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rynneer · 8 months

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Blood of Durin

A reader-insert fanfiction.

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing.

She’s carrying his child.

Chapter Eleven: King

A new era.

there’s so much more, you can reclaim your crown. you’re in control, rid of the monsters inside your head

-King, Lauren Aquilina

It’s early morning when you stir, finding yourself back in your bed. You vaguely recall your eyes growing heavy as you leaned against Fíli in the nursery, but his side of the bed is empty. A little clock on the mantle informs you that it’s 7:00 a.m.

The nursery door opens and Fíli enters, holding Juniper up on his shoulders. “Galikh bakn, amrâlimê,” he whispers, bending over and pecking your cheek. [Good morning, my love] You’d convinced him to start speaking more Khuzdûl to you to help you learn. If you’re going to spend the rest of your life around dwarves, you might as well learn their language properly.

“Galikh ba… bakn,” you repeat slowly, stumbling over the guttural words.

Fíli shrugs, making Juniper wobble. “It’s an improvement,” he concedes.

“Ba! Ba! Ba!” your daughter echoes. Then she pauses. “Da!” She slaps her hands against Fíli’s head, making him wince.

“Someone’s hungry.”

You sigh and sit up, adjusting your nightgown and holding out your arms for the baby. “I noticed that I’m not asleep on the nursery floor,” you comment as she latches on.

“You’d already been up with her—I figured it was only fair I take my turn. You needed your rest for the coronation today.” Fíli takes hold of your marriage braid, unraveling it and running a comb through your hair. The rhythmic tugging on your scalp is relaxing as he carefully weaves it into a new pattern. He fixes your bead and kisses it, whispering some words in Khuzdûl that you don’t yet recognize.

“Wouldn’t it be bad form for the crown prince to pass out from exhaustion during the ceremony?”

Fíli’s eyes sparkle. “Au contraire!” You’d taught him a few phrases from your world. He seems to delight in tossing them into his day-to-day speech, confusing those around him. “If I were to faint, it’s an amusing antic from the king’s nephew. If you were to faint, it’s an urgent medical episode from the new, beautiful princess.”

“I’m not sure–”

A loud banging on your door interrupts you. Before you can tell the visitor to wait or cover yourself, it bursts open, revealing Kíli. “Mornin’!” he says with a grin. Looking you up and down, he wrinkles his nose. “That’s disgusting!”

You sit straight up, color blooming on your cheeks. Juniper unlatches in protest at the sudden movement.

“Fíli, put a shirt on for Mahal’s sake, no one wants to see that!” Kíli finishes, throwing you a wink. He snatches Juniper from your arms and tosses her in the air. She shrieks with delight. “Ready for the big day?”

“I’m not dressed, I haven’t eaten, and I’m scared out of my mind,” you count off on your fingers as you clamber out of bed. “Take a guess.”

Fíli adjusts the top of your nightgown to preserve your modesty in front of his brother. “There should be breakfast in the hall, if Kíli hasn’t eaten it all yet. I got up early and asked the servants to make you a plate.” He moves to take Juniper back, but Kíli holds her just out of reach.

“You got to hold her all night,” he says, sticking out his tongue. “I want a turn.”

You crack your back and grab a robe hanging from the bedpost. “If you want to wake up with a fussy, teething baby at midnight, be my guest,” you yawn, making for the door.

The stone floor is cold on your feet, sending a shiver up your spine. You hasten for the dining room, pulling your robe tightly around you. A familiar, salty aroma fills your nose as you push open the side door into the deserted hall.

There’s a full plate of meat and eggs at the end of one of the tables, across from someone you didn’t expect to see.

“Galikh bak, Thorin,” you say lightly, taking your seat.

“Bakn,” he corrects with a grunt. He straightens up and pushes back his own half-finished plate. “You are up early.”

You shrug. “Baby,” you mumble through a mouthful of eggs. “Tried to let Fíli sleep—he put me back to bed.” The bite sticks in your throat and you wash it down with a gulp from a mug of coffee. “I didn’t think you’d be down here. Shouldn’t you be preparing?”

His dark hair is rumpled and there are bags beneath his eyes. It’s almost amusing to see him in a thick robe and not the leathers and furs you had become accustomed to seeing on the journey. But you suppose he’s earned a few creature comforts after spending over a hundred years away from home.

Thorin sighs. “I have done nothing but prepare for the coronation ceremony since the moment your wedding reception ended.”

“And yet you clearly haven’t slept.”

“Dwarves don’t need as much sleep as Men.”

“Bullshit,” you declare, stabbing at a sausage. “If anything, you sleep more. So, why weren’t you resting?”

He doesn’t answer, fiddling with one of his beads and avoiding your eyes. “You will not leave it alone until I give you an answer, will you?” he asks at last.

“You know me well.”

Thorin presses his lips into a thin line. “I am… concerned,” he admits. “I have slept little in the past nights while thinking about all that is to come.”

You put down your fork and peer at the dwarf. “You’re anxious.”

“If you would prefer to put it that way, I suppose so.”

“Mm,” you hum in appreciation. “I’m familiar with the feeling.” Pushing your plate aside, you lean in closer and lower your head. “So, what’s up?”

Thorin glances around the room.

“It’s just me, Thorin. It’s not like you’ll get the chance to offload it onto anyone else.” You let him sit in silence for as long as he pleases, returning to your plate.

He lets out another deep sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am ready for the position, I know that,” he mutters. “It is my birthright. But knowing what led to the events of a year ago… it worries me, that I have the capability for cruelty.” His eyes are dark and far away, his brow creased.

You reach across the table and lay a hand on his arm. “That was dragon-sickness,” you say softly. “That wasn’t you.“

Thorin shakes his head.

You squeeze his arm as best as you can through the thick wool. “All this past year, you’ve been giving orders, directing the rebuilding of Erebor, organizing resources, summoning your kin. Aren’t those all things that a king would do? You’ve been king, Thorin, in all but title. You never stopped.”

Still, he doesn’t reply. You release his arm and lean back, spearing a couple more sausages. “The boys are already up. I’ll see you tonight.” You shove the rest of the bite in your mouth and stand, giving Thorin’s shoulder a small shake on your way out.

“Y/N? Are you almost finished?” Fíli’s voice is tinged with impatience as he waits outside your chambers.

“Coming!” you call over your shoulder, inspecting yourself in the mirror one last time. You wear another one of Dís’s old dresses, a thick, forest green gown with heavy fur across the shoulders. It glitters with tiny rhinestones sewn into the seams. Running a hand over your hair one last time, you open the door.

Fíli shifts Juniper onto his hip, bowing and kissing your hand. “You look exquisite, my lady.”

You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. “I’m not calling you ‘my lord’, Fíli.”

He takes your arm with a sly grin and escorts you through the halls.

Juniper squirms and reaches out for you. “Da! Da!”

