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middleearthpixie · 10 days ago

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The Ties That Bind ~ Chapter Twenty-Two

Summary: Although Erebor is his once more, Thorin knows there is still a great threat to the peace of Middle Earth. Azog is gone, but another has taken his place and has sworn to finish what Azog began. Erebor is back, but it’s sadly lacking in protection and as much as he hates the thought of it, Thorin knows there is one thing that will guarantee the safety and continuation of his line.

War is coming and all Eirlys of Mirkwood wishes to do is fight alongside her brother Legolas and the other elves, united with Men and Dwarves in their attempt to quell the renewed tensions between them and the orc army of the north. But, her father, Thranduíl has other plans. Unite his kingdom with the newly reestablished kingdom of Erebor and use the power of both to defeat the orcs.

An arranged marriage that neither side wants, but both sides need. But what happens when the two sides realize that maybe—just maybe—being together isn't quite as bad as they'd thought...

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Eirlys of Mirkwood

Warnings: None

Rating: M

Word Count: 4k

Read on AO3

Eirlys slowly broke their kiss, her heart beating so wildly, she wondered if Thorin could hear it. She couldn't help it. That was his effect on her and had been his effect on her since the first time she, without thinking, leaned in and brushed his lips with hers.

That moment would forever remain burned into her mind, although now she smiled, thinking of how horrified she’d been by her brazen behavior.

“What amuses you?” Thorin murmured.

“I was thinking about that day in the forest. When you and I sat on the log and I told you about my mother, about my horse?”

“I remember. I remember it clearly.” He curved a hand against her cheek. “If you hadn’t kissed me, I’d have kissed you.”

“You would not have.”

“Oh, but I would most definitely have.” His thumb moved lightly along her cheekbone, making her eyelids feel heavy once more. “It was all I could think about.”

“Thorin.”

“What?” His smile softened, as did his eyes. “It was. Just as it is now.”

“You just kissed me, though.”

“You say that as if it matters.” He leaned in, his lips teasing as they swept against hers. His kiss was light and playful, and without thinking, Eirlys wound her arms about his neck, let her fingers slip through the thick fall of his soft hair.

His lips met hers again and this time, she melted against him, her lips parting, her heart picking up its pace. More than anything, she wanted to tug him down onto the sun-warmed grass because she had the feeling neither of them would feel he slight chill in the air, no matter how much of their clothing they shed.

Thorin’s arms slipped about her waist, tightening to pull her flush against him and it might have only been her imagination, but she thought she felt his heart beating in time with hers and with just as strong a force.

She had to tell him how she felt about him. The words bubbled to her lips, fighting to free themselves even as he slid a hand down over her backside, cupped her cheek, and gently kneaded it as he pulled her closer still.

He pulled away, sweeping a kiss down over her chin, along her neck, and she let her head fall back as he did. She wanted to melt in his arms, to surrender right there and then.

“There ye are!”

Eirlys swore beneath her breath as Dwalin came up over the rise, huffing and puffing as if he’d run the entire way up to Ravenhill. Thorin swore as well, only he didn't trouble to keep his words soft. “What brings you up here?”

“We’ve a visitor in the form of Bard of Esgaroth.”

“What does he want?”

Dwalin shrugged. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. Just kept saying he needed to see ye and that it was important.”

Although she knew Thorin would never do so, Eirlys couldn't help but wish he would tell Dwalin that Bard could wait, that whatever the Master of Esgaroth wanted couldn't be that important.

But, of course, Thorin sighed and met her eyes and before he could say anything, she said, “We should head back, then.”

“As much as I’d rather not,” he held out his arm, “I don't think that’s an option.”

To Dwalin, he said, “Did the bowman at least give a hint as to what he wanted?”

Dwalin shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Thorin. All he would tell me is that it was important. He’s waiting in the Great Hall, with Dís talking his ear off.”

“Perhaps we should just let her continue to do so,” Thorin suggested as they started back down the crumbling steps away from Ravenhill.

Dwalin chuckled. “She would be a better peacemaker than any of us on any given day.”

Eirlys looked over at Thorin. “Are you in conflict with Dale?”

Both Dwalin and Thorin chuckled, and Thorin replied, “No, but our relationship is more formal than cordial, and has been since the beginning. But we are allies, just as we are allied with the Woodland Realm.”

“Well, I should hope you and my father are now more cordial than formal.”

“We have our moments.”

“You call him Thrandy,” Dwalin broke in dryly, “and refer to him as a pointy-eared princess.”

“Now, pointy-eared princess is Dáin’s name for him, not mine.”

Eirlys smiled. “You call my father Thrandy?”

Thorin didn't even try to look remorseful, but instead shrugged. “I do. And have done so since he locked us away in his dungeons. I’m fairly certain we’ve had this discussion before.”

She chuckled. “Yes, we have, but still… Thrandy? I wish I could see his face when you addressed him as such.”

Thorin’s fingers tightened about hers. “I will make certain to do so the next time we are in Mirkwood.”

“I want to be there when this happens,” Dwalin said. “I also wish to see the look on his face.”

“As do I,” Eirlys said with a grin. “I’d imagine it would render him speechless.”

“It did the first time, but I’m afraid he’s not nearly as fazed by it now.”

“Even so…”

“Very well,” Thorin glanced over at her with a smile, “As I said, I will make certain to do so when we next go to Mirkwood, but mind you, I might pass the night in the dungeons for my effort.”

“If you do, I will steal the guard’s keys and free you.”

He winked then, bringing her hand to his lips. “I will hold you to that, mesmel.”

As they returned to the courtyard, Dwalin said, “I’ll go let the Bowman know yer on yer way.”

“I’ll be along in but a moment,” Thorin told him.

Dwalin bobbed his head and disappeared back inside, while Thorin turned to her. “Promise me you won’t come out here alone again. At least, not until that wall is fixed and this courtyard is secured.”

“Thorin, you know I can defend myself, should he need arise.”

“Eirlys,” his voice lowered and he caught both of her hands in his, “you know not what danger lies beyond this wall, beyond Ravenhill.”

“I do know, as it also lies in wait just beyond Mirkwood’s borders as well.”

He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly before saying, “Eirlys, please… I know you are capable of defending yourself, but I also know that one person—one woman—would be little match for an army of orcs and until that wall is secured…”

Her first instinct was to argue with him, to assure him that no orc would stand a chance against her. But, then she thought better of it because he had a point. She’d never been tested against more than a single enemy without having Legolas and Tauriel and the rest of her father’s soldiers around her. And even then, her experience was limited, as her father made certain she was well out of harm’s way any time they faced off against one of Mirkwood’s enemies.

So, instead, she nodded. “Of course, Thorin.”

“I only wish to keep you safe,” he told her softly as they made their way back inside the Lonely Mountain.

“I know.” She turned to him. “And I understand. And you should go, for your bowman is waiting.”

“Tonight, I will show you where you can go where you will be in no danger and no one will trouble you. And you will be able to feel the breeze and see the sun and sky.” He leaned in to brush her lips with his. “I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I’m good for it, mesmel.” He winked as he drew back and with that, he hurried on down the corridor and out of sight around the corner.

With a soft sigh, Eirlys made her way down to the landing overlooking the empty cavern, where she paused and leaned against the railing. The room was bigger than any single room in Mirkwood, and thanks to the darkness of the stone ceiling and walls, it felt endless, as if she could easily become lost, even though she didn't even know if getting lost there was possible.

“There you are!”

Eirlys smiled at the exasperation in Madris’ voice and turned to see her hurrying toward the staircase. “Why are you so out of breathless, Madris? You sound as if you have been running all over the city.”

“Well, I was,” Madris puffed, sinking again the marble railing. Her cheeks were red and for a moment, Eirlys was afraid she might actually swoon, she sounded so out of breath. “I heard you had gone out in to the courtyard that is missing half its wall!”

“Madris, take a breath before you faint, and calm yourself. I was in no danger.”

“You are too accustomed to the safety of Mirkwood, Your Highness. This land is far more dangerous and far less protected.”

“Believe me,” Eirlys swept by her, taking the staircase that would lead down to the level where the flat was, “I am well aware of it, already having been scolded by my husband. I promise you, I don’t need you doing it as well.”

“Your Highness, may I be frank?”

“No!”

“Well, that is unfortunate,” Madris hurried to fall into step alongside her, “for I will either way. You need to take care out here. It was wilder and not nearly as secure as Mirkwood. And Thorin scolded out of worry for you.”

“I know. Believe me, I do, but I needed to just see the sky. To see the sky and breathe fresh air and feel the sun on my face. That’s all. And I’ve already promised him I will not go out there alone again. But, I just wish—”

She paused both in her words and her stride, sinking against the railing as she stopped one step from the bottom of the staircase. Madris paused across from her. “What is it you wish?”

“I wish we were back in Mirkwood, to be honest,” Eirlys met Madris’ dark eyes, “where no one bothered me and I could go wherever my heart wished to be. And,” a bit of heat crept into her cheeks, “Thorin and I could find a quiet place where no one would disturb us.”

