#its just the problem of filling the dwarf durin brothers

[gomzdrawfr]

hobbit crossover stuff in my wips folder

I didn't share em bcuz 1) am dying over uni and didn't finalize anything 2) realise I wanna draw actually lotr/hobbit stuff instead of a crossover because I found a new love for the fandom

[thorne-kreizler-fanfiction]

Oh Mahal, please have mercy on me this one time...

-"Dain being Dain" That's not a warning, that's a fucking inviation for me!😍

-It didn't even begin and I'm already screaming. LOOK AT THAT DRESS!!!!

-"The last thing you want is to see him again and you will gladly sit this one out, preferably in your office, swamped with work." Oh come on Ragna, just marry already.

-OMG DÁIN HIIII����

-"You don’t feel like explaining how hard it is for you to take your smoking pouch, the one adorned with Ereborean embroideries, knowing whose hands have touched it before it was given to you." Owwww my heart!🥺

-"Thorin throwin’ a tantrum about the way his tunics are supposed to be folded!" So nice we got context on that!

-"it must have been a lot because it looks like the Night Singer wasn’t invited that night… and everyone was counting on a grand farewell concert!" I would DIE of shame... I don't know how Ragna manages to stand on her feet, I would pass out of embarassment.

-"LITTLE DÍS AND I" AWWWWW

-"She tells me her brother has been going through our latest treaty and doesn’t seem to be satisfied with it." Well, shit... Whatever, TWO MORE WEEK OF NEGOTIATIONS😍

-Thorin: *locks himself in his chamber, cries, griefs, wishes nothing but to love Ragna the rest of his life* Ragna: "If the King Under the Mountain wants war, war is what he is going to get!" Two idiots in love indeed!

-"You are going into battle and you are not planning to show up on the battlefield empty-handed." oh the dramaaaaaa

-"The very elaborate hairstyle with dozens and dozens of braids that will drive any dwarf mad as soon as he tries to decipher their hidden meaning?" Wait, braids have meanings??? Somebody sent me info on this I must know!!!

-"Now you are ready for war. And you intend to win it." You idiot! JUST MARRY ALREADY

-"THE RECLAMATION DAY" Love that. Is my favorite headcanon. Durin's day turning into a Reclamation celebration. AAAAH

-"Seriously, this dwarf-woman could single-handedly solve the population problem in Erebor."🤣🤣

-"Lord Dain who is currently busy reenacting the latest battle with the Orcs. Instead of his legendary war hammer, he holds a roast lamb leg in his hand." He gives off Merida's father vibes and I LOVE IT.

-"The raven crown rests on his head, gold against the silky dark mane of his hair, giving him a truly regal look" HOT

-"But then the King turns to face you and smiles directly at you" FUCKING FINALLY. I WAITED SO LONG FOR THIS SHIT

-"You see it in the way his perfectly styled and festively braided hair falls down his wide shoulders that are covered by a black fur-lined cloak adorned with intricate golden embroideries" I forgot how to breath. Can anybody send a doctor to my house??

-"You see the King, but you also notice the dwarf beneath his royal mask. The dwarf who once looked at you the same way he looks at you now, his eyes filled with warmth and something else that you can’t quite understand…" AAAAAH @lathalea I LOVE THISSSS NEVER STOP WRITING I BEG OF YOU

-"Slowly you open your eyes. Before you can recall where you are, you see a pair of deep blue eyes resting on you, and a face that has become very familiar to you during the recent nights." MY BREATHING HITCHED!

-"Every time the sensual dance of your bodies start, each place on your skin Thorin touches turns into a burning hot metal that can be shaped in any way he likes; when you run your fingers along the peaks and valleys of his muscular body, you can almost feel the lava running through his veins, its temperature rising to impossible levels as you continue your ministrations." This is so poetic and also very "dwarvish-written", as if it was narrated by someone who values the mountains and all subtances of the earth more than anything. And I love it!!! I LOVE IT SO MUCH. It enhances my delusion that I'm a dwarf reading other dwarvish tales💝 @lathalea saying thank you will never be enough!

-"Thorin’s voice rumbles in his chest like the sound of a distant rainstorm bringing relief to the sun-scorched earth." I WILL PASS OUT. STOP IT WITH THE AMAZING DESCRIPTIONS OF THORIN'S ATTRIBUTES❤️‍🔥

-"You feel so small, so fragile in his embrace, and yet completely safe and at ease." This. This is what love is about 💝

-"There is no place for a king, nor a trade advisor in here, all the titles and duties are forgotten. The only important thing in this world at this very moment is the way he holds you close. You imagine that this is how a lover would hold the lady of his heart if he didn’t want to let her go. And you don’t want him to." Aaaaah!! I adore their love story! If there are 100 Thorin and Ragna fans, I'm one of them. If there's only one fan of Thorin and Ragna, that's me. If there are no fans of Thorin and Ragna left, that means I'm dead. I won't say sorry for my dramatic statement hahaha

-"'My feet are cold,' you warn him, but he only chuckles in response and then his leg covers yours. His feet are pressed against yours, giving off enormous warmth." AAAAH YES. I WAS HOPING WE WOULD GET SOMETHING LIKE THIS. It annoyed me when Dwalin repeated that only having lovers meant no cold feet bothering at night, because I think that's the nice thing about being with someone you love. To share warmth and endure cold nights. I used to have a boyfriend who would caress all parts of my body until I no longer had cold skin, so it annoys me when people complain about cold feet. Share more warmth with your partner! Such a simple thing but these details make me love this fic.

-TWO PIECES OF THE SAME ROCK. OH, STOP IT WITH THE DWARVISH WRITING OR I WILL CRY.

-"the way his heart beats, strongly, steadily, as if it was beating only for you" AAAAAAH I WANT A THORIN😭 Can I get a loving Thorin for Christmas, pretty please?

-AWWWWW THEY ARE SO CUTE. PLEASE MARRY ALREADY!

-"He looked at you in that special, intimate way. How dare he?! Then smiled at you with that disarming smile of his. Outrageous! And you replied with a smile in turn. You didn’t bat your eyelashes at him by any chance, did you? Ragna, you silly girl, weren’t you supposed to ignore him?! Weren’t you supposed to be over that cold-hearted Thorin Oakenshield, the great king and the brave warrior who has a rock for a brain? Ah, well." I love how I go from silently screaming and pulling my hair at their encounters to laughing out loud. This is so well written

-"You look up and see Lady Dís" I GASPED SO LOUDLY

-Dís' description 🥹

-"Your cheeks should not burn, and yet they are. Traitors." For some reason I'm laughing so loud at this. Lol just admit it already, Ragna! There's no point in further denying that you love him!

-Oh Mahal I love that Dís felt the need to help her brother lmao these two idiots can't be left alone to solve their problems

-She… did… not… just… No. Stop searching for hidden meanings, Ragna! She has no clue what happened between you and her brother in the Iron Hills!" AAAAAH I'M SCREAMING (silently, it's too early in the morning yet to let my emotions unfold freely😭)

-"He had his chance with you and he ruined it!" WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I want to break something

-“There’s enough space for the two of us,” I identify as Brazil's natural wonder

-"'What a shame we are in a hurry,' you hear his voice and then his hand disappears." I gasped. Kill him, Ragna!

-"A great scepter is a mark of a great king, isn’t that how the saying goes?" I am a waterfall

-"'Shhh…' he whispers, pulling out slowly only to sink into you to the hilt equally unhurriedly, all the way in." Ragna has a level of solf control I can only dream of having because if he had done this to me I would have alerted everyone all the way to the Misty Mountains

-"Effortlessly he lifts your other leg, holding the full weight of your body in the air as if you were as light as a piece of parchment." WHAT A STRONG DWARF. GIVE ME MOREEEEE. I CAN'T TAKE IT WHEN THEY ARE SO STRONG AND MUSCULAR❤️‍🔥

-"A storage rack just behind his back constricts his movements; they are short, quick and incredibly precise, just at the angle you like. Thorin is a very observant lover - during your nights together he quickly learned what gives you the most pleasure and now makes a good use of his knowledge" I am officially a body of water, bring a photographer and turn me into a natural wonder

-"Thorin’s face is buried in the hollow of your neck, his hair spilling in soft waves over the bare skin of your chest," His hair😍😍

-"he grins and leans into your lips, sealing it with a slow, sensual kiss that makes you almost forget who you are and where you are." Aww. This is what love is about, I believe ❤️‍🩹

-"You brute! My bodice is ruined!" "You wonder if kissing your king until he loses his breath and falls unconscious to the floor is a crime against the crown." LOL

-"Thorin Oakenshield, the King Under the Mountain, is kneeling. In front of you. And your heart is beating fast," and mine has totally stopped

-"you can only follow the movements of his nimble fingers as he intertwines the torn straps together, pulling them through all the loops. He works quickly and efficiently, with a small frown of concentration on his face," I WILL PASS OUT. THIS IS SO HOT WTF

-"It is only when that person is his queen." I AM SCREAMING LOUDLY

-"You forget that I have a younger sister. Dís has been plagued with wardrobe malfunctions for as long as I remember" AND IT GOT EVEN HOTTERRRRR. Oh Mahal, dwarves with sisters who know how to treat women>>>>>

-"You know we would agree on your terms without you sweetening the deal.” “I also know about how many families with the little ones live in the Iron Hills. More than in Erebor" I was smiling so brightly at this and suddenly my face turned grim. Lmao @lathalea what are you doing to me?

