#Thorin x oc

[lathalea]

Entangled

The first question I'd like to ask you today is: Do you remember a little fic called The Best Day of My Life I wrote a while back? Don't worry, me neither ;) It simmered in my head and what started off as a standalone ficlet, grew into something bigger. Back then, it was written in the first-person narrative, but as it grew into a longer story in my head, I decided to change the subsequent chapters to the third-person perspective. This story was born from an inspiration I found when researching certain medieval traditions, especially when it comes to arranged marriages in royal families, and the role women played in these arrangements. It inspired me to wonder what it would look like in Dwarven societies of Middle Earth. I hope you enjoy it! Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit) Rating: G (subject to change) Warnings: ANGST Summary: Arranged marriages are common among the dwarven nobility. After reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, the Kingdom Under the Mountain needs to be rebuilt. Thorin agrees to marry a lady from the Blue Mountains, securing a mutually beneficial alliance with the Broadbeam Dwarves. Lady Mista is said to be a practical and hard-working dwarf-woman, willing to give him an heir who would secure the line of succession. A decent queen material, his advisors say. If only Thorin could let go of his past… You can find this fic on AO3 (search for lathalea). Special thanks for @legolasbadass for all your help and support 💙

Khuzdul: Azsâlul'abad - the Lonely Mountain (both the mountain and the dwarven kingdom known among Elves and Men as Erebor) Uzbad ra zabdûna undu ‘Urd - King and Queen Under the Mountain

TA 2942, one year after the Reclamation of Azsâlul'abad

“Your Majesty, My Lady, brothers and sisters in stone, we have all eagerly waited for this moment,” The High Priest’s sonorous voice rang out in the festively decorated Great Hall of the Lonely Mountain. “May the Pleating Ceremony commence!”

It was happening. 

Mista swallowed. It felt as if the eyes of every single person present in the cavern were on her. As instructed earlier, Mista took off the veil that had covered her hair which was unbraided and adorned only with minuscule diamonds, and stepped stiffly towards the King. Her hands were clammy, and she tried not to stumble. The slippers and the opulent ceremonial gown she wore were incredibly uncomfortable and heavy. What a blunder it would be if she landed on the floor face down at that very moment! The court etiquette did not forbid her to wear her glasses, so at least she could see her surroundings clearly… including the crowds that gathered for the ceremony in the Great Hall. 

Closing her eyes, she focused on her breathing, then something brushed against her temple. Mista flinched like a startled pony.

“No need to be alarmed, My Lady.” A low, rumbling murmur reached her ears. It was the King’s voice; she could have recognized his calm, confident manner everywhere. “Allow me to choose a suitable lock of your hair.” “By all means, Your Majesty,” Mista mumbled, feeling how close he stood to her, his arm brushing against hers, and how his fingers slowly ran through her hair. She did not know that a male touch could be so gentle. The only people allowed to touch her hair before this day were her mother, sister, and personal maid.

“Thank you, My Lady. Would you allow me to compliment you?” the King said and, not waiting for her reply, he  added. “I do not think I have seen such exquisite hair before.”

“I… thank you, Your Majesty,” she whispered, attempting to calm herself. Did the King himself truly think her hair was exquisite? A realisation dawned upon her. Of course not; he must have referred to its uncommon length, that was all. It was the only source of Mista’s pride — perhaps the colour of her hair was plain and common, but she had always kept it long, and currently it reached almost to her knees. And now, the King’s nimble fingers ran through it, once, twice, and then began pleating her hair slowly, each of his movements deliberate. It was a surprisingly pleasant sensation, but even then, she did not dare to open her eyes especially when the tips of his fingers lightly brushed against her cheek, making her tremble at the sensation.

“It may help you to imagine that there is only you and me here.” His quiet voice reached her again. 

“Pardon?” Mista’s breath hitched.

“During straining official functions I tend to imagine that there are only stone statues around me, carved in amusing poses. It helps to tackle the nerves.”

Mista’s eyes fluttered open and met the King’s azure gaze. An encouraging smile danced on his lips moments before he returned to braiding.

“I did not know someone like you could feel… nervous, Your Majesty,” she heard herself say.

“My coronation felt ten times worse than facing the enemy during the Battle of the Five Armies.” His reply made Mista chuckle. His smile widened, making his handsome face even more alluring. For a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe, simply staring at him. 

Click.

The King clasped his bead around her new braid. Gold encrusted with onyx contrasted with the plainness of her mousy hair, but the pattern made it somehow more refined. She took the braid into her hand and admired its even, elegant weaves.

“It is beautiful, Your Majesty,” she whispered.

The King gave her a thankful nod. Mista felt his intent gaze on her. His Durin’s apple bobbed. Something was not right… Why were his features so tense?

It took her a moment to understand. With her cheeks burning, she took a step towards him. How could she have forgotten that now it was her turn?

“May I…?” Her voice failed her, but no words were necessary. The King lowered his head towards her, his hair flowing freely in front of her eyes. 

With trembling fingers, she picked a thick lock of hair on his left temple and divided it into four parts. His hair was smooth and thick, making her think of a wolf’s fur, but it smelled like sweet oils from faraway lands in the South. Mista wanted to keep on braiding it for as long as she could. She thanked Mahal that she knew her personal pattern by heart — otherwise, she would have surely entangled his hair or ended up with a bunch of knots instead of the braid. Focused on plaiting it, she forgot about everything around her — there was only the King, Thorin, the Dwarf who unknowingly captured her heart a long time ago. Now, with every weave, she was willingly bestowing her whole self upon him.

Her bead was made of bronze and tiny sapphires from the Blue Mountains. For some reason, it refused to close around the King’s braid, making Mista sigh, but then one of his large, warm hands encircled her fingers that held the bead, and pressed it harder together. 

Click.

It was done.

Mista’s heart beat faster and faster as the King Under the Mountain took her hands into his. They were facing each other in a way that allowed everyone gathered in the Great Hall to see them from the side.

“Foreheads,” the High Priest whispered, barely moving his lips, holding something in his hands that glinted in the light of hundreds of lanterns.

The King squeezed her hands gently and lowered himself towards her once more. Mista took a deep breath and stood on her tiptoes so that their foreheads could meet.

His skin was pleasantly warm against hers, his nose brushed against hers, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. Instinctively, she closed her eyes, but the last thing she saw were his lips, slightly parted, and so close, so very close to hers, and there was his beard too, and she wondered how it would feel if…

“What Mahal has joined over the marriage anvil, no power shall break apart until the end of days,” the High Priest exclaimed, his voice loud and clear, like the sound of a gunmetal bell, drowning all of her inappropriate thoughts. 

“Thorin, son of Thrain, Mista, daughter of Milva, you are now husband and wife. Uzbad ra zabdûna undu ‘Urd!”

Loud cheers filled the spacious cavern as the white-bearded priest bound their hands together with a thin but unbreakable mithril chain — a symbol of the eternal bond they forged a moment ago. This was one of the most revered traditions of Mahal’s Children: Dwarves married only once. Mista read a treaty once that explained the origin of this ancient tradition: one of the oldest Dwarven legends said that each of the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves had one spouse, and that each couple was made from one piece of stone, destined to be always together, as one mind, body, and heart. A long time had passed since Mista was an overly romantic lass who believed that each Dwarf had their beloved Other Half somewhere in the world. Now she was over one hundred and thirty years old, and during her lifetime, she saw too many dalliances, clandestine affairs, and broken promises to believe that her people were capable of loving only once and only the right person. Dwarves were a fiery race, with molten lava running in their veins rather than cold pieces of rock. Nevertheless, their marriages were the cornerstones of society, crucially important to every family, and so a wedded couple was supposed to be like a rock: steady and unbreakable. That was Mahal’s will, as the priests said. Therefore, the dissolution of marriage was impossible. If a Dwarf broke their marital vows — which, as dishonourable as it was, happened from time to time — they would still remain married to their spouse. Even death did not end it, as her people believed that they would remain married even in the afterlife, in the Halls of Awaiting. That was why Dwarven courtship would often last many years so that the future spouses had ample time to know each other well before they made this irreversible decision.

Mista’s courtship lasted one month. That was how much time Lord Tair, her father, needed to finalise negotiations with the King Under the Mountain. During that time, she never saw her future husband. That was to be expected — the Blue Mountains were almost half a world away from King Thorin II’s kingdom, Azsâlul'abad. Instead, his envoys arrived with the marriage contract signed in his own hand and a chest filled with customary gifts for his future bride: jewellery, hair combs, and a traditional courtship cloak. There was also a letter addressed to her. It contained all the obligatory niceties along with His Majesty’s apology for his absence due to the fact that his kingdom was being rebuilt and needed all of his attention at the moment. He assured his bride, however, that he was looking forward to meeting her in person and offering her as much hospitality as he had received in Tumunzahar years ago.

He remembered.

Over one hundred years had passed, and he still remembered his visit to her home city. Precisely like Mista. She never forgot how gallant and handsome he was, how his words dried her tears, and how he made her feel as if she, the ugliest girl at the feast, were the only woman in the whole world.

Perhaps that mawkish idea of Dwarves finding their Other Halves was not true, but she was certain of one thing: she still loved the same Dwarf as she did all those years ago. Her heart belonged to Thorin Oakenshield.

And now she was his wife. Her eyes were still set on the glistening links of the mithril chain that joined her hands when she heard the High Priest’s words.

“My King, My Queen.” He bowed with reverence, “It is time for your wedding feast.”

The only thing she could think of at that very moment was how good her hand felt in her lord husband’s reassuring hold.

***

The feast that celebrated their nuptials was an event like no other. Mista had never seen any revelries that were full of equal splendour. Countless guests from all seven dwarven realms were entertained by minstrels, musicians, dancers, and other performers. The food was delicious; wine and other liquors flowed endlessly, like the River Running, and everyone was merry. Mista sat on a grand chair placed on the King’s right hand. Now, both of them wore their crowns and royal insignia, and together, as the newlywed ruling couple of the Kingdom Under the Mountain, they accepted countless toasts and congratulations from the well-wishers throughout the evening. Mista tried her best to act with decorum worthy of the queen she had become hours ago, and she even managed to appear unflustered whenever the customary “May Mahal bless your union with countless heirs!” reached her ears. 

From time to time she managed to steal a glance at the King’s – her new husband’s – majestic profile, struggling to believe that this day was not a dream. But then she remembered the marriage braid hanging at her temple – and a similar braid in his hair. She truly was the great Thorin Oakenshield’s wife.

It was two bells after midnight when the weariness started to creep up on her.

“Is the feast to your liking, lady Mista?” the King turned to her, clearly noticing her attempt at stifling a yawn.

“Indeed it is! Forgive me, the celebrations took a toll on me, I’m afraid,” she explained, feeling the growing heaviness of her crown on her temples.

“It is perfectly understandable,” Princess Dis, the King’s sister, said. “It has been a long day. Perhaps it is time for you to repose.”

“May I…? Does the protocol allow it?” Mista took a hopeful look around the Great Hall where the feast was as lively as it was at its very beginning.

“May I remind you that now you are the Queen?” the King offered. “You may leave whenever you wish to do so.”

“And my brother will accompany you,” Princess Dis interjected, and then addressed the King. “Tonight you are only allowed to leave together.”

Mista caught a strange look they exchanged, and – after a noticeable pause – King Thorin said, “Very well.”

“Shall we, then?” He rose from his chair and held out his hand to Mista.

Leaving the Great Hall was not as easy a task as Mista expected. They had to endure another round of the official farewells, wedding toasts and felicitations from their numerous guests.

“Have a wonderful night!” Princess Dis exclaimed in a sing-song voice as they were stepping over the threshold.

“Aye, and a long one, too!” Dwalin, the King’s Captain, added, and they both laughed.

Their words sounded innocently enough for Mista at first, but they made the King clear his throat in visible embarrassment. 

And then it dawned on Mista. One more thing awaited her.

The wedding night.

Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | ... 💙💙💙 Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it! 💙💙💙

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[pistachiozombie]

[The Hobbit] Dynamic Scene Commission for @sverdgeir - Thorin Oakenshield and OC, Nathália ♥ (Put this one thru Nightshade to test it)

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~ SpeedPaint Below~

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Eleven

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: Unprotected intercourse, a little teeny bit of angst

Rating: M

Word Count: 4.5k

Khuzdul: kurduwê - my heart

  Abnâmul-beautiful

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Previous chapters can be found here. 

Nina managed to avoid Thorin for the rest of the day, which actually wasn't all that difficult, as she remained in her chambers and had no idea where he had gone. He might have left, for all she knew. In fact, she almost hoped he had. It would make things easier. 

She saw him at supper, however, and it was with a mixture of relief and apprehension, as more than once, he looked over at her as if he was going to say something, only to turn back instead to Thranduíl or Legolas. Her heart actually felt as if it skipped a beat when he got up and moved to sit beside her. “We plan to leave at dawn’s first light.”

She nodded. “And should I meet you?”

“Only if you wish to travel with us.”

“Do you wish me to travel with you?”

Irritation flashed through his blue eyes. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I think it’s obvious, don't you?”

He glanced across the table at Dwalin, and then toward their hosts before looking back at her. “I apologize for overstepping earlier, Nina. It was foolish of me and right of you to halt things as you did.”

“You needn’t apologize,” she told him. “I overstepped just as much and I thought we were going to pretend it never happened?”

“I just—I sense you’re still angry with me.”

“I wasn’t angry with you at all. You were angry with me.”

He drew in a slow breath. “I wasn't angry with you.”

“So, then it never happened?”

“It never happened.”

“Good.” Although she smiled as if a huge weight had been lifted, the truth was, she felt anything but happy over this turn of events. On the walkway, when he kissed her, it reminded her of all the feelings she’d had that snowy night in Esgaroth, when she first laid eyes upon him. Reminded her of all the feelings that were so wonderful and frustrating at the same time and how she’d wished with everything she had that he would notice her.

And now he had and it was all for naught. She was no longer that same lovestruck girl. Too much had happened since then and now for her to ever be that girl again. 

Which was too bad, really, as she thoroughly enjoyed kissing him and if things hadn’t worked out the way they had…

She could easily fall under his spell, for the King Under the Mountain had no idea how truly desirable he was, and she had the feeling that Mirkwood was not the only thing magical around her. 

“So, I will see you in the morning,” she told him, pushing her chair back. 

“We will wait for you at the eastern gate.”

“Good.” She stood and smiled at Thranduíl. “Thank you for a lovely supper, Your Majesty. If you will excuse me, I think I will go and get what will probably be my last good night’s sleep for some time to come.”

“Of course,” Thranduíl replied. “Good evening.”

She turned and left the dining hall to go back to her chambers. After she and Thorin parted ways that morning, she had gone down to the stream that flowed not far from her chambers and gathered the clothes she wished to wash. Heeding his warnings about enchanted waters, she took great care to pay close attention to her surroundings, but nothing seemed at all amiss to her.

Even so, she’d washed everything as quickly as she could and laid it out on the rocks to allow it to dry and now, her sword at her hip, she went to retrieve everything. Hopefully, it would be dry enough to pack. It had been a clear day, with sun filtering through the treetops, so she thought there was a good chance everything would be just fine. 