“You’re newlyweds, that’s understandable. But, here isn’t like Mirkwood.”

“I know.” Eirlys sighed softly. “And that’s why I wish we were there instead of here.”

“In time, the wall will be completed and the Royal Courtyard will be safe once more. But know this, a queen’s life is not an easy one, for a king’s work is never done and whether he wishes to be disturbed or not matters little.”

“So I’m learning,” Eirlys replied dryly.

“But in time, you will get used to it.” Madris patted her shoulder. “Now, come and let’s get you warmed up and begin readying you for supper.”

“I’m not all that chilled, to be honest. It’s amazing how I hardly felt the cold at the river.”

“The river?”

“Thorin and I went to Ravenhill.” At Madris’ puzzled look, Eirlys went on, “The fortress up behind the mountain.”

“Where the king and he nephews almost lost their lives?”

Eirlys nodded. “The same. But before you scold me for that, know I did not ask. Thorin offered.”

“You should’ve not done that, Your Highness. He nearly died there and you let him relive it?”

“I offered to take the memory from him, but he refused.”

“Of course he did. If he forgets, he might repeat the same mistakes. Only the next time, he might not be so fortunate to survive.”

Eirlys’ cheeks grew hot at her maid’s scolding. “I—I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“You must start thinking that way. You are no longer just a princess of Mirkwood, but the Queen of Erebor. You need remember the king’s past and his history in order to prevent it from repeating.”

“I know. I’m learning the hard way that it was far simpler being Princess of Mirkwood than it is being Queen Eirlys.”

As they reached the flat, Madris offered up a long look. “What else troubles you, Your Highness? Because somehow, I don’t think it’s only not being allowed to wander freely in unsecured courtyards.”

“It’s not but I—I’m not even sure I can explain it, Madris.” Eirlys sank back against the wall just before the flat’s door. “I just… when I’m with Thorin, there is nowhere else I’d rather be, and when we’re together, the time just flies by. I can tell him anything and he listens to me—actually listens. And when I’m away from him… I just want the time to pass until we’re together again.”

“And that is a problem, because…?”

“I don't know if he feels the same and I should hate to make a fool of myself by telling him—by—by telling him—”

“By telling him you love him?”

Eirlys sighed softly. “I think so, yes.”

“You think so?” Madris’ smile grew maternal. “My dear girl, that’s exactly what you’ve described and the only thing you can do is tell him.”

“But what if he laughs at me?”

“I’ve seen the two of you together, and somehow, I highly doubt he will laugh at you.”

“Very well, what if he tells me he doesn’t feel the same? That he will never feel the same way?”

For that was her greatest fear—that she would confess her feelings for him, only for him to tell her that theirs will always be nothing more than a marriage of convenience, an alliance in order to keep two kingdoms secured going forward.

She didn't know when she’d fallen in love with him, perhaps it was as early as that morning on the log in Mirkwood, perhaps it was even the first time she saw him, that fateful day when he and his company were brought into Mirkwood and she peered about the corner, into the Throne Room, to see him standing up to Thranduíl (Thrandy?!) only to be dragged out by her father’s guards for his trouble. And it didn't matter when, all that mattered was that it had happened and now she was terrified to tell him, terrified that not only might he not love her back now, but that he would never do so.

Madris broke through her reverie with a murmured, “But what if he doesn’t?”

“I cannot take the risk.”

“Why?”

Eirlys stared down at her fingernails, then absently picked at the cuticle of her right thumb. “Because if he tells me that, I’ve no doubt that the time will come when he will find one he does feel that way about. And I don't think I could stand that.”

“Your Highness, may I be frank? And before you ask, no, it will not stop me if you say no.”

Despite her gloomy thoughts, Eirlys smiled. “Go on, then.”

“You are being ridiculous. For all you know, Thorin feels exactly the same, but is too afraid to tell you as well. So the two of you will spend the rest of your lives being too frightened to speak your true feelings and will regret all the time wasted when you finally do admit to them.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” Madris reached for the door handle, turning it to thrust open the door, “but you don’t know that I’m wrong, either.”

Eirlys followed her inside, closing the door behind her. “But—”

“No, stop with the buts, Your Highness. I know your father did his best to protect you, because he always felt he’d failed your mother, but this is one risk you must take, lest you spend the rest of your days with such terrible uncertainty. And in the end, it is better to know, even if the answer is not the one you wish.”

Eirlys sank onto the sofa. “I wish I could be so sure. As long as I don’t know, the answer can be anything I wish it to be.”

“You are not a child, and that is how a child would think. Now, you need to grow up a bit and talk to your husband. Tell him how you feel, for once and for all.”

“I’m scared, Madris.”

“I know.” Madris sank onto the sofa alongside her and patted her knee. “It’s a frightening thing, admitting such powerful feelings, but in the end, when all is said and done, you will be relieved if nothing else. And if you remain quiet, you will come to regret it in time. Trust me.”

Eirlys simply looked at Madris for a long moment. For the first time, she sensed a sadness about her maid. “How do you know this?”

“That matters not,” Madris shook her head slowly, “as it is unimportant. But, you have the chance that I have always wished I’d taken. So, trust me, won’t you?”

Eirlys managed a smile. “It’s terribly frightening.”

“It is. But, it will be worth it.”

Thorin followed Dwalin into the Great Hall, where he spotted Bard of Dale at once, at a table in the far corner, with Dís seated across from him, gesturing with both hands.

“We should probably rescue him,” Dwalin said, gesturing toward the table.

“Probably.” Thorin grinned at Dwalin. “But at the same time, he doesn’t seem to mind conversing with Dís at all.”

As Thorin expected, Dwalin’s jaw tightened. “I never cared for that lippy lake man.”

“Are you and Dís still fighting?”

“We weren’t, no. But we might be now.”

“Then perhaps we should rescue him. Or rescue Dís. Whichever will keep the two of you from being sore at one another.”

“That would be wise.”

They approached the table and to Thorin’s relief, Bard did not look unhappy or angry about anything. Instead, he just looked rather serious as they approached. “I do hope I didn't pull you away from anything important, Your Highness.”

“I was but taking a walk with my wife, so while I would much rather be with her than here, I cannot claim it was of utmost importance, either.” He glanced down at Dís. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all.” She smiled as she rose from her chair. “I’ll leave you two to your talking. Dwalin, walk with me?”

From the corner of his eye, Thorin saw Dwalin blush, and while his first instinct was to chuckle, he thought better of it. Dwalin cleared his throat and offered Dís his arm. “Of course, my lady.” He glanced at Thorin. “Unless ye need me to stay.”

“No,” Thorin shook his head, “you’re free to go.”

“Good.” Dwalin turned back to Dís. “Where to?”

“The forges. I need to speak with Fíli and that’s where he said he’d be today.”

“The forges?” Thorin looked over at his sister. “Why is he down there?”

“There was a problem last eve with forge three and that’s all I know. Everything is fine and under control, Thorin, so you sit and catch up with Bard. And Bard?” Dís turned sparkling blue eyes toward the Master of Dale. “It was lovely to see you.”

“And you as well, Lady Dís,” Bard replied, casting a quick glance at Dwalin, who watched them both like a hawk. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dwalin.”

“Good afternoon, indeed. Come, my lady.”

As Dwalin and Dís strolled off, Thorin sank into Dís’ vacated chair. “What brings you to Erebor? Nothing serious, I hope.”

To his discomfort, Bard’s expression grew grim. “I’m afraid it is serious, Thorin. Very serious. I received word from Thranduíl last eve that the orc pack that was seen on Mirkwood’s borders has moved closer to us and has grown larger. He also reported that a second pack was seen moving south from Gundabad.”

Thorin’s gut twisted, but he tried to keep his expression neutral as he braced his forearms on the tabletop and leaned closer. “Why did he not send a messenger to me?”

“The messenger was on his way here, and I told him I’d come and speak with you about it.” Bard lowered his voice. “It would seem you still have a price on your head and Azog’s kin is keen to finish what Azog attempted.”

“Azog’s kind. Their new leader, you mean.”

Bard nodded. “Goes by the name Rildu. Now, Thranduíl has assured me—and you—that he will send whatever soldiers we need, but he’s also wondering if perhaps you and your queen oughtn’t return to Mirkwood for safety reasons.”

“I cannot leave Erebor to protect my own skin,” Thorin told him slowly, “but I think Thranduíl might be right in Eirlys returning there. My concern is that she won’t make it from here to Mirkwood, though. Not if the pack has moved east toward Dale and especially if it’s grown.”

He sat back in his chair, drumming his fingertips lightly against the scratched tabletop. “When did he say these soldiers would arrive?”

“He will dispatch them at your word. He’s afraid of stepping on toes.” Bard grinned. “I’m not certain if he meant yours or your queen’s, however.”

Despite his concern, Thorin chuckled. “Hers, most likely. I think he’d be happy to lock me away in a cell at times. How would Dale fare? Do you need additional protection?”