-I SHARE THE FEELING OF RAGNA'S PANIC

-"A hunky male falls on his knees before you and all you can think of is popping out babies for him" I LAUGHED SO HARD. Lol been there done that, Ragna. No shame here

-"Thorin speaks business, but his tone is not at all business-like." 🥺I love him. HE DID THIS PURELY OUT OF GOODWILL, SHUT UP RAGNA'S BRAIN

-AWWWWW I LOVE HIM AND I LOVE THEM THEY ARE SO CUTE

-“If you require education in this matter, my lady, I will be more than happy to tutor you tonight in my bedchamber,” I gasped so loudly that I bet if I was hidding in Smaug's treasury he would have found me and eat me

-“Do you think that’s a wise negotiation strategy, my lady? Talking about milk and breasts while I’m so close to the latter?”🤣 I laughed so loud

-"As soon as you leave that door, there will be no Thorin and Ragna, but a king and an advisor." I will cry

-"A day of draining negotiations for a few fleeting moments of passion. Is this a fair price, Ragna? Deep down in your heart, there is the answer waiting for you, but you don’t want to hear it. Not yet." OMG. RAGNA JUST ADMIT ITTTTTT

-“I truly hate this part.” OWWWWWWW I AM SCREAMING SO MUCH

-"It is time to put all those confusing, maudlin thoughts away, bury them deep down in your heart, along with every other thing he makes you feel." Oh yea I bet that will work

-“Don’t you?” I swear I'm shaking. I feel Ragna's anxiety through the writing lol

-“Yes, yes, sure. But hasn’t this thought crossed your mind?” Dís, you are not being subtle at all 🤣

-“Is he such a coward that he sends his own sister to speak for him?!” I SCREAMED AND LAUGHED SO LOUDLY. Off with all subtleties, I see.

-"If gaze could kill, the whole Erebor would be now preparing for Captain Dwalin’s funeral."🤣🤣

-"As he does so, his grin widens, and then you hear a sound of a goblet being forcefully set on a table, somewhere in a distance, among the cheerful noise of the feast" OH THE DRAMAAA

-"The face of the ruler of Erebor comes into view yet again. This time, his massive, fisted hand rests on the table. His jaw is set, an unmistakable sign of anger, and there is a deep shadow over his darkened eyes." THE JEALOUSY OF DWARVES❤️‍🔥

-"I’ve seen that glance only once, five years ago in the treasure chamber, and it ended in battle." I SCREAMED

-RAGNA I WILL KILL YOU AND KEEP THE KING FOR MYSELF IF YOU DON'T STOP BEING AN IDIOT

-"Damn you and your stupid heart." I AGREE

-“I need to put an end to this mess once and for all.” FUCKING FINALLY. I punched my desk so hard

-"And then you follow your king one last time." LAST TIME??

-This chapter was a mess and I loved every second of it

-OMG LATHALEA I HATE YOU THIS IS SO GOOD

-Highlight of the chapter:

All Is Fair in Love and Trade –  Part 8/9

Relationships: Thorin x Reader Rating: E Warnings: Dain being Dain, anger, angst, smut, not-so-short chapter

You can read the other parts here:

The Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ... For @gwen-ever 💙 Thank you for your support and help and especially for the gown 🤩 💙 Gwen picked an amazing gown for Ragna for this chapter and you can see it here. 💙 Do you want to see how Ragna looks? @grunid made this art to show us all how she looks in the Iron Hills. Isn't she lovely? Thank you so much, Grunid! 💙

💙 And this is a commission by the talented @sipulisipsi showing Thorin sitting in his study and looking at Ragna's map. Thank you everyone for reading, supporting us and joining in for the ride. I give you the penultimate chapter of Thorin and Ragna's story (aka idiots in love). Enjoy! 💙

* * * All Is Fair in Love and Trade, part 8/10

The Iron Hills, next morning after you receive the invitation from the King Under the Mountain

You are facing Dain Ironfoot, the lord of the Iron Hills, in his study, clutching the cursed invitation from King Thorin II Oakenshield in your hand. The King of Longbeards himself had the audacity to invite you to the Durin’s Day Feast, the most important event of the year in the kingdom. Or, in fact, in all the seven dwarven kingdoms. But that’s not everything. Durin’s Day is not only the first day of the dwarven year. On this day, five years ago, Erebor was reclaimed by its current king (and your ex lover) and his company, so the celebrations will be even more festive than usual. Every dwarf you know would beg for a possibility to attend this anniversary feast, but not you. Oh, no. You’ve had enough of the arrogant, overbearing, cold-hearted king. In fact, you’ve had too much of him, and too much of the heartbreak your acquaintance with him has caused you. The last thing you want is to see him again and you will gladly sit this one out, preferably in your office, swamped with work.

“My lord, I’m sure you understand my reasons. My presence is required in the Iron Hills, I simply can’t leave the…” you offer yet another argument from the sizeable arsenal you prepared. Unfortunately, today Lord Dain is not in the mood for listening to them.

“Yer goin’ with me and the rest of our delegation to Erebor, lassie, and that’s final!” Lord Dain stomps his foot as he stands in front of you, the pair of wild boar tusks in his moustache pointing at you.

“But there are preparations for the winter to be supervised and…” you protest.

“Master Gorm will take care of them, just like he did last year, and the year before that!” Lord Dain says adamantly. “But I need to be preparing for the negotiations with King Thranduil, there are only five weeks left!”

“Come now lassie, ye’ve been preparing for it for months now! There’s no one else under these bloody hills who would know more about treaties with those pointy-eared tree shaggers than ye!” You huff in indignation at this blatant flattery, but deep inside you admit it is good to feel appreciated by the ruler of the Iron Hills.

“If we are to have a chance of signing a profitable treaty with the Woodland Realm,” you state, “I need to study the last agreement between King Thror and King Thranduil, I think that the White Gems...” “Ye can study it all you want when ye’re in the saddle on the way to the Lonely Mountain!” he furrows his brow and tilts his head slightly. “What is it, lassie? I know how much ye like the Durin’s Day celebrations! Don’t ye want to see what they look like in Erebor? Don’t ye want to dance and sing and be merry?” “I…” you start. Well, he has a point. If it was any other year, you would be counting days until the feast by now, nibbling on honey roasted almonds, trying on new dresses, choosing the right jewels and most comfortable dancing shoes. But this year it is different. “I think I’d prefer to celebrate it here…”

“It’s because ye’ve never seen a Reclamation Day Feast in Erebor! There’s so much food, wine, mead, and ale that ye can eat for a week! There’s the dancing too, I know how ye like it! And Bombur’s gravy is finger-licking good! Even me bonnie wife’s gravy doesn’t taste that well, just don’t tell ‘er I said that, lassie! Me back is too old for me to sleep on the doormat again!” he winks at you conspiratorially.

“My lips are sealed!” you can’t stop yourself from smiling. “But I’d rather watch my weight this year. I’m already having problems fitting in my dresses!” you try to joke back, but there is a shadow of truth in your words. During the last few weeks, since a certain someone left, you may have been eating a bit more than usual. One of your friends is a baker and she makes delicious chocolate cakes! A chocolate cake is always there when you need it. It won’t leave you. It won’t judge you. And it offers comfort, almost like his embrace once did. Damn it, Ragna. Don’t you dare think about his strong arms around you.

“... what I’m sayin’, lassie?” Dain’s voice brings you out of your musings. “Me cousin invited you! Ye know which one, the handsome king, not the toothless one! If Nain and not Thorin were to invite ye, that’d be a completely different story!”

You sigh. It’s time for yet another argument.

“I have been suffering from migraines recently and I’m afraid traveling would only make them worse,” you try a more personal approach. The last thing you want is sharing your health problems with your boss, but right now you don’t see any other way.

“Fer Mahal’s sake! It’s because you smoke Old Toby’s like a chimney! I told ye so many times already! Try the Bree Blend!” “To be honest, I’m trying to cut down on smoking pipeweed,” you say, looking away. You don’t feel like explaining how hard it is for you to take your smoking pouch, the one adorned with Ereborean embroideries, knowing whose hands have touched it before it was given to you. Thorin’s gift. The only thing you have to remember him by. Except for that stupid bead gathering dust in the darkest corner of your bedroom. Your throat constricts for a moment. Are you going to cry now, Ragna? Stop moping around and pull yourself together! Lord Dain is talking to you!

