: OF COURSE YOU CAN!! I was so stoked to see my first request in my inbox, and I am more than happy to write this for you. I hope I can do your idea justice! I also feel like the writing part of the fandom has died down a lot but I hope to contribute :)

Warning(s): None, nudity mentioned but it's romantic in context.

Where The Water Calls

The stone halls of Erebor were a wonder, carved with the skill of a thousand Dwarven hands, glimmering with veins of gold and gems embedded deep in the mountain's heart. It was a kingdom rebuilt, a home reclaimed, and for you, it was everything--except the open sky.

The weight of stone above your head was constant, pressing, unyielding. You had tried to grow accustomed to it, and most days you could. But some nights, when the stars whispered through unseen cracks in the rock, you slipped away. The lake about a quarter mile outside Erebor's gates had become your secret. A place where you could breathe, where the sky stretched vast and endless above you, and the water welcomed you like an old friend.

It wasn't just the change of scenery that gnawed at you, but the sheer shift in your life. Marrying Fili had been a whirlwind, one you had embraced with love, but the reality of it was something you hadn't fully prepared for. Erebor was different--not just in its grandeur, but in its way of life. You were no longer part of the world you had always known. And worse, still, Fili, burdened with responsibilities as the eldest prince, was often too busy to keep you company. You were left to your own devices more often than not, surrounded by unfamiliar stone and the quiet hum of a kingdom that wasn't yours by birth. The mountain, once a marvel, felt like a cage.

Tonight was no different.

You moved quietly through the dim corridors, your soft shoes muffling your steps, your cloak wrapped tight around your shoulders. The guards had long since grown accustomed to your wandering, assuming you needed air and space--an understanding granted only because you were the beloved wife of their prince. But they didn't know how far you went, how the mountain's weight lifted from your lungs the moment you reached the shore.

The lake was quiet, silver under the moonlight. You pulled off your cloak and let it pool on the grass, then unfastened the rest of your garments, letting them slip from your shoulders until you stood bare under the moonlight. The cool night air kissed your skin as you stepped into the water with a sigh. It was cold, but you welcomed the bite, the way it made you feel alive in a way stone never could. You drifted, weightless, staring up at the sky, at the stars that no Dwarven forage could recreate.

Unbeknownst to you, Fili watched from the trees, his breath catching in his throat. At first, his gaze traced the familiar lines of your form, admiration and desire twining together. But then, as he saw you relax, saw the way the water unburdened you, the tension in your frame unwinding like a leaf drifting in a stream, something deeper settled within him. This was more than a stolen escape--it was a need, one he hadn't realized you carried.

He had noticed you disappear before. At first, he had assumed you simply wandered the outer halls, needing moments to yourself. But when he had reached for you one night and found your side of the bed empty, a seed of worry had taken root. You had always returned, slipping beneath the blankets with the scent of earth and wind clinging to your skin, but it wasn't until tonight he decided to follow you.

And now, standing among the trees, he finally understood.

You looked happy here, at peace in a way you never seemed beneath the mountain. His heart ached at the realization--had you been struggling all this time without telling him? Had you feared he wouldn't understand?

Fili had no intention of dragging you back before you were ready. No, he had a better idea.

The next evening, you prepared to slip away again, but when you stepped outside the mountain's gates, you were met with a sight that stole the breath from your lungs.

Fili stood beneath the trees, a blanket spread out over the grass, a small feast of bread, cheeses, and fruits laid atop it. A bottle of wine rested at his side, two goblets waiting beside it. But it was the look on his face that undid you--the soft curve of his lips, the quiet understanding in his eyes.

"You could have told me, amrâlimê," he murmured, stepping toward you. "I would have taken you here myself."

Your heart twisted. "I didn't want you to worry."

Fili cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. "I worry when you don't tell me what you need."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. "I just...miss the open air. The water. Trees."

"Then we'll come here together," he said simply. "As often as you want."

You smiled, but there was something hesitant in it. "You don't have to, Fili. I know you're busy, and this...this is just something I needed."