“I don't know as yet,” Bard’s grin faded, “but it’s entirely possible we will, should the pack decide to descend upon us.”

“Is the messenger still in Dale?”

Bard nodded. “Aye. I asked him to wait until I returned.”

“Tell him I’d rather Thranduíl sent his contingent to Dale for now. We are well-fortified under the mountain, but your city is wide open and vulnerable. Move the garrison there and we can decide where we go from there.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am, yes. I will also send word to my cousin Dáin in the Iron Hills. He will come if we need more bodies. Of that I’ve no doubt.”

“I thought this war was over,” Bard replied, shaking his head. “But these foul creatures just don’t ever go away.”

“Tell me about it. Azog followed me almost the entirety of Middle Earth. It’s exhausting and I thought we were finished with them.”

“I wish. From what I understand, Rildu is worse than Azog or Bolg, so take care and make certain your queen knows it is safer if she were to remain in this mountain or in Mirkwood.”

“That will be easier said than done, I’m afraid. She is quick to remind me of how she is trained in defense and should be allowed to fight alongside her brother.”

“Try to convince her otherwise.” Bard rose. “I should be going. It will be dark soon and I don't relish the thought of crossing the plains between here and Dale, knowing there is a large orc pack somewhere nearby.”

“I can send along a few guards, to ensure your safety.”

“Not necessary. I’ve a fast horse and an accurate aim. I should be fine.”

Thorin rose with him and escorted Bard to the main gate, where, after the bowman took his leave, Thorin turned to the sentry. “Keep an eye on him for as long as you can. Should he run into trouble, sound the alarm and send aid at once.”

“Aye, Your Highness.”

“And under no circumstances is Queen Eirlys to leave the mountain. Come fetch me, if you must, but she is not to to leave.”

“Aye again.”

Thorin turned back to watch Bard and his white horse gallop down the wide road that led through the still-somewhat barren and war torn rocky plains between the Lonely Mountain and the city of Dale, on the edge of he Long Lake until they faded from sight. Then, with a soft sigh, he turned to go back into the mountain once more. Bard’s news was not the news he needed to hear, and with his gut still bubbling to a certain degree, he went to go find both Balin and Dwalin, so they could sit down and begin working out preparations for what could be a coming war between them and Gundabad.

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#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here?#Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

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middleearthpixie · 12 days ago

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It's my 11 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

It's hard to believe, tbh. I'm not as active here as I used to be. Fandom drama has had me rethinking a few things, but for now, I'm still around and still updating my fics (more or less.)

#11 year tumblrversary #tumblr milestone

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middleearthpixie · 13 days ago

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By LabradoriteKing on Pinterest

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middleearthpixie · 13 days ago

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🤣🤣

Ouch!

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middleearthpixie · 14 days ago

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Momma poss always brighten my day

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middleearthpixie · 15 days ago

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The Ties That Bind ~ Chapter Twenty-One

An arranged marriage that neither side wants, but both sides need. But what happens when the two sides realize that maybe—just maybe—being together isn't quite as bad as they'd thought...

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Eirlys of Mirkwood

Warnings: None

Rating: M

Word Count: 3k

Read on AO3

Thorin rolled over and his first instinct already was to reach for Eirlys. But when he reached for her, his hand came flat against the smooth sheet. Opening his eyes, he found her side of the bed empty, her pillow only slightly dented in.

“Eirlys?” He sat up, rubbing his face with both hands, and then looked about the room as if she might be there, hiding behind the door or under the bed. A wry laugh rose to his lips and he rose, stretching for his dressing gown in the same movement.

Shrugging into it, he padded across to the door. “Eirlys?”

Silence was all he heard in return. He went through the flat, looking for her, only to find more empty space. Wherever she was, it was beyond his flat’s—their flat’s—walls.

With that, he dressed and made his way up to the main level and the Great Hall, which hummed with activity. A quick look about and while he saw Dís and Fíli, Kíli and Kíli’s wife, Tauriel, he saw no sign of Eirlys.

He was actually surprised to see Eirlys not amongst the group, for he knew she looked forward to seeing Tauriel once more. A hint of worry pricked along his insides, one he tried to ignore.

“Thorin,” Dori strode toward him from the kitchen, “she is out in the courtyard.”

“What?”

“Queen Eirlys. She is out in the courtyard.”

“Alone?”

To his astonishment, Dori nodded. “She was quite insistent, you know.”

“You should have at least gone with her. You know the wall isn’t finished yet.” Thorin threw the last few words over his shoulder as he hurried toward the hallway that would take him to the Royal Courtyard.

“I tried, but she wasn't having any of it.”

“Dori, she has no idea what is to the north of us. You do and you know better! If nothing else, someone should have come and gotten me at once!”

Dori kept trying to explain, but Thorin didn’t slow down, didn't halt his stride as he made his way toward the door. His heart thundered against his ribs, his pulse pounded through his temples. Normally, the courtyard was completely walled and would be perfectly safe from any and all intruders, but time, neglect, and war had crumbled two of the walls almost to the ground. Just beyond that courtyard stood Ravenhill, the fortress where Azog the Defiler and his son Bolg had done their best to end the line of Durin.

His blood ran cold at the memory. Although Eirlys had obviously seen the scars he carried from his battles with the Gundabad orc, she had not asked him about them, which was just as well, for he had no desire to discuss what happened, both on the journey to reclaim Erebor and the battles he’d fought against Azog. Two years had passed, but those scars still pained him from time to time, and the memories haunted his sleep more often than not.

But those memories were forgotten for the moment as he felt an overwhelming urge to get to the courtyard. He had to make certain Eirlys was in no danger, and so practically sprinted as he rounded the corner and the door came into sight.

He burst through it, calling, “Eirlys! Where are you?” as he did.

The courtyard appeared empty. Although restorations had begun, years of neglect meant it was still hardscrabble earth in quite a few places, and where the walls had collapsed, heaps of crumbled stone and mortar littered the northern and western sides. To the east, a forest stood, one that led down to the Celduin—the River Running—which flowed about the Lonely Mountain and down toward Dale. Its treetops were mostly naked, skeletal arms reaching toward the sky, but if one looked carefully, they would see the buds appearing, which mean spring would soon be upon them.

That he didn't see Eirlys made his gut kink into painful knots. Dori and their conversation forgotten, he strode out into the middle of the courtyard, hands cupped about his mouth as he hollered, “Eirlys!”

“What?” She came around the eastern corner, catching a flyaway lock of shimmering pale hair to skim back behind her ear. Her brows knit. “What’s the matter, Thorin? Why are you out of breath? Why are you yelling?”

“I—I was looking for you.” Sweat beaded along his back, trickled down along the valley of his spine despite the chilled morning.

“You sound as if you’ve run all the way out here.”

“You shouldn’t be out here alone. Not until the walls are intact once more.”

Her gaze followed his hand as he pointed to the crumbled northwestern corner. “Do you think orcs would come up here?”

“I’ve no reason to think they won’t. We both know they’re becoming far more brazen.”

She looked back at him and smiled as she withdrew a dagger from her belt. “I am not completely stupid, you know.”

He should have known she wouldn’t come outside unarmed, but she had no way of knowing the courtyard wasn't as secure as it one day would be. Still, her pert smile helped melt away some of his irritation and fear, and he couldn't help returning it.

“I don't think you stupid at all,” he replied, waiting for her to return her blade to its sheath before catching her by the hand. “But, you don't know this part of the world the way I do.”

“I know. That’s why I was looking around.” Her thumb traced lightly along his hand, leaving in its wake a rush of warmth that spread through him. She repeated the motion, then her thumb went still as she asked, “What is that?”

“What is what?”

“That.” She pointed north and his gut kinked again as she added, “That stone fortress on the other side of the trees. What is it?”

“Ravenhill,” he replied softly, staring at the stone fortress rising above the tree line. Some of the stones had gone white with age, parts of it were crumbled from neglect, but the image still held enough power to make him nauseous. The two scars on his belly tingled in a way that bordered on pain. He tried to ignore it even as an icy sweat prickled along his back.

“Your nephews were wounded there.” Her soft words were not questioning and he wonders what Thranduíl had told her of the battle that took place at Erebor’s door.

“As was I,” he returned, swallowing hard against the sudden brackish taste that flooded his mouth. He hadn’t been up to Ravenhill since that battle, but in his mind’s eye, he saw Fíli held aloft by Azog, high above the snow-covered rocks that encircled the fortress’ base, helpless to defend himself, powerless to do anything but dangle from Azog’s hand, like a rag doll, before the orc ran him through from behind.

Thorin had remained equally powerless, equally helpless to do anything to prevent the attack on Fíli, just as he’d been unable to prevent Azog’s son Bolg from running Kíli through as well. It was only because of Tauriel that Kíli survived. It was the main reason Dís allowed her youngest to marry her.

He felt Eirlys’ eyes on him and looked over to find her gazing at him. He waited for her to ask him about what had happened to him, tried to find a way to explain it without having to relive the entire ordeal again.