“... some herbs or somethin’! Ragna, lassie, I need ye there with me! I’m not risking trade relations with Erebor only because my head advisor does not want to see the king!”

“H-how do you know?” your eyes widen and you feel the heat in your cheeks. Damn, have you been that obvious that even Dain noticed it?

“Only a blind man could have missed the lightnings coming from yer eyes on the last day of the negotiations! And Thorin was in such foul humor afterwards, I tell ya!” he shakes his head, giving out a chuckle at the same time. “Do you know that he threw a servant out of his chambers only because the poor boy folded his tunics not the way the king preferred? Imagine that! Thorin throwin’ a tantrum about the way his tunics are supposed to be folded! Ha! Like some feckin’ dandy!”

“Who would have thought…” you let your voice trail off, but in his excitement Dain seems not to notice it.

“Whatever happened between ye, it must have been a lot because it looks like the Night Singer wasn’t invited that night… and everyone was counting on a grand farewell concert!” he winks with a cheeky smile, but you don’t smile back and look away, feeling the moisture gathering in your eyes. No, these are not tears, not at all, there is something stuck in your eyes for sure.

“Forgive me, Lord Dain, but I truly don’t think King Thorin II will be happy to see me.”

“What are ye talkin’ about, lass? Haven’t ye noticed that this invitation is the King’s personal request?!” he points at the parchment you hold in your hands. “Even I haven’t gotten a fancy piece of parchment like that and I’ve known ‘im since we were beardless pebbles running butt-naked through the corridors of Erebor!”

“Oh,” you manage to form a not so quite eloquent response, trying to process two crucial pieces of information. One - this invitation is supposed to be a great honour, coming from the King himself. Great. Two - your imagination shows you a vivid image of the aforementioned king sprinting happily through the mountain, naked as Mahal created him. Lord of Stone, have mercy on you and your befuddled brain.

“You said something about our trade relations with Erebor being at risk?” you quickly change the subject.

“Yes, and that is why ye have to go to Erebor with me, lassie, and help me out of this latest mess!” Dain leans towards you and lowers his voice to a whisper. “Lady Dís visited me some days ago…”

“Lady Dís? I wasn’t informed of her visit,” you admit. You have been working so much these days that you wouldn’t have noticed anyone visiting, to be honest.

“It was an… unofficial visit. I’d rather it stayed between us, lassie.” “Of course, my lord. I won’t tell a soul,” you say, intrigued by this new fact. “What was the reason for her visit?”

“How should I…” Dain scratches his head, his forehead creased. “We’ve always been great friends, little Dís and I. She tells me her brother has been going through our latest treaty and doesn’t seem to be satisfied with it.” “That’s his problem, not ours. The treaty has been signed!” you snort, clearly remembering every single clause of that cursed agreement.

“Yes, but its effective date is not until one day after Durin’s Day, the day of the first shipment from Erebor. To make matters worse, he’s been sending me angry letters! It doesn’t look good, lassie, not at all!” Lord Dain’s face is contorted in anguish as he raises his voice. You have never seen him so agitated before. “I don’t know what we’ll do in Erebor without ye! I worry my cousin may change his mind and reopen the negotiations. If ye’re not there to make him see some sense, we’re doomed! That sly fox, knows that we’ll do everything to get those weapons! He’s holdin’ us by the balls, lassie! By our own hairy balls!”

Thorin Oakenshield. You grind your teeth in anger. What a bastard. What a heavy-handed, bull-headed, stubborn mountain goat of a king! Of course! You should have expected this! You refused him, and now his male pride is suffering, so he will do everything to make you see him one more time! He is probably already planning to offer you even more as an addition to his proposal, even more extravagant chambers, jewels and two dozens of servants to make you agree to spend your nights in his bed.

Liquid fury is running through your veins. If the King thinks he will change your mind this way, he’s sorely mistaken. He should be lucky he’s not in the Iron Hills at the moment, because you’d go to him and shout into his face what you think of him, so loudly that every single person in the Iron Hills would hear it. You would be louder that all of the Night Singer’s performances put together!

A growl escapes you as you clench your hands into fists.

“I will go to Erebor with you, Lord Dain,” you hear your own voice.

If the King Under the Mountain wants war, war is what he is going to get!

And so it happens. You are going to Erebor after all. Perfect. Just perfect. Not only you will have to face the King Under the Mountain along with his grunts and frowns, but also you will have to mollify him. At the same time, you would have to act professionally and pretend that nothing ever happened between you. Easy peasy, right? It’s not like you feel that dull ache in your heart every time someone mentions his name, or even the name of his mountain. And it’s not like his face haunts you in your dreams, along with the memories of his deep, alluring voice, his captivating gaze.

Face it, Ragna. You are in deep trouble and you are heading for a catastrophe.

***

Three weeks later, Erebor, The Durin’s Day Feast

You are going into battle and you are not planning to show up on the battlefield empty-handed.

The most lavish gown you have in your arsenal, you know, the burgundy and silver one with a soft tulle skirt and intricate flower embroideries adorned with diamonds? Check.

The fact that the gown has low slits that almost indecently expose your most enticing curves and is designed to reveal the most skin in the history of dwarven fashion as you move? Check.

Oh, and have you mentioned that the elements of its bodice and arm pieces are made of sapphire-encrusted silver and are placed strategically to accentuate the strengths of your figure? Check.

The very elaborate hairstyle with dozens and dozens of braids that will drive any dwarf mad as soon as he tries to decipher their hidden meaning? Check. A dazzling gem-studded choker around your shapely neck to bring out the color of your eyes? Check.

Of course you haven’t forgotten about a bit of rouge on your cheeks and lipstick in a sinfully vivid color to draw attention to your sensual mouth, have you? Of course not. Check.

Now you are ready for war. And you intend to win it.

***

Dain was right. The feast in the Main Hall of Erebor is spectacular. It’s everything he said, and more. Tons of delicious food, countless jugs of ale, mead and wine, music that makes you want to dance as soon as the official part ends, and many, many cheerful guests from all the dwarven kingdoms of Middle Earth, celebrating the Reclamation Day.

There is one little problem, though. You are bored to tears. You don’t know who in their right mind came up with the brilliant idea of seating you between two dullest guests at the feast, but you’re not thinking very warmly about that person right now. To your right sits the ancient Master Stenfast (Lord Dain’s Mining Advisor, the one who loves very looong and very boooring speeches), and he’s already napping over the wild boar roast, his longest beard braid stuck in a gravy boat. To your left, Lady Kolga, an ancient dwarven matron who came here all the way from the distant Red Mountains, keeps educating you in the intricacies of her family tree. Fortunately for her (not so fortunately for you at this moment), she was blessed with four children, and each of them had children of their own, who, in turn, had… yes, you guessed it, tons of cute little pebbles. Seriously, this dwarf-woman could single-handedly solve the population problem in Erebor. Now however, you are stuck with her, listening to all the anecdotes about her great-grandchildren, her grandnephews and great-grandnieces, each and every single one of them being a special gift from Mahal himself. Fascinating (no, not really). What’s worse, you have to appear as if you were actually listening to her. You force yourself to nod or say “awww!” in all the right moments even though in your mind you’d rather sit next to a warg female (because everyone knows they are even more fiercer than males). At least, she would bite off your head quickly and not torture you with lengthy tales about her latest litter of fierce pups.

Trying not to follow in Master Stenfast’s steps (now you’re not wondering why he dozed off, even he couldn’t withstand the onslaught of cute facts about all those babies), you pinch your thigh under the table in an attempt to stay awake. You try to ignore the familiar but unwelcome pressure in your temples telling you that you should expect yet another headache soon.

With a sigh, you let your gaze move around the hall, wishing you could sit with that group of tipsy Blacklocks already singing a rather naughty drinking song; or together with those warriors recounting their battle tales; or maybe even next to Lord Dain who is currently busy reenacting the latest battle with the Orcs. Instead of his legendary war hammer, he holds a roast lamb leg in his hand. When he delivers his final blow to the imaginary orc, a big chunk of meat lands in the nearest gravy boat, sending droplets of the brown sauce across the table. Quite a few of them land on the face of the dwarf sitting beside him. It’s Dwalin, the Captain of the Erebor Guards, you have met him already during your previous visit to Erebor. Now half of his face, including his tattooed forehead, is dripping with gravy, and his impressive black moustache is drooping sadly as he gives out a growl.