“Mama,” you correct her, gently lifting her from Fíli’s arms, mindful of her long skirt. It was a mad dash to get baby clothes imported to Erebor in time for the wedding and coronation, and her dress still swallows her up, but at least it matches yours and Fíli’s outfits.

A low hum fills your ears as you near the great hall, signaling the presence of a large crowd.

“Ready?” Fíli whispers.

“Not in the slightest.”

He pauses in the middle of the passage and steps back for a moment, looking you up and down.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to remember everything about this day,” he says softly.

You beam and give him a little twirl. He smiles back and takes your arm again, leading you to the doors of the hall, where Thorin and Kíli wait. The soon-to-be-king inclines his head to you.

Kíli gives you a little nudge. “Try and keep her quiet, hm?” he teases, patting Juniper on the head.

You bite back a reply as the doors swing open. Your breath catches in your throat—if the crowd at your wedding was large, this one is massive, packing the vast hall. A murmur ripples through the crowd when you enter, people ducking their heads respectfully as you pass. But their eyes burn into you, and you fix your gaze on Thorin’s back.

Fíli squeezes your hand. “Breathe,” he murmurs, barely audible.

Before you stands the great carven throne, the Arkenstone glimmering in its place at the top. It’s flanked by three smaller, decadent seats—temporary fixtures until suitable thrones can be installed. The throne only seems to get more massive as you approach, turning to look out over the crowd. It’s mostly dwarves, but you spot a small group of elves and men to the side. The white-blonde heads of Thranduil and Legolas are plainly visible, though you struggle to locate Bard and his delegation among the throng.

And Gandalf! Your heart lifts when you see the pointy gray hat in the front row with the rest of the Company. There’s an empty seat beside him, representing the absent burglar. It’s bittersweet—you make a mental note to arrange a journey to the Shire as soon as you have royal authority to do so.

Thorin raises a hand for the crowd’s attention and beckons to a dwarf at the edge of the room. This must be Dáin Ironfoot—you vaguely recognize him from the battle. The deliberation over who would officiate the coronation lasted for weeks. It was finally decided that Dáin, Thorin’s closest kin besides Fíli and Kíli, would be the one to place the crowns upon the heads of the royal family.

Dáin strides forward, followed by four other dwarves carrying satin pillows. Upon those pillows rest two gold crowns, a silver tiara, and the grand centerpiece, the Raven Crown. The dwarves place the pillows on a table at Dáin’s side and retreat with small bows.

He clears his throat and smoothes his beard. “It is an honor, dwarrows, dwarrowdams, and esteemed guests of the kingdom, to stand here today,” he booms. “We are gathered to witness the beginning of a new chapter in our people’s history, and an event not seen in over two centuries: the crowning of a new King Under the Mountain.” He pauses to let the words sink in. “A moment, please, to honor the Lady Dís, who abdicated her place in the line of succession in favor of her sons.”

Applause fills the air as Dís, standing off to the side, dips her head. Her eyes shine when Dáin selects one of the golden crowns and stands in front of Kíli.

“Kíli, son of the Lady Dís. Prince Under the Mountain, second in line for the throne of Erebor.”

Kíli beams proudly, tears sparkling in the corners of his eyes. Any trace of mischief or snark is gone—it’s an innocent, childlike joy as he straightens up with his crown.

“Fíli, eldest son of the Lady Dís. The Crown Prince Under the Mountain, heir to the throne.”

Fíli keeps his face solemn as Dáin places the crown on his head, but you spy that tell-tale twitch in his right hand. The same twitch that betrayed his nerves when he first entered your bedchamber in Rivendell forever ago. You try to catch his eye, but he stares steadfastly forward.

And now, all too soon, it’s your turn.

“Y/N, a daughter of Man, wed to Fíli. The Crown Princess Under the Mountain. Their daughter, the Princess Juniper, third in line for the throne.”

Dáin lifts the delicate tiara from the satin pillow. It’s exquisite up close, sapphires woven into a silver web that matches your marriage bead. Your breath hitches, and you bend down to help Dáin reach. The metal rests gently on your brow, a touch heavier than you expected. Fíli remains facing ahead, but his glance is full of warmth as he looks at you out of the corner of his eye. You can’t resist a smile when you meet his eyes, or when you see the proud faces of the Company.

Juniper reaches up and grabs at your hair with wide eyes.

“Not yet, little sprout,” you breathe. “You’ll get yours in time.”

At last, Dáin lifts the last and largest crown, the Raven Crown, raising it up before Thorin.

“Thorn Oakenshield, son of Thror, son of Thrain. The King Under the Mountain!”

Thorin dips his head to receive it. He has worn it so often before, but it seems different now, as his gaze sweeps over his friends, his family, his kingdom. Before your eyes, years of tension on his brow seem to melt away, revealing the face of a young prince. A prince whose grandfather has not been touched by dragon-sickness. A prince who has not seen his home ravaged by fire. A prince who does not need to avenge the death of his father. You blink, and it’s your Thorin again, face lined and weathered. But still some of the lightness remains. Some hope.

Dáin steps back and sinks to a knee. “Long live the king!”

The roar of the crowd is deafening, you’re sure it is, but all you hear is your own heartbeat as you turn and ascend the steps to your seat. To your throne. A seat promising childhood dreams fulfilled, promising a life of luxury. But most of all, a seat carrying the promise of a home, a life with your daughter and the dwarf you love.

The king, however, does not take his seat yet. He holds up a hand to silence the crowd. “Long have I awaited this day,” he begins.

You prick up your ears—Thorin was never one for speeches.

“A year ago, on this very day, the blood of our brothers was spilled at the foot of the Lonely Mountain so that we may stand here. I swear to you, in the sight of all, that their sacrifices will never be forgotten.” He pauses, eyes lingering on the Company. “Today is a new beginning for Durin’s Folk. An era of prosperity as we rebuild Erebor for those to come…” his gaze flickers to you and Juniper, “…and in honor of those who came before.”

Finally, he settles onto his throne, head held high, and the room explodes into cheers and roars once again.

Fíli reaches over from his seat and grasps your hand. “Maidmi azhâr, amrâlimê. Maidmi azhâr.”

[welcome home, my love]

#fanfiction #fili x reader #fili x you #fíli #kíli #reader insert #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #blood of durin #king under the mountain #ao3fic

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dianakc · 1 year

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The quest for peace

Fandom: The Hobbit

Read on AO3

Chapter 1

All he’d wanted was some peace. Well, he had it now.