However, she nodded. “I know. Father told me when you and your company arrived for Kíli’s wedding. Those scars,” she gestured to her own stomach, “on your belly. They were from Azog’s blade, weren’t they?”

“I wondered if you were ever going to ask me about them.”

She slipped her arm through his, hugging him against her. “I didn't want you to think I was being nosy.”

Some of the knots in his gut eased. “You’re allowed a bit of nosy, Eirlys. I don't mind answering your questions.”

She pressed her lips together and as she did so, he braced himself for the first question he inevitably heard anytime someone asked about his wounds, which was, did it hurt?

As if being run through by two blades at once wouldn’t hurt.

But, instead, she asked, “How long was your recovery?”

“I’m still recovering, mesmel. But, it was several weeks before I was allowed to even remain conscious, as Narnerra and Óin kept me sedated in those early days.”

“You don't have to tell me any more if you’d rather not talk about it,” she told him softly, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

“No,” he shook his head, “I don't mind any questions, but know I only remember bits and pieces of it. My recovery, I mean. At least, my early recovery. It was, as I said, several weeks before I was awake for more than a few minutes at a time.”

“And of the battle itself?”

He hesitated, then slowly nodded. “That I can recall down to the second, for better or for worse.”

At the corner where the wall crumbled, they halted and he looked up at the tower in the distance. “I remember it all as if it happened yesterday, to be honest.”

“Thorin, you don’t—”

He smiled, letting his hand come down to rest on hers, which was tucked into the crook of his arm. “It’s all right, mesmel. I said you could ask me.”

“I know, but yours can’t be pleasant memories, and I don't want you to feel you have to relive them for my amusement.”

Without thinking, he leaned in and brushed her lips with his. He’d meant it only to be a brief peck, but the moment his lips touched hers, he didn't want to pull back so quickly. Her lips were soft and warm and teasing, and her kiss tasted of honey and tea. She slid an arm about his neck, her fingertips warm as they pressed into the nape of his neck, and he found himself wishing the wall was still intact, for no one would bother them and if the weather was warmer, he’d think nothing of bringing a blanket out there and pinning her beneath him in the sweet-smelling clover.

But, of course it was only the earliest days of spring, and not only did the air still have that wintry chill to it, but there was also that gaping hole that anyone could fit through. So, with that, he reluctantly broke the kiss, brushing his lips against hers one last time before drawing back.

There was something in the way she gazed at him that made his heart beat faster, that made his blood rush more warmly in his veins. But it wasn’t desire, at least, not entirely. No, it was something else, something he tried—but failed—to put his finger on.

As for Eirlys, her lips parted slightly, and she drew in a quick breath, as if about to blurt some deep, dark secret to him before she lost her nerve. Only then she clamped her lips shut without saying a word.

“What is it?”

She shook her head. “Nothing of any matter. I just— well, I wondered—” She glanced back toward Ravenhill.

“Would you like to go up there?” The words slipped free of their own, and as they did, he fought off a grimace.

“We don't have to, Thorin. As I said, I’d not make you relive it for my benefit.”

“I don't mind.”

“Of course you do,” she stepped back, shaking her head, “for it’s written all over your face. And I understand it. I don't think I’d like to go back to where my mother was killed. I’m fairly certain my father has never returned to the place, either.”

“But I was not killed.”

“You almost were, though.” She sank onto the rough edge of broken stone. “And it cannot hold any pleasant memories, even if you survived.”

“It doesn’t. It holds not a single pleasant memory.”

“So let’s not go there and blacken your mood. Show me something else. I’ve never been to this part of Middle Earth before, so there is plenty for me to see.” She offered up a smile that made his heart skip a beat and when she rose and held out her hand, he laced his fingers with hers.

Her fingers tightened about his, and without thinking, he said, “No, it’s fine. If you would like to go up there, we can.”

“Thorin—”

“It’s no trouble, Eirlys. It truly isn’t.”

Her expression suggested she didn't believe him, but then she rose. “Are you certain?”

He wasn’t, but nodded just the same. “Of course.”

“Only if you are absolutely certain.”

He caught her by the hands to draw her to her feet, smiling as he said, “Would I agree if I wasn’t?”

“You might, because you think it would make me happy.”

“Trust me, mesmel, if I didn't want to go up there, I wouldn’t go. So,” he held out his arm, “shall we?”

“Very well.” She slipped her arm through his, her hand resting on his forearm, and gave a teasing squeeze. “Lead the way."

With that, they picked their way about the crumbled stone and mortar, and he tried to ignore the way his stomach churned as they strolled along a well-worn path that led toward the fortress rising in the distance.

He hadn’t set foot anywhere near Ravenhill since the afternoon he’d faced Azog, as he’d made his peace with it and saw no reason to dwell. But now, as they stepped carefully around chunks of broken flagstone, of uneven slate that once made up the walkway to the main tower, it all came rushing back in powerful, horrific wave. The scenes flashed before his eyes: the elven army that stood on Erebor’s threshold, ready to wage war for the return of a necklace, only to have the orca army chose the same moment to attack. Elves, dwarves, and Men bound together to face them, but for Thorin it had become personal. Azog had stalked him, had hunted him and his kin, from the Shire to Erebor. They’d faced off just beyond Goblintown for the first time since Khazad-dûm, and by the time they met at Ravenhill, Thorin had had enough.

His heartbeat sped up as they reached the tower. All was dark and quiet, but in his mind, he heard the crackle of fire, the thud of orc feet against stone, the distant fire and thunder of battle. Nausea rose, the brackish tase flooding his mouth. He swallowed hard against it, again the rising dizziness that accompanied it. That sickening, icy sweat prickled along his spine once more.

Eirlys’ thumb grazed along his hand, a whispered, “Are you all right?” accompanying it.

He nodded, trying to force his sluggish tongue from the roof of his mouth. Swallowing hard again, he finally managed, “I am, yes.”

Ravenhill was peaceful now, the only sounds the occasional chirp of the ravens that gave the fortress its name and the soft rush of the Celduin, now void of the ice floes upon which he’d faced Azog. He glanced over at Eirlys, who gazed up at the main tower, and his queasiness faded. “I am not entirely comfortable up here,” he admitted when she looked back at him.

“I can imagine you aren’t,” she murmured, easing her hand from his. “From a distance, this place looks peaceful. But now, up close? It doesn’t feel peaceful. It feels sad and heavy and I am sorry I made you come back.”

“Don’t be sorry, mesmel, for you did not make me do anything.”

“I feel as if I did.”

“I could have refused.”

“I know, but—”

“No but,” he told her, shaking his head. “I could have and if I were with anyone else, I would have and would have remained firm about it. But for some reason, I don't mind sharing this with you.”

“Thank you.”

She moved ahead of him, to the base of the main tower, and rested her hand against the stone. The air around them seemed to grow completely still, and even the river seemed to have stopped running. Thorin watched as she traced her thumb along the mortar, and a soft whisper of her voice reached his ears, but he heard not what she said.

Overhead, the clouds parted, sunlight streaming down to bathe them in light and warmth, and as she lowered her hand, Eirlys murmured, “Were you frightened?”

“No,” he replied, joining her at the tower so he didn't have to raise his voice higher than a whisper. “I was angry and tired, but not frightened. At least, I don’t remember being frightened.”

She looked over at him then, her eyes brilliantly green, more so than he could recall ever having seen. “Do you wish to forget what happened here?”

He hesitated, then slowly shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

Her eyes slowly softened, the brilliance receding. “I’m surprised to hear that, to be honest. I thought you would want to.”

“At one time, I might have. But now?” He turned toward the river. “Now, I think it best that I don't forget it.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am.”

She came up so quietly behind him that he started when she slid her arms about his waist, and he smiled as he felt her cheek press against his back. He carefully turned toward her and leaned into her. Her hands flattened against his back, pulling him closer as her lips caught his. Her kiss came soft and gentle, quelling the last of the churning in his belly, and he wrapped his arms about her. As he surrendered to the power of Eirlys’ kiss, the roiling in his gut stopped and he felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

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middleearthpixie · 26 days ago

Text

The Ties That Bind ~ Chapter Twenty

An arranged marriage that neither side wants, but both sides need. But what happens when the two sides realize that maybe—just maybe—being together isn't quite as bad as they'd thought...

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Eirlys of Mirkwood

Warnings: None

Rating: M

Word Count: 4k

Read on AO3

Unfortunately, by the time supper ended and she and Thorin were back ensconced in the privacy of his (how long would it take before she thought of them as hers as well?) apartments, she was far too tired to do much more than sink onto the sofa, lean her head back, and let her eyes close.

The cushion to her left sank and Thorin murmured, “Let’s get you to bed, mesmel.”

“Just leave me here. I’m too tired to move. I hadn’t planned on answering so many questions.”

“You are their new queen.” She didn't have to see him to know he smiled. She heard it in his voice, heard the amusement as he added, “And a beautiful elf besides. Of course they are curious about you.”