Carefully, she picked her way around tree roots, branches, and the typical woodland debris as she made her way to the bank where her trousers and tunics lay spread out on rocks that were still warm.

She’d chosen wisely.

She was just folding her trousers when the sound of a branch snapping gave her pause. Her sword lay at her feet, so she swept it up and rose, saying, “Who goes?”

“I thought I told you to stay away from the streams?”

Her shoulders relaxed as Thorin came around the bend in the path. “You did and this one is fine.”

“Nina.”

“What? The air feels fine here. And besides, I am not your responsibility. I’m certainly of the age where I can decide for myself where to launder my clothes.” She resheathed her blade, then crouched to pluck the shirt she’d laid out from its rock.

“You need to be careful.”

“I am being careful.” She gave up trying to fold anything and just stuffed the mostly dry clothes into her sack. Then she rose, slipping the strap over her shoulder. “Why are you even here?”

“Because I wanted to make certain you made it back to your chambers all right.”

“Back to my… we aren’t in the wild, Thorin.” She pushed around him to march back toward her chambers. 

“We might as well be. I told you, Mirkwood is not always as it seems and dark magic permeates it. I am on cordial terms with the elves here, but they don't know you.”

“The elves have nothing to fear from me, either. And somehow, I think they know that.” She didn't slow down, didn't break her stride as she made her way along the path. “And stop following me.”

“I will. Once you are safe in your chambers.”

“Argh!” She rolled her eyes, and promptly stumbled over an exposed root, but managed to keep her footing and continue on.

At her door, she turned to find him still right behind her. “See? I’m fine. Now, you can just go about your business and I will see you in the morning.”

“Nina,” he reached for her, catching her just above the elbow to halt her, “I know this place and I know what it can do to a body.”

“And I am fine. Nothing reached forth from the water to grab me. No nymphs or balrogs or anything.” She opened her door and stepped over the threshold, setting her sack just inside it, her sword alongside it, and then sighed softly. “I appreciate your concern. But, I’ve made it all this way on my own, remember.”

“I know, but… I cannot help it.” He gestured to her. “May I?”

“Come in.”

He thumped into her chambers, his heavy boots echoing loudly against the wood floor. “I’m not checking up on you because I think you’re incapable of taking care of yourself. Or because I think you are inept. I’ve seen for myself you aren’t. But, I also want to make certain you are safe, Nina. And I’ll not apologize for that.”

“I’m not asking you to apologize for it. But I also don't need you to worry about me. Really, I don’t. I’ve been taking care of myself for quite a bit now, and I’m mostly good at it.”

He arched one brow. “Mostly?”

“Well… every now and then something goes wrong.”

“Such as a to-do at a tavern?”

“Exactly.”

“I know, but…” to her surprise, he closed the space between them and her heartbeat picked up as he reached to catch her face in his hands, “that won’t stop me from wanting to be certain, as I said.”

“Thorin,” her head spun, slowly at first, but as his thumbs swept lightly across her cheeks, the dizziness grew, spreading through her, “I thought we agreed this morning never happened?”

“I know,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips just brushed hers. “Do you truly wish to pretend that, though?”

“I just—” She couldn’t catch her breath as he brushed her lips with his again, the last of her resolve melting away at the gentle caress. No, she didn't want to pretend that at all. Not tonight. Tonight, she wanted to forget everything that led her to this point. None of it mattered. Not one bit. All that mattered was the feel of his hands against her skin, his lips sweeping hers, and the heat that rose from his body to sink into hers.

He pulled back just far enough to offer up a smile laden with promise and whispered, “You just what, Nina?”

She smiled and without thinking, caught the front of his henley in a fist and tugged him back. “Never mind. Just kiss me, dwarf…”

A low rumble of laughter rolled up from him as he did just that, and leaned in to capture her lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It did not remain soft and gentle for long, however, as a slow fire crept into it, the tip of his tongue brushing her closed lips, teasing them into parting before sweeping along hers in silken caress that she reciprocated. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, as solid as the rest of him, the rise of muscle across them like granite. As the kiss deepened, she slid her hands up along the sides of his neck, into his hair, cool and soft against her fingers. On their own, her fingers twisted into those soft locks, her heart thundering like mad now as he backed her flush against the wall.

It wasn't like anything she’d ever felt before, the solid bulk of a dwarf’s body was so much different from the thinner, more sinewy Men who’d stolen kisses from her before. This was… this was like being engulfed by him, surrounded by a maleness that no Man could ever hope to possess. And when his hips slowly, steadily arched to meet hers, she shivered at the obvious  evidence of his arousal. How could she miss it, when that most definite bulge met her most sensitive cleft and she shivered against him?

His tongue moved slowly, teasingly along hers in a caress that sent her head spinning wildly and her heart pounding out of control. The room around them grew so hot, her breath grew so impossible to catch, and when he broke the kiss to sweep his lips along her chin and down the front of her neck, Nina was powerless to do anything other than let her head thud dully against the wall and let her eyes close as the delicious heat swept through her.

His fingers curled into the hem of her tunic and he swept it up, pulling away to allow her room to lift her arms for him to slip the shirt from her back completely. The air was a warm kiss against her skin, a caress as wanton and wicked as any and when he came flush against her again, the rough weave of his henley scraped sensually against her skin, against her nipples, which beaded from the friction. 

She bit down on her bottom lip as he brushed his lips over her chin. The coarse fur of his beard scratched her, but it only heightened her pleasure as he pressed hot kiss after hot kiss down toward the hollow of her throat, his breath warm and hard against her overheated skin. She clung to him, her hips rocking to meet his, his desire becoming her own as inside her, knots tightened and that heat surged through her. 

He slid one hand up from her hip, along the slope of her waist, and she sucked in a hard breath when it cupped her left breast and his thumb just barely swept over the already tight, aching bead of her nipple. 

Gripping two handfuls of his shirt, she tugged and he obliged, the rough garment sweeping up and off him to fall into the darkness at their feet. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, his skin hot and firm, the muscle like granite beneath his skin. She ached to touch him, to sweep her lips over any part of him she could, to explore and tease and make him ache for her the way she ached for him.

Because she did ache for him. Her entire body cried out for his, pleaded with her to find some way to make him spirit her to the bed in the corner, where her legs would part of their own and she would welcome him hot and hard and powerful inside her. 

Knots twisted in her belly. Delicious knots of sinful delight that tightened with each sweep of his tongue against hers, with each pass of his roughened thumbs over her oh-so-sensitive nipples. Her arousal came damp and hot between her thighs, and she wanted to peel off her trousers, to wrap her legs about him, and ease that ache in any way she could. 

His lips were hot and damp, his kisses punctuated with teasing flicks of his tongue, playful nips with his teeth as he moved along the curve of her neck, then swept back down along the same path.

He kissed down along the inner curve of her left breast and she whimpered from the fiery pleasure streaking through her. Her eyes were so heavy-lidded, but she forced them open, drinking in the sight of him as he sank to his knees before her while raining a path of teasing kisses along her belly.

He looked up then, his eyes smoked sapphire as he caught the button of her trousers and slid it free. The linen skimmed along her legs, and when he looked up, fire filled his gaze, his eyes blazing sapphire to steal the breath from her lungs. 

“Abnâmul,” he whispered, his voice husky and low as his fingertips just grazed along the backs of her thighs.”

“I—I don't know what that means,” she managed to whisper back. “I don’t speak your tongue.”

A devilish smile played at his lips. “It means you are beautiful.”

Heat flared through her. Heat from his words. From his gaze. From his touch. It was a wonder she didn't melt into a puddle right then, especially when he leaned in and pressed a hot kiss just below her navel. 

For a moment, she thought he might move lower, and she tensed in anticipation.

But then, he kissed her belly above her navel. And higher still. And with each kiss, he rose until he loomed over her once more. 

His mouth found hers again, hot and demanding and she matched his fire with one of her own, winding her arms about his neck, tightening them to pull him flush against her. He offered no resistance, wrapping his arms about her to lift her from her feet. She caught his sigh in her mouth when she teasingly wrapped her legs about his waist and in that moment, he arched into her. She couldn’t hold back her sharp inhale as pleasure zinged through her from the contact and she shivered against him. 

He carefully turned, moving slowly toward her bed, and when he reached it, he bent, pressed her down, and arched once more, this time his breath hitching when she rocked up to meet him firmly. 

Thorin drew back, straightening up and in the soft light, Nina was certain she’d never seen a sight as utterly amazing as the half-naked dwarf standing before her. The light played softly about him, highlighting the swells of muscle across his arms, his shoulders, packed beneath the dark hair spread wide across his chest and down along his belly. He wasn't slim, as Men were, but instead far more compact and solid, as if he could pick up a fully loaded cart, horses and all, and not even break a sweat.

He was beautiful.

And she wanted to see more of him.

She sat up and without thinking, bent to him, pressing her lips against his lower stomach, just above the fastenings of his trousers. His hands came down onto her head, his fingers threading into her hair, tightening on her when she flicked her tongue against him, through that crisp hair, against the warm skin beneath it. 

Her fingers moved nimbly, working open the fastenings, curling about the waistband, shoving down to send the heavy fabric grazing down his thick thighs, over his equally thick calves, to puddle about his ankles. He carefully stepped out of them, kicking them behind him.

Nina gazed up at him, her heart hammering her ribs as she hooked her fingers in his warm linen small clothes. In a heartbeat, she would finally see this man in all his glory and was as anxious as she was terrified at what awaited her.

“What is it?” he murmured, tracing a forefinger along the curve of her cheek. “Have you changed your mind?”

Her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth, which had gone far too dry to allow her to speak, she shook her head, swallowed hard, then whispered, “Have you?”

“I’ve not, no.”

“Neither have I.”

A hint of that devilish smile returned and he reached to cover her hands with his. “Then allow me to help you.”

With that, he stripped off his small clothes and  she smiled as she drew back to drink in the sight of him. 

He was perfect. 

Absolutely perfect.

His big body held very little fat, honed to perfection by whatever it was dwarves did that kept him in such fine form. She let her eyes feast upon him, let her fingers move lightly through the dark hair swirled thickly across his chest, down over his belly, where it joined a far denser patch.

Her mouth went dry at the sight of him, thick and hard and proud and the pit of her belly fell away. He was the first naked man she’d ever seen and somehow, she felt there was not a man alive of any race who would ever top this one magnificent dwarf. 

Swallowing hard, Nina leaned in to press a hot kiss above his navel this time. That dark hair was so soft, tickling her nose and her lips. Thorin let out a low sigh as he pulled back, shifted, and bent to capture her lips once more. As the kiss deepened, he gently pushed her down onto her back and came up over her, his dark hair tumbling over his shoulders to surround them.

He caught one hand, pressing it down into the bed above her head, linking his fingers with hers to offer up a gentle squeeze as he carefully came flush against her and their lips met in a kiss that was more tender than fire, but no less passionate. 

With his free hand, Thorin let his fingertips dance along her skin, the caresses light and teasing, the sensations sweet and sensual as they fluttered through her. Her fingers threaded through his soft hair, twisted and tugged as those fingers swept lower, along her belly, down her thigh.

Into the darkness between them. 

Her legs parted of their own accord and her back bowed as he slid those fingers into the heat between her thighs, into the dark red curls damp with her arousal now.

He caught her gasp as he slid a thick, slow, teasing finger inside her and did something utterly magical. She couldn't hold back her cry as fiery pleasure swept through her, didn’t even try to hold it back. How could she, when it just felt so amazingly good?

Actually, good did not even come close to what Thorin made her feel. Nothing could compare to the white-hot pleasure scorching through her at that moment, the pleasure that made her blood sing and her body hum as he teased and tortured her in the most deliciously sensual way possible. She arched to meet him, his name a breathless whisper on her lips, every fiber in her body tensing with the need for release. She was so close… so very close…

“Thorin!” His name erupted in a cry that she immediately tried to quell by clapping a hand over her mouth. “I didn't mean to be so loud… I hope Dwalin doesn’t come in search of you. He might think we’re doing battled in here.”

“If he comes in search of me, I’ll tell him where to go,” he whispered back with a smile. Then, he did something magical with that finger that made her pulse all around him once more and as he eased it out, he shifted, and then—

He filled her slowly, allowed her to adjust to him, and she bit down on her bottom lip at the sensations running riot through her. She arched to meet him, to accept him completely, as he slid deep, he shivered against her. 

His first thrust was long and silken. His second, even more. His lips found hers, her rhythm found his, and they moved in a slow dance, the pleasure feeding from one to the other as he brought them both back to that summit. 

She tightened about him, throbbing as he arched hard and deep, and her fingernails sank into his shoulders, her hips arcing toward his. Nothing ever felt so wonderful. Nothing would ever feel so wonderful. It simply couldn’t. Each thrust brought forth and new and delectable sensation, a pleasure unlike any she’d ever felt—hot and sweet and wild and amazing. 

Knots of sweet bliss tightened hard inside her, aching with the renewed need for release. She teetered on the edge, her thighs pressed hard against his sides as she will him to send her over the edge. She’d go mad if he didn't shatter those knots and burned for him to do just that.

“Mesmel…” a low string of words she didn't understand bubbled to his lips as his thrusts came faster and harder now. The fingers linked with hers tightened about them. His climax bore down upon him, judging by the power of those thrusts, by the tension winding through him. 

He moaned low in his throat, his thrusts increasing in strength, in depth. The knots began to loosen now as the first sweet, fiery tingles took hold of her, swelling and multiplying as he growled her name and practically tore the linens from the mattress with his free hand, while nearly crushing hers with his other. “Nina!”

Her name exploded from his lips as he thrust hard and deep and came in a powerful shudder that triggered her own climax and left her clinging to him, her fingernails dragging hard across his back as her fingers tensed of their own accord. Her eyes squeezed shut at the explosion of her release, at the white-hot tingles burning through her. She wrapped herself around him, gave herself up to the fire that threatened to swallow her whole. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t hear or speak beyond a breathless cry. All she could do was let that wave wash over her, let it carry her out to sea, and so she did, her surrender complete.

Thorin sank against her, his breathing as rough and ragged as hers and tears stung her eyes as she wrapped her arms about his neck and his head came to rest against her breast. “Oh…” was all she could manage to breathe.

His own breath was a hot blast against her skin. “Oh, indeed…” he managed to whisper back, a hint of laughter woven into his words. 

He lifted his head to regard her with sleepy cobalt eyes, a sharp contrast to the long black hair that fell about them. He said nothing, but bent to capture her lips with his in a soft, lingering kiss that had every bit as much passion woven into it as their lovemaking had, and when he pulled back, he whispered, “Am I crushing you, kurduwê?”

“I’m fine,” she whispered back, reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair, tucking it back behind his right ear. She had no idea what kurduwê meant, but had no energy to ask. The tranquility that settled over them was unlike any she’d ever felt, a complement to the passion that had just raged between them, like the calm after a fierce storm.