He had to laugh; it was ironic really. He'd fought many battles, demons both real and internal, and even conquered Azog the Defiler. Yet the thing that was going to kill him, quite peacefully, was snow. Thorin lay prone, half covered in a deep drift at the base of a crevasse where he had landed when the ground beneath him had given way. During his lifetime he had been wounded many times and he was confident that his injuries were not mortal, however, he suspected his leg was broken and possibly some ribs. He couldn’t get up, and even if he could, there was no chance of reaching civilization; he must resign himself to his fate. No one knew where he was, would miss him or come looking. He was so cold, beyond shivering and could no longer feel his hands or feet. Thorin could barely keep his eyes open as sleep forced itself upon him. The blizzard had reduced to soft flakes now that settled gently on him as dusk fell on both Middle Earth and his life. Was it true that when you died a light guided you to the next world? He could make out a flickering light in the distance and, as he could fight it no longer, his eyelids finally slipped closed.

Juno was trudging back to her cabin on the edge of the woods, pulling a sledge laden with branches that she had collected. She’d been out longer than planned as it was so much harder to find fuel in the snow, and the sun was now going down. Holding up her lantern, through the half light, she saw a dark heap protruding from a snow drift in the distance at the base of a great fissure in the mountain. She decided to investigate this last potential source of wood before she gave up for the day and retreated to the warmth of home. As she got closer, Juno realised that it was the body of a man. Kneeling quickly and sinking six inches into the powdery snow, she shook him, “Hello, hello. Can you hear me?” Thorin's eyelids twitched. He’s alive. Juno knew she was his only hope as he would surely freeze to death out here. She would have to try to get him to safety. She tipped the wood from her sledge and pulled it up alongside the body. Using her gloved hands as tools she dug him out of the drift and crossed his left arm over his body. She struggled to heave his left leg which wore an enormous boot across his right. Then she pushed his left side until he rolled over landing mostly onto the sledge. She tied him on as best she could and started dragging the sledge with all her might.

It took twenty minutes to get home and she was exhausted. Despite the cold she was sweating with the exertion of hauling this heavy load. Once at the cabin she lit the lanterns that created a soft welcoming glow, and dragged the sledge with the body attached into the cabin. Come…on…you…great…lump. She tugged him off the sledge and onto the floor where he landed with a soft thud and a groan emitted from him. Well at least he’s still alive. She then set about lighting the fire; she needed to warm him as soon as she could. His lips had a bluish tint and his face was unnaturally pale.

Juno removed her coat, hat and boots that were soaking wet and freezing from the snow. The cabin was quickly warming up and a cosy orange glow was cast onto the room from the fire. She set a kettle of water on to heat before turning to give her attention to the man. She looked down at the body that was taking up almost half of the floor space. How on earth will I get his wet things off? Cut them off? The man had a large bag slung around his body. She removed this first and then struggled with his coat and gloves. The coat was leather with an animal pelt collar and she realised she couldn’t have cut through it even if she tried. She pushed and pulled until she could get one arm out which made removing the rest of the coat considerably easier. Under the coat he wore several layers with the uppermost damp and cold but not wet through so she left them alone. Next she tackled the huge, heavy boots that were constructed from animal hide and metal with leather strapping fastened with buckles. She undid the fastenings and grasped the right boot in her hands, and with her feet planted on either side of his leg she pulled, causing her to land on her bottom with it in her hands when it eventually came off. She was startled at the weight of the boot. She wondered how he managed to walk anywhere with his heavy boots and coat weighing him down. At least he would not blow away in a storm! She started on the left boot but found moving this caused more moaning from the man. It appeared to be causing him considerable pain. Well, pain or not, it would need to come off and perhaps better while he was unconscious. She tried to be more gentle and managed to remove the boot causing as little discomfort to the man as possible. She gently took off his thick woollen socks which revealed the left ankle to be dark purple and swelling even as she watched it. This was clearly the cause of his pain and to her untrained eye she guessed it could be broken so she immobilised it with some strips of material used as bandages and bound the ankle firmly.

Juno assessed the man laid out on her floor. From the size of his hands and feet and the runes in his hair she thought that perhaps he was a dwarf and not of man after all. He was tall for a dwarf with long dark wavy hair that fell beyond his shoulders. He had long black eyelashes and a short dark beard that was neatly trimmed and both sparkled with tiny icicles that were beginning to melt. His hair and beard were highlighted with silver grey streaks giving him a manly, distinguished appearance. He was broad and muscled as though he was familiar with strenuous work or perhaps a warrior. But the most striking thing about this dwarf was that he was beautiful and, with his deathly pallor, resembled a marble sculpture of some ancient heroic figure. She shook herself out of her daydreaming and, getting back to practical matters, gathered all but one of her home made woollen blankets and covered the stranger to warm him.

Juno opened the dwarf’s bag and found the contents to be all wet from the snow. It contained clothes, two knives, a parcel of what looked like dried meat and a canteen for water. She spread out his wet clothes over the furniture with hers to dry, having to step over the sleeping dwarf to move about in the cabin. As soon as the water was heated from the fire, she set about preparing some tea and sweetened his with honey to help revive him.

Gradually the dwarf was thawing. His lips and fingers were no longer blue and his face was pink from the fire. The tea was ready to drink and Juno felt it would do him good to warm him from the inside as well so she tried again to wake him, “Hello, hello?”

The dwarf’s eyelashes fluttered and opened to reveal a pair of sapphire blue eyes of such clarity that Juno was momentarily mesmerised. Thorin gradually came to, his eyes slowly focusing and becoming accustomed to the light. He looked up to see Juno with a glow from the fire illuminating her pale hair. An angel? Am I in the next world?

“Hello, my name is Juno. I believe you have been injured in an accident in the snow. You are in my cabin. You are quite safe,” she said to reassure him. “Can you sit up to have a warm drink?”

Thorin smiled ruefully. It appeared he had dodged death again. He was like a cat with nine lives but had lost count on how many he was up to. He struggled to sit and a searing pain coursed through the left side of his chest and ankle as he tried to get up. He slumped back to the floor. The girl, no woman, Juno , lifted and supported his head. She held the cup of hot tea to his lips and he tentatively took a sip then more; he was so thirsty.

When the dwarf had finished his drink Juno sat on the floor cross legged beside him and sipped her tea. “Can you tell me who you are? How did you come to become injured? Did you fall?”

“Thorin,” he whispered hoarsely. “I was trekking when the blizzard hit. I couldn’t see where I was going and think I walked into a ravine,” he said drowsily. He looked her in the eyes solemnly, “I thought I was going to die.”

“Now, now,” she said softly but briskly, distracting him by lifting his right hand and rubbing it to get the circulation going, “all will be well.” Juno smiled at the dwarf, “I have never met a Thorin. Tell me, what is it like to be named after a king?” At the look of surprise on Thorin’s face she said, “I am named after a goddess,” and laughed shyly. “I always feel that I would be a disappointment to my namesake. Perhaps sharing the name of a king is also a weight to bear?”

“I have thought of my name as a burden I suppose. But perhaps it is my duty and not my name….” he muttered, gradually falling asleep again.