You can’t stop yourself from chuckling and try to look the other way, pretending the source of your merriment is somewhere else, when you encounter a pair of sparkling blue eyes. A pair of eyes that you recognize at once. Oh, Mahal. It’s him. The dwarf you have been avoiding to look at through the entire feast. Thorin. The King Under the Mountain. Your heart flutters the same way it did when you met him for the first time. The raven crown rests on his head, gold against the silky dark mane of his hair, giving him a truly regal look, but Thorin is chuckling too, apparently just as amused by Dain’s shenanigans as you are. But then the King turns to face you and smiles directly at you, and there are the crow’s feet ringing his eyes that you’ve always found so charming. You can’t stop yourself from admiring all of his features. The first thing that strikes you is that Thorin’s signature frown is gone from his forehead, and his thick eyebrows look darker than you remembered. Perhaps it’s because his face seems to be slightly less tanned than it was when you saw him last (no, Ragna, you are not going to think of that night now!). Your eyes slide along the prominent ridge of his nose (no, Ragna, you are not going to recall how it felt to trace its shape with your fingers!), all the way to his perfectly groomed moustache and beard (no, thinking about how pleasantly bristly his beard feels against your skin when you kiss doesn’t help either!). Damn it, Ragna, let’s face it. He’s devilishly handsome and you can’t deny it. Also, it looks like the King Under the Mountain has made an effort to look his best on this special day. You see it in the way his perfectly styled and festively braided hair falls down his wide shoulders that are covered by a black fur-lined cloak adorned with intricate golden embroideries, the pattern of the royal line of Erebor. He emanates prosperity, majesty, and raw male power. You see the King, but you also notice the dwarf beneath his royal mask. The dwarf who once looked at you the same way he looks at you now, his eyes filled with warmth and something else that you can’t quite understand…

***

Slowly you open your eyes. Before you can recall where you are, you see a pair of deep blue eyes resting on you, and a face that has become very familiar to you during the recent nights. Thorin’s face. There is a softness about his features that you have never seen before, his eyes filled with warmth and something else that you can’t quite understand…

You realize it’s the middle of the night and you have dozed off in his bed after an evening filled with passion. Both you and Thorin lay on your sides, facing each other, your clothes, the quilt and furs completely forgotten. You recall what happened before. As soon as you touched, your desire for each other kindled a fire so strong that it could be used to melt iron in the forges. Every time the sensual dance of your bodies start, each place on your skin Thorin touches turns into a burning hot metal that can be shaped in any way he likes; when you run your fingers along the peaks and valleys of his muscular body, you can almost feel the lava running through his veins, its temperature rising to impossible levels as you continue your ministrations. This time has been exactly the same. When you both reached your diamond peaks of ecstasy, the heat between you was barely bearable. You fell on the bedsheets, your body filled with bliss, and the last thing you remember was a thin sheen of sweat covering Thorin’s skin, making him look as if he was glowing in the candlelight.

Now, his eyes are set on your face, and you notice a slight curve of his lips, a shadow of a tender smile hiding in the darkness of his thick beard. You blink a few times to chase the last wisps of sleep away and smile back at him, still feeling the sweet exhaustion in your limbs. No words are needed, not now, the silence is more than enough. Nothing else matters, just you and him, him and you, the merciful silence, and the echoes of rapture still lingering between you. These are the secret moments you share in the small hours of the night when the hills around you are asleep, oblivious of your happiness. Yes, Ragna, even though your mind is still hazy from your slumber, you feel that warm sensation blooming in your chest, and you allow yourself to bask in it just for a few evanescent moments more.

Thorin’s cerulean gaze caresses your face and then his hand reaches out to brush away an unruly lock of your hair. Tickled by this movement, your nose tingles and suddenly you sneeze. Only then you realize that the air around you chills your skin. “Come here,” Thorin’s voice rumbles in his chest like the sound of a distant rainstorm bringing relief to the sun-scorched earth. “Let me warm you up.”

His arms reach out towards you, but you are faster than him. In a blink of an eye you move towards him and turn, pressing your cool back against the pleasantly warm skin of his massive chest. You start wondering whether indeed liquid lava flows in his veins instead of blood; this is exactly what you need right now. Thorin wraps his strong arms around you and pulls you even closer to him. You feel so small, so fragile in his embrace, and yet completely safe and at ease. There is no place for a king, nor a trade advisor in here, all the titles and duties are forgotten. The only important thing in this world at this very moment is the way he holds you close. You imagine that this is how a lover would hold the lady of his heart if he didn’t want to let her go. And you don’t want him to. You want this moment and this warmth between you to last for as long as you are able to breathe. Oh, Ragna. When have you grown so sentimental? Damn it, Ragna’s brain. Stop overthinking everything. Right now, you don’t care.

“My feet are cold,” you warn him, but he only chuckles in response and then his leg covers yours. His feet are pressed against yours, giving off enormous warmth. Soon, you can barely remember that you’ve felt chilly barely a moment ago.

“Better?” he purrs into your ear and you let out a satisfied hum in response.

The way his skin feels against yours, the way your bodies fit together like two pieces of the same rock, the way your body relaxes as he envelops you with warmth, with closeness, with the smell of pine needles, the way his heart beats, strongly, steadily, as if it was beating only for you; every single thing you experience in that very moment makes that warm sensation in your chest bloom into a flowery garden. A tiny piece of you tries to tell you something, to warn you perhaps, but you don’t care. There is only the closeness, the warmth, and the silence. Only you and Thorin. And you don’t want it to stop. As he holds you tight, you feel how your hearts beat in the same rhythm, how you breathe in unison, as if you were one. You and him, in a cocoon woven of perfect silence. Surrounded by the warmth of Thorin’s embrace, you slowly drift off back to sleep.

“You are my own private furnace,” you manage to mumble before slipping deeper into slumber. As you are about to enter the realm of dreams, you hear his chuckle, as if from far away, and then his voice, as he murmurs into your hair, “Always at your service.”

Or maybe it’s already a dream…

***

SHUT UP, Ragna’s brain! Forget about his eyes, his embrace, his alluring voice! It’s all in the past! Have you forgotten why you came to Erebor? You do your job, bend that arrogant king to your will, secure that bloody treaty once again, and get back to the Iron Hills as soon as possible. Preferably, first thing in the morning.

This is when Thorin Oakenshield, the ruler of Erebor, his eyes still set on your face, lifts a chalice to his mouth, discreetly saluting you with a toast, and then his lips sensually wrap around the edge of his cup. Uh-oh. Your cheeks are burning, your heart is galloping like a startled pony and you answer with a slight nod, secretly hoping for the ground to swallow you whole.

He looked at you in that special, intimate way. How dare he?! Then smiled at you with that disarming smile of his. Outrageous! And you replied with a smile in turn. You didn’t bat your eyelashes at him by any chance, did you? Ragna, you silly girl, weren’t you supposed to ignore him?! Weren’t you supposed to be over that cold-hearted Thorin Oakenshield, the great king and the brave warrior who has a rock for a brain? Ah, well. No use crying over spilt ale. Think, Ragna, think, you need to turn your misstep into an advantage.

“Is this seat taken?” says a pleasant voice to your left, startling you.

You look up and see Lady Dís, the king’s sister, pointing at the empty chair next to you. Lady Kolga is not there any longer, probably offended by your lack of interest in her tales (finally!).

“Please, sit down, my lady,” you reply politely, even though your mind is full of completely different thoughts. Thorin, King of Erebor, the second of his name, smiled at you. Now you are deliberately looking away from him, but you can’t shake off the feeling that his gaze is resting on you even now. You catch yourself curling a stray lock of your hair around your finger. Yes, you are nervous. And annoyed. What business does he have to smile at you that way after everything that happened? Is he thinking that his alluring smile is all the incentive you need to jump back into his bed? Or perhaps he is so full of himself that he thinks he has won and you came here to beg him to take you back? HA! Fat chance! Isn’t it obvious you were forced to come to Erebor by his machinations? You never even wanted to see his face again! Seeing it in your dreams is enough of a torture! That bloody…

“Lady Ragna?” you finally hear Lady Dís’ voice.

“I’m sorry, my lady, you were saying?” you scold yourself inwardly and focus your full attention on her. There is no doubt about her lineage, judging by her profile, she is clearly a member of the line of Durin. Her dark, wavy hair is adorned with a multitude of beads and several diamond pins. A thick, elaborately pleated braid on the side of her head goes all the way to her waist and you can bet that many dwarves dream of touching her silky hair just like many dwarf-women sigh at Thorin’s mane. Lady Dís looks at you with a small smile, her eyes blue, but not ice-blue like her brother’s. They are slightly darker, like the sky on a summer evening, giving off an impression of warmth.

Thorin’s sister smiles a bit wider, the corner of her lips curling up in amusement, “I asked you how you liked the feast?”

“It is very…” you take a look around for inspiration (no, not looking at HIM!). “It is very grand. And the decorations are breathtaking! I have never been at a feast like this before. It’s an honor to be here,” you bow your head slightly.

“My brother will be delighted to hear it!” she replies.

What, what, what?!, you scream internally.

“How nice of his majesty,” but this is what you say.