He shook his head, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I may not understand exactly how you feel, but I think I do in some way. Erebor-" he sighed, gaze drifting towards the mountain in the distance. "It's home, but not mine the way it was for my ancestors. I didn't grow up there. I grew up in Ered Luin, far from Erebor, always hearing stories of what was lost but never knowing it myself. And now that we have it back… sometimes I feel like I’m expected to fit into it more than I actually do.”

Your breath hitched slightly. You hadn’t expected him to say that. “You feel out of place too?”

“Not the same way you do, but yes.” Fili met your eyes, his expression soft. “I don’t want you to feel alone in this, amrâlimê. If this place gives you the freedom you miss, then I want to be part of it. I want to know every part of you, even the ones you don’t think I’ll understand.”

You laughed, wet and disbelieving. “And if I want to swim?”

Fili smirked, stepping back to unbuckle his belt. “Then I hope you don’t mind company.”

Before you could respond, he pulled his tunic over his head and waded into the water, boots and all. The sight was so ridiculous—your proud, golden-haired husband fully clothed in the lake—that you dissolved into laughter, splashing water in his direction.

He grinned, grabbing your hand and tugging you against him, the water rippling around you. “See?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Not so different from the stone.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. “No?”

“No,” Fili said softly, holding you close. “Because wherever you are, that’s home.”

And with the stars reflected in the water around you, you realized you had never loved him more.

[eowynsowl]

thinking about posting the prologue and first chappie of my Thorin fic...would anyone be interested?

[eowynsowl]

Warmth In The Firelight

Notes: My second fic in two days, I was scrolling through @imaginexhobbit's blog and found this one, along with a few others I’m working on currently! I am thinking about opening up requests again, what do you guys think? I hope you enjoy this one & as always, constructive criticism is appreciated! imagine

Warning(s): none, unless you count sweet tenderness :)

The company had finally found respite at Beorn’s house after the intense chase he gave them. The smell of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, and the soft crackle of the fire filled the silence as everyone settled into the cozy warmth of the great hall of Beorn’s cottage. Despite the faint tension of being in the home of a skin-changer (who had just scared you within an inch of your life), you felt a sense of safety you hadn’t experienced in weeks. 

You found your spot near Fili, who had taken a place beside one of the low tables. His golden hair glinted in the firelight, his usually mischievous face now softened by exhaustion. You didn’t intend to end up so close to him—it just happened as the company sprawled out in various spots, vying for comfort. Your blanket, much too thin to ward off the night’s chill, left you shivering as you tried to find a comfortable position. 

Fili noticed. “Cold?” he asked softly, his voice just above a whisper. His blue eyes flickered toward you, filled with quiet concern. 

You hesitated, unwilling to admit it outright, but the tremble in your frame betrayed you. He didn’t press further. Instead, he shifted slightly, drawing the edge of his own blanket toward you. 

“Here. Won’t do much, but better than nothing,” he murmured, his tone gentle. 

Grateful, you nodded and tried to share the blanket without getting too close. The fire’s glow was soothing, and the low hum of Thorin and Balin’s quiet conversation filled the room, lulling you into drowsiness. Before you realized it, you began to lean slightly toward Fili, your exhaustion overriding your usual awareness. 

Then it happened. Your arm brushed against his, the unexpected touch startling you awake. You tensed, pulling back slightly in embarrassment. “Sorry,” you whispered quickly, looking down at your hands. 

Fili didn’t reply right away. For a moment, you thought he might have fallen asleep once more, but then you felt the weight of his arm hesitating above your shoulders. His breath hitched—uncertain, perhaps—but then his hand settled gently against your arm. The hesitation melted away as he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Fili said quietly, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire. He pulled you closer, his arm wrapping around you with surprising care. His warmth was immediate, chasing away the chill that had seeped into your bones. 

You stiffened at first, not expecting the sudden closeness, but the steady rise and fall of his chest and the calmness in his presence made it hard to resist relaxing. You let out a soft sigh, leaning into him as your head rested lightly against his shoulder. Fili shifted slightly, adjusting the blanket to make sure you were both covered. 