Juno decided it best to leave the dwarf to rest and go to bed herself. She banked up the fire to keep him warm throughout the night and tucked him in; she put out the lanterns and retired to her bedroom. She would have a visitor for some time it seemed. Whilst Thorin had craved solitude, Juno was thankful that she would have some company for a little while even if it was only because he had no alternative. She felt a little guilty that this poor dwarf’s misfortune brought some relief to the crushing loneliness she had endured over the last six months.

#thorin oakenshield #thorin fanfiction #thorin durin #the hobbit #king under the mountain

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sorisooyaa · 2 years

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Thorin in a blue tint cuz I wanted to bring out his eyes more!! Half of them worked, half of them didn’t, but I still kept them cuz.... it’s Thorin!

#thorin oakenshield #thorin #king thorin #king under the mountain #king thorin oakenshield #the hobbit #the hobbit edit #thorin edit gifs #durin #the hobbit gifs #thorin gifs #thorin oakenshield gifs #soriyaa graphics #shalinizhara grahpics

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ichoosechoasandbeingqueer · 2 years

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Flames of the Forge - Bold

Fili x Darrowdam OC Narni

Warnings: cut/drop of blood (nothing major)

Word Count: 5224

Fili is a dwarf dedicated to his craft but still longs to find his one. On his one hundredth birthday, he may just find who he’s looking for. Narni is a blacksmith new to Erebor and presents Prince Fili with a controversial gift.

A/n: Hopefully this will be the first in a few short stories about these two. We’ll see how I go. Let me know if you want a tag list. This is mainly fluff but please feel free to comment and reblog if you enjoy!

The dress was soft and silky as it sat on her skin, the deep purple material hemmed with gold thread and steel cuffs making her feel powerful as she moved through the halls of Erebor. Her family and mastery beads sat in her braids tightly and her hair had been woven in such a way it brushed the ground in its length despite its carefully planned plaits. She adorned her favorite ear cuffs, gold but simple with a single amethyst gem dangling from her right ear. She moved with pride and purpose as she swept into the main hall full of dwarves.

She new it was a bold move, what she was doing. Very few had ever presented the golden-haired prince with a dagger of their own making, and even less had the nerve to do so in such a public setting. He lined his body with the weapons like one would with their beads and braids. They were apart of him, the cold blades hidden around his form, and he took pride in each and every one of them. His knowledge of the forge and its steel transcended into the beauty of his weapons. The prince was known for his dagger forging, the pieces of art that his hands created more stunning than any master could dream of bringing to completion. He bent an infused a slice of his soul into every blade he created. Sharp. Strong. Dangerous.

The only thing more beautiful then gazing upon such daggers was watching him use them. He used them like they were an extension of his body. Completely in control, his movements were always flawless and swift. The way he danced through the air with his steel was mesmerizing.

He had a kind and gentle heart, but when it came to his daggers, he was specific and stringent. Anything less than perfect was a waist of time in his book, and the few blacksmiths that had presented him with a dagger had been turned away in disgust. He had even kicked one out of the room entirely for presenting him a knife with a twisted and unfinished pommel.

His heart and soul belonged to his chosen craft. He lived and breathed the hot steel of the forges, the pounding and molding of the hammer on anvil, the sizzle and bubble of the quench. They weren’t just knives to him. To him they spoke stories and showed passions. A dagger showed your deepest essence as well as protected your life. To be presented with anything less then a flawless blade was an insult to himself and his craft.

The first time Narni had seen Fili Durin was in the battle of the five armies as she fought in Dain’s army. She had caught a glimpse of golden hair admits the chaos and frozen in place as she watched the darrow slice through orc after orc, dancing effortlessly through the battle of bodies and steel. It was only for a second, but the way he moved with his weapons had moved her. She had been a blacksmith since she could walk and had dedicated to learning the way of the blade, in battle and in the forge. The weapon itself was pedestrian, but the way the prince had used it brought a new life to the old steel. It was like artwork watching him twist and turn with steel in his hand and it sent a strange feeling through her body. And then in a blink he was gone.

The second time she had spotted him was in the forges. With the growth of Erebor, she had bid her parents farewell in the Iron Hills and settled down in the lonely mountain, continuing to learn and hone her skills with the uncovered knowledge of their libraries and ancient forges now burning with dragon fire. He had been testing one of his newly finished blades, the knife slicing through the thick leather hide like butter. He held such consecration and focus in his ocean blue eyes and he tested and wrapped his blade. Pride was held in his smile and as she studied his work for afar, she couldn’t deny its beauty.

That’s what sparked her soul and guided her to make her own dagger. One that she would offer to her prince.

The other dwarves had laughed, sneered and gasped when they had found out, but the dam could not be dissuaded. She had used every skill she had learnt and mastered from the design to the polish, pouring her blood, sweat and soul into her creation, and now, on the princes one hundredth birthday, she would offer her hard work to him.

Her heart was in her throat as she waited, fiddling with the soft layer of silk that wrapped her work. She knew it was a good blade, beautiful and deadly, but she did not know how he would react to such a gift. Would he smile, his pretty blue eyes widening in fascination? Would he nod politely and brush the gift of to one on the servers unimpressed? Would he scoff and send her away? The line she stood in took another step and it was almost her turn to face the prince.

Something solid hit her back however, and knocked her unbalanced as she thought, the gift falling from her hands and siding along the ground.

“Hey!” she protested, turning to glare at who had hit her, “take care where you step fool!”.

She cringed when she relised who was standing behind her. Vargit, another blacksmith and a bully, stationed a few forges away from her own staired back with a scowl. He was adorned in his best attire, and being the son of a lord from centuries ago, it made her own outfit look like rags. He practically glittered with the number of jewels and gems that hung from his coat.

“Sorry Birdy, I do hope nothing is broken?” he shot back quickly. Narni ignored the unflattering nickname and looked around for her gift, finding it already in the hands of Vargit’s brother, Vaster.

“Now, now, what is this Birdy?” the younger questioned with furrowed brows, shaking the box and unwrapping the silk. To slowly she lunged for the box his eyes widened at what laid inside. “Well now, that wouldn’t be a gift for the prince, would it?”

He swiftly threw the box over her head and into his brother hands to show him.

“Your joking?” Vargit chuckled holding up the knife to the light, “You’re actually going to present prince Fili with a dagger? You are a mad one. Skilled yes, that I would not deny, but mad nevertheless,”

“Mad or not,” she grunted as she jumped to take back her gift, missing when he held it far above his head, “I will do so with or without your permission. Now give it back!”

She jumped again and he laughed as she missed for a second time. Even for a darrowdam she was short against her kin, and she though it best not to punch the son of a nobledwarf in the gut, no matter how much he tempted her.

“Such temper in such a small frame,” he mocked, “yet to no avail,”

She tensed her knuckles by her sides “Perhaps I should use my anger to break your nose instead?”