“Thorin has been working very hard to make sure that the anniversary feast becomes a memorable event. He especially wanted to impress our guests from the Iron Hills,” she tilts her head slightly.

Your cheeks should not burn, and yet they are. Traitors.

“The food and the beer have surely impressed Lord Dain,” you point at the lord of Iron Hills as he drunkenly tries to impress everyone around the table with another tale of his epic endeavours.

“Dain is easily impressed,” Lady Dís chuckles. “But I believe my brother has been looking forward to seeing all of his Iron Hills guests at this feast.”

“There aren’t many who would decline such a polite invitation,” you reply, trying to keep your voice calm. You are telling the truth. As far as you know, you are the only dwarf in the entire Rhovanion who would rather spend this evening at home, as far away from Erebor and its king as possible.

"I’m glad you decided to come,” she speaks to you, but her gaze is directed at her brother, the only person in here that you would rather not look at right now.

Lady Dís continues, undeterred by your silence, “I haven't seen him that serene in a long time. Since the reclamation of Erebor he has always been so busy that I worried he had completely forgotten how to loosen up.” her voice trails off. She casts you an enigmatic glance and then pops a berry into her mouth.

“His majesty clearly cares deeply for the well-being of all of his subjects,” you offer, trying to sound polite, and hoping that Lady Dís doesn’t notice your embarrassment. You wish you could get Thorin’s tantalizing smile from a few moments ago out of your head.

“Yes, he is very caring, especially when it comes to his family,” she casts another glance towards the head of the table where her brother sits. Once again you force yourself not to look in that direction, but you still feel his gaze on you.

“I would never have guessed!” you can’t stop yourself from saying, and then add quickly, trying not to leave the wrong impression, “I didn’t have many opportunities to get to know his majesty better.”

“I can imagine,” she replies, taking a raven-shaped pastry from a nearby platter. “My brother is not the easiest person to know and I heard that you were quite busy,” she makes a small pause to bite on the pastry, “with the negotiations.”

She… did… not… just… No. Stop searching for hidden meanings, Ragna! She has no clue what happened between you and her brother in the Iron Hills!

“Indeed,” you take a sip of water, trying to buy yourself some time and avoid betraying your emotions.

“I guess it is different in the Iron Hills. Here, in Erebor, my dear sons, those rascals, made sure that everyone knows the delightful stories of how their uncle raised them, basically single-handedly. They mostly do it to annoy him or to charm the girls they meet in the tavern,” she chuckles. “But if I believed every word they say, I’d be convinced he popped them out too, not mentioning the breastfeeding!”

Saying these words, she winks at you and somehow this gesture makes you think of her cousin, Lord Dain.

Suddenly, you feel at ease and can’t stop yourself from laughing, “This is most definitely not the story we have ever heard in the Iron Hills.” “Unfortunately for my poor brother, it is quite popular both here and in Ered Luin,” she grins and fills her goblet with wine. You try not to wrinkle your nose. Dorwinion wine still doesn’t agree with you.

“Unfortunately? I would think he would be proud of such great feats!” you joke, allowing yourself a bit more freedom. Dís seems to have more in common with her cousin Dain than with her cantankerous brother.

“I see you know something about him after all!” she laughs. “Normally, it would be true, but these tales have made him a… well, sort of a target in recent years.”

“A target?” you frown.

Lady Dís doesn’t say a word, discreetly gesturing towards the head of the table. Your frown deepens, but you look in that direction only to see a dwarven matron, none other than the fecund Lady Kolga, accompanied by two young ladies, barely of age (probably her great-granddaughters, or was it great-grand nieces?), making acquaintance with the king who has just gotten up from his chair. These maidens are very well-dressed, very pretty, and very lovely. Very. You clench your hand into a fist. The King bows at them courtly and kisses each of them on the hand. You grind your teeth and suppress an angry snort. The young ladies respond with giggling and blushing. And have you mentioned how cutely they smile and how graciously they move? You take a fork and forcefully stick it into a piece of meat on your plate. Looking at that sickly sweet scene makes you nauseous.

Thorin’s sister leans towards you and whispers with a small smirk.

“Lady Kolga would be very happy if one of the girls caught my brother’s eye. Since Erebor was reclaimed, she’s been presenting young ladies to my brother every year at the Durin’s Day feast. I believe she wants to join her house with the line of Durin,” Dís takes a piece of cheese from a nearby platter.

“You mean to say… he is searching for a queen?” your voice trembles slightly as a ball of ice forms in your stomach and your throat tightens. Why do you even feel this way?! You are not supposed to care about whatever he is planning to do with his pathetic kingly life, not any more. He had his chance with you and he ruined it!

Lady Dís looks at you in a way you can’t quite decipher, and replies slowly, “I really couldn’t say. But with our kingdom reclaimed after all these years, he deserves to be happy. Luckily, there are quite a few decent women searching for good husband material, here in Erebor.”

***

“Ragna…” he presses you against the wall, his scorching lips covering your neck with hungry kisses.

“Mahal, Thorin,” you stifle a moan as his hand covers your breast. You can clearly feel its heat through the soft fabric of your gown. “It’s so cramped in here.” “There’s enough space for the two of us,” his warm breath wafts over your earlobe, making you shiver in delight.

Your searching hands find his belt and unbuckle it quickly. It falls to the floor with a clink.

“We don’t have much time!” you warn him, feeling the thrill of anticipation.

“The afternoon council session will not start without us,” his lips move to your bare shoulder, “and we are busy,” his hands free your breasts from the confines of your bodice, “discussing the details of that new clause.” When his tongue swirls around your already stiffened nipple, a small whine escapes your lips.

“We will be caught…” you protest faintly, your hands sinking in the dark sea of his hair.

“No one will find us here,” he catches your other nipple between his lips and as he tugs at it slightly, a jolt of pleasure runs through your body.

“Someone… someone will hear us,” you let out a half-whisper, half-moan, knowing how difficult it is for you to be silent every time you are with Thorin.

“We will be quiet.” He assaults your lips with an ardent kiss, stifling another of your moans as he presses his whole large body against you while his impatient hand runs down your body, readily finding its way under your skirts. If anyone would have told you that at one point in your life you will be busy quenching your carnal desires (a) with the king, (b) in the middle of a busy day filled with very important negotiations, (c) in a broom closet, you would have laughed at them.

But now you don’t care about the tight space you have found yourselves in, barely enough for you to stand in front of each other, nor about the shelves around you filled with fresh linen, rows or corked bottles, bars of lye soap and cleaning equipment. No, what matters is that you want to moan in pleasure, as loudly as you can, because his fingers, oh, Mahal, his pleasantly calloused fingers of a warrior have just found their way to the secret mound between your legs.

“You are full of surprises today, Ragna,” he murmurs huskily between the kisses as his thumb circles your ruby nub, sending a shiver straight to your core.

“Am I?” you chuckle, pulling his head towards you and kissing him back with passion, your tongues engaging in a dance, intertwining, caressing, parting and meeting yet again.

“Are you going to tell me that you have simply forgotten to wear your undergarments today?” he purrs. “Oh, have I? I haven’t noticed. How silly of me,” you chuckle again in satisfaction, seeing his dilated pupils and his rapidly rising and falling chest.

“You are driving me crazy, woman,” he covers your lips with his in anticipation of your moan that comes just after his fingers delve swiftly between your slick folds and into your core. Your legs almost give way beneath you, but he holds you steadily as he continues his ministrations.

“That’s good…” you breathe into his mouth, your hand cradling the back of his head. As the growing haze of desire clouds your mind, you thrust your hips against his palm, demanding more of the pleasure he gives you.

“What a shame we are in a hurry,” you hear his voice and then his hand disappears.

You gasp in protest, but then you notice where it has gone. Your impatient hands join his, quickly unfastening his trousers that barely contain his hardness. Thorin lets out a groan when you wrap your hand around his manhood, feeling the thrill of excitement when your fingers refuse to meet around his member. You run your hand along his impressive length, back and forth, and then gently swipe your thumb across his tip, making him groan. A great scepter is a mark of a great king, isn’t that how the saying goes? The king in question, unaware of your thoughts, doesn’t waste time. He pulls you up slightly against the wall and hooks his arm under your knee, lifting your leg.

“Ready for another round of negotiations?” he rumbles. “I’ve been ready since the morning,” you catch his lower lip playfully between your teeth and wrap your arms around his neck.

This is when he enters inside you. Deliciously hard. A moan escapes you, but Thorin’s lips are there again, muffling the sounds you make.

“Shhh…” he whispers, pulling out slowly only to sink into you to the hilt equally unhurriedly, all the way in.

“What if…” you gasp as quietly as you can, “What if someone comes…”

“I will make sure you come first,” he growls and thrusts faster, lifting you up the wall slightly. Oh, Mahal, what an amazing feeling this is. Instinctively, you move your arm to the side for balance and hold on to a shelf beside you. If you know anything about your lover, you are in for a ride. And you want it. You want more. You need it.