Thorin shifted and eased from her, then stretched out alongside her, pulling her into his arms as he sank into the pillows. His breathing had return to normal, though his breath hitched when she curved up against him and laid her hand gently on his chest. She could feel his heart beat, which started out at a race, but slowed to a more relaxed pace and when she let her head come rest against him, she gave in to the peace and let her eyes close. 

The only sound was that of Thorin’s deep, even breathing and occasional snore. Nina lay alongside him, his arm about her shoulders, her head resting against him, but sleep refused to come. 

What had she done? 

What had they done? 

She had not meant for this to happen. It was a terrible idea to sleep with him because now her thoughts were muddier than ever. 

Carefully, she slipped from the bed, easing from beneath his arm, and held her breath as she waited for him to wake and demand to know what she was doing and why she had her sword out.

For she did just that. Crept over to where her sword stood against the wall and slid it from its sheath, then crept back to the bed. It would be over in a moment and she could slip off into the darkness. By the time Dwalin or anyone came looking for Thorin tomorrow, it would be too late and she would be in the wind.

It would be so easy.

Except…

He slept on, peacefully oblivious to her struggle. The silver streaks in his black hair glinted in the pale moonlight that filtered through the treetops, just as the sun did during the day. The long curls spread across the linens. His lips were softly slack. His chest rose and fell with each slow, deep breath.

Her gaze went lower, to the scars on his lower abdomen that she’d seen earlier, but couldn't bring herself to ask him about. She’d heard what happened at Ravenhill between him and Azog, although the pale orc was never called by name at the time. All Esgaroth survivors knew was that Thorin had been wounded in battle at the hands of a great pale orc. She only assumed now that orc was Azog. 

Her hands trembled as she brought the blade up and held it over him. The bounty Azog had offered for Thorin Oakenshield’s head had been a small fortune. Payable in gold. It would have been more than enough to keep her comfortable for a long time. 

This was her plan. This was what she set out to do, to avenge Lenna, and Rhys and Ena. 

One move was all it would take.

He was asleep. He’d never feel a thing.

She tried to make her hands move. Tried to make her arms listen.

She couldn't do it. 

Not any longer.

Shame, hot and steaming burned through her. Tears blurring her vision, she managed to return her sword to its sheath and crawled back into bed alongside him. Forgive me.

She had to tell him the truth. 

[ineffablemurderhusbands]

I am finally posting a longfic that I've been writing for the last 3 years. It's called Mockingbird and here's the sinopse:

The war is won. Everything is fine. But not for Thorin as he is riddled with Dragon Sickness and ends up pushing away the woman that he loves right into the arms of his greatest enemy. Now Thranduil is the one she loves and she is engaged to be married to him. Will Thorin be able to regain her heart or will Thranduil continue to be the love of her life?

Please check it out, I've been having a blast writing this.

[elvenlia]

❗️❗️ I took inspiration for this story from the "Do you love me." Scene in Bridgerton.❗️❗️

Please enjoy 💜

-----

When Athelia imaged regaining the lonely mountain back with the company, she imaged it to be a joyous moment. And it was, at first...

She had heard the tales of Thorin's father and grandfather succumbing to the dragon's sickness within the walls of the mountain. How it drove them mad, to the brink of insanity and made them unrecognizable to their kin. He had expressed to her how he never wanted to succumb to the same fate, she had comforted him and told him how he was far to strong and stubborn of a man for that fate to take him so easily.

She believed it too, she believed her words. The man she had come to love was strong willed, hard headed and set in his ways. She would have never imagined he'd sway even in the slightest if it wasn't something he wanted.

Oh how wrong was she...

The days seemed to grow longer within the mountain. Or maybe it was she who grew down in spirits and caused the days to drag on. Or possibly her beloved insistent pacing and deep grumbling in the throne room which she was forced to endure.

Thorin had gone mad. Wide eyed and wire haired, as soon as he placed the crown atop his head and deemed himself the king under the mountain. She grown to despise the man under the crown, she hated his cruel words and foul behavior. Even more so, she hated how he had been treating his friends, no, family. All that made the long gruesome journey with him, he treated them as it they were nothing but dirt under his feet. Locking them all within the mountain, no one enters and no one leaves.

But on the rare occasion, she'd see him. She'd see Thorin, her beloved, just by the look that dwelled deep within his eyes.

And oh, did she love him so...

It wasn't strange for Athelia to have found Thorin stowed away amongst the gold and treasures. Though on this particular evening, she had noticed the tears welling within his eyes and the stern expression on his face as he glared down at the gold. As if he was battling a whole hoard of demons on his own. Slowly, Athelia approached him, leaving some distant in between.

"Thorin - " She called out to him, breaking him of his trance and pulling his attention to her.

"Athelia..." He breathed and for a moment she thought he was going to come to her and embrace her in his arms. He did not, instead he gave her a hard glare.

"You should not be near, Athelia, it is not safe for you." His words were harsh on her ears, she instantly shook her head.

"Thorin, I will not go, I love you- "

"I have gone mad, Athelia, can't you see?!" He had cut her words off with his own, his eyes blown wide, crazed, as he spoke. His voice booming off the gold and precious gems.

Athelia's own gaze now narrowed, her shoulders set back as she took a few steps closer to him. She was never one to back down, always to brave for her own good.

"Do you love me?" She suddenly asked, leaving Thorin breathless and frozen. Even though he had never spoke it aloud, she knew he did, she could feel it within her soul.

His tears now ran freely down his reddened cheeks, his expression turning into dispare as he stared at her. His fist clenched at the fabric covering his chest.

"I am not in my right mind, I know you see it- please -" He was practically begging her. "Take your leave with the hobbit - you are not safe here with me. "

"No, Thorin, I will not leave." She stood her ground, her expression stern and unmoving.

"You must! " His voice echoed against the stone walls. " My mind is fleeing my grasp, I cannot tell you whether I am here nor there, I do not know where the earth ends and the heavens begin - "

" Thorin!" She cut his words short, taking a step closer to him once again, pointing to herself. "I will stand with you between the heavens and the earth, I will tell you where you are!" Her voice raised each time she stepped closer until finally she stopped.

"Do. You. Love. Me."

He heaved a sob as more tears poured from the depths of his ocean eyes. "Yes, I -" His words choked him as he stuttered. "From the first time that I saw you entering the hobbits home-" another sob left his throat. " I have loved you desperately, I cannot breath when you are not near."

She closed the distance between them, her own tears now shedding and trailing down the flushed skin of her cheeks.

"I love you, Athelia. My heart calls your name..." Thorin finished, another sob racking his body as Athelia took him into her arms.

"We will get through this, together. You are not alone, Thorin." She whispered softly to him, as she cupped his cheeks and held his face so she could see him, truly see him for the first time in far to long.

The man that stood before her now was not the King under the mountain, but Thorin oakenshield. Her Thorin, her beloved dwarf.

Oh, how she loved him so...

[booksbabes]

I need some opinions on a Thorin x ofc fin im writing

I want to attempt to get the whole thing written before I post it. I feel like I loose interest if I post as I go.

It’s set pre quest to Erebor. Everyone is about 7 years younger than the quest age. Should Thorin and OC fall in love in this fic before quest? Should the quest even happen? I like to read hobbit fics other than the whole quest itself it tends to get predictable. And I feel there are a lot of post-quest. Everyone lives. But not many pre-quest. (Everyone will live bc I cannot take unhappy endings) let me know what you think or any ideas!

[blankdblank]

Go Bleat Yourself

Usurper, thief, traitor. A few of the endless insults Thorin could cast your way. Before he could snap out of his sickness you had stepped forward to name yourself King Under the Mountain with his Arkenstone aloft. Naming him as your heir only to further the shove of the insult of a blade into his rib cage and give it a firm twist.

True he became just what he feared and succumbed to the sickness but sight of you atop his throne once was a loving imagining as his future intended and now he would have to kneel, not in matrimony to his Queen, but in fealty and obedience as second to this usurping King.

Fair and firm you had ruled for five months now pressing firmer than any imagined you’d dare to bend the Dwarf clans to submission and solid deals of trade and equality, what he hoped to have had your aid in acquiring at his side as partners, now he sealed the deals and finalized the contracts alongside Balin as you held the weight.

True he should have been proud the one he loved had done so much for his people and could be so formidable a contender in battle of words and twist of legal strongholds to bind such clans to these clever inescapable terms that should have him pouring endless affections and praise for his one true love. But he knew he’d failed you.

At the core of it all it was not the theft but the need you must have felt to have taken the reigns where he had failed and fallen. So now he would be obedient and toil to regain his strength in your eyes to be deserving to be chosen as your Prince Consort should you so wish one day to propose marriage to him. And to both hinder and not harm those chances for three months now he had barely spoken a word outside of the tasks assigned to him with you.

He would prove himself, no matter how long it took. Five months now everyone had learned of his slip but to his confidence already the people had seen his stride to become worthy again in their eyes that now shared the lingering hope one day he might be proposed to and they could have that aspired dual wedding and coronation for their prized leaders.

It had been written long before his birth, this numerical Kingship in which his reign would have fallen was marked to have been cut blisteringly short to just a gasp within the coronation. He was not fated to have had long to reign, but what time he could have had he hoped to have shared every moment he could with you. To have built a lifetime out of mere moments he was destined before some unknown sentence to befall him and pass his throne to you and hopefully to any heirs you might have been gifted. And now he stood open mouthed just as the swarms of Dwarves here to hear the proclamation scheduled for all the citizens now for a week, to ensure all could be here. Abdication, by means of infirmity hindering the ability to rule. He had fallen and failed you and now that fate had been dealt upon his love and to his dying day he would wear the same crown of his love cut down in his place. Perhaps as it has been joked in ages past Durins were long destined to fall and rise only to be brought down again and again. Every day he would bear this crown without you would be a kind of death all it’s own.

Radagast had stepped forward and done the duty of passing the crown over the Thorin for the stunned Dwarf Lords who bowed once you had pressed the Arkenstone into the new King’s palm and simply left him to speak to his people for the first time.

“You are ill?” The frail splintered plea for the truth escaped Thorin’s lips as he cast the unwanted crown onto your bed now littered with clothes organized to be placed within the open trunk at the clawed foot of the bed frame.

Mention of a time in the Elven Forest was given and true to your word you seemed to be ready to flee and spend what time you had left upon this earth far from Thorin and his halls. To be buried far beneath the rites and tomb of a King as you had justly earned even in such a short rule whenever the time came. Somewhere he might be forbidden to know location of to not welcome his token of honor to his greatest love in the deepest show of distrust stretching beyond the grave as well.

“That is what I have said to your people, yes.” You replied without looking up at him only urging his body to react before he could stop himself and turn you himself with hold of your arms. Gentle hold, but a hold none the less. Across your lips the most perplexing smirk when, for the first time in months his eyes were locked upon yours to face you dead on.

“What ails you? Surely there must be some course of treatment we might find for you here. The Elves are not the only ones to know old healing magic. Merely flaunt theirs about to strangers. What are your symptoms? You have seemed a little tired, yes, but there is nothing beyond my notice you could have concealing so easily.” His eyes flooded with tears and concern for answers or some way for this to not be true that he had brought this too upon you to the hasten of his words. The dragon was a harm you had knowingly chosen while this curse predestined to him was another matter all together.

“You know, there’s a culture where I come from where young girls have their stars read and those who are foretold to have husbands cut down young are married to goats.” Tears spilled down his cheeks in the confused furrow of his brows to the perplexing notion. “The goats live their lives and all die before the girls are of age to marry, now seemingly safe of their earlier fates to be widowed young.”

“What?” His voice escaped in a crackle of what it had aimed to be when what you had said fell utterly short of anything understandable to what illness you were concealing from the man you’d once spent nights whispering dreams of a future tucked securely in his arms in words of such an unshakable hope one day the both of you would achieve it. Like you had carved it into stone and no creature, even Eru, could dare to change that path you laid.

You simply bleated and stepped out of his hold to walk around him to fetch his crown you brought back to him. Every step urged his body to turn and follow where you were aimed until you raised the crown you put back atop his head. “It would seem my rule ended painfully close to my coronation, and now you are King.”

Sharp and swift his lungs filled with air as the explanation dawned upon him as you added, “Prince Legolas was kind enough to share your fate escorting us to the dungeons while you argued with his father. But I do feel after a few months away I might just make a miraculous recovery. I do expect you to write me.” Now your hands had lowered to frame the face unable to hide his tearful but adoring gaze with his hair and bead decorated braids. Down to the fur lining of his outer jacket to the pool of all his love and gratitude he bore for you into those heart stopping blue eyes your hands eased to straighten the lay of that as well.

Casually you spoke with a playful grin easing across your lips, “Frerin is planning a wedding alongside that coronation of yours, now you will have to woo me, oh grumpiest King Under the Mountain.” Widely a smile cracked across his face in the fact you did not seem fazed by his behavior of late beyond some irritation, “Three months of stubbornness, I expect a fabulous proposal as well. Just with you there it would be marvelous so not much required for to reach the task.”

“You wish to marry me?” He asked almost in a bashful tone at the lingering disbelief to the notion.

“Well I certainly wasn’t going to propose to you behaving like that,” you teased back poking him in his middle as you had done hundreds of time on the journey to this very same mountain.

A poke that seemed to hit an unseen button and have him step forward to crash his lips into yours, arms following after to bring you flush against his chest. A welcome place you burrowed for a breath stealing few minutes of you in his enamored embrace he would never break until the fingers curled to clench onto his shirts and into his beard would release to let him loose again when he’d begun to show he was ready to make all that frustration up to you. His future Queen, the former King Under the Mountain, to rule at his side until Mahal called you both back to the stone.

.

@devilishminx328 @theincaprincess @lilith15000 @jesevans and adding @deepestfirefun

[linasofia]

A Shooting Star

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5 l Part 6 l Part 7

Fandom: The Hobbit

Relationship: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Vega

Summary: Lady Vega loves to sneak out to Erebor’s rampart to study the night sky, but one night, an unexpected visitor joins her. It is the beginning of a story whose end only the stars can tell.

Warnings: none

Special thanks to @lathalea & @legolasbadass for all your support and feedback. 💙⭐️

A small gush of wind met Vega, daughter of Vimar, as she climbed the many stairs to the rampart. Since she left her lantern by the wall, her only guidance was the moon. Thankfully, it was a clear night, and the pale light coming from the grand silver coin in the sky was enough to illuminate her path. As she silently entered the rampart, she felt the usual excitement tingling in her body. She knew she was not allowed to be there, but it was the best place for stargazing, if she did not count the mountain slope outside the gate, and it was worth the risk of being discovered. Without making a sound, she hurried to her secret spot, hidden behind a large block of stone—remains from a battle long before she came to live under the Mountain.