“While I thank you for the compliment, curious is not the feeling they gave off. It felt more like they feared I might end them all in the dead of night. I’m skilled with bow and dagger, but not that skilled and I hope I was able to convey that.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, you know. Dwarves might not trust most elves, but we’ve no doubt we would be able to defend ourselves from one. Besides, I know your weak spots.”

With that, the air around her stirred and a chill raced through her from the scruff of his beard as he swept a light kiss along the side of her neck. The tip of his tongue flicked against the bit of skin he’d just kissed, and she shivered, her heart picking up its pace as he kissed higher on her neck. And then higher still. After each kiss, the tip of his tongue brushed the same spot his lips had stroked, and she couldn't help but lean her head to the left, biting down on her bottom lip as he brushed just below her ear, then her jaw, and along her chin before his lips claimed hers.

He slid an arm about her waist, pulled her toward him. Her weariness forgotten, she pushed away from the sofa cushion, shifting to come astride him, wrapping her arms about his neck as he pulled her firmly against him.

The chill in the apartment faded, the heat they generated warmer than any fire on the hearth. Thorin broke his kiss long enough to tug her tunic over her head, a sly smile on his lips as he caught the ribbon of her chemisette to tug the bow free, then pulled the laces free entirely. The linen fell away from her, and his eyes visible darkened as his gaze roamed over her. Although all he could see was the inner curves of her breasts, her nippled puckered as if he caressed them with his fingers. And when he whisked the chemisette over her head, the skim of linen over those taut beads made her suck in a sharp breath.

“You are so beautiful, mesmel,” he whispered, his voice husky and seductive. “So very beautiful, indeed.”

As he spoke, he traced a thick forefinger along the inner curve of her left breast. Traced down along the lower curve. Up over her nipple. As he did, he held her gaze, his smile as heady as his touch. Tingles rippled through her, desire taking root deep within her core, where the heat began to slowly pool. He caught her nipple between that thick forefinger and his thumb to roll, to pluck and tug, and with each teasing pass, heat became fire and desire became need. The sweet ache made her rock against that solid bulge of him rising to meet her and with the first movement, he sucked in a hard breath, his eyes growing heavy-lidded.

He leaned in, his lips replacing his fingers, and as he swirled his tongue about her nipple, Eirlys thrust her fingers into his hair, twisted and tugged as she ground harder against him. A low moan rose in his throat, trapped by her breast in his mouth, and it was her turn to moan when he gently teased her pebbled nipple with equally gentle teeth.

His fingers danced along her back, down into the waist of her breeches, and he slid them around to tug the buttons through their holes. The fabric parted at his insistence, his fingers slipping into her curls, parting them, sliding along her aroused flesh to caress her, to coax her desire further. Damp heat pooled between her thighs, her hips arching as he slid that thick forefinger inside her with a gentle thrust.

“Thorin…” Her breathless whisper rose between them. She moved with him, meeting each thrust, each swirl, each teasing stroke that made her head spin and her breath impossible to catch. Fire filled her. Need threatened to drown her. She reached between them, her fingers almost frenzied as she wrestled with first his belt buckle, then the buttons on his trousers.

The finger inside her thrust hard as she found him, as she wrapped her fingers about that thick part of him, eased him from his trousers, from his small clothes, and slowly stroked along his length.

He jerked away from her with a growled, “Mahal… I want you…”

Her heart racing, her breath almost impossible to catch, Eirlys still managed to smile. He was the only man she’d ever been with, but it simply was not possible that any other man could look as handsome, as desirable, as he did right then.

Gently, she eased him from her, eased down from him, and sank to her knees before him. He reached for her, whispering, “What are you do—oh!”

His words were lost as she took him in her mouth, her tongue sliding silkily along him, slipping playfully around him. His fingers sank into her hair, twisting as his hips slowly arched toward her. He met her rhythm easily, his thrusts slow and deliberate, his breath harsh and husky.

“Mesmel…” he lapsed into a low, growling cadence of words she didn't understand. He shuddered beneath her, his fingers twisting more tightly into her hair.

She teased him slowly at first, but as his breathing grew more ragged and his thrusts harder, she sped up to meet him. The only word she understood was her name, but it didn't matter. His were words of pleasure, of encouragement, and as he shuddered again, he released her hair to grab her under the arms and pulled her up.

His hands were not at all gentle as he tugged her trousers down, and his eyes practically blazed sapphire as the fabric crumpled to the floor. She stepped free of them, then reached for him, guiding him into her as she slowly came astride him once more.

He slid deep, thrust hard, and his hands gripped her hips as she moved with him once more. Eirlys found her rhythm quickly, and fire swept through her, threatened to swallow her whole. His fingers tightened on her. Her thighs burned as she rode him faster still. She couldn't help it. That fullness inside her demanded she move faster still. Tight knots of sweet bliss swelled deep within her, spurring her to satisfy her desperate need for release.

Thorin’s eyes closed, his thrusts hard and fast now, his breathing raw and ragged. A muscle bulged beneath his beard, along his jaw, and he tensed as those knots in her core began to unravel, slowly at first, but then they quickly gained speed.

“Eirlys!” His deep cry rang out, ricocheted off the stone walls as he slammed her hard against him. The knots exploded all at once, hot and spicy pleasure burning through her as she threw her head back and surrendered to the absolutely bliss of climax.

Thorin’s fingers bit into her as he went over the edge of the summit, his throbbing heat engulfing her. Her fingernails bit into his neck, her body tensed about his, and she squeezed him with more intensity than she thought possible, her body pulsing in time to his release. Her entire body tingled as if she’d been struck by lightning, rippling through her, making her tremble even as the wave receded and she sank against his chest.

He wrapped his arms about her as she fought to breathe, her eyes stinging with tears from the exquisite pleasure she’d never felt before now, the one she never knew existed until it stung her body. He cradled her against him, his voice still husky and trembling as he whispered, “Amrâlimê…”

She let her eyes close, let him simply cradle her as her head slowly cleared. They remained joined for a bit, but then nature took over and he slipped from her, but still he didn't move. His fingertips grazed along her back, and as the heat dissipated, he pressed a kiss into her temple, whispering, “Amrâlimê,” once more.

She shivered, smiling as Thorin murmured, “Are you cold?”

“Not particularly,” she murmured back, then she lifted her head. “I am sleepy, however.”

With that, Thorin yawned, then chuckled as he replied, “As am I. But, this was definitely worth putting off sleep for a bit longer.”

“It certainly was.” She traced her fingertips down over the front of his rough-hewn henley. It felt slightly odd, sitting naked astride him, while he was—for all intents and purposes—fully dressed still. But, it hardly mattered as she struggled to work up the courage to tell him how she felt about him. Three small words. So simple and yet, they refused to move beyond her thoughts.

“Eirlys?” Thorin’s whisper broke through her reveries and when she met his gaze, he asked, “What troubles you?”

There it was. There was her opening, the chance to tell him.

But, all she could do was murmur, “Nothing, really.”

“You look as if you’ve the weight of the world on your mind.”

“No. Just tired.” She slowly eased down from his lap. The warmth from cuddling with him faded, and the night air definitely had a chill to it. She crouched to swipe up her discarded clothes, the pleasant feelings that had helped keep her warm dissipating as well.

He rose before her. “Eirlys, what is it? What’s troubling you? Tell me.”

“There is nothing to tell. Truly.” She forced a smile to her lips, holding the pile of clothing tightly against her chest. “I just… anyone could come knocking, as we’ve seen already this evening, and I should hate to be caught unawares.”

His forehead creased, suggesting he didn't quite believe her. “Are you certain?”

She nodded. “I am, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I can’t say. It’s just that…” He studied her for a long moment, then glanced down to his unfastened trousers, which he proceeded to fasten. “I just get the feeling something is on your mind. That’s all. But, if you say all is well, then I should believe you. So…”

With that, he swept her up in his arms, the sudden motion sending butterflies through her belly and a breathless laugh to her lips. “Thorin! What are you doing?”

“Nothing. You look tired.” He gave her a gentle squeeze as he carried her along the hallway, toward the door at far end of it. There, he nudged the door open with his boot and she got her first look at her new bedchambers.

The square room was about twice the size of the siting room, its furnishings simple, but elegant. The black stone walls gleamed like glass, runes etched in gold into the stone ran the room’s perimeter, reflecting the light from the fire crackling softly on the black marble hearth.

The bed was large, it would easily fit both of them, with plenty of room to spare, piled high with pillows, and the quilts atop it were as black as the walls, with similar markings in gold and silver thread woven across them.

Her mahogany vanity looked oddly out of place against the black walnut chest and wardrobe, as did her trunks, which still stood at the foot of the bed. Thorin set her down, saying, “Tomorrow, I will clear some space for your belongings. When I left here and set out for Mirkwood, I wasn't at all certain I’d return married, so I confess, I moved nothing.”