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The company’s soft snores and the distant howl of the wind outside were the only sounds in the room. Fili’s thumb brushed absentmindedly against your arm, a soothing motion that made your eyelids grow heavier. 

“This isn’t so bad,” he said after a while, his voice tinged with amusement. “I’d say you’ve got the better end of the deal. I’m a fine dwarven heater.” 

You smile faintly, eyes still closed. “I think I’ll take full advantage of that, then.” 

His soft chuckle vibrated against you, and you felt his grip tighten just a fraction. “You’re welcome to,” he replied, his tone softer now, his earlier playfulness giving way to something gentler. 

Wrapped in his warmth and the rare peace of the moment, you allowed yourself to drift off, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear and his arm holding you close. For the first time in weeks, you felt completely safe.

[eowynsowl]

A Quiet Night

Notes: Here it is, I am finally doing it- sitting down and writing my first story! This came to mind when I was feeling pretty down a bit ago. Homesick, if you will. I recently moved to Hawaii from Alabama and it has been a huge change for me for a while and after a good cry, I decided to channel my feelings into this. I hope you guys enjoy :) Any feedback is appreciated! 

Summary:  Reader is struggling with feelings of homesickness. She joined this quest eagerly, not realizing just how much she would miss her home. The stoic leader of the company offers some comfort to her. 

Warning(s): None.

The campfire crackled softly, casting warm light over the company as they sat in their usual clusters. Laughter and the murmur of low voices filled the air, but she remained apart, perched on a rock at the edge of the clearing. The stars above were bright, scattered like shards of silver in the vast darkness, but her gaze was fixed on the distant horizon, where the mountains loomed faintly against the night sky. 

She wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to find comfort in the chill of the night. Her thoughts were far from the company, far from the adventure she had agreed to join eagerly. The fire reminded her of home–of nights spent sitting near her hearth, her mother’s soft singing, and the comforting smell of warm bread. The ache in her chest felt heavier than her pack. 

“You’ve been quiet tonight.” 

The low, measured voice startled her, and she looked up to see Thorin standing a few paces away. His silhouette was dark against the firelight, his sharp features softened by the glow. He studied her with an expression that wasn’t quite unkind, but wary. 

“I did not mean to disturb you,” he added, his voice gruff but quieter now, as though he’d sensed her unease. 

She hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Thorin Oakenshield wasn’t exactly the type to invite small talk, and he had barely spoken to her since she joined the company. His mistrust had been clear—he had questioned Gandalf more than once about why she had been brought along. And now, here he was, watching her with those piercing eyes, like he was trying to read her soul. 

“It’s nothing,” she said, forcing a faint smile. “Just…thinking.” 

Thorin took a step closer, his arms crossed. “You’ve been ‘just thinking’ since we made camp. That doesn’t strike me as nothing.” 

She let out a soft sigh, looking back at the horizon. “I suppose I’m just homesick.” 

There. She’d said it aloud, and the words felt heavy in the air. She didn’t know what she expected—dismissal, perhaps, or one of his sharp remarks about weakness. But Thorin remained silent, his gaze steady. After a moment, he sat down on a nearby log, his movements deliberate but not unkind. 

“It is no easy thing, to leave home,” he said finally. His voice was softer now, almost reflective. “Even for a noble purpose.” 

She looked at him, surprised by the admission. Thorin rarely spoke of his feelings, and she had never expected him to offer anything resembling sympathy.

“Do you miss it?” she asked before she could stop herself. “Your home?”

Thorin’s jaw tightened, and he looked into the fire. For a long moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he nodded, his expression distant. 

“Every day,” he said quietly. “I’ve carried the memory of Erebor for so long, it feels more like a dream than a place. But I’ve never forgotten the warmth of its halls, the sound of my kin’s laughter. That longing—it does not fade.”

She swallowed hard, her own emotions threatening to rise to the surface. “How do you bear it?” 