Vega rested her back against the rough wall and took out her book from the pocket in her skirt. She was grateful for choosing her warm stockings of finest mountain goat wool; the wind on the rampart was colder than she had expected. Her long winter shawl covered her upper body, and she pulled it tighter. She should have taken the heavy cloak instead, but it was too late to go back now. Besides, she had endured worse weather on the rampart. Vega opened the book carefully, found the most recent of her notes and peered up. Her trained eye easily located the stars of her people’s most important constellation; the magnificent Durin’s Crown. Every year, when a feast was held to celebrate Durin’s Day, the constellation could be seen right above the Mountain. Now, however, when the days were much shorter, it was set far to the west. She smiled. A handful more full moons, and then she would close the circle and be back at the first page in her notebook. She had stood on the rampart many nights and studied the constellations' quiet movements over the sky. It was a fascinating hobby, but not completely without danger. The rampart was high, and the darkness could be compact, at least when the new moon resembled a curved, thin chain of mithril. In addition, there was obviously always the risk of being discovered. Vega preferred not to tell anyone about her own private escapades. Especially not her father. In his eyes, she was still a young girl with little or no understanding of what was considered dangerous. The fact that she followed in her mother’s footsteps and refused to marry any of the lords she was presented to, out of duty, only fueled the old man's conviction that she did not understand what was best for her. Her mother, on the other hand, supported her strong will and constantly defended her daughter’s decision in public.

Vega grew up in the Blue Mountains, and as the daughter of a trusted construction advisor to the king, she lived what many would describe as a relatively comfortable life. Their home was always filled with her father’s construction drawings, books, and strange tools. During her first years, her father would not let her near his precious drawings, but as she grew older, he opened up another world to her, where the symbols, numbers and lines started to make sense. Vega believed it was her father’s work that laid the foundation for her interest in trying to understand things written or drawn by others long before her time. When she found an old map, she instantly tried to visualize the places, and eventually, she started to dream about adventures far beyond her people’s borders.

After King Thorin and his company had reclaimed Erebor, it did not take long before a messenger with the king’s summons reached the Blue Mountains. Vega’s father quickly answered the call and packed his most important belongings. Then, less than a year later, he arranged for his wife and daughter to make the same journey. She still remembered the excitement she felt as a young woman when their caravan set out toward their new home. Vega had heard many old tales about the great treasures of the Lonely Mountain, but also songs of unspeakable grief. She could not wait to see the great halls with her own eyes, and her mother repeatedly assured her it would be worth the long absence of her father. He had an important role to take on as the King of Carven Stone had returned to the Mountain. That was now many years ago, and Vega had grown, both in body and mind, since then.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy boots reached her ears. She drew nearer to the large stone and hid in its shadow. Her heart was banging in her chest, and her throat tightened, making it hard to breathe, as if she was deep down in the dusty coal mine under the Blue Mountains—a place restricted to the strongest miners among her people. Was this the night she finally was to be discovered? A tall shadow appeared on the stone floor in front of her, but she could not see the dwarf for the massive block of granite. She waited, desperately trying not to make any sound, as the shadow slowly moved closer. Then a broad figure walked right by her and stopped only a few arm’s lengths away. The pale light of the moon fell upon the male, and it made the rich fur on his cloak shimmer. It reminded her of a tale she once heard; about a rare fox who changes color—from almost black to white—when the first snow falls. From behind, the cloak in front of her looked vaguely familiar. In the darkness, all things appear to be grey, but Vega instinctively knew she had seen that cloak before. Admired it, even. The man searched his pockets and pulled out a long, thin item. A small flash of light tore the darkness apart, and when he turned his face to shield his pipe from the wind as he lit it, Vega stared—horrified—at the dwarf’s regal profile. The tobacco glowed as he inhaled loudly, and then a thin cloud of white smoke seeped from his nostrils. The dark, pleased hum that followed made something stir in her lower body, and Vega let out an involuntary gasp. The king instantly turned his head towards the dark corner, and her heart almost stopped. With a hand over her mouth, she held her breath.

“Who’s there? Step out of the shadow!” the king demanded, his voice raised, but not to its full capacity.

Vega took a deep breath and forced her feet to obey. When she stepped out from her hiding place, the moon appeared to be brighter, and she gracefully curtsied as the ruler of Erebor’s piercing stare met hers. The look on his face shifted from annoyance to surprise.

“Good evening, My King.”

“My Lady, I did not expect to meet anyone here. What in Mahal’s name brings you to this dark place?”

Vega hid her book behind her back. “I’m simply looking at the view.” She tried to control the tremble in her voice, but the rush of adrenaline made it impossible.

“The view?” The king looked over the edge of the rampart. He could see lights from the city of Dale, but other than that, the night offered nothing spectacular.

“Surely you must struggle to see anything interesting at all.”

Vega gazed up with a broad smile. “Not that view. This!” She pointed above their heads, where countless stars silently stared back at them.

Silence fell heavily between them. Thorin smoked his pipe while searching his memory for constellations he learned long ago, when he was a much younger dwarf. He could only remember a few of them. Back then, Frerin was much more interested in these stars and always waited patiently for his older brother to locate Durin’s Crown. Thorin’s heart ached at the memory. His brother’s death had removed the joy from so many activities, stargazing was only one of them.

He glanced at the lady standing beside him, her chin lifted and her eyes fixed on the sky. She seemed lost in her thoughts, and the smile still lingered on her lips. Her dark hair was braided in a beautiful pattern—the style popular among the women from the Blue Mountains—and then he spotted a bead with her family's name. He smiled. When he first saw her, he was unsure who she was, but as he looked closer, he could clearly see the resemblance. She was truly her father’s daughter, but beautiful and with a disarming smile.

”Is Lord Vimar aware of your late visit to the rampart?” He could hear her surprised gulp, and she quickly turned her focus on him instead. She had not realized he recognized her, and Thorin met her startled gaze with a calm smile. ”Do not worry, My Lady, your secret is safe with me.”

”Thank you, My King.” She smiled back, a sweet and slightly mischievous smile. ”No, my father would probably lock the door to my chamber if he ever found out what I was doing during the nights.”

”Nights? Are you telling me that I could have had the pleasure of meeting you here on other nights previous to this one?”

Vega wanted to smack herself. Why did her mouth speak too much as soon as the king rested his captivating azure gaze on her?

”I…” she did not know how to continue. How could she explain the thrill and the longing to do something forbidden? What it felt like to slip out in the cover of darkness and just be alone with her dreams and imagination. ”I’m afraid that is the truth,” she then admitted.

”Did you bring a book to read in the dark as well? Your eyes must be much better than mine.” The king sounded almost amused when he spotted the leather-bound piece in her hand, and Vega instantly pressed it against her chest.

”It contains only a few hasty notes I made for myself to read, together with drawings of constellations I have seen. It is nothing of importance.” Vega tried to gain control of her own words; she always spoke too much when she was nervous.

”Would you allow me to see it? I am certain your handwriting is neat and a pleasure to read.”

Her heart hammered again, just as it did when she was hiding, but this time it was not from fear. Was the King of the Longbeards really interested in the stars, or was he only being polite? She searched his face for the truth but found only honesty in his eyes. For a short while, she allowed herself to admire his prominent nose and full beard before she remembered she had no right to gaze upon her king like that.

”My King,” she hesitated, but was tempted to share her findings, if only to make him stay a little longer. Never before had she spoken to someone with such powerful charisma, and he made her very curious. ”It is nothing like the maps in the Royal Library of Erebor,” she then heard herself say. ”But I will be honored to show it to you.” Her hands trembled slightly as she opened the book, but when she tried to offer it to him, he took a step closer.

”Please, My Lady, explain it to me.”

Vega had to take a few deep breaths before she mustered enough calmness to explain her notes. When she spoke, the king listened intently, but every time he pointed at one of her drawings of Durin’s Crown, she couldn’t stop herself from staring at the heavy rings adorning his thick fingers. He had the hands of a warrior—large and calloused—but something in the way he let his fingertips glide over her stained papers told her those hands could do more than just harm.

The notes were indeed created for her eyes only, but after the initial insecurity, Vega found herself growing bolder in the king’s presence. As he leaned a little closer to her, no doubt to see better, a faint hint of pine and leather caught her senses, and it made her head spin, just like the strong tobacco she once was persuaded to try. She promised herself after that single time, to never smoke anything equally strong again. But she wouldn’t mind feeling this type of warm dizziness again. Then Vega shook her head to clear her mind. Who knew the alluring scent of the mightiest of all dwarves alive could evoke such delusional ideas.

”Considering all constellations, which one do you find most mesmerizing?” His question came unexpectedly, spoken in a much lower voice than before. It felt very personal, and Vega shivered. She knew what he probably was expecting from her, but eventually, she decided to answer honestly.

”Of all the constellations and the tales told, I must say I have two favorites, next to Durin’s Crown, of course.” She smiled warmly when a thick black eyebrow rose in surprise. ”The first one is The Hammer.” Vega pointed to the east, where nine stars proudly formed a large hammer.

Thorin nodded, remembering the constellation from Frerin’s rare attempts to actually teach him something useful. He was not sure about the tale; Frerin sometimes changed the story, only so he later could claim that Thorin remembered it wrong.

”And the second?” he asked, gently holding the unusual emerald gaze of the lady beside him. Thorin found her truly fascinating, and the way her voice enchanted him, as she spoke passionately about the stars, made him wish she was a member of his council instead of her elderly father. The endless discussions would be much more bearable if she was.

”The second one cannot be seen now. You will have to wait until spring before you can spot Raven’s Nest in the east.”

”Is it easy to find?”

”If you know what to look for, I supposeit’s easy. It’s one of the smallest constellations I know of, but I love the tale.”

Thorin smiled. He wanted to question her about the tale, just so she would keep talking, but he realized he could not ask her to stay on the rampart all night. The icy wind was growing in strength and the hour was late. He had gone to the rampart for the possibility of clearing his mind after a long evening session with the council. Instead, he had stumbled right onto Lord Vimar’s daughter’s secret stargazing spot. He had completely forgotten his manners and did not introduce himself properly. And what was even worse—he had no name on the lady in question.

”My Lady, even if your father sometimes speaks of his family, I do not think I have ever heard your name. May I ask for it?” His words were soft, and less formal than their initial conversation.

Vega stared at the king. Had he just showed interest in knowing her name? She could not understand why, but she had no intention of denying her king. The unexpected warmth in his eyes made her weak. His raven hair rested against the fur of his cloak but as he turned his head, the wind caught strands of it and blew life into the dark locks. She briefly wondered if his hair was as soft as it looked.

”Vega,” she almost whispered, her voice suddenly failing her as a result of her improper thought.

”Lady Vega, you have been most kind and shared your private notes. I thank you for that. But I’m afraid I need to ask you to return to the warmth of your chamber, before you get too cold.”

”Of course.” She averted her gaze, afraid he would see the disappointment in her eyes. The most exciting moment in a very long time would soon be over, and Vega pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She could do nothing to stretch their chance meeting further.

”I bid you a good night then.” He gave her a short nod.

”Good night,” she echoed as she made a poor attempt to curtsy. Her knees wouldn’t cooperate. Thankfully, King Thorin didn’t seem to notice, or care. All he did was grace her with another warm smile.

”And Lady Vega, do not hide in the shadows next time. I might mistake you for an intruder.”

She mustered one last smile in return. Then she watched him disappear from her—no longer—secret spot on the rampart. His cloak's movement as he rounded the corner was the last thing she saw of him. Vega took a deep breath and the cold air in her lungs made her cough. The king was right; she really should get back home. As she climbed down the stairs and found her lantern at the same place as she left it, she couldn’t stop thinking of his last words to her. Next time. Would there really be a next time?

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[legolasbadass]

Shelter From The Storm

Relationship: Thorin x reader

Summary: After leaving the Iron Hills and finding yourselves in the middle of a snow storm, you and Thorin find shelter in an inn and find more than one way of keeping warm until the storm passes. 

Rating: E

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: This fic was written as part of the @officialtolkiensecretsanta​ 2022 for my dear @lathalea​ ❤️ (Ah! I fooled you, didn’t I?) I had the best time writing this for you and I’m so glad the secret is finally out because I almost blurted it out way too many times and I don’t think I could have kept silent any longer 🙈

I hope this fic will keep you warm on cold winter nights, but fair warning, you may need a bucket of ice (or snow) to cool down after this one 😈

Khuzdul translations:

Amrâlimê: My love

Bunnelê: My treasure of treasures

You let out a deep sigh of relief when you entered the inn and, at last, left the cold, snowy night behind you. Now, you love snow as much as anyone else—that is, when it has already fallen, and the sun shines bright in the sky, turning the land into a field of glittering diamonds, or better yet, when you can admire it from the safety of Erebor, preferably while sitting in front of a roaring fire, the loving arms of your husband wrapped around you. But to be trapped in the middle of a storm while travelling through the wilderness? Well, let’s just say that made you speak curses that would have made even Dwalin blush.

It all started this morning when you left the Iron Hills. A fortnight had passed since you left Erebor, and since then, you had attended more dreadful, pointless council meetings than you could count (most of which dealt with matters that could have been explained in letters, mind you) and an even greater number of feasts, which you found difficult to enjoy because the ale was so much better in Erebor, and your husband had a tendency to drink too much when he was with his cousin. 

Your husband. You huffed in annoyance. It was all his fault! Thrice, Thorin delayed your return home, and when at last the negotiations between the two kingdoms came to a close this morning, a storm was brewing in the grey sky. And yet your husband—the stubborn fool!—was now intent on returning home and thus ordered your company to make haste despite how obviously unwise that decision was. 

And now here you were, completely frozen after plowing through the stupid snow all day, snowflakes stuck to your disarrayed hair and numb cheeks. If it was not for the thick fur collar around your coat, you were sure you would have frozen to death on that road, and now you prayed to Mahal that the inn had enough rooms available for your small company, for there were so few inns between Erebor and the Iron Hills, and who knew if you would even make it to the next? 

Thankfully, when the owner of the inn discovered the identity of his latest customer, he assured you that there was more than enough room for your company. Thank Mahal! As soon as everything was arranged, you rushed into your designated room as though your life depended on it—which it did, as far as you were concerned, you could barely feel your fingers! The innkeeper hastened to start a fire for you, and you could have sworn you could feel your muscles thawing as its warmth enveloped you, though some of your limbs had been so frozen that standing too close to the fire burned your skin. 

You were shaking out the ice from your hair when Thorin stepped into your small room, making sure to lock the door behind him. He was still in his travel clothes, but his hood was off, revealing his reddened cheeks and unruly hair, and despite how annoyed you were with him for forcing you to accompany him on this trip and then forcing you to travel in these conditions, you couldn’t help but melt at the sight of him, and when his gaze met yours, it made you feel warmer than any fire ever could. 

“Hopefully the storm does not last and by this time tomorrow we will be back in Erebor,” he said as he began to take off his cloak. You could only muster a hum in response. “Mahal, you look half-frozen to death.”

“That’s because I am half-frozen to death!” you groaned, despite knowing full well that he was not to blame for the unforgiving weather. 

Thorin watched you in silence for a moment, then slowly made his way over to you and wrapped his strong arms around your still-shivering body. His warm breath caressed your skin before he pressed a tender kiss onto your cheek; you could feel the shards of ice trapped in his beard, and you shivered, both from the cold and the intoxicating tenderness of your husband’s touch. 

“Amrâlimê,” he purred softly, pressing a few more kisses on your cheek and temple. 