After dumping the wad of clothing onto the foot of the bed, Eirlys crouched to open the first trunk, offering a silent thanks as she peered down at her nightdresses, neatly folded atop the clothing stored in there. “Why would you be uncertain? I thought you and my father had it all worked out ahead of time?”

“We did.” He moved to the wardrobe in the far corner and tugged open one door before continuing. “But, I had no way of knowing if you would have me or if you’d turn me away.”

“I mean no offense, Thorin,” she lifted the topmost nightdress from the stack and stood, “but I had no say in the matter.”

“Eirlys, if you had been dead set against marrying me, I certainly wouldn’t have forced you to do so.”

She stood there, the nightdress soft against her bare skin, watching as he tugged his tunic over hie head. As he moved, the muscles along his back, along his arms, bunched beneath his skin. He tossed his tunic into the basket tucked into the corner as she asked, “Why would I have been against marrying you?”

“You didn't know me, for one,” he turned, his hands at the gold buckle of his belt, “and you might have taken an instant dislike to me.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “It’s true that I might have, but even if I had, I would have still married you. Going against my father’s wishes is far easier said than done.”

“So I’ve learned.” He turned back to her, the heavy-looking woven gold belt now dangling from one hand. “Did he offer you the choice?”

“Truth?” She shook her head, drawing the nightrail over it as she went on, “He did not. And if I’m being completely honest—which I am, mind you—I rather dreaded it.”

“Dreaded it?”

She paused, halfway inside her nightdress, the softness in his voice giving her pause. He sounded almost hurt by her confession. Tugging her nightgown all the way on, she emerged from it to find he’d crossed to the low chest of drawers opposite the bed’s foot, a top drawer open. He turned away from her to set his belt in that drawer, but didn't turn back at once.

“I dreaded it because you’d called me spoiled.” She caught the pale green ribbon ends to lace the nightgown’s front closed. “Remember? You said you’d be trapped with a spoiled and pampered girl. I’d have to be mad to look forward to being married to a man who saw me that way.”

“And I apologized for that as well.”

“I know.” She looked down at the ribbons, at the way the soft light glinted from the silver thread woven through them. She hadn’t forgotten how those words had stung her at the time. “But, you apologized because I’d overheard your words, not because you were sorry you said them.”

The chest drawer slid shut and he crossed over to her, his boots the only part of him she saw. A thick finger came beneath her chin, and she didn't resist as he tilted her face up. “I am sorry I said them, for I was wrong.”

She held his stare, fighting the urge to smile. “Well, now you’e simply saying that.”

“Think so, do you?” His thumb grazed her chin, his eyes growing soft as they held hers. “Remember, I was as in the dark about you as you were about me.”

“I know. And that’s why I didn't simply vanish into the forest, never to be seen again. Besides, I knew I’d prove you wrong and didn't wish to miss the look on your face when you realized I was neither pampered nor spoiled.”

“I beg to differ,” he growled, his voice barely above a whisper, “for you are pampered and you shall continue to be so.”

With that, he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a gentle kiss. He caught her face in his hands, his thumbs sweeping along her jawline, tilting her head back. Her lips parted of their own, her hands coming to rest on his hips. He kissed her so sensually, slow and soft and deeply, that she almost didn't notice when his hands fell away from her face and her nightgown opened and slid down to pool in the crooks of her elbows. She would have let it fall to the floor, but she was too busy gripping his henley to strip from him, too busy shoving his trousers down over the thick muscle of his thighs.

He swept her up once more to spirit her to the bed, where he pressed her down into a mattress was as soft and pillowy as a cloud. Her legs parted, his hips settled between her thighs, and she melted in her surrender once more.

Eirlys had never heard such silence as she lay there in the thick, heavy blackness of Thorin’s bedchamber. The fire died on the hearth. The lamps had been extinguished hours earlier. There were no nocturnal sounds at all. There were no sounds at all. At least, not until Thorin began snoring. Then she found herself pining for the weird silence.

Still, she smiled despite her sleeplessness. A more magical night she’d never experienced. Not even her wedding night came close to this one. She had no idea what time it was, or how far off the dawn was, but it seemed they had been up for most of it. He’d left no part of her unexplored, had ignored no inch of skin, had kissed her slowly from her lips to the soles of her feet, teasing and sweetly torturing her with each caress until she thought she’d go up in flames. He took his time, in no rush as he stroked her, as he swept kiss after hot kiss down along her belly, along her inner thigh, up into her golden curls.

Heat swept through her now as she let their night play out in her mind. He had no shyness about her, no hesitation in where or how to caress her, how to tease her until she thought she’d faint from the fiery pleasure he sent screaming through her. Even now, she still tingled from the aftershock of him, and she could only hope that she’d pleased him just as well and thoroughly.

She lay curled against him, heat from his big body sinking into hers. He held her against him, cradling her as he slept, and it was so peaceful, she wished she could shut her mind off and simple sink into slumber as well.

But it was too quiet.

And then it wasn’t.

With a sigh, she slipped from the bed, moving slowly in the darkness so as not to stub a toe or trip over anything and wake Thorin.

It was slow going, having to feel her way along the bed, but she managed. She even managed to find her trousers and tunic in the dark. Not only that, but she also dressed herself without putting anything on backward or inside out.

With equal silence, she slipped from the apartments, the torches in the corridor seemingly brighter compared to the darkness she’d just left.

She didn't know exactly where she was going, but she was restless and a walk was a walk, regardless. Besides, she was the queen of this underground kingdom and if she wanted to take a walk, she would do exactly that.

It had to be very early still, for Erebor was eerily quiet and she didn't pass another warm body as she made her way up to the main floor. As she drew near the kitchens, the sounds of life wafted out, the chatter of voices and laughter, the clatter of pots and pans, and she wondered who oversaw the cooking and who manned said kitchens, so she followed those sounds.

A dwarf with elaborately braided silver hair looked up from the worktable where he mixed a grayish batter in an earthen bowl. “I beg your—oh, good morning, Your Royal Highness. What brings you here?”

“Good morning, uh…”

“Dori, Your Royal Highness. The name is Dori.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Dori. And please, I’d so much rather not be addressed as Your Royal anything. Eirlys is fine.”

A hint of color came to his cheeks as he hurriedly shook his head. “Oh, no, I couldn't possibly be so disrespectful.”

“But, it isn’t disrespectful, as I’ve asked you to do so.”

“Thorin wouldn’t like it.” This came from a dark-haired dwarf in the far corner.

“No,” Dori shook his head, “he wouldn’t like it at all.”

She swallowed an irritated sigh. “Perhaps Queen Eirlys, then?”

Dori beamed, bobbing his head. “I suppose that would be fine.”

“Good. Now, could one of you tell me what it is? It still feels as if it’s the middle of the night.”

“It’s half-six,” Dori told her.

“Thank you. Now, I don't suppose you could point me in the direction of outdoors? I have this overwhelming need to see the sun, to see the sky.”

The dark-haired dwarf shook his head. “His Highness won’t like you wandering about unaccompanied, I’m afraid.”

“I will be fine, so if you don’t mind?”

For a moment, she thought Dori was going to refuse to tell her anything, what with the way he scowled and pulled his silvery eyebrows low until they almost met. But then, he sighed, “Very well, Your—I mean, Queen Eirlys—follow me.”

“Dori, you shouldn’t—”

“Let me worry about it, Loram,” Dori told him, gesturing toward the hallway, “and you finish these muffins. They need to bake for twenty minutes, but make certain to test them before taking them out.”

“His Highness will be furious if he comes in here and learns that you’ve let her wander off on her own.”

Eirlys stiffened at the derisive tone in Loram’s voice, but she merely smiled. “I assure you, I will not be wandering off anywhere.”

He had the good grace to blush at that. “I beg your pardon, of course.”

To that, she offered up a cool smile. “Of course.” Turning back to Dori, she said, “So, now where will I find my way outdoors?”

Dori didn't look at all happy as he exchanged glances with Loram, but then he turned to her. “Very well, Your High—I mean, my queen. Follow me. But please, do take care, for His Highness will be furious, should something happen to you.”

“I understand there is a courtyard, one that is only for the king and his kin,” she told him softly. “If possible, that is where I wish to go.”

“Of course.” Dori gestured toward a door at the far end of the kitchen. “It is right this way. But I really wish you would wait—”

“I will be fine.”

“As you wish.”

Mindful of Loram’s eyes burning into her back as she walked away, Eirlys resisted the urge to turn and stare back until the dwarf blushed and looked away. She didn't wish to get into a battle of wills with any of them, after all. She wanted only to see the sky and hopefully the sun and somehow, she didn't think Thorin would be all that angry about her going out into the courtyard without him. And if he was, he would simply have to get over it.

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#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here?#Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

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middleearthpixie · 1 month ago

Text

The Ties That Bind ~ Chapter Nineteen

An arranged marriage that neither side wants, but both sides need. But what happens when the two sides realize that maybe—just maybe—being together isn't quite as bad as they'd thought...