Thorin turned his gaze to her, and for the first time, she thought she saw something other than mistrust in his eyes. Perhaps it was understanding. Or maybe a hint of respect.

“You find strength in those who travel beside you,” he said. “In their loyalty, their courage. It is not the same as home, but it is enough to keep moving forward.” 

His words settled over her like a blanket, warm and grounding. For the first time since she’d joined the company, she felt a flicker of hope—a sense that maybe, just maybe, she could belong here. Belong among them. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice almost a whisper. 

Thorin gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod. Then he stood, the gruffness returning to his posture as he adjusted his coat. “Get some rest,” he said. “We leave early.” 

She watched him go, her heart a little lighter than before. Maybe Thorin Oakenshield wasn’t as unapproachable as he seemed. And maybe, in this strange and dangerous journey, she could find a new sense of home—not in a place, but in the people around her.

[eowynsowl]

Are Those Tears?

Thorin x Female Reader

Prompt: When Thorin stares death in the face, you both realize your feelings for each other may be a little stronger than friendship.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Some slight blood/gore, mentions of death, Thorin being a softie for once.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing could have prepared you for this journey. No amount of training would have sufficed. The whole company making it this far virtually intact was a miracle within itself. You had all survived attempt after attempt on your lives. It seemed that the odds of completing this journey were in your favor, having escaped each encounter with mere scrapes and bruises.

But this time you might not be so lucky.

The muscles in your arms and core ache, as you cling desperately to the branch of a fallen tree on the edge of a cliff, your legs dangling hundreds of feet above the ground. You can hear the grunts and bellows of your incapacitated comrades, confirming that they are in the same predicament as you. The snarls and howls of the Wargs add to the cacophony, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You realize that the only thing keeping the large predators and their riders from swooping in and slaughtering you all is the blazing fire surrounding the tree you all cling to. Azog the defiler sits astride a white Warg, pacing back and forth in front of the wall of flames separating them from you. You see Azog and his mutt pause in their pacing, the pale orc's scarred face hardening.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

"Thorin, no!" Balin exclaims quietly. You lift your head as a large boot plants onto the tree trunk next to you. The figure makes his way past, through the flames, towards the pale orc. The long dark hair, peppered with streaks of grey, the broad shoulders, the determined stride. It was unmistakably Thorin.

No.

A sudden wave of desperation crashes over you, making your stomach turn. You just want to reach out and grab him, yank him back. You want to scream, to beg, to yell at him to just turn around. Your breathing becomes ragged, and one quiet word manages to claw its way out of your throat, repeating over and over under your breath, like a prayer waiting to be answered.

"No. No. No. No." Thorin's steps do not falter, his sword glinting in the light of the blazing inferno that lines his path. It feels as though the world is moving in slow motion as Thorin charges the pale orc, armed with his sword and his shield. His Oaken Shield. How life has a funny way of coming full circle. Azog the defiler guides his pale furred Warg in a mighty leap from the boulder he had been perched upon.

The blow dealt to Thorin as the white Warg collides with him in mid-air snaps you back to reality with a rush of dread. The force of the beasts bodyweight stops Thorin in his tracks, sending him crashing to earth. Reality sets in as you hear the rest of the company fighting the pull of gravity, straining to hold on to the strand of life that is this fallen tree.

Azog wheels his pale beast around, charging at Thorin once more, and sending a bone rattling blow of his mace to the dwarf's chest, knocking him back to the ground. A pang hits you directly in your heart, and flows through your bloodstream, some desperate feeling you can't quite place seeping into your very bones. You don't understand the feeling well enough to give it a name. All you know is that it gives you enough strength to muscle yourself up with a strangled cry, huffing and gritting your teeth as you clamber up to the trunk of the tree. You can barely feel the heat that burns the palms of your hands, red and raw from clinging to the rough bark of the tree branch.

The Hobbit, Bilbo, seems to have the same rush of bravery that you do, and you see his small form scramble up to the trunk of the tree, pausing to take one deep breath to right his turbulent mind before charging into the fray, armed with his little elvish knife.