“Why must I even accompany you to these negotiations, Thorin?” you asked suddenly as you sunk deeper in his embrace, desperate for warmth. 

He raised one hand to cradle your head, his fingers gently caressing your golden braids as he said, “Because I do not wish to be parted from you. And more importantly, I value your opinion.” 

“I do not wish to be parted from you, either,” you replied, your eyes fluttering closed as Thorin slowly began to unplait your braids with his skilled fingers. “But we hardly spend any time together the fortnight we spent in the Iron Hills… And I would still feel all my limbs if I had remained in Erebor,” you added teasingly.

His chuckle reverberated through you, warming your heart, and as you looked up at him, you found him gazing at you tenderly, the flames in the hearth dancing in the depth of his irises. 

“Well, I am certain we may find some way to warm you up,” he replied, the timbre of his voice sinking even lower. 

“You mean sitting by the fire?” you replied innocently, even as your heart began to beat faster in anticipation of what you knew would follow. 

“Aye,” Thorin replied as he leaned in closer, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “But are you not always saying that I am as hot as a forge?” 

You could not help but giggle, and though you were still cold, you already felt better than you had in days. “You are!”

“Then perhaps … you should come closer to this forge to be properly warmed.” 

“That is quite an interesting proposition,” you said as you wrapped your arms around his neck, “but I believe a demonstration is in order.” 

Thorin smirked at you in a way that made your whole body yearn for him, and when he leaned in to kiss you once more, parting his lips to tease you with his tongue while his hands found their way to your back to pull you flush against him, you whimpered. A stab of desire shot through you when he pulled you onto his lap, his large hands coming to rest on the swell of your hips; the many layers of skirts you wore kept you from the contact you so desperately craved, but you did not need to feel Thorin against you to know just how much he longed for you in return. His groans against your lips and nearly bruising grasp on your hips told you all you needed to know about the insatiable hunger brewing inside him. 

To your surprise, rather than hastening to disrobe you and pin you to the soft furs on the mattress to have his way with you, Thorin urged you to stand up. Your skirts were already terribly wrinkled, but there was nothing you could do about it; you stood, eagerly awaiting his next move, trapped between the flickering fire and Thorin’s broad frame as he watched you with hungry but tender eyes.

You remembered how nervous you had been the first time you had found yourself in this position, on your wedding night. You had been with a few men and women before Thorin, but still, you had felt so vulnerable under his piercing gaze, and not least because of all the rumours circulating about Thorin being a very intense lover. But now, you felt a thrill and eagerly submitted to his will. 

“This wool dress is ideal to keep you warm,” Thorin mused as he raised a hand to caress the high collar of your travelling dress, “but I have something else in mind….” 

You smirked, for you were sure you would approve of what he had in mind. 

With agonizing slowness, Thorin spun you around and reached for the ties of your wool dress, leaving feather-light kisses on your neck. You relaxed under his careful touch and let your eyes flutter close. No words were spoken between you as your dress fell to the floor at your feet; only the crackling of the fire and your increasingly heavy breathing filled the room. Then, when Thorin snuck a hand under your skirts and trailed it along the length of your stockings to reach your bare thighs, you could not help but lean back against him, suddenly finding it very difficult to maintain your balance. 

“You are trembling, amrâlimê—are you still cold?” Thorin asked, and you could almost hear the mischievous smirk you knew graced his face. 

“Oh, very, very cold, My King,” you replied, using the title you knew enticed him so when spoken in a low, breathless voice. 

He groaned and squeezed your thigh before removing his hand and letting your skirts fall back in place. Disappointment surged through you, but then you felt his hands fiddling with the ties to your skirt, and you shivered in anticipation. He struggled for a moment, perhaps due to the lingering numbness in his fingers, but he refused any help you offered him, so you were forced to stand there, desire simmering under your skin. 

When at last, all your layers of skirts lay in a puddle at your feet, Thorin instructed you to face him once more. In his eyes, you saw all your desire and love reflected, and you exchanged a soft smile as he closed the space between you, then reached for the ties of your corset. You sucked in a breath as the tips of his ringed fingers brushed against your bosom through the thin fabric of your chemise. Thorin halted for a moment, his eyes fixed on your heaving cleavage, painted golden in the low light of the fire, then began to unlace your corset, passing the ties through each eyelet until the corset released its hold on your bosom and hung loosely about you. Without losing a second, Thorin pushed the garment off your shoulders and dragged your chemise along with it, leaving you in nothing but your stockings. You expected him to hasten to take them off, but he did no such thing. 

Reading the confusion on your now flushed face, Thorin said, “I want you to keep your stockings. After all, we would not want you to get cold.” 

You shivered, somehow finding the suggestion scandalously alluring, and then before you knew it, Thorin stroked one of your beaded nipples, and you whimpered. That simple, teasing touch was enough to drive you wild with need, and Thorin knew it—oh, how he knew. But you also knew that you had just as much power over him; you had not touched him at all, and yet his eyes were dark with lust, his sensual lips half-open, as though begging you to taste them, and when you stole a glance lower, you noticed the significant bulge in his leather trousers. You licked your lips. 

That was all it took. In an instant, Thorin’s lips crashed against yours, devouring your mouth as though he had not tasted your sweetness in months. Your tongues tangled, getting lost in this dance you both knew by heart, tightening the knots of desire deep in your belly. His cheeks were warm now, but his beard was slightly damp from the ice that had melted, and you welcomed the coolness of it. One of his hands got lost in your now loose hair while the other continued to lovingly caress your curves, his rings cold against your now burning skin. A muffled mewl of surprise escaped you when he squeezed your buttocks and pulled you flush against him, his belt and leather clothes rough against your belly. 

“Not fair,” you managed to wine between two fervent kisses. “You are still fully dressed.”  

Thorin pulled away just enough to meet your gaze and raised one eyebrow. “Then by all means….”

You smirked. It was your turn now to tease, er, warm him. With nimble fingers, you pushed his fur-lined coat off his shoulder, then reached for his belt. Thorin’s eyes grew heavy under your ministrations, and when you unlaced his tunic just enough to plunge your hand into the loose neckline and graze his skin, he groaned into your ear. Heat pooled between your thighs at the intoxicating sound, and you pressed your thighs together, desperate to release the growing tension in your core. Thorin helped you by pulling his tunic and undershirt over his head, revealing his broad, sculpted chest to your admiring gaze, but left you to take care of his boots and trousers. His boots you tossed away impatiently, almost carelessly; his trousers, on the other hand, you took your time to remove, letting your fingers caress the trail of dark hairs just above the hem before grazing his bulge with the tip of your fingers. He groaned again, and fuelled by your own arousal, you caved in and pushed his trousers down his legs, allowing his impressive hardness to spring free. 

The next thing you knew, Thorin was pinning you into the fur-covered bed with all his glorious weight, his manhood rubbing against that secret place between your legs, leaving you breathless, and Thorin moaned when he felt just how aroused you were. 

“I do believe you are warming up, dearest,” he said playfully as he raised himself on his elbows to admire your body. “Mahal, you are so beautiful, bunnelê.” 

You sighed upon hearing the endearment he knew you loved, but your expressions of pleasure grew louder and more breathless as he explored your curves anew, caressing you in all the right places. All the while, you splayed your hands on his sculpted chest, following the lines of his raven tattoo and tangling your fingers in the curls covering his pectorals. Then you sank your hands into his dark mane, cradling the back of his head to bring him closer to you as he bent down to suck on your nipples, drawing a breathless cry from you. Instinctively, you spread your legs apart, offering him access to that secret place between your thighs that desperately needed to be filled by him, and after caressing your folds and sensitive pearl until you thought you would burst, he entered you. Impossible warmth spread through your limbs as he stretched you, and the tenderness in his deep blue eyes was like a warm blanket around your heart on this cold winter day. 

The whole world faded away, and the endless day of walking in the storm seemed to belong to another lifetime as you became one with your husband. Your One. His calloused hands caressed your thighs, then grasped your ankles to wrap you around him, bringing you even close to him, and even through the thick wool of your stockings, you could feel the warmth of his flexing muscles. Together, you abandoned yourself to this familiar passionate dance, moving perfectly in sync, the flames in the hearth the only witnesses to your love. It did not take long for both of you to reach your peaks of pleasure, and when that wave washed over you, licking you from the inside out, you cried out, uncaring that the other guests in the inn could surely hear your passionate laments. Your whole body burned with pleasure, and when Thorin spilled himself inside you, groaning in your ears and cradling you close, you thought that you actually looked forward to the day you would find yourself once more in need of such treatment after a wintry storm. 

Eons later, you lay on the soft furs, your limbs entangled as you shared a languid, open-mouthed kiss. The fire burned more gently now, and except for a few flickering shadows on the stone wall, darkness submerged the room, but you could still see the soft, content smile on Thorin’s face, and your heart was warmed by the sight. As though he could feel your gaze on him, Thorin leaned in and buried his face in the crook of your neck, causing you to giggle. 

“Perhaps it would not be so terrible after all it the storm kept us locked up in here for a few days more,” Thorin said, his voice muffled as he pressed myriad kisses into your neck. You smiled and pulled him even closer to you. No, that would not be terrible at all. 

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[lathalea]

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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[sotwk]

📖 Fic rec time! When you get this, reply with three fics that you've read and loved to pieces, then pass on to at least five other people who read fics. Let’s appreciate fic writers and their amazing stories 💖

Better late than never with this one! <3 I remain woefully behind on my reading, and I am SO sorry for that, writing fanfic and reading fanfic are often very hard for me to do simultaneously (focus issues), but I always love recommending the few things I've read and loved.

SotWK 3 Fic Recommendations: Multi-Chapter, Canon x OC Picks

Dwalin Has a Bad Day (Dwalin x OC) by @lathalea - I know there are Dwalin lovers out there--this fluffy rom-com is a MUST read for you! Apart from the (always) amazing writing, colorful worldbuilding, loveable OCs, and innovative headcanon concepts ("dwelf"!) abound. When it comes to Dwarves, Latha is one of my go-to experts.

A Shooting Star (Thorin x OC) by @linasofia - This is one of the few fics I had the privilege of following all the way through as it was being written, and that says a lot since that means it utterly captivated my pitiful attention span. Lina writes Thorin sooooo well, in the gorgeous manner Richard Armitage portrayed him, and that is what I love in my Thorin fics. Very lovely OC that you would absolutely cheer for, and you are treated to life in Erebor after its reclamation! (Dude, Thorin is alive, where have you been??)

Burn Like Cold Iron (Boromir x OC) by @scyllas-revenge - I almost feel silly putting this on a rec list because this fic is legend in the Boromir fandom. (Like, hi, hello, have you heard of this movie called "Star Wars"? It's kind of walking up to someone and asking them that.) I love fics that draw me in despite not falling into my usual preferences (Modern Girl OC in this case), and this defines that. Scylla also nails a fluffy, genuinely funny brand of humor that I have yet to see matched by any other writer, so if you like that sort of thing, browse her entire masterlist while you're at it. This fic has its own fandom, so if you don't want to take my word for it, take the word of all those other admirers!

Go forth and feast, my friends! And remember--please tip (reblog/comment/kudos) your writers! <3

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Fifteen

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

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If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

“Are ye certain ye dinna want to discuss it?”

Thorin rolled his eyes as they boarded the barge that would sail them past the skeletal frames of Esgaroth to the city of Dale on the opposite side of the Long Lake. “How many times must I say it? No. I dinna want to discuss it.”

“All right the. Have it your way, then. There’s no need to get pissy.”

He glared at Dwalin, who leaned against the side of the barge, arms folded, heavy iron-gray brows pulled low. “I’m not pissy, thank you very much. I am angry and there is a difference.”

“Are ye still thinking about her? Even after what happened with her? That’s madness, Thorin. She deserves not a single moment of thought and yer wasting yer time broodin’ over her.”

The bargeman barely bit back a smile as he guided them along the lake’s calm waters. Somewhere in the depths, lay what remained of Smaug the Terrible, and Thorin tried not to think about that as Esgaroth loomed before them. The last time they’d seen the city on the lake, it had been mostly engulfed in orange flames that seemed to reach the midnight black winter sky. 

Now, the charred remains had been torn down and fresh wood frameworks had been erected on the floating walkways that connected the city and formed what would be canals once construction was complete. 

When they had set out for Rivendell, the first buildings had just been framed out. Now, they were just about finished with the majority of them. Little by little, the town was being reborn and as they glided past it, Thorin tried to shove down the regret surging forward at the memory of the last time he’d passed through. Driven by the need to reach the Lonely Mountain before the last light of Durin’s Day, Thorin had let his desire to reclaim the treasure, the Arkenstone, and his throne blind him to everything else around him. The need to possess that treasure grew stronger until he could no longer ignore it. Dragon sickness would follow, and that was what led him to look the other way while Smaug incinerated Esgaroth, what led him to turn his back on the people whose lives he’d upended, what led him to choose war over anything else. 

And eventually, what led Nina to seek revenge.

He winced, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't want to think about her now. Her betrayal was too fresh, too raw, and his heart felt as if it had been raked over with razor-sharp claws, leaving it shredded and dripping both blood and regret. He felt sick, his gut roiling like the Long Lake during a storm, and a sour taste flooded his mouth, one that he fought back. He didn't want to be sick, didn’t want to give Nina that power over him. She was nothing to him. As low as Azog had been. Perhaps lower.

At least, that was what he told himself.

Either way, he had no desire to discuss it with Dwalin, to look at the smug expression Dwalin was certain to give him to go along with his I told you so. 

“I’ve no wish to speak of it,” he replied slowly. “And I am not brooding over her.”

“Thorin, you were staring off into the dark forever.” Nina affixed him with a long look. “That’s brooding.”

“I was thinking.”

“You were brooding. It’s all right. You can admit it.”

He didn't want to think about Nina. In fact, he wished he could forget ever crossing paths with her. 

Some of the irritation left Dwalin’s normally cold eyes. With a low sigh, he crossed over to sink onto the bench alongside him. “I’m sorry, laddie. I had the feeling she was trouble and I tried to tell ye.”

“Aye, she was.” Thorin couldn't keep the sigh from his voice. “And I should have listened to you.”

“It matters not now,” Dwalin told him. “It is all water under the bridge.”

It was, but it wasn’t. He’d never felt for anyone what he’d begun to feel for Nina, and that made her betrayal even worse and his pain almost untenable. He was fairly certain he was falling in love with her and he hated everything about it.

But he certainly couldn't say that to Dwalin. He’d never hear the end of it. Would never hear the end of those I told you sos. 

And right now, all he wanted was to go home. To go back to Erebor and lick his wounds and to never be so bloody foolish again.

***

Dale was far busier than it had been the last time he saw it, but Thorin paid little heed to it as he and Dwalin made their way down Stone Street, past new shops and cafes that were not entirely renovated, but were still open for business. He had no interest in shopping and while his stomach did growl, he wanted only what awaited him back in Erebor.

Finally, they were on Dale’s outskirts and all that lay between him and home was a rutted road across the plains. He and Dwalin said little as they crossed it and it wasn't until they were at Erebor’s gates that he let relief surge through him. 