“Oh I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” he grinned side eyeing the high court where his father stood in discussion with Lord Balin, the kings high adviser. She turned her head to follow his gaze and he leaned in and whispered into her ear, “I wouldn’t want to get you kick out of the party before you could present your gift,”

He thrusted the box into her hands and pushed her forwards as the announcer called her up. Flustered and rushed she stepped forwards and bowed low enough for her knees to touch the cold stone she stood upon.

When she looked up, she saw him. Prince Fili ‘lion heart’ Durin, son of Dis and heir to the throne of Erebor. He sat in his throne, to the right of the kings’, and held a small smile on his lips. Beautiful golden locks braided around his face framed his blue eyes and in his thick beard, just below his bottom lip, held a single braid and bead. A master blacksmith bead.

She swallowed harshly when she saw it and he must have noticed. He faintly raised one of his brows and tilted his head as he gazed at her softly, his grin widening when her entire face burnt red in embarrassment.

The announcer at her side cleared his throat and she jumped in her spot, pulling her eyes away from his.

“Oh, I, um.. Narni Silversands, at your service your majesty. And to you I present my gift for your one hundredth birthday,”

She held out the box, cringing at the wrinkled ribbon and uneven silk thanks to Vargit and Vaster’s rough handling, but bowing her head respectfully as the box was handed to the prince.

“I thank you for my gift Narni,” he purred in a beautiful silky voice that had her blushing once again, “though I must say I am surprised,”

“Surprised your majesty?”

He nodded once, his bead jingling as he did so, “The only dwarves that have handed me gift with there own hands tonight have been those on the council or their children. I do not recognize you as one of those children, and you seem far to young and lovely to be on the council,”

“Oh,” she blinked pushing back the thoughts of him calling her lovely, and focusing on putting words together, “You would be correct my prince. I am not Lord’s daughter or Lady of the house. Merely a blacksmith who now calls this mountain her home,”

“A blacksmith you say?”

“Yes, your majesty, a bold one some might say,”

He tilted his head again and gave a small chuckle. With thick fingers he pulled open the bow and Narni felt herself hold her breath. The small smile on her princes’ face slowly faded as he staired into the box and she felt her heart drop in her stomach.

Mahal. He hated it.

Fili opened his mouth to say something but closed it again with a look of discomfit. He glanced at her again and she felt her eyes begin to burn with tears. She took a breath and pushed them down as best she could.

“It is… nice?” He tried cautiously, noting the anguish on her face, “An admirable effort I suppose, nothing fundamentally wrong with it. Pretty silver handle?”

Five months she had worked on that dagger! From tip to hilt she had worked tirelessly to make it perfect, to make it a part of her and a part of him and all he could say was…

“Silver?” she scrunched her nose up, “the handle is not silver,”

He looked at her questionably and snorted, “Yes, it is,” he argued holding up the box to show her.

There in the box sat a simple silver dagger.

Not her dagger.

“But how? That’s not.. I didn’t…”

“I’m sorry master Narni but I don’t know what more to say on the matter…”

“That’s not mine. I didn’t make that for you!”

Fili frowned, “You packed the wrong knife before you came? That seems hard to believe lass,”

Around her dwarves started to laugh and she took a shaky step back.

“I don’t understand I…”

Fili gave her a sympathetic look and her bottom lip trembled. Dwarves arounder her began to mutter and she could only catch words like ‘pitiful’ and ‘silly girl’. Her palms felt sweaty and her breathing shuttered.

“Perhaps it is time for you to move on,” the announcer muttered lighting pushing her out of the way and back into the crowds. Before she could get a word out to argue the next person had stepped up began their introductions. She turned on her heal and dove back into the crowds to cover herself from the golden princes’ eyes that lingered on her sadly.

Her heart pounded in her ears and her hands shook as she tried to make it to the doors of the grate hall. She kept her head down as she shuffled wiping away her tears and sniffling miserably to herself.

She didn’t understand what had happened, she had made sure that everything was perfect. How could another dagger be placed in the box like that?

“What’s wrong Birdy? The prince not like your gift?” a voice called over her shoulder stopping her dead in her tracks. She tilted her head back and watched Vargit grin down at her when she made the realization.

“You? You did this didn’t you? You swapped the daggers”

His grin widened wickedly and he pulled out her dagger from his jacket, “Of course I swapped them. I got so sick of you beating me every step of the way. Every knife a make, you make a better one. Every sword I smith they pay you double!” His smile had slowly vanished as he had spoken, anger replacing his features, “So now you look like a disaster in front of everyone, no one will every commission your blades again. And now there’s noting standing in my way of smithing,”

“What?” she spat at him, her anger burning under her skin, “Mahal, what the stars are you talking about? Maybe make a decent blade from time to time and you wouldn’t have a problem to begin with!”

“Oh you little brat! You little Bird! Take your daggers and stay out of my way!”

And with that he threw her dagger as far as he could onto the restricted balcony above their heads. She let out a cry and took off down the corridor no longer bothering to hide the tears that streamed down her face.

***

Fili’s night had been long and numbing, and he let out a stifled sigh as he looked around the room and ignored the conversation around him. Truly that hall looked grand. The large iron chandeliers were ablaze, the food was abundant and the Durin tapestry that lined the back wall behind their thrones was complete and hung against stone. His uncle had gone above and beyond to make this night spectacular and as much as the prince wished to sit back and enjoy it, he knew it for what it really was.

Since reclaiming the mountain and taking his rightful place as prince and heir, Fili had balanced his duties with his love for his craft. He would spend almost every spare second he had in his forges, more grand and luxurious as there were here compared to what they had in the Blue Mountains, and he had quickly dedicated himself to his craft. Only, he had not taken up his craft alone like many other masters had, which meant Thorin had tried to set him up with more dams that he could count. Tonight was no different. The grand expense and over the top outfit that had been chosen for his were all an attempt for his uncle to find him a spouse. He loved his uncle dearly, but it was becoming a bit much.

In truth, Fili wasn’t against the idea of finding someone to spend the rest of his life with. Mahal, the prince has had his wedding planed since he was twelve. It was Kili that people saw as the hopeless romantic out of the two off them, but Fili was just as much emersed in the longing to find his one as his brother. It was just difficult to actually find them. Especially now that he was a prince and the crowned prince no less. Most of the time he could spot those who would bat their eyes at him in the hopes of wealth and political power rather quickly, sending them away and continuing his search. The others that had actually wanted to get to know him he simply didn’t connect with the right way to see a romantic relationship with in the future. He had to follow his head in making a decision, but he also had to follow his heart.

His mother had always spoke of the first time she had met their father, the spark that short through them when their eyes met and the connection they felt in their souls when they spoke. He had seen it in Kili when he had met Tauriel in the Elven Kings dungeons and in his uncle at Bilbo as they stood upon the Carrow. He knew of the magic of finding your one, and he had thought he almost found it.