The wretched hound of hell clamps its jaws around Thorin. The sickening sound of Thorin's ribs cracking reaches your ears, making your head swim. You can feel yourself call out his name in agony, but it sounds like someone else's voice is coming from your mouth as you stumble a few steps along the fallen tree. You right yourself in time to see the mutt toss Thorin like a farm dog tosses a snake, his form crashing onto a patch of hard rock on the hillside.

"(Y/N)!" Balin shouts as you start hauling it to where Thorin lays, hot on Bilbo's heels. "No, Lass! It's too dangerous!" No response comes from your lips, your mouth set in a grimace as you have a clear view out to where one of the Defilers minions is preparing to behead Thorin. He lies pinned upon the rocky ground, his breathing ragged, teeth clenched in defiance as he grasps around desperately for his sword.

You quickly overtake Bilbo, and with a muffled grunt you stiffen your shoulders, tackling the Orc with the force of your body weight, bowling it over. You can hear Azog's roar of dissent as you stop the orcs deadly blow mid swing. A sharp pain explodes like a lightning strike in your right shoulder, making you cry out. As you and the orc tumble away from Thorin, the filthy monster rolls atop you with a snarl, pinning you down. You struggle futilely beneath it, flailing like a madman, grasping for something, anything to protect yourself, and finding nothing. The orc raises its armored fist, pulling back to deliver a skull crushing blow.

Suddenly, the orc shrieks, blood spewing from its mouth, spraying you in the face. It falls to the side, revealing a fiery eyed Bilbo, delivering continuous blows with his small, but mighty blade. You gasp for air, viciously wiping your face with the sleeve of your tunic and scrambling away.

You crawl to the barely conscious form of Thorin, not caring about the rocks and twigs scraping your skin through the thin fabric of your clothing. Ignoring the shooting pain in your shoulder, you pull yourself up to your knees, cradling his head in your lap. His half-lidded gaze holds yours for a moment, as if trying to see into your very soul. A thin sheen of sweat coats his face as he murmurs a single word, before slipping into the warm embrace of unconsciousness.

"(Y/N)..." Thorin breathes out softly. If you had not been watching his lips move you would have assumed you imagined it. His eyes flicker shut, his ragged gasps slowing to shallow breaths. Tears well up in your eyes as you brush some of his sweat drenched hair from his regal face.

"Just hold on. Please." You whimper helplessly, gazing down at him. You look up to see the heart wrenching sight of Bilbo all alone, standing his ground as the monsters descend upon you, his hands shaking as he holds his sword at the ready. The hobbit plants his feet, swinging his sword wildly around in an attempt to intimidate the foes before him. Sparks fly from the burning portion of forest that surrounds you, and you feel a deep sadness, wondering if this is truly the end of your adventure.

You take another moment to gaze down at Thorin. You trace his face with your eyes, trying to memorize every feature and contour. Running your thumb over his cheekbone in a way you would have never been brave enough to do before, a sigh escapes your lips. With a shaky breath, you lean down, hesitating for a moment before pressing a feather soft kiss to his forehead, holding back the tears that threaten to spill. Wishing more than anything that you had been brave enough to tell him how you feel, you now vow to not go down a weeping, helpless mess. You hold back your tears, forcing yourself to stare defiantly back at the group of vicious carnivores that approach the three of you.

One of the Wargs snaps its head to the side, sniffing the air. A sudden battle cry makes you start, and you whip your gaze in the direction of the commotion. Your spirit lifts as the unmistakable figures of Fili and Kili come charging in from a gap in the flames, tailed closely by Dwalin. They attack the Wargs and their riders swiftly, slicing and hacking with their weapons. You try to get up to help, but your energy is sapped from wrestling the Orc. You opt to be a close-range protector to Thorin, crouching in front of him, your fingers wrapping around the hilt of his sword that you spotted lying a few feet away.

A vicious noise that you didn't know you were capable of making tears its way through your throat as a Warg stalks toward Thorin with a snarl. You grip the hilt of the sword tighter, your knuckles white as you prepare to fight tooth and nail to protect Thorin. You shift on your feet as you crouch low, poised to spring up and drive the blade straight through the roof of the beasts' mouth and into its brain.