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Eirlys of Mirkwood

Warnings: None

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.7k

Read on AO3

Eirlys wasn't at all prepared for what Thorin’s apartments were like, which was silly, really, because she should have guessed. He was the most unking-like king she’d ever met, so it stood to reason that his personal space would reflect his disdain for opulence and grandeur. Unlike her father, who made certain no one would ever mistake him for anyone other than himself, Thorin presented himself as ordinary. This came through in his clothing (rough, far more suited to the days when he was more nomad than king) and in his way of traveling (small group of trusted friends who served as advisors) and now, in his home.

The king’s private residence was three levels below Erebor’s main level, and as they’d made their way along the hallways lit only by small flames in frosted glass globes mounted along the stone walls, she had to fight down a sense of unease. She was far too accustomed to being able to look out and see the night sky, to hear the soft padding of nocturnal animals moving through the forest in the darkness, to slink through the underbrush until she reached a spot where the canopy was thinnest and she could see stars sparkling like ice chips against the night sky.

In Erebor, her footsteps echoed along the cold stone, and all she saw was dark stone, those flickering globes, and little else.

“Are you all right?” Thorin’s fingers tightened about hers. “You’ve gone quiet.”

“I feel rather closed in here,” she confessed softly, looking from the ceiling to him. “I mean no offense, of course, but I almost feel as if I’ve been buried alive.”

“I felt that way when we first retook the mountain,” he confessed. “Let’s get settled and then I’ll show you where it isn’t quite so suffocating.”

“It isn’t that it’s suffocating,” she shook her head, “but it is… ah… a bit closed in.”

The smile he offered held a hint of teasing as well. “Suffocating.”

“Fine.” Eirlys bobbed her head. “Suffocating.”

He bent toward her, his kiss light and teasing. “Come morning, once we’re settled, I’ll show you where you might go to see the sun when the need arises. And of course, I’ll show the areas that belong solely to us.”

“Us?”

“You, me, my sister, Kíli and Fíli and their respective wives and when the time comes, their children. It’s a small courtyard set aside for the royal family. So, on days when you wish to be unbothered by anyone, you might find yourself wandering there.

“But,” he straightened up and gave her hand another gentle squeeze, “for now, let’s just get you settled into your new home, shall we?”

Her heart skipped a beat and her mouth went dry as they resumed walking down the shadowy corridor. Her new home. It was too soon to think of Erebor that way, of course, but she wondered if she would ever see it that way, or would Mirkwood always be home?

At the corridor’s end, Thorin paused at a door on their left and reached into his trouser pocket to rummage about, coming up with a small brass keyring, upon which hung several slightly tarnished brass keys. They clinked against one another as he flipped through them and when he came up with the correct one, slid the key into its lock and turned, Eirlys’ pulse thundered through her temples, black dots danced before her eyes. For a maddening moment, she feared she might actually faint.

The door swung open with only a slight creak of stiff hinges. Darkness greeted them. Darkness tinted with a hint of stale air. How long had it been since he was last in his own home?

There was no chance to ask, as he pushed the door wider and gestured for her to step into the darkness that wasn't entirely foreboding, but wasn't exactly welcoming, either. She did just that, the darkness pressing in on her from all sides despite the open door. The torches in the corridor simply weren’t strong enough to do more than cast a slight glow at the threshold.

But the dark apparently didn't trouble Thorin, for he forged ahead and a few minutes later, a lamp blazed to life, bathing the sitting room in soft, pale gold light. Holding back her sigh of relief, Eirlys relaxed and let her gaze wander over the spacious room. The lamp stood on a table behind a long sofa. A smaller sofa stood at a right angle to the larger one, and a low stone table stood between the two and across from them, the hearth was dark and cold.

Along the front wall stood two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, lined with books as well as various other knickknacks that she never envision him collecting, and she wondered how much of the decor was his doing or his sister’s, for Eirlys could easily see Dís taking charge to make her brother’s apartments a home as well.

Several small portraits stood among the leather-bound tomes, and as Thorin disappeared down a narrow hallway toward the back of the apartments, she moved closer to take a better look.

She recognized the younger Dís at once. The resemblance between her and her older brother was too strong for the bearded woman to be anyone but Dís. Then her gaze fell upon the second portrait. The man in the frame bore a strong resemblance to Thorin, with pale, grey-blue eyes and dark hair that was several shades lighter than both Dís and Thorin.

She started when an arm eased gently about her waist, but relaxed with a smile as Thorin whispered, “My brother, Frerin.”

Turning toward him, she met his gaze, shaking her head. “I didn't know you had a brother.”

“He’s been gone a long time, slain in battle at Azanulbizar.”

“I’m so sorry, Thorin.”

“Thank you. As I said, it’s been a long time.”

“I know, but that doesn’t lessen the loss. It hasn’t for me yet. I imagine the same is true for you.”

He met her gaze, his eyes soft. “No, I suppose you’re right. At times, it feels as if Frerin has been gone three lifetimes, but at others? It feels as if it’s just happened.”

“And it takes the breath from you when that happens.”

“It does, indeed.” He smiled, glanced over at the shelving again, and then said, “I think Dís has added more books. Do you read?”

“I do, yes.”

“Feel free to take any title you wish, then. There is a perfect reading spot in our courtyard. The one I told you about, that’s for us alone? It’s one of the places I prefer, when I’ve the time.”

“I can’t imagine you have much free time, being king and all.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I don’t. There are times when I realize I preferred being Thorin Oakenshield. There is a certain freedom in being a nobody.”

It was her turn to chuckle. Easing her arms about his waist, she shook her head. “Somehow, I doubt you were ever a nobody.”

“But I was. And it wasn't as terrible as you might think. Now, I spend most of my days in the Throne Room, listening to this complaint or that, or of late, I spend a great deal of time in the War Room, laying out strategies for dealing with Gundabad.”

“And that’s where I come in. For now you have my father’s army at your disposal as well.”

“It’s a funny thing,” he told her, his arms tightening about her as he spoke, “but when your father and I first began discussing this alliance, it was strictly to benefit both Erebor and Mirkwood.”

Although she knew this, it still stung a little to hear. Perhaps her thinking Thorin was starting to feel something for her was all in her mind, a product of wishful thinking that had come about thanks to becoming intimate with him.

“But,” his voice grew soft and gentle, “now, I think it has become far more than that.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “I beg your pardon?”

“Ours was to be a marriage of convenience, as most royal marriages are. But, I must confess, Eirlys, I—”

A sharp rap on the door, followed by Madris calling, “Your Highness? I’ve your trunk and the rest of your things.”

Irritation flooded her, and Thorin uttered an oath beneath his breath, but then he drew away from her. “I should let her in. I don't think she’ll leave us in peace otherwise.”

“Probably not.” She swallowed her disappointment as Thorin stepped back, then went around her to open the door and bid Madris entry.

Several dwarves were with her, laden with Eirlys’ trunk and chest and various other things she’d brought from Mirkwood, including her vanity table and bench of polished, heavy mahogany. Disappointment bitter on her lips, she said, “Thorin, where should I tell them to put everything?”

“Our chambers are just down the hallway.” Thorin gestured toward the hallway in question. “Follow me and I’ll show you.”

The dwarves did just that, while Madris came over to her. “I’ve the feeling I interrupted something.”

“No,” Eirlys replied as offhandedly as she could manage. “He was just telling me about his brother. He died at a place called… Azin…” she frowned, “or maybe Anzin… blast it all, I don't remember exactly what he called it, but it wasn't familiar to me.”

Madris nodded. “Azanulbizar?”

“Yes!” Eirlys narrowed her eyes. “But how did you know that?”

Madris chuckled. “It was part of a great war between the dwarves and Gundabad. At one point, the dwarves sought your father’s help, but he refused to send any troops into battle on their behalf.”

“What?”

“You were too young to recall it, I imagine, but yes,” Madris nodded, “he did. He felt the battle between the dwarves and orcs was just that—between them—and thusly not a cause he felt worthy of sacrificing his own army for.”

Eirlys could only stare at her for a long moment, not really certain Madris told the truth. “Father simply said no?”

Madris nodded. “He did. And he was right to, Your Highness, for it was not our battle. And it kept the orcs away from Mirkwood, which was what really mattered.”

“No,” Eirlys shook her head, “it isn’t. Our army is beyond powerful enough, or was then, to come to the dwarves’ aid. There was no reason not to do so. We weren’t at war with anyone until recently. He certainly could spare part of his army, no matter what size.”

“I’m afraid His Royal Highness did not see it that way. And now, it no longer matters, for the alliance between elf and dwarf was sealed when you and Thorin were married.”

Eirlys couldn’t hold back her snort. “Of course. Father wanted the alliance because of how close the orcs have come to Mirkwood now. He would not aid the dwarves when they needed him, but certainly will expect them to aid him now.”

“That is how it’s done in families such as yours. Had Rivendell needed our army—or if we needed theirs—your father would have arranged a marriage between you and either Elladan or Elrohir.”