A beautiful darrowdam dressed in purples and gold had approached his throne flushed and shy taking his breath away when her eyes flickered up to meet his. He didn’t recognize her face or recall her name but she had called herself a blacksmith. Her steel masters bead tracing alone her soft jaw had confirmed it and for a moment he felt something. Perhaps it was the that flame in her eyes that held out her soul for show, or the adorable chuckle she gave when she called herself ‘bold’.

And bold she was to present to him such a gift. A gift that he had rejected in so many others.

She held confidence in her stance but not the cockiness of others he had the displeasure of meeting. Though as he opened the box it was not what he had imagined. He had expected her soul to speak through her creation, the same flare that rolled off her effortlessly weaved into its sharp metal. Maybe he had thought to much of her, expected too much to soon. His heart fell to his stomach when he saw the plain looking dagger sat snug in the box.

He had watched her face fall and he looked between the weapon and her face and the confusion that scrunched up her face as he showed her what she had presented to him. It almost made him want to believe there had been a mix up and wait for her to find her ‘real’ gift, but before he could address her again the announcer had pushed her out of the line and ushered the next person up.

He had sulked to himself ever since and now as he sat next to the King and Lord Dain and pretended to listened to wherever they were talking about as he huffed and sighed. He quickly decided that he needed another glass of wine and lifted his crystal goblet only to be temporally blinded as a flash bounced from the lighting to his mug to him. He blinked a few times and looked around to find what had reflected catching a flash of metal fly threw the air. His first though was that they were under attack and his hand instantly when to one of his hidden knifes at his hip. When he registered that it was not coming towards them but away, he squinted through the crowd to see where it had come from and if there was to be another.

His breath caught in his throat when he spotted the dam from before with her purple dress flowing around her like a halo and her hair sweeping the floor. She was standing with one of the Lord’s sons and they were both facing towards where the object had landed. He watched from afar as pain spread across her features and she took off into a run out of the hall, leaving the other darrow to laugh and strut away.

The prince frowned at the exchange and felt his stomach churn. Had he hurt her in some way? She hadn’t limped and held onto anything in pain, through her expression made him hesitate. He had done something to distress her and it had to do with that flash of object that now laid on the retracted balcony. Well, restricted if you weren’t of the royal line.

Excusing himself in a quiet voice, Fili slipped out of the great hall and slowly wondered up to the balcony that the object sat. His feet wondered up the spiral staircase and through the corridor and finally he came upon the door. When he arrived, he slid open the stone door and looked around the small area with intrigue. Neither dwarf had held a bow so what ever it was must have been small enough and light enough to been throw to such a height.

He checked under the few chairs and table that sat in the room before another flash hit his eye. There on the edge of the balcony sat a knife teetering on the edge of falling. Quickly he snatched it up and examined his find, his eyes widening in wonder at the steel that laid in him palms.

The daggers blade was a ladder damascus pattern and as he flipped it around in his hands, he discovered it was coated so that the metal shone a gorgeous Durin blue in direct lighting. It was a rare skill amongst blacksmiths to make the colour shine through and he had never seen it accomplished so well on a blade before. The pommel was made from some sort of bone or antler and sealed with a resin so it would not crack, darkening to a gold colour at the hilt that displayed the head of a lion. The prince moved closer to the light had gasped at the detailing of the sculpture. The lion’s mouth held a snarl and a braid adorned each side of its mane to match his own. He traced his fingers over the smooth blade finding no rivets or delamination in the steel and a sharp sting struck his fingertip as a bead or red dripped onto steel. It was as sharp as ice and now christened with his blood.

It must have taken its creator months to perfect and if filled him with exhilaration and a tad of jealousy at its skillful crafting.

Was this what the dam had intended to gift him? No wonder she had been so distressed when he showed her the other dagger that laid in the box he was given. But how did it end up here?

He had to find her, to ask if she truly was the creature of such beauty. But how would he do that? He had her name but knew nothing else about her.

Frustrated and newly inspired, he turned away from his own party and began to wonder through the halls of the great mountain in contemplation. He needed to find her. To ask her. To explain. Would she be understanding to his rejection or angry with him? Would she be kind or hash as he sort her out. Could she teach him how she created a blade with such vibrant colour? Perhaps he could craft her a dagger of his own making as an apology?

Locked so deep in his thoughts he wondered down stairways and through archways of stone until he came across the forges. So caught up in his mind of planning and designing his legs had carried him to his work bench. A smile broke out on his face and he made for his desk knowing he had so designing paper left over from his last build. He paused at his desk however and frowned as the sound of a hammer sounded and echoed through the darkness.

The royal forges were on the second level of the smithery, separated for safety and comfort for those who would normally be swarmed by their subjects, but was open so they could look out and over the other blacksmiths on the first level. Looking over the railing of his level a single forge was lit and burning, a dwarf pounding down of the glowing metal bar before them. A flash of purple material on their person caught his eye.

Shocked and hopeful Fili practically raced down the stairs and over to their forge slowing only when he arrived to watch them in awe. It was indeed Narni, her long hair wrapped up messily into a bun and her dress gaining burns and smudges of charcoal. He also noted sadly, the dried lines of tears that ran down her face and the newly puffed burns on her hands from not paying complete attention.

Loose wisps of hair stuck to her forehead as sweat dripped down her face and neck. He could see her muscle through her dress as she reeled back her arm and brought it down with a crack to the metal.

Realizing he was staring he took a timid step forwards and cleared his throat. She spun around quick as lightning and held out her red glowing steel under his chin in a defensive stance.

It took her a moment to catch her breath, but she eventually lowered the steel and tilled her head in question.

“My prince Fili? What in Mahal are you doing down here?”

The prince remained speechless and wide eyed as he gazed at her, his turn to blush and stammer. So soft and gentle she had looked kneeled before him, but here in her domain, she looked powerful and dangerous. Either way Fili thought she was beautiful.

Pulling his eyes away he remembered why he was here and held out the dagger from the balcony.

Narni’s eyes watered a touch and she let out a soft gasp, “How did you get this?”

“It is yours is it not? The dagger you were meant to gift to me?”

“Yes,” she nodded, leaving her metal and hammer on her workshop bench and taking a few steps towards him, “This is the dagger I crafted but it should be abandoned on a balcony not here in your hands,”

“It is exquisite,” he whispered.

Her face lit up at his words.

“Truly? You like it? You’re not just saying that because you feel bad?”

“Not at all! My words are sincere when I say this is one of the most beautiful blades I have ever had the pleasure of wielding,”

He offered her a smile and she sheepishly returned it. She held out her hands.

“May I?”

He nodded and placed the dagger in her hands only for her to kneel before him. The light from the forges’ flames made her eyes shine and dance as she looked up at him with determination.