Effortlessly he lifts your other leg, holding the full weight of your body in the air as if you were as light as a piece of parchment. You wrap your legs around him, supported by his strong arms, arching your pelvis towards his loins. Thorin growls in approval, a distant thunder of desire, and then kisses you ravenously, his teeth grazing your lips. You take his kiss, the promise of things to come, and respond with yours, hungry for more of him.

Your body melts under his ardent caresses, liquid heat floods the pit of your belly at the fervency of his kisses, as you feel the need, the unsated yearning in his every movement. And then he thrusts inside you, and you find yourself taken over by the storm of your joined passion. The rain of his kisses washes over the skin of your neck, cleavage and breasts, the lightnings of his thrusts hitting just the right spot, and you feel the rumble of his sinfully deep voice with all of your body every time he says your name.

“Ragna… Ragna...”

He thrusts. You tighten around him. He continues. You arch into him. He pushes hard inside you once more, and then again, conquering every piece of you with every swift stroke, every powerful movement of his hips he makes. But you need even more than that.

A storage rack just behind his back constricts his movements; they are short, quick and incredibly precise, just at the angle you like. Thorin is a very observant lover - during your nights together he quickly learned what gives you the most pleasure and now makes a good use of his knowledge, sucking at your neck and biting it as he enters you fully once more.

“More, Thorin, more…” you demand. More. This is the only word on your mind now. Everything else is drowning in a haze of lust. More. More. More of him around you, inside you, within you. You want all of him. Everything he can give you, and more.

He lunges into you, and again, and more, more, more. Your heels push into his lower back, spurring him, your nails digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer to you, as close as you can get. More. Your bare breasts press against his rock-hard chest under the fabric of his tunic. His strong hand squeezing your buttock. More. More. More.

The storm of your passion is raging around you, inside you, with impossible strength and you don’t know how much more you can withstand. There is something you want to say, something important. The words escape you when Thorin lifts your leg, rests it on his broad shoulder, and then leans forward again and pushes into you even deeper than before. New sensations fill your veins with fire as he fills you completely. But you know you can’t stop now, not yet. You have to go on. Faster and faster. More and more. You want to take everything that he gives you, and more. Yes, this is what you like, and he knows it. Faster. Closer. Deeper. Harder. Wilder. More intense. Your muffled moans intertwine with his groans. He squeezes your bottom once more, feeling you tense around him as you approach the apex of your passion. Yes, more. More. Everything is so intense, so vivid, so ecstatic.

“Come to me, Ragna,” he murmurs into your ear as he pounds into you continuously, just at the right angle. “Your king commands you.”

You feel the familiar shivers of ecstasy building up inside you and you know you can’t wait any longer. You need to let go. Besides, who are you not to obey your king?

“Thorin!” you throw your head back, moaning his name as your whole world explodes. Your body tenses and then a wave of intense ecstasy washes over you, drowning you in complete rapture. Breathe, Ragna, remember to breathe.

You feel his bearded cheek prickling against the skin of your neck, and then he murmurs something incomprehensible, presses into you once more with a low growl, and joins you in the realm of bliss.

An eternity passes, or maybe just a few heartbeats as the haze of passion starts slowly disappearing from your mind. Your both legs are once again wrapped around Thorin’s waist, but now your muscles are shivering with exhaustion. His stone-hard body is pressed against you as he supports your weight, his strong hands still holding you firmly. You hold on to him tightly, only then noticing how quick, how ragged is your breathing.

Thorin’s face is buried in the hollow of your neck, his hair spilling in soft waves over the bare skin of your chest, his hot breath fanning your breasts.

You place your hand at the back of his head and say, pressing your cheek against his hair, “Why aren’t all the negotiations so pleasant?” He gives out a low chuckle and lifts his head, sparks of joy dancing in his eyes.

“Because you are not conducting them with me,” he grins and leans into your lips, sealing it with a slow, sensual kiss that makes you almost forget who you are and where you are.

You let out a sigh of pleasure and tighten around him, causing him to growl. “I see that you are interested in another round of negotiations,” he smirks and kisses you again, this time more passionately, and you respond with equal eagerness. The truth is, you can never get enough of Thorin, and you don’t want to. Now, your world consists of his eager lips and yours, his exploring tongue and yours, his…

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

A sound of passing footsteps in the corridor outside your hideout instantly pulls you back to reality, and you meet Thorin’s surprised gaze. You both freeze, holding your breaths, but the sound quickly disappears in the distance. Thank Mahal.

Thorin’s face is slightly flushed, a shadow of a haze darkens his ice-blue eyes, his lips are parted and slightly swollen, a clear proof of your recent endeavours, but a small satisfied smirk curls up the corner of his lips, and hides in his beard. That is how King Thorin Oakenshield looks now, and it might be all your doing. With your legs still firmly wrapped around his waist and his arms holding you effortlessly in place, you reach out your hand, sinking your fingers in his lush beard, noticing that his beard braid has been ruined probably as much as your hair. Thorin’s lips brush tenderly against yours as he presses a soft kiss on your lower lip, and then his nose rubs against yours, his beard tickles your cheek. You hope none of Lord Dain’s advisors is going to see you in that scandalous position, completely disheveled… Shit! Dain! Advisors! The negotiations! Damn it!

“Thorin! We are already late!” you exclaim.

“We will continue this matter in the evening,” Thorin grunts and reluctantly loosens his hold on you, pulling out of you carefully, letting your legs touch the floor. Already now, you know that you are going to miss his hands and other crucial parts of his warrior’s body until the evening. Those blasted negotiations! You’d rather spend the rest of the day in bed with Thorin than in that musty old chamber.

You can barely stand, your legs still shivering slightly, but you do your best to make yourself presentable as fast as you can.

“I will go out first,” you say matter-of-factly, placing a small kiss at the corner of Thorin’s lips as he fastens his tunic and straightens it. It is much more crumpled than before, as if someone fisted its fabric in their hands repeatedly, and there is a small tear in the fabric over his shoulder, but you can’t remember doing it at all. The only thing on your mind is the blissful soreness between your legs.

Thorin only nods in response, fastening his belt, the satisfied smile never leaving his face.

“You will wait a few moments and then go after me, if the corridor is empty,” you instruct him, rearranging his fur-lined cloak on his shoulders to conceal the torn tunic. You can’t stop yourself from running your hands twice along the powerful line of his shoulders, but then you notice his gaze resting on you heavily. “And stop looking at me like that!” “Like what?” now he grins. What an annoying piece of dwarf! He is lucky he is so good when it comes to bedsport!

“Like I was a piece of roasted venison and you haven’t eaten anything for a week!” you try to frown convincingly, even if the only thing you want to do is to kiss that smug grin off his face.

“I can’t help enjoying the look of your shapely… venison,” he flashes his teeth in a wide smile and his gaze slides down your neck, and below.

You put your hand over your breasts barely covered by your torn chemise, and gasp, “You brute! My bodice is ruined! How am I supposed to leave this place now?”

“We can stay here until the evening,” he offers with a mischievous glint in his eye. You wonder if kissing your king until he loses his breath and falls unconscious to the floor is a crime against the crown. Ugh, that smart assy, goatish, ruggedly handsome dwarf! You have your duties to fulfil and he is not helping. “And then we will be discovered, and... we’ll be the talk of the whole Iron Hills!” you huff, resting your fists on your hips. “Would it be such a bad thing?” Thorin lifts his eyebrow and his gaze rests on you, searchingly. He has to be joking! What kind of a question is this?! “No, not bad at all!” you retort. “The negotiations will be ruined, and Lord Dain will probably have my head for ‘unprofessional conduct’!”

“Very well, then. We can’t have that happening, can we? Allow me to help you, my lady,” he grins playfully and kneels in front of you. Before you can protest, his hands start fiddling with the torn fabric and straps.

You hold your breath. Thorin Oakenshield, the King Under the Mountain, is kneeling. In front of you. And your heart is beating fast, so fast. But… But he can’t kneel. Not like this. He is the king. He is not supposed to kneel in front of his subjects. He is not allowed. No, wait, it’s the other way around! You are not allowed to stand when the king is kneeling. No, you have it all wrong, the court protocol says… Oh, Mahal, you can’t think straight when his hands cover your breasts, his fingertips tracing your voluptuous curves teasingly, and then returning to the mutilated layers of fabric. In complete confusion, you are unable to say a word, you can only follow the movements of his nimble fingers as he intertwines the torn straps together, pulling them through all the loops. He works quickly and efficiently, with a small frown of concentration on his face, but you can’t ignore the fact that he is still kneeling. This is when you finally recall. There is only one occasion on which it is proper for a king to kneel in front of a standing person. It is only when that person is his queen.