Before you get the chance, a giant flurry of wind and feathers scoops up the Warg, the beast yelping as it is hurled unceremoniously from the cliffside. You scramble back slightly, your mouth falling open as you look to the sky in disbelief and slight fear.

Eagles bigger than you have ever seen circle the cliffs edge, swooping in to snatch and dispose of the Wargs and their riders. Some of the mighty birds use the wind from their wings to fan the flames that burn the forest, singeing a group of mutts. You feel a moment of peace, but it doesn't last long. Your eyes widen slightly, terror etching your face as one of the birds makes a beeline for you.

"Wait. Wait! WAIT!" You shriek, as the giant bird envelops you in its claws. The fur of Thorin's jacket, which you had been holding on to, slips from your grasp as the creature tosses you off the edge of the cliff. You tumble through the air, screaming bloody murder, before landing with a thud on the back of another eagle, knocking the wind out of you slightly. You curse under your breath as you gasp for air, trying to regain your bearings. Your eyes scan around, realizing that every member of the company was either caged safely in the claws of one of the Avians, or sat comfortably atop one.

You hear a rage filled roar in the distance as the eagles whisk you all away. You feel a pit in your stomach, realizing that Azog is still alive, and you know that he will never stop hunting down the line of Durin. Your stomach drops as your worried mind flickers back to Thorin. You try to spot him, your eyes scanning each of the birds. The morning sun makes it nearly impossible, partially blinding you. You tuck your face into the soft feathers you sit upon, tears pricking your eyes as you pray the eagles will land soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Groggily lifting your bruised and battered head, you scan around, realizing the eagles are making their descent. They all circle slowly down, landing atop a rocky spire, where you can see for miles around. Your eagle lands last, and your heart drops as you see Thorin lying still upon the flat ground, the company standing around him. You slide down from the back of the eagle, crumpling slightly as your legs hit the ground. Fili and Kili appear at your side almost instantly, supporting you under your arms as you try to regain your balance. You wince as Kili bumps your shoulder, hissing through your teeth.

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?" Kili asks in concern, releasing your arm slightly.

"Yes, I just... never mind me." You tear your eyes away from Thorin, finding Bilbo a few feet away. You pull away from the brothers, limping over to hug Bilbo. "Thank you." You whisper, pulling back and meeting Bilbo's gaze. He nods, and nothing else needs to be said. Bilbo is smart enough to be able to read the emotion behind your eyes. Your hand rests on his shoulder, and you both smile softly before you turn your gaze back to Thorin.

Gandalf kneels beside Thorin, his hand hovering over his face as he murmurs some spell over his unconscious form. You can feel the tears of desperation welling up in your eyes as you look on helplessly, silently begging whatever God is listening to please, let him live. You can feel yourself shaking as the company waits with bated breath. Then, his eyes finally flutter open, the dwarf drawing a deep breath.

Hot tears fall from your eyes, and you don't bother to stop them. You feel as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. He lives. He clambers to his feet, aided by Dwalin and Kili. He shakes them off, the angry look on his face surprising you all. He locks eyes with you, before flickering his gaze to Bilbo.

"You two." Thorin says in an accusing tone, glaring at the both of you. A confused look crosses your face, the rest of the company looking on.

"What were you doing?" Thorin snaps. "You nearly got yourselves killed!" Your eyes lock onto his, and you don't bother wiping the tears from your face as you stand bewildered.

"Did I not say that you would be a burden?" Thorin hisses, stalking towards you. "That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?" You hold his gaze, teary eyed as he looks between yourself and Bilbo, seemingly berating you. He pauses for a moment, the rest of the company sharing glances in disbelief.

Emotion suddenly takes over Thorin's face. "I have never been so wrong, in all my life." He steps forward, embracing Bilbo, patting him on the back. You could almost laugh at the look of shock on Bilbo's face as he tentatively returns his hug. Thorin pulls back, meeting Bilbos eyes with an apologetic look. "I am sorry I doubted you."