“My prince Fili,” she said with a bow of her head, “on your one hundredth birthday I present you with a gift made of my own hands in the hope that it may serve you well inside and outside of the battle field. To you, I give a dagger forged in the mountain you will someday rule, by a subject that holds nothing but loyalty and adoration for your bravery and dedication to his people and his craft,”

He felt touched by her words and couldn’t help his eyes from watering as she declared them, “Such devotion and kind words you hold for me my dear Narni. I will do well to honor them always,”

“Thankyou for giving me the chance to say them. I don’t know how you came across my dagger nor how you found me all the way down here while the great hall is filled with merry and song, but I will always be grateful,”

A strangely comfortable silence engulfed them as they watched each other through the dark. Fili removed his only visible dagger and tucked it inside his jacket replacing it with Narni’s gifted dagger, the lion facing out like it would defend him when needed.

Testing the waters, the golden prince took a step closer to her workbench and let his eyes wonder. Papers covered in ruff sketches and little notes to herself lined the back wall of her desk and handmade tools for carving and molding delicate details were tucked into a jar to the right.

“Did you design all of these?” he asked.

“Yes, most are decorative pieces rather than practical, but a few are the favorite knifes I have already completed,”

“And this?” he gestured to the now cooling metal she had been working on, “what will this become?”

She blushed scarlet, “Honestly, with the way I was pounding it, most likely it will end in the scraps. It was more so something to take my frustrations out on,”

He chuckled knowing the feeling. He had spent many a night merely heating metal to bash at it after a particularly stressful day in council meetings or other royal business.

“A shame, I would have loved to see you create something now I know of your talent with the steel. perhaps another day I will have the chance to see it?”

She seemed taken back by his request but nodded and grinned again, “Only if I may see you at work also?”

“You truly are a bold one, aren’t you?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Fili thought for a moment and his hand came to rest on the hilt of his dagger, the feel of his lion new to his fingers. New and thrilling.

“No, I think it is a good thing. Actually, I think I may need to follow in boldness,” he confessed.

“Oh, and why is that my prince?”

“I would like to get to know you better miss Narni Silversands, and I must be bold enough to ask. Would you like to come back to the party with me?”

She smiled brightly at his question but faltered when she looked down at herself, “I would love to prince Fili, but I’m afraid I may have ruined my only dress. I would not wish to make you or your halls so filthy,”

He though for a moment before nodding, “Then perhaps I may get to know you here. Coal smudges and all?”

“I do have some designs I could show you?” she mused, scratching her chin and leaving a black smudge along her jaw.

Fili chuckled at the action, “I would love to see them,” he grinned bringing his hand up to her face and wiping the stain from her skin. It was a bold move put it paid off when she blushed brightly, making the same face she had in the great hall.

He took a step back, reignited the fire so they had light to see and sat down next to the dam. She pulled out a few sketches, some black sheets and some chalk and pencils and laid them down before them. She scooched herself closer to him and he gave her a cheeky smile.

“What? It’s cold,” she defended.

“Well that just won’t do, will it?”

With one last bold move for the night, he peeled off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

They settled comfortably against each other and didn’t move until the sun come up the next morning, talking and laughing and designing knives or beauty. Perhaps it wasn’t the sparks his mother felt upon meeting his father, or the bright glowing light his brother described, but being next to her? It felt… nice.

It felt… right.

Could it be?

His one?

He supposed he would have to be bold one more time and find out.

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mylovess989 · 10 months

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The DURIN line

#my love #the hobbit #lotr #the hobbit fanart #the hobbit fandom #thorin oakenshield #kili durin #king under the mountain #lotr fandom #fili durin

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ihobbit · 9 months

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Someone: What are your political preferences?

Me: *without thinking for a second* Monarchical, of course!

Someone: Oh, that's so British! And so archaic!

Me: Yes, sure… Meanwhile in my mind:

MY ONE AND ONLY KING!

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lathalea · 10 months

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The Arrival

Yes, my beloved readers, it's time for another Thorin fic from yours truly!

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader/OC (pick one) Rating: G Warnings: none Author's notes: Thorin and his Company have reclaimed Erebor and started rebuilding their kingdom. Everything seems fine except for the fact that the King Under The Mountain is eagerly awaiting the arrival of someone very dear to him... Also, I want to apologise to Peter Jackson for stealing some lines from An Unexpected Journey and J.R.R. Tolkien for appropriating and rephrasing one sentence from The Lord of The Rings. I'm a hopeless romantic, what can I say? You can find this fic on AO3. For @legolasbadass 💙💙💙

Khuzdul: Iglishmêk - dwarven sign language Kurdelê - my heart Lukhdelê - my light of all lights

The King Under the Mountain, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, the second of his name, also known as Thorin Oakenshield, the king of Durin’s folk, was not a patient Dwarf—and yet he waited. He had been standing on the main terrace above the Great Gate of Erebor since the moment when the first rays of the morning sun gilded the distant peaks of the Iron Hills. His eyes, however, were turned towards the west, where the jagged tops of the Misty Mountains grazed against the pink sky. As he took a deep breath, fresh spring air filled his lungs. It was his—and his people’s—first spring in Erebor since it was reclaimed. The winter after the Battle of Five Armies passed in a blink of an eye. The kingdom was being rebuilt and prepared for the returning Dwarves, food stores had to be replenished, new trade agreements had to be signed… but among all those duties, something else kept Thorin awake until late on many a night. His memories.

The memory of a pair of hands gently resting on his shoulders as he sat behind his desk, and the sweet timbre of the voice that went with it, “Come, Kurdelê, it is time we reposed for the night, those reports can wait until the morning.”

The memory of those soft, sweet lips pressing innocently against his cheek and murmuring something scandalously indecent into his ear.

The memory of how her body felt in his lap, his arms around her waist, her arms around his neck, her forehead pressed against his, her silver laughter as she pretended to scold his rash behaviour, so unbecoming of a king.

The memory of her bare skin in candlelight.

But there were other memories, too. Their lengthy late-night conversations about anything and everything. Their secret escapades to the market, or to an inn, dressed as common folk, pretending to be a couple of travelling merchants. Their wanderings through the Blue Mountains in search of the best view of the sea in the west (his choice) and the most beautiful flower glades (her choice).

During the lengthy council meetings he had to hold almost daily in Erebor, he would recall how much her presence changed the dynamics of similar gatherings back in the Blue Mountains. Her reasoning was swift, and her no-nonsense approach to the matters of state made even the most ancient council members nod in approval. Even now, he would—out of habit—turn to his right, wishing to discuss a matter with her or ask for her insight. But she was not there, and so he would give out a dissatisfied grunt and return to the matter at hand.

He knew that the only thing he had to do was wait, and he abhorred it. But there was nothing to be done. No sane person would risk crossing the Misty Mountains in the middle of winter. Now, however, the spring came into its own right. And he sent his best men to the High Pass to oversee the approach of the first dwarven caravan from Eriador. It was supposed to bring the first group of his people returning home, merchants, masters of craft, their families and belongings… and her. The whole Erebor was waiting for the arrival of their kin—the symbol of a new beginning for the Mountain and its dwellers. Many eyes turned to the west, counting the days, making wagers, discussing the route the waggons must have taken, and the current road conditions. It seemed that in those days, only one topic existed: the caravan.