You sway. “Hold still, it’s tulle. It can tear even more,” he warns you quietly, clearly focused on his task. “How does a warrior know so much about fabrics and mending dresses?” your eyes widen in surprise as you desperately try to focus on something else than kneeling kings. “You forget that I have a younger sister. Dís has been plagued with wardrobe malfunctions for as long as I remember,” his fingers bind two more straps together.

“It seems that I am not the only one full of surprises today, your majesty,” you reply teasingly.

Thorin replies with a small chuckle.

“Speaking of which...” you continue. “About that new clause for the treaty, may I ask how you came up with that offer of 100 milk goats? You know we would agree on your terms without you sweetening the deal.” “I also know about how many families with the little ones live in the Iron Hills. More than in Erebor,” a shadow passes over his face. “There are many skilled blacksmiths, artisans and metallurgists among those mothers, are there not?”

“Yes, that is true,” you confirm, wondering how he managed to get that piece of information. Your usual iron ore production and processing slowed down recently as a result of this situation. When the trade agreement with Erebor is signed, you will need quite a few more skilled ironworkers. You and Lord Dain have already spent quite a few sleepless nights thinking about a solution for this problem and not finding any.

“I’m guessing that at least some of those mothers would gladly return to their work if they knew their husbands could stay with their pebbles and care for them instead. They wouldn’t need to make frequent baby-feeding breaks at work nor worry about losing milk.” he tilts his head up, gazing at you enigmatically. “Wouldn’t you be happy with such an arrangement as well?”

WHAT?! There is no need to panic, Ragna. Really, no need. Thorin, the King Under the Mountain, the renown warrior, the sensual lover, is kneeling in front of you and asking your opinion about breastfeeding, babies, and introducing goat milk into their diet. Shut up, Ragna’s ovaries! Shut up!

“I… I suspect so,” you admit weakly, cursing yourself for your burning cheeks, and averting your gaze. Pathetic, Ragna.

“You see it for yourself, then. You need those goats more than we do,” Thorin responds in a softer tone, his long fingers resting lightly on your waist, unmoving.

You clear your throat, still unable to look into his eyes, “Thank you on behalf of the people of the Iron Hills, your majesty. Your gesture is quite… thoughtful.”

What happened to your inner armor, Ragna? A hunky male falls on his knees before you and all you can think of is popping out babies for him, just because he is simply helping you with your dress and talking business? Have you forgotten that he tore it himself in the throes of passion? Seriously, girl, you need to get a grip on reality. As fast as possible.

There is a short pause before the king replies.

“There is no need to thank me. I’m doing it in the best interest of our both realms. You secure your iron production, we produce more weapons for you using that iron,” he says.

Thorin speaks business, but his tone is not at all business-like. It is… softer. Tender, somehow. Through the fabric of your dress, you can feel his thumb moving slowly in small circles. You try to gather your thoughts, not able to understand what he means. What it all means. Suddenly, everything becomes too difficult to process. Surely, it is not possible that he has made a gesture of goodwill (A dwarf? During ruthless negotiations?! Unheard of!) and now he is making up reasonably sounding reasons behind his decision, is it? Right. He is probably doing it to confuse you, yet again, with all his talk about enabling women to work, playing on your maternal instincts. He is, isn’t he? Or maybe… No, no maybies, Ragna! Don’t be a silly cow!

“Well, thank you anyway,” you hear yourself say. Your hands reach out to the top of his head, smoothing down his hair and straightening his crown. It is cold against your skin, the complete opposite of his touch. Your gaze meets his, and you can’t deny that there is something softer about his eyes. A smile appears on your face, and Thorin responds with a smile of his own, his face brightening as your fingers run through his hair. And he is still kneeling before you. Still holding you close.

“We need those milk goats, that is certain. It has only been five years since the threat of a dragon disappeared from our doorstep, and it turns out that the dwarf-women of the Iron Hills are eager to have more babies than just one,” you giggle nervously, trying to cover your confusion with talking. “Would you believe my friend Katla had her fifth child two months ago? Fifth! How is it even possible?”

“If you require education in this matter, my lady, I will be more than happy to tutor you tonight in my bedchamber,” Thorin says with a neutral expression on his face, as if he was discussing weather, but you notice that cheeky glint in his eye.

“You are impossible!” you pat his sinewy shoulder playfully. “I’m trying to tell you that five little children require quite a lot of milk and breastfeeding them is not easy, especially if you want to work!”

There it is, that glint in his eye again.

Thorin’s hands move under your breasts, “Do you think that’s a wise negotiation strategy, my lady? Talking about milk and breasts while I’m so close to the latter?”

“Thorin!” you cover his wrists in a playful attempt to stop him. “I swear, I don’t care if you are a king or not! If you don’t stop distracting me, we will never get out of here, the negotiations will fail, and we will die of starvation in this broom closet!”

He gives out a short chuckle and then presses a hot kiss against the curve of your breast, making you gasp.

“Ah, but it would be a death worthy of a king. I can already see my tombstone: ‘Here lies Thorin son of Thrain, died in the arms of the most alluring woman in the whole Rhovanion’!” a smile appears on his face, that special kind of smile that makes him somehow look much younger and carefree.

“You have no shame, Thorin Oakenshield!” you sigh, trying to pretend you’re not giggling, and failing miserably. “We need to go, they are waiting for us!”

“As you wish, my lady,” he gives you another tantalizing smile as his hands swiftly cover the previously bare parts of your body with layers of fabric, and then secure the bodice in place.

“There, it should hold,” he says.

“It’d better hold, for your sake and mine. I wouldn’t like to shock the revered council members with the sight of my naked bosom if this dress decides to give up on me,” you warn him. “If it does, I will take the full responsibility,” he grins and takes your hands in his, enveloping them in his warmth. “But something tells me it will be a pleasant sight for everyone after hours of looking at numbers.” “Thorin, you are incorrigible!” you chuckle as he stands up to tower over you. “Perhaps tonight, in my bed, you can show me how dissatisfied you are with my behavior,” Thorin places a kiss over your knuckles. “I swear, you are the randiest king in the history of Arda!” you shake your head, unable to stifle a laughter. “You have not complained so far,” he places another kiss on your other hand and casts a seductive glance at you from under his eyelids. “In fact, if memory serves me well, you have been quite enthusiastic about my endeavours.”

“That’s it, I’m going!” you exclaim with a chuckle, feeling the heat of your cheeks. Your hands slip out from his grasp and you turn towards the door. You rest your hand on the door handle and are about to pull it down when Thorin takes you in his arms once more, his hard body pressing against yours.

“Ragna…” he murmurs just before his lips descend on yours, kissing you with an ardour that leaves you breathless. You return the kiss with equal intensity, as if it could make everything else disappear, the negotiations, your titles and duties, the mountains around you; everything except his strong embrace.

When your lips finally part, you both chuckle like a pair of teenage dwarves caught getting up to mischief. Something blooms in your chest, something warm as morning sun and sweet as caramels.

“We should…” you finally say, a part of you protesting against exchanging the warmth of his arms for a cold, soulless negotiation table.

“We should,” Thorin adds with a nod, the merry sparks gone from his eyes.

He moves his hand to your face and tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. His fingers brush against the sensitive skin of your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. He opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it with a sigh, schooling his face into the impenetrable, emotionless mask of a king. You don’t have to read his mind to understand what is happening. As soon as you leave that door, there will be no Thorin and Ragna, but a king and an advisor. There will be no passionate kisses, no tender caresses, no flirty banter, only rows and rows of numbers, dry facts, and long, convoluted clauses. A day of draining negotiations for a few fleeting moments of passion. Is this a fair price, Ragna? Deep down in your heart, there is the answer waiting for you, but you don’t want to hear it. Not yet.

Thorin’s cerulean gaze lingers on your features. When he brushes his thumb against your cheek, a hint of sadness curves his lips. It is surprising that only then you notice how a slight tremble runs through your body under his gentle touch, how your cheek leans into his palm, silently hoping for more of this reassuring affection that is soon to be gone.

His mouth opens once more and you hear him say, “I truly hate this part.” Your hand covers his over your cheek, and you are drowning in the depth of his gaze, while your heart replies, “Me too,” but these words never reach your lips. In moments like these, you can almost fool yourself, almost let yourself dream away and pretend there is something more between you than the nights you spend together. When you leave your hideout, once again you try to steady your fluttering heart and force yourself to face the truth. It is time to put all those confusing, maudlin thoughts away, bury them deep down in your heart, along with every other thing he makes you feel.

Thorin, your lover, your warrior, your king.

***

Yes. You know a good husband material when you see one. Even if your heart denies it.

And now, Lady Dís is looking at you expectantly. Right, you were talking. About Thorin. The King of Erebor. And those pretty, hopeful ladies around him.

“Oh. Of course. I see,” you bite your lower lip. Take a deep breath, Ragna, that stabbing pain will go away soon. That’s it, a deep breath. Nice and slow. “Who wouldn’t like to have a king for a husband?” you try to joke, hoping your smile doesn’t look like a forced grimace.