Thorin's eyes turn to you, his face softening as he looks at your tear-stained face. He takes the few steps to close the distance between you. The company becomes rather quiet as he silently approaches, his eyes never leaving your face. He stops in front of you, pausing, and you sniffle slightly, looking down at your feet, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Your heart stops as his rough hand rises to your face, gently tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he wipes away a fresh tear.

"Are those tears, Amrâlimê?" Thorin murmurs, making your heart skip a beat. He brings his other hand to your face, wiping away the rest of your tears, even as your eyes well up more. "No more of those." He says quietly, leaning forward and nuzzling his nose against yours gently, before pulling back to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" He murmurs, his eyes scanning your form. His hand still cupping your jaw gently. You shake your head, your eyes locked on his. Kili speaks up at your lie, knowing you are indeed hurt.

"She hurt her right shoulder." Kili says, before falling silent with an apologetic look. You glare at him, sighing in defeat as Thorin calls over Oin to take a look at your shoulder.

"What about you? You definitely need to be checked out, Thorin." You say sternly as thorin guides you to sit on a rock a few feet away. A small smile graces his face.

"I appreciate your concern. But you come first." He says softly, making you blush profusely. He gives a nod to Oin before stepping away to speak with Gandalf. Fili and Kili make their way over to you, giving each other a knowing look. You narrow your eyes at them before tugging on Kili's sleeve, making him kneel down to your level on the hard ground as Oin examines your shoulder.

"Kili, what does... Amrâlimê mean?" You ask inquisitively, as you know minimal Khuzdul. The brothers share another look, smiling at each other.

"You will find out in time." Kili says cryptically, standing up with a grin after giving you a pat on the back. You give him an exasperated look, cursing as Oin adjusts your shoulder. The brothers turn away with smirks plastering their faces, leaving you to ponder what Thorin could possibly have said.

[eowynsowl]

Imagine being Thorin’s lover, and during the BOFA you meet his cousin Dain on the battlefield, and he turns to Thorin and says “You better hold on to this one cousin, She’s a keeper!” after they see you take down a bunch of orcs.

[eowynsowl]

A Good Idea At the Time

for unexpected-anonymity: Hey there, Averil :) first, I bloody love your blog and your writings and everything! My request, I had to think about this one for a while: a Thorin x reader where the reader does something idiotic or life-threatening maybe out of anger or grief, and Thorin saves the reader in his usually grumpy way and ends up being all comforting and fluffy? Ah, I know, lots of detail but I leave the rest up to you o.O Fluff, suspense, maybe even a first kiss or two? Thanks! ~Cheers

Words: 850 || Characters: Thorin, reader, Gandalf, Radagast || Genre: fluff, humor, romance

“I’ll draw them off.”

“These are Gundabad wargs. They will outrun you!” 

“These are Rhosgobel rabbits. I’d like to see them try.”

“YEAH! Me, too!”

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[eowynsowl]

Sweet Dreams

 Imagine catching Thranduil’s eye when the Company is captured. He offers to release everyone if you’ll spend one night with him, infuriating Thorin who has fallen for you

Imagine || Words: 651 || Characters: Thorin, Thranduil, Fem!Reader  || Genre: romance, humor || More Thranduil fics || More Thorin fics

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[eowynsowl]

@lotrweek 2024 — Day IV: Gifts, Burdens and Choices ↳ ARAGORN II & THORIN II OAKENSHIELD + Prophecy

01. All that is gold does not glitter. Not all those who wander are lost. The old that is strong does not wither. Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken. A light from the shadows shall spring. Renewed shall be blade that was broken. The crownless again shall be king.

02. The Lord of Silver Fountains, the King of Carven Stone. The King beneath the Mountain shall come into his own. And the bells shall ring in gladness at the Mountain King's return. But all shall fail in sadness, and the lake will shine and burn.

[eowynsowl]

[eowynsowl]

[eowynsowl]

“The Lion”