“Your Majesty!” The gatekeeper called down. “Welcome home!”

“Thank you, Fait. It’s good to be back.” 

The gates opened and he and Dwalin stepped into welcoming darkness of home. They parted ways at the Great Hall, with Thorin heading down into the depths of the city, where his recently renovated apartments were, down at the end of a dark corridor, lit only by the torches in sconces mounted high above in the labradorite stone walls. 

The door opened without a sound and when he closed it, he leaned back against it, eyes closed, a sense of utter weariness sweeping through him. Normally he craved the silence and the solitude. But at that moment, it felt odd, almost suffocating to him. He couldn’t help but wonder where Nina had gone, and how she fared, and despite his utter fury with her, he had to admit he was worried as well. She was wounded and had been turned out like a common criminal, left to the mercies of the woods and anyone she might encounter. 

The price on his head remained and orcs knew she hunted him. If they still followed her, they might not necessarily know that she no longer traveled with him. And that would not bode well for her.

His first instinct was to go and search for her. But that was impossible. He couldn’t trust her. She had betrayed him.

“Thorin?”

He bit back a groan at his sister’s voice. “What is it, Dís?”

“Are you all right? I just bumped into Dwalin and he said you wished to be left to your thoughts.”

“And yet, here you are, not leaving me to my thoughts.”

“Don’t be cross, Thorin. I’m concerned. He looked concerned.”

He thunked his head back against the door, his eyes closing again. Dís meant well. He knew she did. But at the same time, he’d gladly throttle Dwalin if given the chance.

“Thorin?”

With a sigh, he turned to tug open the door and gazed down at his sister. “I’m fine, Dís. Truly. I am.”

“Good. He also said you’d run into trouble. More than once.”

His gut curdled. “It was nothing we could not handle. A persistent orc pack.”

Her eyes, the same blue as his, narrowed. “Is that all?”

“It is, yes.”

“Thorin.”

“If you want to know, go ask Dwalin, since he seems ever so willing to discuss my life.”

She moved by him and into his apartment. “He is concerned for you. He said he’s never seen you this way. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Dís. Nothing is going on.” He closed the door behind her, making a mental note to let Dwalin know just how much he appreciated his misplaced concern.

“He said you traveled with a woman?”

As she arched one narrow brow, Thorin’s mental note went from words to actually pummeling Dwalin when he had the chance. “We did, yes. A mercenary who thought to accompany us to Mirkwood.”

“A mercenary?” 

He nodded. “That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

“And her name?”

“Her name matters not and this discussion is over. I am tired and weary from travel and wish only a soak in my tub and a rest in my bed and I’ll not answer any more questions.” 

To her credit, Dís looked contrite. But only for a minute. Then, she said, “You’re in love with her, aren’t you? This woman with no name.”

“In love with—” He snorted to let her know what he thought of that. “Don’t be daft. I told you, she was a mercenary. I paid no mind to her.”

“Of course not. Thorin, please, I know lovesick when I see it.”

His insides twisted far tighter now and the discomfort made him more irritated by the second. “I’ll not keep repeating myself, Dís. And you know nothing of which you speak, so I beg you, leave off.”

She pressed her lips together and slowly nodded. “Of course. But, know, all you need do is send word to Mirkwood and—”

“I said, leave off,” he snapped, his patience gone. “Go find your sons if you wish to mother someone, for I do not need it. And if that is the only reason you’ve come, take yourself off.”

“I’m only concerned.”

“I understand and appreciate it, but enough is enough and I’ll not ask again.”

“Very well. I apologize for overstepping. Now, why don't you come up to the kitchens and eat something and not talk about this mercenary over tea?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to turn her down and send her on her way, but food and drink did sound like a good idea, so he nodded. “Very well, but I’m having ale.”

“Suit yourself.”

****

 Icy rain soaked into Nina’s hair, her tunic, and her leggings. Her boots actually squished with each step. Her thigh throbbed, heat wafting from the wound in a way that made her nauseous. Infection. Her worst fear had come true and there was nothing she could do about it. 

Dale was quiet due to the weather, the stalls in the town square covered by brightly striped canvas canopies that had been unrolled and tied down to keep the wind and rain from lashing the goods within. Shops were open, as were cafes, but she knew better than to enter any of them, for any shopkeeper would take but a single look at her and send her on her way.

“Nina? Nina Carren?”

The voice was vaguely familiar and as she squinted through the rain, at the young woman hurrying toward her, a relief so powerful it brought tears to her eyes swept through her. “Sigrid?”

Sigrid, daughter of Dale’s current Master, Bard, was a welcome sight. Nina knew her from the times she and Bard would come to their stand in Esgaroth and thought she was a bit younger than Nina, over time they’d become friends. 

“Oh, goodness, Nina, what happened to you? Come and let’s get you out of this terrible weather.”

As she spoke, Sigrid looped an arm about Nina’s waist, which made Nina’s eyes tear up and her throat tighten from the power of the relief sweeping through her. She could barely put any weight on her leg, it hurt so much, and the heat radiated through her from the wound. “Thank you,” she managed to whisper.

“What happened? Oh, you know, forget I asked. We can talk about it once we’ve got out of this weather.”

Nina’s stomach lurched with the thought of explaining to Bard why her bedraggled self had latched onto Sigrid. “Where do you call home now?”

“I moved into my own flat a few weeks ago,” Sigrid replied, leading her down a narrow alley toward the northern end of town. “I have a job as well, at a tavern. If you like, I can see about getting you in to speak to Harald. I mean, if you need a job, that is.”

“I will, but first, I think I need a doctor.”

“What happened?”

“I crossed paths with an orc pack. It wasn’t a morgul blade, but still did its damage.”

“Let’s get you inside and I will take a look and then I can send for the doctor if need be.”

Nina nodded and that was the last they spoke until Sigrid unlocked a door at the street-level of a white stone building at the very end of the street, overlooking the lake. Sigrid helped her over the threshold and over to the lone sofa in the room, and Nina was never so thankful for anyone’s kindness as she was for hers. 

“You rest,” Sigrid told her, drawing a colorful quilt over her. “I’ll fetch Mr. Mathews. He’ll know what to do.”

“I promise, I won’t move a muscle.” 

The last thing she remembered was Sigrid’s gentle smile, then she gave into her exhaustion. 

[court-jobi]

Want for Nothing

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x modern!OC, Tessa DeVon

Words: 6,404

Rating: Teen+ (inuendos, testing the waters--mmm) (18+ for spicy themes to be safe)

Warnings: no-angst confession, pining, LOTS of touching, kisses and grinding, lovely dirty talk, sweet, sweet romantic tension

A/N: a bit of fluff, bit of pining, and no small amount of delicious chemistry for these beloved characters who are FINALLY acting on their feelings... Much love to @fizzyxcustard in celebration of her recent trip around the sun... belated, but very much deserved! This one's for you, m'love 💞

Summary:

Take away the robes, the sword, the crown, and the weight of responsibility; these things leave Thorin as just a dwarf. A dwarf with pride, passion, and loyal to a fault-- and yet also easily the most honest and endearing man Tessa DeVon has met in this or any other realm- most notably, hers.

And does she ever crave him. The dance with death they faced on their Quest is over, and Tessa ever so wants to settle into a gentle ending with her Dwarf King.

The busier the two get, she'd do nearly anything for a moment alone, and when she happens on just such an occasion, she's thrilled-- only to doubt reading into the situation with one sided intentions. But what if these feelings were not so one-sided? How might she be rewarded when she brings her heart to the surface…

Read on AO3

There's a learning curve or two, for Tessa to learn in Erebor. Or three. It’s hard to keep count; it feels like there is a new one every day…

The Mountain is both familiar and not. The stories she’s heard on their cross country trek to the Erebor has painted a clear picture in her mind– and now, she’s seen it in the flesh and has the chance to have a hand in helping rebuild it. Her reinstated King has his mind set to restore the parts that should be redeemed back to their former glory, and to also sort out the plans for the things he wants to change. As the second of his royal namesake, Thorin II has the rare opportunity to make this kingdom as he sees fit– one to truly bring all the dwarf kingdoms into the fold and see Erebor and her people reach higher highs than his forefathers ever conceived.

And that’s a hell of an undertaking.

Not that he wished to micromanage, but Thorin has spent days slaving over each department’s planners and ledgers to get a solid master plan in place, with those he trusts at the top– because if his Company worked this hard to come home, too, he's going to see that they thrive in their new roles. There's bound to be missteps -trial and error- but the kindly voices of hardy dwarves around him will help him tackle the learning curve.

There is also the matter of his conscience– another, new learning curve of his own. Thorin must wrangle and settle the guilt of his failings… and thank Aule that Tessa promised to be here to see it through. 

He’s told her any time she’d listen that he relies on her for that blessing– the mercy that passes his understanding.

Tessa is so proud of the whole operation, of all of them– if a little at a loss of what to do, herself. Through recovery, she was able to be of help during a most stressful time; but the first night the entire Company sat together again for a reunion meal now that they’ve all healed, the questions came to how they would divide the shares, their stations, etc. Each member, to the last dwarf,  volunteered to aid Thorin however he deemed. 

The journey brought them together so closely, and none could go long without seeing each other now that they’ve been through Hell and Back Again. 

In the very beginning however, Tessa could not have felt more like an outsider. 

Welcomed as she was and tested through trial after trial living amongst them with linked arms, living in the Lonely Mountain was a new experience entirely. She might have been given nickname after nickname by the men in her life: from playful to annoying, to something called Sanâzyun… but she was and could never forget, in every way, a stranger to this land: to the Race of Men, Elves, to the dwarven kind.

… to the very World of Middle Earth. 

So while she rested her head each night under the assurance that she had a secure place here and plenty of friends who cared for her, Tessa made no mistake to try and assume she knew it all from a few stories and some history lessons around a fire. 

Out of respect, she nearly excused herself in the early meetings when they talked over all this– but Thorin stopped her in her tracks each time she made to stand. In perfect grace, he’d extended an offering to her, 'naturally'. He swears she'll want for nothing if she chooses to stay, 

'Celebrate your wins, yes. But please, share in this– our joys and our revelry as well– this home we've won together. This Mountain is yours to call home if you wish it so. You bled for this just as we all have. I cannot imagine a soul here would not want for you to stay, Tessa.'

So she agrees to stay… like she was going to choose anywhere else. Everyone cheered when she gave the news.

So they each set to work. 'Rome wasn't built in a day', and neither will Erebor. Tessa decided to shadow Balin and find the nooks and crannies that can be preserved. Royal Quality Control– similar enough to her old job, she reasoned. She learns the Mountain home best this way... though in doing this, she also caught a bout of 'smog sickness' from the lower mines at first– the third learning curve. She had to learn the power of hydration in the hot forges and the importance of a good, well-fitting facescarf.

But as with all new things, these stumbling blocks were all teaching lessons: Tessa’s to find her place in this world,  and Thorin’s to not sweat the small stuff and to try and rest himself.

–and maybe learn to come to terms with his heart’s feelings too. Tessa’s a bit ahead of him on that front… 

It's been weeks since their last talk on the subject;  of their undeniable chemistry. Rather than put a name to their draw to one another, the dwarf King and his odd, other-worldly Darling with her funny flat twang of an accent have remained in a dance of sorts, ever since… and Tessa -poor thing- has never quite forgotten what's all been pushed to the side and gotten in the way.

Perhaps, she wonders as she slips on her long sweater atop the layers of embroidered dress, I can snag him aside for a little chat tonight. God knows he needs a break. Maybe I'll pay Dwalin for a good distraction, some whiskey– yeah, that'll do it.

So, with a smirk, Tessa slipped a bottle of her personal stash from her makeshift bedside table, wrapped it in a leather skein, and set out into the Hall at Fili's call for her. 

Here Tessa found herself surrounded by the brashest blend of personalities in what was beginning to be actually a very relaxing moment... At dinner, the Company had all been merrymaking and having a blast of it. There's been builds, a hog tying, and something called a 'Stumpfest': which for those out along the mountainskirts, that was a success called for a celebration. Tessa will take any excuse to open this whiskey again. 

Then as the evening dwindled on, the stories began; clusters of family and friends telling their tales of old, and thankfully, making an attempt to include Tessa as much as possible. It often felt like a personal storytime to her, whenever her boys took the helm of a conversation. 

'Ye won't believe this next one lass, just wait till ya hear-'

Good thing Tessa brought the whiskey for the occasion- she'd need it for herself after all these gory war stories…

Across the room where Heads of House have gathered for a meal, Thorin was actively blurring the lines between work and play as they speak. His sidebars, from what Tessa could vaguely tell were ones of nostalgia which segued into his current happenings quite well. Still, she'd listen to him all day if she could. 

Everyone at the table, and truly everyone in Erebor, sees their king as infallible, immovable and without any chinks in the armor– never knowing that his biggest enemy is himself. After all, his fatal flaw is never turning that brilliant mind of his off. Funny, Tessa thinks to herself, that he'd be a prime candidate for Redbull or Five Hour Energy advertisements for as much as he complains about not having the energy to get through the day. Though in the warm din of the evening fires blazing across the fire stones, he'd gained a second wind through a pint or two of his favorite ale.

Tessa snuck a glance from where she sat among a circle of master storytellers; namely her dear Bofur and Nori. Even with hilarious sources of distraction right next to her, she’s unable to part her sights from Thorin for long. He’s just– captivating. Even here - at the end of the day with his hair down and tunic untethered to the low point of the neckline. He’s irresistible. And not helping Tessa’s endless pining of him…

As the hour dragged on, she was pleased to see Thorin laugh and ease himself of those hard lines of focus he wore– and was hit with even more delight when he met her eyes with rapture and ultimate fondness, even from across the room. It was electrifying, every time, to have his focus all on her. (What she wouldn't give to have a way to speak mind to mind, because she cursed the distance between them whenever he looked at her like that.)

Sure enough though, the pull to be by his side was too strong– and he, too, beat her to the same draw. 

Thorin came to her circle of conversation, where Bofur was regaling another far-fetched story Tessa assumed was toeing the line of fantasy. While he didn't react to the outbreak of laughter that ensued, Thorin spoke above them on the downbeat, begging the group to allow him to borrow Tessa– effectively excusing the pair 'for a quick review while she has the time'. 

Tessa assumed this was a lovely excuse to take a walk, as they left the hall and into one of the upper corridors.

–but it wasn't. No, he's actually picking her brain and trying to find the right bit of parchment in the Mapmakers Study to show her something, and swept her away to help him look. 

For a moment, Tessa did find this adorable: Thorin, flitting about mumbling a decade's worth of history as if she can hear him properly, explaining what he's doing. But it's just his way of trying to catch her up to speed, so she took their outing as a dear expression of that. 

Inside this room, Tessa found a little perch beside the table she happened upon. It's ancient and caked with rubble, dust, and stacks of books. Oh, and of course, Dwarven scabbards; because who in their right mind in Erebor would find themselves without their steel at their side, even one abandoned generation ago? The mess was a funny sight. Careful of nicks and splinters, Tessa minded where she sifted through, all while Thorin dug around like he owned the place speaking only in fragments- sorting his thoughts as he did the hidden treasures laid out before him.