But Thorin could only think of her lovely hand in his. Of her kindred touch.

As soon as a raven brought word from the caravan, reporting that they have succesfully crossed the mountains, he could not stop himself from looking to the west, and hoping.

This was the fifth day he spent on the terrace, waiting for any signs of the caravan’s approach.

On the first day, Gloin waited with him in hopes of seeing his wife and son, but was called away due to some issue in the treasure chamber. Thorin stayed, cursing the enchanted forest (and its haughty king, for good measure) for daring to obscure his view. Sadly, neither the forest nor its king moved out of the way.

On the second day, Dwalin asked Thorin whether he was growing mawkish in his dotage, staring at the edge of Mirkwood like a lovesick whelp—a question he had to take back on the training grounds.

On the third day, Dori asked whether Thorin would rather wait inside, on account of that nasty rain, and drink some warm tea with honey. No, said Thorin, he would not. And that envoy from the Iron Hills could join him there, on the terrace, by the way.

On the fourth day, Nori, Bifur and Bofur kept Thorin company, amusing him—and themselves in equal measure—with the latest gossip straight from the taverns of Erebor (all two of them, for now). He had no idea that several hundreds of dwarves, mostly newcomers from the Iron Hills and the White Mountains, could wreak such havoc. And marry so swiftly and in such numbers. Spring was truly in the air.

Now, on the fifth day, he stood alone, and waited. Roac was circling the Long Lake below, giving out a single caw from time to time, “Still nothing.”

And then, a hunting horn rang out in the air. Thorin knew its sound all too well.

“Balin!” he exclaimed to his friend who sat in the hall beyond the terrace. “Sound the alarm!”

The elderly dwarf raised his head from above a piece of parchment, slightly puzzled.

“Call out the guard,” Thorin insisted, feeling his impatience take the better of him. “Do it now!

“What is it?” Balin rose from his seat, his scroll forgotten.

“The caravan!” Thorin gestured excitedly—perhaps a tad too excitedly for a Dwarf of his stature—towards Mirkwood, where a long line of waggons started emerging from the forest. “They will be here soon!”

She will be here soon.

Over a year passed since the last time he held her in his arms, since he braided the silky dark waves of her hair, and since he looked into the brilliant, wise eyes of the woman he loved. To him, it felt like an eternity, and in that very moment, as he hurried down the stairs that led towards the Great Gate, he made a solemn promise to himself.

When the caravan arrived, most of the Dwarves were already gathered outside of the mountain. The guards held their heads high, presenting their weapons in an honorary salute, not leaving their posts, but even they cast curious glances at the newly arrived, trying to find familiar faces in the crowd. Thorin smirked at his thoughts. They looked as impatient as their king.

He knew the protocol of such meetings like the back of his hand, requiring him to stand by the gate, look regally, and welcome the newcomers to their new—old—home. His resolve wavered, however, when he saw a familiar figure clad in a green, fur-lined gown getting down a waggon, helped by one of the guardsmen. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Without thinking, he took a step forward, and then stopped, recalling who he was and what he was expected to do. He was also not allowed to leave his post, just like his guards. Instead, he observed from a distance, admiring the way the waves of her hair fell down her shoulders as she looked around, perhaps slightly disoriented, taking in the surroundings. Thorin saw the exact moments when her gaze rested on the mossy stone shaped by his ancestors into statues of warrior kings. Then her gaze moved down, focusing on the green marble of the Great Gate. Her eyes widened, her lips formed an “O” and then moved, she spoke something, but her words were lost in all the commotion. In that very moment, she reminded him of that bright-eyed maiden he had met for the first time in a mountain meadow half a world away; the maiden who laughed at his abysmal jokes, who fit so well in his arms when they danced, and who accepted his awkward courting efforts. The time that passed between then and now did not take away her ability to wonder and enjoy the world around her. She endured so many hardships on the way from the Blue Mountains to Erebor, so many cold nights on the road, faced so many dangers, and yet she never wavered in her decision to leave the Blue Mountains behind to be with him and their people. Now, she was finally here and, at last, he felt complete. Being able to see his own kingdom—their kingdom—through her eyes, and to see how amazed she was at the view, was a reward on its own.

Thorin could not stop himself from smiling when her eyes finally met his.

“Welcome home, my…” he began signing in iglishmêk, in that discreet way they often did on official occasions when the eyes of many would rest on them.

A light flush bloomed on her cheeks, she responded with a smile, and began walking towards him, oblivious of her escort and the joyous crowd around her, forgetting about the protocol, moving faster and faster, a giggle escaping her lips, her braids danced in the wind, her cloak flowed behind her, and…

“Thorin!” she called him in that melodious voice of hers, and there were diamonds in her eyes, or perhaps it was only his vision that suddenly turned very blurry, and he opened her arms, and thought “the Abyss take the protocol!”, and he rushed towards her, ignoring Balin clearing his throat in embarrassment, because she was finally here, and he had waited long enough—and they finally met halfway.

He wrapped his arms around her and felt her pressing into him, and there was laughter, and more tears in their eyes, the diamonds of happiness, those most precious among gems, and he was finally able to finish that sentence.

“Welcome home, my wife,” he rasped out, pressing his forehead against her, breathing in her familiar flowery scent, the one he adored so much. This was her, finally her, in his arms, and only she mattered in this very moment, not the crowd cheering around them, witnessing this moment of tenderness between their ruling couple, not even his kingdom, nor the world around them—now, it was only her.

“I missed you, my love,” she murmured, holding tight onto him, as if she wanted to make sure he would not disappear, and a wave of warmth washed over him. “I can’t believe I’m finally here, with you, after all those months…”

“Neither can I,” he agreed, cupping her cheek tenderly and eliciting a small sigh from her. “It was much too long, Lukhdelê.”

“Aye, it was,” she nodded, her eyes searching his face, as if learning it anew.

“I made a promise to myself,” Thorin continued. “Never again.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head in that alluring way of hers, and he had to suppress the improper urge to kiss her passionately in front of his people.

“Never again shall we part for so long. I crave you by my side, my heart,” he stated, bringing her hand to his lips.

“Then I will be looking forward to you upholding the promise,” she graced him with a teasing smile that made his blood run faster. “We have been apart indeed for too long, and so were our people. I believe it is time for us to work on improving their morale, would you not agree, my king?”

“Your wish is my command, my queen,” he agreed and took her in his arms again, and then their lips met. Sweetness intermingled with warmth, tenderness fueled the fire inside them, and he cared not that they stood in front of the gate in the sight of many.

After all, who cares about protocol when you have to properly welcome your wife home?

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