Perhaps he would have, but that didn't mean she found Thranduíl’s refusal to help the dwarves any more palatable, and when Thorin stepped back into the sitting area, her anger with Thranduíl grew stronger still. Foolish, no doubt, since even if she confronted her father about it, it was so long ago, he’d think her silly for being upset over it and would chide her about it, no doubt.

But as Thorin laughed at something one of the other dwarves said, Eirlys couldn't help but remain angry on his behalf. This wasn't merely a battle, but he’d lost someone close to him as a result of it—someone he might not have lost, if Thranduíl had sent Erebor the aid it requested.

“It isn’t right, Madris,” she said softly, so as not to be overheard by Thorin, who followed the other dwarves out into the corridor beyond the front door. “It simply isn’t. Especially when you realize he thought nothing of—of giving me to Thorin in exchange for a military alliance.”

“Are you unhappy?”

“That isn’t the point, though. Father never consulted me. He never asked me how I felt about being married off, nor how I felt about being married off to a dwarf. I was lucky in that Thorin was that dwarf, and I find no fault with being his wife at all. But the choice was not mine. And to know that when he’d gain nothing from aiding the dwarves, Father let them face annihilation. Now that he faces possibly the same fate, he couldn't hand me over quickly enough so the dwarves would be honor-bound to offer aid.”

Madris let out a soft sigh. “I know it might feel that way, but he did take your happiness into consideration, Your Highness.”

“He got lucky that Thorin and I did not despise one another on sight,” Eirlys snapped.

“No, you did not. And, from where I sit, it seems you and Thorin have become quite… intimate… in recent days.”

“He is my husband,” Eirlys countered sharply. “Surely you did not think our union would go unconsummated? Especially since I am certain his first duty as king is to sire an heir.”

A hint of color bloomed along Madris’ sharp cheekbones. “No, I don't suppose I did.”

“And even if children weren’t a priority, surely you don't think he and I would remain distant from one another.”

“It can happen, but I am glad—for your sake—that it did not work out that way for you.”

“As am I.” Some of her anger at Thranduíl faded and she smiled as she went on, “Thorin is a good man and I am rather lucky to call him mine.”

“As he is to call you his.”

Eirlys chuckled. “Of course.”

“Do not harbor anger toward your father,” Madris said softly, shaking her head. “He has always acted with the best interests of his children first and his people second and did what he felt was the right thing to do at the time.”

“Be that as it may, I will let him know how I feel about it.”

“Why? It would change nothing.

“Because he was wrong.”

“Your Highness, may I be frank with you?”

Eirlys sighed heavily. “Would it stop you if I said no?”

“Not likely.”

“Then go on.”

“It would serve no purpose and might only cause trouble with both His Royal Highnesses.” Madris shook her head. “No, it’s best to leave the past where it belongs—in the past. Dredging it up now will only cause more problems.”

Eirlys sank onto the arm of the long sofa. “It infuriates me, Madris. I know how that loss feels and to know now that it need not have happened? How do I keep quiet about that?”

“You simply do, because you cannot undo the past. You would only hurt both of them, and damage this alliance as well. Trust me, you would do no good to confront your father, and I’ll wager His Royal Highness, King Thorin would agree.”

Eirlys opened her mouth to reply, but then closed it again, pursing her lips. Madris had a point, and perhaps she was right. While she didn't care overmuch if she upset Thranduíl, as he should be upset, as he should feel guilt over his decision, the last thing she wished to do was hurt Thorin.

She drew in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and then nodded. “Very well. I’ll say nothing. For now, anyway. But, should the time come when I feel it needs be discussed, you had better believe, I will make him discuss it.”

The front door opened and Thorin came back into the apartments. “Eirlys, I wasn't certain where you wished everything to be put, so if you wish it moved, I’ll make sure it goes where you want it.”

Madris clasped her hands briefly. “I’ll allow you both to settle in, then. Your Highness, you need only send for me if you need me for anything. Otherwise, I shall see you at supper.”

“I will be fine, thank you.”

“Good.” Madris smiled and a moment later, she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.

“While I’m happy to have my things here,” Eirlys turned back to Thorin, “I rather wish she hadn’t interrupted just the same.”

“As do I.” He caught her hand in his, lacing their fingers. “But at the same time, it’s probably just as well. I am exhausted and I should hate to disappoint you.”

“I’m fairly certain you could never disappoint me, Thorin,” she told him softly, giving his hand a squeeze. “In fact, I know you couldn’t.”

To her surprise, a hint of color bloomed above the line of his beard. “I’m glad you think so, but I’d rather not chance it, just the same.”

The urge to tease him swept through her and she slid her free arm about his neck and couldn't help smile as she asked, “You mean to tell me, Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, is too tired to let his queen tend to him?”

“Tend to him?”

She nodded. “You wouldn’t have to do a thing.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yes.”

The hitch in his breath, coupled with how his fingers tightened about her breast, sent heat sweeping through her. Hs thumb lightly brushed about her nipple, which beaded through her chemisette and her heavy traveling tunic and his voice was husky and low as he growled, “Tend to me?”

She nodded. “Oh, yes.”

His eyes darkened. “Go on then.”

She couldn’t hold back her smile, her fingers tightening on his nape, his hair silken against their backs. A gentle tug and he leaned into her, the thumb on her nipple going still as she whispered, “Do you wish me to tell you or to simply show you?”

“Both, to be honest, but if you wish to simply show me, I’ll not stop you.”

Eirlys let her lips brush his, ever so lightly, and murmured, “If you sit right here, on this sofa, I will do everything, love.”

“Everything? I like the sound of this so far.”

She slid her free hand beneath his tunic, her fingers slipping through the thick, crisp hair as she eased it up. His breath hitched again as she brushed his right nipple, beading beneath her touch. His lips found hers, his kiss deep and sensual and hungry, his tongue plunging between her lips to tease hers, to draw it back into the wet heat of his mouth.

Her fingernail grazed that beaded nipple, his sharp inhale accompanying the gentle squeeze as he kneaded her breast once more. Fire swirled through her, the urge to push him down onto the sofa too great to ignore.

He offered no fight, sinking into the cushions, and she captured his soft moan as she came astride him, her knees also sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. He released her breast, catching her tunic in both hands to whisk up, over her head, and it was her turn to suck in a hard breath as he bent to capture her pebbled nipple between his lips.

Her back bowed at the tip of his tongue slowly swirling abut her nipple, sweeping over it, teasing it until she tingled from head to toe, her blood hot as it swept through her veins, the fire of desire sparking into an inferno that had her rocking her hips into his, shivering at the sweet pleasure the friction offered. The heat pooled within her, settling in her core, growing damp as he cupped her free breast to sweetly torture that nipple as well. He tugged. He rolled. He kneaded until she thought she’d go up in smoke. She was supposed to be treating him and yet… he made her burn for him, made her hot and achy and wet with the need for him.

Apparently his teasing aroused him as well, for there came a solid, steady growing pressure of him rising against her, pressing into the apex of her thighs, and when she moved against it, they moaned in unison. She couldn’t help it. It felt heavenly, that pressure meeting her where she ached most for it, but the relief was fleeting at best.

Her eyes closed, her head spinning wildly as she thrust her fingers deep into his hair. Her body hungered for him, her hips moving of their own to give her that fleeting relief, and when he caught her nipple between his teeth, she couldn’t hold back her breathless, “Oh, yes…”

His soft laugh skittered across her all-too-sensitive skin an she smiled, the need to tell him how she felt sweeping through her. “Thorin, I l—”

“Thorin?” This time, Dís’ voice made them both swear at the same time, only in different languages.

His head fell back against the cushion, exasperation ringing in his. “What is it?”

“Are you coming to supper?”

Built-up and unspent desire left Eirlys wanting to scream with frustration. Without thinking, she collapsed against Thorin, her head coming to rest on his shoulder as he said, “We’ll be there in a moment.”

“I’ll wait for you. There is something I wished to discuss with you before we go into the Great Hall.”

“Can it wait, Dís?” Thorin’s fingers brushed lightly along Eirlys’ back.

“I don't think so, no.”

“Mahal…” Thorin grumbled off a few more words Eirlys didn't recognize, and then sighed. “Very well.”

Eirlys sat back. “I think your Mahal would rather we didn't do this here,” she said, shaking her head.

“It does seem that way.” His gaze lingered on her, a rueful smile at his lips. “Which is a shame, really. I am curious to see how you’d take care of your husband.”

“Oh, you’ll see.” She leaned in and offered up a pert kiss, then climbed off him as if it didn't trouble her at all, as if her body wasn’t screaming at her in protest for not satisfying her ache for him, for not satisfying that arousal he’d awoken, the need he’d created.

It would wait for now. But, once they were back in his apartments, the door would be locked and would remain locked and she didn't care if the whole blasted mountain burned around them. They would finish what they’d started. And with any luck, it would give her the courage to tell Thorin how she truly felt about him.

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@legolasbadass @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically @notlostgnome

@myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield

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#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here?#Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

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