A comfortable quiet passed between them, leaving Tessa to a host of thoughts in her inner dialogue. When Tessa recalled the memories and stolen moments they shared like this– the ones they typically came so close to talking about, but were always interrupted for one reason or another– the flair of impatience reared up.

Thorin's promise, especially.

So, Tessa broke her waiting silence,

"You said once, 'I wouldn't want for anything'. Not while I lived here, right?"

Thorin only barely cocked his head, still on the hunt for whatever he was searching for. 

"Mm, that's right," he offered blindly. "Why do you ask."

A knife's hilt caught her attention. To admire the goat's-leather handle, Tessa picked it up and leveled it on a finger– and kept her gaze from him, as aloof as she can manage, 

"Well I gotta say…" she lightly sighed, "If the taste of what I had in Laketown is any indication, I'd say I'm pretty neglected."

Polite quiet was thrown out of the room– by Thorin’s hand on the table rolling something off it by accident. 

The sound turned Tessa towards the clatter, and then to her lovely companion. Completely puzzled, Thorin looked up to her newly alerted. Concern coated that expression.

Tessa made a concerted effort to keep her face as neutral as possible. Really sell the blasé look to him;

"On the back porch?..." Tessa threw the memory into the open. 

Tomorrow would be the blessed day that’s been over a year in the making: the day that would see the dwarves reach Erebor, and the buzz about Bard's small home couldn't be more lively. With the exception of Kili's room where he fought with sleep and the aches, the Company had trouble getting a good night's rest when the journey would be reaching its end in a matter of hours– when they'd take the boats from Laketown and see their home again. Yes, this was the night before they take on their last stretch of road, so Tessa joined Thorin on the balcony for their nightly chat– presumably their last peaceful one for a while.

He's wearing red tonight. It's a borrowed shirt and decidedly too long in the arms– and yet he pulls it off with a rugged finish. He could don any color and he'd look amazing… even though the Durin blue is the natural choice. Surely it will return after a wash day gives it new life.  

Threading his arm, relaxed, Tessa keens in the cool of the night and said she'd decided to come outside to simply enjoy the view while she has it. –but as he noticed she's looking right at him when she said the words, Thorin settles into the moment's respite with her, comforted as never before- and squeezes the hand laid atop his. 

Didn’t last long, this stretch of magic and attraction. When picking up the sound of Bilbo and Balin wandering out the door on the far side of the dock to talk with him, Tessa took her leave; well, not before she snuck a kiss on Thorin’s cheek before he can turn and say otherwise. But words never came in his surprise: only action.

It’s so fast– Thorin catches her wrist back, pulls the palm over where his heart beat, and gives Tessa a real kiss for the very first time: warm and firm due to how close she was. 

The pair didn't notice since Tessa bluffed so well, passing them and the Company with that stolen moment with the King all to herself. Secret kept, she simply beamed in what looked like pride to the outside, after slipping inside and losing herself to drink and a buzz that had nothing to do with the wine. 

A tense parting would come the next morning… As Kili's health waned, Fili stubbornly set standing by his brother’s side, the Company received an earful of even more warnings about the Mountain's curse, and poor Bilbo fluttered about more nervous than he'd ever been. Before they set out from the city, when Thorin asks Tessa to stay in Bard’s home and care, she agrees because it's obvious: she'd protect his family without question and understands Thorin to-a-tee. He worries for them both, his sister-sons, but in turn, Tessa makes him swear to be careful until they can rejoin him. He gives his word as best as possible- as the Uncle, the Leader, and something more... 

Under the little half canopy, some wooden chimes blew their way in the breeze as a send-off song of their own. Nothing more to promise as she knew nothing truly was, Tessa offered Thorin as confident a smile and 'go get em' as she could manage. 

But as she heads inside, Thorin catches her elbow again to make her stop. She's thrilled her brave show of affection wasn't a dream, when the dwarf cups her head and kisses her goodbye again in private where no one can see them: under tarps, caring touch, and broken bits of light above them… shedding what hope they could offer this tired, wooden corner of the world .

–And it all fell into place; each line of Thorin's confusion dissipates as he realizes just what Tessa means. 

What's more is his response, interest seeping in: 

"Is that what you want?"

Tessa cocks her head. All too demurely, mind you– sliding a hand back through her hair's part, the flirty act deliciously fluffed it up. She's feigning innocence, but even the smallest of moves all but scream how she's presenting herself from the chest, out. 

True, Tessa wants his kiss again.. But she wanted something even deeper, felt herself wanting for more than just that one brief connection on the surface. 

She yearned for every bit of Thorin: those moments of pride she’d observed in public, as well as these intimate ones here. She wanted his heart, his mind, his kindness, his righteous  rage… she wanted to taste every story he’d gift her, and wrap herself up in that voice for the rest of forever. 

So in short? Yes; she wanted him. 

But this behavior… this is a wager. A huge limb she's leapt onto. 

Whatever Thorin was looking around the desk for her to see went forgotten. Instead, he chose to close their gap. 

With steady steps, he saunters close to his fairer company– dangerously eyeing her face, to her neck, to the slope of her chest, and to her eyes again. The move forced Tessa into a lean back onto the desk, pinned. Under such dazzling eyes, she just holds back Thorin's stare with a saucy, hidden smile.

"The lady wants for a bit of attention, does she?" 

Thorin soothed the woman in reach as he framed her perfectly, hands bridged on the desk on either side of her. 

"Just a bit, maybe," Tessa slides her hands along his lapels- not so cautiously anymore. "Not to be an inconvenience, Your Majestic-ness…"

With a careful eye, Thorin outlined her features as he looked her over, ignoring her jab and seeking the intention underneath. He's no simple-minded man- he sees everything in a word: what she says and what she means, even in her jests. Something akin to doubt crossed his face as he spoke his mind, 

"I'd not been certain… Forgive me if I cast the wrong impression your way," Thorin sought her forgiveness through a tender touch of her arm, "Tessa, I've only ever– I've tried my utmost to carve away time to you, as you rightly deserve. Though I’ve not presumed or demanded so…"

A lovely flip bashed against Tessa's chest, her desire: spurring her nod of the head to placate his worry. 

Thorin asked further, meekly,

"Am I to believe you– might feel as I do? Regarding that night, and… the morning that followed, and the– Mahal, what you said in the infirmary…" Thorin winced at the shared memory; indeed, reading into things too late. 

Tessa bopped her head again, a subtle way to show her heart lies with him without a doubt in her mind. That it wasn't too late…not when she'd given her reason for staying, why she'd stay in Thorin's corner, and the reason she'd keep coming 'round: 

'Love– present tense.' 

"Feels like ages ago, but– yeah." Tessa confessed. "Kinda hoped it wouldn't be a one-time thing," A small, enticing smile tinged the side of her mouth. 

"I feel a fool all the more, then," Thorin chuckled as he swept Tessa into his arms more comfortably, "I truly have been distracted, haven't I."

"I don't think a single person here would blame you, Thorin. You're more than busy– you're booked three or four times over, hon," Tessa laughed herself, sinking into his arms. "Your people's King comes first, and I know that; and I can behave myself well enough on my own between my sightings of the guy."

Thorin's look softened upon her. He clearly wasn't content with this status quo.

"And it's not like I feel ignored, not in the slightest! M'only–" Tessa trailed off, turning coy again and fixating on all these details up close; the stiching and braidwork she'd come to associate with this more illustrious form of 'Thorin', "--just finding myself craving a certain someone's attention sometimes. Just from one, particularly regal source, busy as he is…"

With his palms swept up her corseted sides, the dwarf before her teased her right back. To her delight– Thorin likes to play, too.

"And whose attention is that?” he asked lightly, “There are several dwarf lords here tonight, all from noble blood. Whose attention have you sought after, so patiently?..."

Breathless as she locks in on his lips and gives a playful little smirk, Tessa hug hims loose around the shoulders.

He's got her: snug in tight, in perfect space to nuzzle noses, close to speaking into her partially open mouth,

"Tell me, Tessa~"

His Darling swallowed. Won't take much, she'll be caving any moment now. Broken and breathy, Tessa stood stock still beside herself. Her chest heaved with the words,

"-'d like yours."

Thorin rumbled, "Louder."

"Yours." Tessa's shudder.

A happy, low moan came from Thorin in response, his forehead dropping to hers for a nuzzle. What she'd been reduced to by this man's voice…breaking eye contact from that gorgeous face to study his neck.

"Shyness, from you. Wherever did this come from, pretty thing?"

Forget shyness and patience. Tessa whines, tipping her head up for a kiss.

"Thorin, please."

The dwarves' King quiets her with a devilish hush of his lips before collecting her hair back and capturing hers in one fell swoop. But one right after another, Thorin easily lost himself in the sensation.

 Just as guilty and greedy for so much more. 

Breaking for labored breaths and a too-long glance, a delighted smile lit up Tessa's face, and one in equal measure to his. 

Giving him attention back, Tessa's hands cupped his strong neck and jawline, fingers teasing deliciously down to his beard before seeking a path through his hair like he'd done to her. This earned a straight growl and a deliberate step forward to pin her to the table-- to the point where Tessa felt Thorin's 'presence' in every sense of the word.

She sighed his name, like she could breathe it until the end of time to sustain her. For Tessa, it was easy, and right off the tongue, to react like this at the lack of room, distracted by his press to notice him straying to lap at her neck now. 

Paws cradling her to him, Tessa's stance spread to let her leg give out and lift on instinct. 

Reading her moves by touch, Thorin yanked behind her knee to prop her up against the surface to fit himself to her. She was pretty sure a knife hilt and some empty scabbards laid flush against her bottom, but she barely cared.

"Thorin--" Tessa lightly sighed and swallowed for control. Her head buzzed from within, and echoed by his moans answering hers, "some--ah.. Don'-- nnng d-door?"

"I don't care." Thorin growled in a deep place in his chest. "Let them come. I've waited for you long enough."

Tessa gawked: has he??

She could chuckle now, she's that relieved– but gasped at the sensual kiss and light suck to her ear. Thorin teases the stud between his teeth. Nuzzling her back to center, he mumbled something delicious in his native language before his mouth was yanked back to meet hers again by way of slightly trembling hands.

There's no hope now; Tessa's addicted. Now locked in, she bit along Thorin's bottom lip to claim him– wordlessly crying out 'mine' to his lips.

The game of back and forth wound up with Tessa being hoisted fully onto the table, Thorin's hands petting just about any curve he could reach. Fingers long since tugged her collar down so he could worship her jewel-adorned chest, one palm braced above her as she has him locked between her legs by the waist, making out with him half atop her. 

As her sights stayed fixed on every bit of his regal features, Tessa's exploration of Thorin's chest and arms' reach had him heaving heavy, excited breaths when they broke away-- each huff exerting intense restraint to not bowl her over and lose himself in her entirely. The sight thrilled her.

While she held onto his pillar of a bicep, Tessa gave Thorin's neck an extra dose of care and took advantage of the angle to whisper all sorts of nothings up to him– anything to break his damn restraint and give her some sort of pressure between her hips.

"God you're gorgeous…”  Tessa sighed, the praises coming naturally. “Watching you run this place like you were always meant to... teasing with those baby blues of yours, and all I can do is watch you-- so fucking unfair."

Thorin shuddered under her tongue.

"How the hell am I supposed to focus all those days last week… stuck in that throne room, wishing I could just walk right up to that dais, n'sit on your lap... That's my spot, after all; you promised you’d keep it for me~"

"Mahal, Tessa..."

Tessa smirked, 

"Part of you wouldn't even care if I did, would you? I could wear that blue dress you like on me so much. Won't be any mistaking whose I belong to then, huh~" She whispered up to his ear. "Maybe one of these days I just..might..do that."

Thorin rattled a low growly noise, something fierce and turned on. 

He caught her neck in a light hold, tearing her from her niche under his curtain of hair,

"Nnng, must you say things like that..."

Tessa upped the ante on the sweetness, despite the lustful glare he gave.

"Would you rather I lie and say less, my darling Highness?" 

"Lies don't become you," Thorin grit out, tugging her up flush against him, "But if you're to be so lavish and colorful in your descriptions of what you'd like me to do to you, I'd prefer it to be in a warm, lit room with a good, sturdy bed– and not in the same hour I have to turn tail and face my innermost council with my 'sword drawn'."

A chortle burst from her with a lovely giggle-- the audacity, she could imagine the faces now. 

Thorin fixed a look at her laugh, straightening his waistband as subtle as possible.

"You are set on becoming the death of me, aren't you."

"I doubt you really wann’a make a deal with Death now after all this time, do you? Thought you had work to do."

"Work that you do not seem remotely interested in partaking in right now, little minx."

"I am interested, I've always been interested," Tessa sang up to the object of her affections, "Just thought maybe you deserved a break–" Tessa eyes him back with a glance... and a super slow uptick of the leg,  "Just a nice, little distraction."

Thorin pressed in at that front leg advancing. He groused into her shoulder, inlaying a kiss between his thoughts. 

"What was that?"

"A desperate dwarf's plea, my darling dove." Thorin moaned at the base where her neck and shoulder met. "'Have mercy on this stubborn soul.'"

"Hey~ m'not trying to embarrass you," Tessa smooths his hair back and directs him by the bearded chin to face her, "Just want you to feel the same as I do. Just as good, just as special."

"My special one, you are." 

Thorin mouthed at her cheek after a sweet kiss, continuing, 

"--and how I'd enjoy showing my special one just how special she is–”

Tessa sank into his arms tightening around her waist, giving in to his support.

“For Mahal as my witness,” Thorin all but sang into her ear low and clear, “I'd not show my beloved my efforts in this musty place. I'll not have her on a desk that's not been touched in who-knows-how-long when I commit every blessed inch of her to memory…”

Good God.

Thorin rakes through her hair before the poor thing could speak, could think- 

“No; I shall have her on the finest bed in these Halls. Nothing in earshot but a fire raging: crackling the air around us, accompanied by that perfect sound of every sweet noise I drive out of her- filling the Mountain itself. Every last beg and moan and sigh and cry. I take my time. I do not rush, and I will not allow her to hold a drop of her sweetness back from me. And believe me, Sanâzyun, I will know."

Tessa... stopped working. 

Then he promised again, 

"You will want for nothing… whilst you are under my care and my house. Not now, nor until my last breath." Thorin pulled back to hold her gaze to him again, "Does that please you, my sweet, neglected One?"

The tiniest noise escaped Tessa-- not unlike steam from a teapot-- but was silenced as Thorin sealed his filthy promises with a lavish kiss to her jaw. 

The rest of Tessa's neck bowed, compliant; leaving Thorin with the room and to he time he willed to carry on with adoring attention to her nape, all while massaging up her leg through her dress.

… –at least until an oaken door flung open in a crash against the wall. 

Tessa flung into panic mode- what she must look like, a wanton thing; Thorin forced them both to duck, quick now, under the desk. 

Once landed on her ass and tucked in by Thorin's massive, immovable arm, Tessa choked on her laugh– heaven knows why they're doing this... But Thorin simply held her: back flush against him with the unspoken swear to not move a muscle.

"Will Mahal in His Grace please give me a reason not to whack this oaf, please! I need a sound voice of reason for once, THORIN!! 

"I'll show ya REASON, you ancient pair a' donkey's buttocks!!" 

Tessa looks at said King over her shoulder to catch sight of it; Thorin simply rolls his eyes and firms up his mouth. 

Tessa mouths, 'donkeys buttocks?' It took everything to keep her from giggling– this scene is ridiculous. Thorin however, while keeping a sharp ear on where the others were in the room, met her silent question with a cheeky wink. They listened on– praying to every spirit that their surprise company would just leave. The wandering hand cupping Tessa's waist spoke volumes as much….

Which worried her– because she could hear steps all around the backside of the table.

She can't really believe this: two grown adults were hiding from from their dearest, closest comrades and kin. 'Like randy bairns', Dori would say… Of course, he's presently debating with Gloin something fierce. 

"Well surely you gotta give him the context, Dori!!"  Fili chimed in to lay down the law. Tessa could imagine the hand motions he's giving to seem his most princely. "Be fair, now! Tell him who's really got the grievance." 

"The lords over the Guild are making a right mess of the armory- we got one chance to do this right, and it's all gone to straight horseshit. It doesn't even take a novice to know what a mess it is- ye can't even walk straight down the Hall, there's rubbish everywhere!" 

"I TAKE OFFENSE TA THAT!" Gloin fired up again, "I've given a GENEROUS allotment to see to the– bah, just as- Not asking ya to come see fer yourself like a nanny," grace reentered the Redbeard's tone, "but- Thorin, you in 'ere?"

A hand petted along Tessa's ribcage. Not a word. 

"You sure he's in here, lad?"

"Saw 'em come in here myself…" Fili mused low in his chest.

Tessa bit her cheek against the pang of nerves for distracting Thorin in the first place. Then, a silent nip to the soft spot on her still-exposed shoulder changed her feelings; she became confident she needn't worry if he wasn't.

"Don't exactly got the best track record of watching where folks are going tho, are ya boy."

"That was one. time." Fili groused, never living down the 'Ponies Incident of the Spring'. "Fine. Let's go your way, Dori."

The two bickered on with an exhausted Fili following suit. But by Grace, Favour and Luck, at the sound of his nephew's grunt to close the oaken door again, Thorin let his head fall back on one of the table supports. 

The sigh that left him was tired and worn. 

Tessa slunk back to recline against him- more across his lap so that she could see him fully, 

"Popular mister you are, huh?"

Thorin bristled at even his closest blood relative who left the room. "Only ever at the peak times I wish not to be."

Tessa chuckled at Thorin's interrupted expense, but snuggled up to him all the same. Naturally he welcomed the cuddle, and coincidentally helped her heart slow down a bit at both their rush of passion and the scare. With a shadowed curtain over them, the pair out of the low lamplight, this hiding spot did wonders for the senses and made everything feel more cozy between them– yes, even criss-crossed on the cold floor. Thank goodness for the linens over the table.

Reminded Tessa of those tarps that gave them shade in Laketown. How similar this all felt, a nighttime deja vu rather than the day... 

"Suppose I might be the selfish one, after all–" Tessa stomached her guilt. "This is just this sort of thing I was trying to avoid..."

"What do you mean?"

Tessa truly felt juvenile now, cooped up and hiding from prying eyes. 

"This." she sassed, "Crawling around like children, trying and almost failing to keep a secret thing going?"

Thorin gave a naughty laugh at this, one that betrayed his years, too.

"Now that you mention, who's to say this need be a secret, really..." 

"You, apparently," Tessa wrenches back to look Thorin dead in the eye, "You're the one who hid us under a flippin' table!"

"Because you were nearly about to faint at my next words– and I'm not letting my nephew see either of us in this state!" Thorin laughed, incredulous. "Imagine what you'd might have cried out for the whole neighboring quarters to hear, had I carried on just so-"

And she did indeed start a poor try to smother her giggles at the sheer embarrassment. Thorin tickled the daylights out of her sides until she scooted into his lap further to gain the high ground. 

While Tessa revealed in this soft spot she’d found in her dearest and most unexpected crush, the thought sunk in how quickly he did, in fact, hide away. He had said he was trying to avoid the look of losing himself, and Tessa couldn't forget that appearances - though vain- were important to him.

As much as she loved the man underneath the regalia, Thorin was the King- he and the crown were inseparable. 

"Don't tease, Thorin." Tessa heaved, breathless. It was easy to disguise her pause as mirth for a moment. 

But Thorin pored over the way her face must have changed with a careful regard,

"I am not teasing you."

He cupped her cheek then, keeping her close with a gentle hold, Thorin leaned in to brush their foreheads together. 

"What of you, my Heart," he rumbled softly, "Would you sacrifice your happiness as I have… and wait along for a mere moment's peace with the one you seek for the rest of your days when you may have it all, freely?"

Tessa's brought to tenderness by his words.

"Well.." she managed with a Southern smile, shifting to mesh her fingers with his off her face, "When it's you, I think any chance is worth it, even if it's small. Even if…."

She glanced up, to the plans laid out on the table above them,

"... this is the only chance I get to really work up the guts to tell you just how much I would want that with you."

While she couldn't read his mind, she was no fool: Tessa saw how her words affected Thorin, as maybe he never got to hear them.

Those lovely, heavy-set brows tilted and softened. 

"I'll take ya however I can getcha, yknow." Tessa tried to lighten her meaning, "I'm really not out to keep you from those who need you, hon. That list is getting longer by the day."

"And if.. I said I needed you?"

Oh how she tried not to set her hopes too high for that. And yet, she was gifted with its blessing:

" 'My people', our friends, will manage well enough on their own." Thorin brushed Tessa's bangs away lovingly, "And I for one agree with your point of view; you are right. I believe I should spare my time when I can. Indulge in that ‘self-care’ you speak of.”

The term sounded funny coming from him, and caused a smile to flicker into your lips.

“Just for a spell of rest and company every now and then can't hurt…” Thorin decided, “-if you say it really matters."

Music to Tessa's ears. 

Taking that height of heart, Thorin scooped Tessa into his lap the rest of the way. Damn the cramped space, but she made herself fit anyway.

"Maralmizi, Sanâzyun." Thorin said, as solemn as a promise that would be given by a King. 

But that light in his eyes- the one that shot into the soul when you looked at it… Tessa couldn't turn away if she tried. In fact, she melted into it, wrapping Thorin up in her arms. 

That's the look of a lover…

…Did he just say he loves me?

"Something tells me," Tessa whispered down to him, "that I think I know that one. You just spun three words, with eight very sweet letters around in Khuzdul… M'I right?"

"A fair observation, yes," Thorin chuffed in a smile, he spiraled a lock of hair around a finger, entranced by its ombre fade of color. "Clever thing."

Tessa beamed in full joy, and nuzzled into him again. 

"I may crave this sight of you all I like," he confessed, "--yet I would also see you by my side as well, Tessa. And proudly keep you there, if you wish," he gave a crooked smile, "If that will satisfy your wanting for the time being, I will make the effort to ensure you do not feel this way again."

Entranced by that smile and adoring words that came from it, 

"Not just for work?"

"You'll have it all. Merely say the word, and you’ll have the world by my hand."

Tessa rested in this comfort. She didn't want the world… just him, really. 

"...I'd like that."

And so, Thorin kissed his Tessa again with ultimate softness- and dare she say, love. 

Perhaps they’d tell the party when they came back into the room, perhaps not just yet. Perhaps they’d keep this between them for now…

Taglist: @lathalea @sotwk @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @guardianofrivendell @middleearthpixie @absentmindeduniverse

^^If I've neglected any tags, please let me know, friends!

[pistachiozombie]

Surprise! Finished another Thorin x OC (Honey-Belle) Commission -for @ladywishywoo ♥

[blankdblank]

Never

It never crossed your mind that Thorin would make it back to the mountain to fall so suddenly. We burn together, a broken fragment of a sentence that choked you nightly when you would jolt up out of bed hearing it again. Gold still shifted, muttered conversations carried while you worked alone. Thorin in his final act shoved his nephews free of the flames and their mournful selves laid resting to let their bruised injured selves heal from the wounds gained in a landing inside an armory. Several times over they were impaled and cut in tries to scramble away from those flames and now the Elf King had been lenient after the dragon had reduced to dust under weight of the sea of gold Thorin let free to a skilled canon fired black arrow at the dragon’s belly.

Taps, soft and deliberate of the chisel and hammer in your hand, much like those of the toe of boots and hands on hilts of weapons for the Dwarf King who knew you startled on watch. So every night he would come to sit with you. Sit and tell you the most fantastic things about all the lands he had traveled and people in kingdoms you couldn’t dream of.

They had told you once in a casual mention that there was reason as to why all the statues of Dwarves were identical. No more. Just one more gentle knock of a stubborn bump away to perfect the outline of eyelashes that framed one of the Dwarf King’s impossibly blue eyes. “Oh,” you sighed. For a moment resting your chisel wielding hand atop the fur lining of his outer jacket he loaned you many a night insisting his people were built for the cold night air.

“Stubborn fool.” Those words more for yourself than him as you’d let yourself hope even for a moment things could have ended any other way than with you again in sights of a future alone and without use in another bustling city like the one you had been all but voted out of to be prey to Wraiths in search of revenge for one of their slain kin.

Dust and the fallen clump of this fine silvery green stone, broken off from a wall you’d chosen for this task, obscuring the face you had carved urged your lungs to fill. Right out the air came to puff the dust away. But just as sudden the blink of those eyes that began to bubble blue had you wobble on the crate you stood upon and fall backwards shrieking in fright. Noise of the gold and conversations halted, and just for a moment even the injured Princes turned their heads in the off putting silence before bodies turned and all the Dwarves came racing in case of danger, heard to lift weapons lying around to not be unarmed.

“Bunnanunê,” right apart his lips split to the bleed of a fleshy tone across the cheeks and forehead you labored days on worry spread across Thorin’s face. Raven black hair came to color out of the green stone just like the shade on the fur color of his coat. “Why are you frightened?” Up into the dark his same eyes so skilled to see through it his eyes moved to scan over the hall lit poorly by open bowl lanterns you had drug here around this ruined chunk of stone you hoped to make use of after it was shorn off a wall to block a path to the treasury. “Where is the dragon?!” barely above a whisper his voice dropped in worry and his body tried to jolt forward and take hold of you, assuming that must be why you were scared. The lack of movement from his knees down however had him halt and stare open mouthed in shock to find himself being carved out of stone.

“Lass!” several of the others shouted in a muddle of voices, only until they entered the doorway and dropped their weapons to name the living statue you still were splayed back across the cold dusty rubble coated floor staring up at. “Thorin…” many uttered to the stunned, now reborn Dwarf King who came to accept a hard truth he didn’t dare to dream might be true.

The rule being you never carve a Dwarf from stone outside the specified rules of design, to prevent heartbreak, as only their destined One could bring their fallen half back to life. Just as Durin was brought back three times by his One until they both passed together of old age into the halls of Mahal.

Bofur was kind enough to hasten over alongside Ori, to get you upright as the latter explained the rule that now had you marked to be their Queen. But only after you did one thing, you had to finish carving out his legs and feet. Jokes of shrinking or adding inches came and went while Thorin spent every moment possible to adore his treasured One until he could step off of this clump of stone and scoop your still mildly trembling self into his arms and never allow himself to be parted from you again.

@lilith15000​ @theincaprincess​ @devilishminx328​ @jesevans​ and adding @deepestfirefun

[woahwierdly]

I’ve feeling about making a fanfiction about a woman getting thrown into the hobbit trying to find her husband but also since it’s been so long maybe finding a new love? Let me know what you think!

I don’t own the hobbit this is merely fanfiction!

Thorin x OC

Emily fell into this world and her husband from her world fell in with her from what she thought, but she hasn’t been able to find him. See Emily had just married her best friend Mark but as they hiking up a mountain for a date they both fell into a cavern and it was lights out. When Emily awoke she was alone in a green field with small homes around her. The sun was high and it was the most beautiful place she’d even seen. Emily was wearing dark black jeans with combat boots, a burgundy hoodie, a thin rain jacket and a baseball cap. She had her old phone but that only lasted a day with her battery dying and she had her wallet with some photos of her family. She wondered for a bit before she found a green door. When she knocked on the door a little man name Bilbo Baggins opened the door. To say she was shocked was an understatement. She quickly realized she was in one of her favorite books. And as much fan-fiction as she read she thought she was going to save the line of Durin but…. Bilbo had just turned 57…. Meaning she had three years before the quest even started! Plus the fact she wanted to try to find Mark so she wouldn’t do it alone! But she had no means of travel, money or anything when she landed in the Shire besides the clothes on her back.

Her and Bilbo quickly made friends and he offered a room in BagEnd so she could get a footing. Within those three years she was gifted quite a nice bow set from Bilbo from Bree because she said she was an expert hunter which she was! Back in her world she often went hunting with her father or husband! She helped provide meat and get rid of a pack of wolves from BagEnd! Emily was quite helpful within the Hobbiton community. And it helped her make money for traveling or clothes. She first got five pairs of blue, a couple white cotton shirts, new boots, a traveling pack, arrows, a cloak with a hood made rain resistant. Now even though Emily and Bilbo were friends she kept her secret, never telling him her knowledge of what has yet to come, she wanted to meet with Gandalf and find her husband to return home…. If her husband is even in Middle Earth. She always wondered if Mark was here, alive or thought about her…. But she didn’t know.

All she knew was today was the day. It was Bilbos 60th birthday! Meaning Gandalf should be by today to inquisit some ideas to Bilbo.

She chuckled to herself not believing she been able to witness this world for three years, it went by so fast and now it’s almost time. Her arms ached with the want of going home and her head felt light. She was ready. As she was gathering rabbits for a stew Bilbo wanted she thought maybe I should have gotten more…for the company but she decided against it. This has to happened naturally well until Gandalf tells her to do soemthing.

It was afternoon by the time Emily left to go hunting and now it was dark, she should be able to see the mark and hopefully hear everyone’s voices or make it just after Balin.

She made her way through the quiet Hobbit town looking around she felt sad, she made a small but comfort life here. Made friends and helped more than she could have imagined. To be getting ready to leave left a small hole in her heart. Putting up her gloved finger to her eye Emily wiped off a small tear that threatened to fall. Chuckling to herself she couldn’t believe how attached she got. As she got closer to BagEnd she could hear Bilbo berating the pack of dwarves for pillaging the pantry.

Breathing in a deep of air, Emily had her hand on the door handle ready to start, and go back to her home. The door opened and the soft glow of lanterns lit the room and onto her face.

This is it. The adventure. The hope. Emily was ready. She would not fail saving the love of Durin, finding her husband and going home.

well??? Leave a review please! More chapter to come! I want it to be a slow burn? Hmmm have decided!::)