“You are right, there are some fortune hunters among these accomplished ladies. But there are also those who appreciate a man who has already proven himself to be a great father figure,” she replies, her gaze darkens for a moment, and then she looks straight at you. “Don’t you?”

You choke on the water you have just sipped.

“Don’t I… what?” you clear your throat, attempting to act oblivious to her meaning.

“Mahal knows Thorin has his flaws, as any other dwarf, but wouldn’t you say he is a good husband material?” Lady Dís rephrases, narrowing her eyes slightly and smiling even wider than before.

You hesitate, dozens of thoughts running in circles through your brain.

“My lady, this is my king you speak of, your brother,” you try finding your way out of this conversation. “I’m not in a position to…”

“Yes, yes, sure. But hasn't this thought crossed your mind?” she adds after a moment. “Not even once?” And then a revelation flashes through your mind. You cast a glance across the table. Thorin is looking at you intently, a smile dancing on his lips, so evident that even his beard can’t conceal it. Your eyes move back to his sister’s face and you can barely contain your emotions.

“Is he such a coward that he sends his own sister to speak for him?!” you are doing whatever you can to keep your voice low, your anger rushing through your veins. And of course this is when your head starts pounding. Perfect timing.

You expect Lady Dís to stand up and shout, to look offended, maybe even throw you out of the feast for your disrespectful words, but she only laughs and shakes her head, “I can see why he is so smitten with you, Lady Ragna.” “I’m sorry, but you are mistaken, Lady Dís,” you rise from your chair, trying to hold on to the last shreds of calm in your mind. The last thing you need is to make a scene and ruin your chances of saving the treaty. That damned treaty.

“Ooooh, have I heard that right?” a male voice booms behind you. “Someone finally had the guts to tell ye, Dís, how wrong ye are?”

“Dwalin,” Dís grunts, clearly unamused by his appearance.

The large and very muscular dwarf appears between you.

“Do you remember me, m’lady? Dwalin, at yer service!” he bows deeply, almost theatrically. When he straightens up to his impressive length, you notice that his moustache is freshly brushed and there are no signs of the gravy accident from before.

“Of course I do, Captain Dwalin,” you greet him. He takes your hand and presses a long and fervent kiss to your knuckles.

“Dwalin. You are embarrassing Lady Ragna,” Dís says calmly, but you can see her jaw set and her hand crumpling a handkerchief. If gaze could kill, the whole Erebor would be now preparing for Captain Dwalin’s funeral.

“Surely, I’m not!” he protests, holding your hand and kissing it again with an amused spark in his eye, making you chuckle. “I’m only showing my admiration to the lady who was fearless enough to face you!”

He winks at you and then, for a moment, he casts his glance behind you. You don’t need to look to know that he is looking towards the head of the table. As he does so, his grin widens, and then you hear a sound of a goblet being forcefully set on a table, somewhere in a distance, among the cheerful noise of the feast.

“Thank you, Captain Dwalin, but I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Lady Dís and I… we were simply discussing some theoretical ideas,” you explain, trying not to look in the direction of that clinking sound, the direction you have been avoiding throughout this conversation.

“Theoretical ideas?” Lady Dís’ huff is directed at you, but her eyes are set on Dwalin and you can clearly see the signs of a gathering storm in them. It’s not the first time you see someone from the line of Durin trying to cast lightnings of anger at someone, and you suspect it’s not the last time, not tonight.

“Yes, my lady. Theoretical. As in things that do not exist in reality,” you look at her pointedly, trying to ignore your headache. Lady Dís raises her brow, but before she speaks, you turn to Dwalin.

“And now, Captain Dwalin, please be a gentledwarf and ask me to dance!”

It turns out that the Captain of the Erebor Guards, Dwalin son of Fundin, is quite a decent dancer. It doesn’t take you long to leave most of your fury behind, even though the sting of disappointment is still piercing your heart. Until now, you never thought the King himself, that brave warrior, would send none other his sister to convince you to get back to his bed, bluntly trying to play on your jealousy. What a coward! And now his arrogant majesty is sitting there, at the head of the table, smiling at you, waiting for you to jump into his lap! Not a chance!

“Sooo…” Dwalin spins you around with a grin on his face and then catches you in his arms, continuing your dance.

“So?” you tilt your head to look at him sideways.

“You and Thorin, huh?” he grins even wider and winks at you conspiratorially.

“Excuse me?!” you stiffen.

“Y’know…” he moves his eyebrows up and down quickly and lowers his face towards yours.

“No, Captain Dwalin, I have no idea what you are insinuating,” you reply coldly. If this is another ruse to make you change your mind and visit the King in his chambers after the feast, you’re going home. Now. That cursed treaty be damned.

“I’m simply sayin’, m’lady, he’s been awfully moody since he returned home,” he lowers his voice.

This is when you make another turn around the hall and catch a glance of the King Under the Mountain. The smile is gone from his face, a deep frown in its place. The King’s stormy, narrowed eyes are resting on your dancing figures, following your every move, piercing you like a point of a sword.

At that moment, you realize something. Dwalin’s hand is splayed on your back, the other one holds your hand, and his face is close to yours, you can almost feel his whiskers tingling your cheek.

You can feel his overbearing majesty’s disapproval all the way to where you are now. What business does he have staring at you like this? Are you not allowed to have some fun? Are you forbidden to dance? Outrageous! You are going to show him what you think of his behaviour.

You make a graceful turn in Dwalin’s steady arms, and burst out in giggles, throwing your head back.

“Captain Dwalin, tell me, please, when has your King... our King,” you correct yourself, “not been moody?” “Well… Y’see, m’lady, he’s been more moody than usual!” he replies, moving his face even closer to yours and whispering into your ear, but you notice that his eyes are set somewhere above your shoulder.

And then you make another turn among the dancing couples, and you are facing the same person Dwalin has been looking at. The face of the ruler of Erebor comes into view yet again. This time, his massive, fisted hand rests on the table. His jaw is set, an unmistakable sign of anger, and there is a deep shadow over his darkened eyes. Thorin Oakenshield takes a deep sip from his goblet, but his scrutinizing glare never leaves you.

“Are you asking me, Captain Dwalin, to mollify his temper?” you move your face closer to his. Now it is your turn to wink. “Aye!” he nods with a happy grin.

“And do you think that dancing so closely with me is going to make him happier?” you continue, resting your hand on Dwalin’s impressive shoulder. “No,” he flashes his teeth, happy as a dwarfling who just got his first pony. “The opposite, m’ lady. It’s going to make him even more jealous!”

“Jealous?” you feign a surprised look. “What may he be jealous of?” “Me dancing with his favourite diamond under this mountain! I’ve seen that glance only once, five years ago in the treasure chamber, and it ended in battle. There’s no sayin’ what this thick-skulled warg is goin’ to do if he keeps gettin’ all riled up like this!” In other circumstances, these words would sound like blackmail but one glance at Dwalin’s grinning face along with his mischievous tone of voice settle your worries. “So you are telling me he thinks I’m his property, as if I were a pig he bought from a farmer on a market day?” you say, not forgetting to laugh ostensibly once again. “He invited me to his kingdom himself, making sure I wouldn’t refuse him. Now I’m here, just as he wanted! As he forced me to! I did as he wished, so tonight I’m going to do what I like and enjoy myself with whomever I like.”

“As you should, m’lady,” Dwalin nods with a snigger. “Even if Thorin has a wee bit different opinion on this matter.” You let him twirl you around once, and then you face the tattooed warrior once more.

“He doesn’t own me, Captain Dwalin. I’m not his trinket to do as he pleases with. And he has no right to get angry at me while he is busy kissing the hands of every single maiden in his damn mountain!”

Dwalin’s shoulders shake with badly concealed laughter, “He may be kissing them on their hands but it’s not them he has been spending every single night with in the Iron Hills, from what I hear…” Your damn, treacherous cheeks are burning again, “If you are trying to convince me he’s been abstaining from female company, save yourself the energy.”

“I’m not sayin’ he has been chaste as a maiden!” Dwalin protests as you move through the hall to the sound of music, and then takes a look around the chamber and lowers his voice even more. “Since Erebor was reclaimed, there may have been some… fleeting trysts, a meeting or two from time to time, but never in the night. And never two weeks in a row! I think that could count for somethin’.” “Count for what? Him finding something he liked? What a great achievement!” you reply, anger boiling inside you. You pull closer to Dwalin, both of your fisted hands resting on his shoulders. “And you tell me he sees me as a diamond and wants me to be here, as a part of his treasure. As a possession." "If he saw you as a possession, he’d have ordered you to come here, and wouldn't allow anyone to touch you, not even dance with you, I know that, m’lady. But he is just sittin’ there and looking at you,” the warrior leans forward and spins you around. Everything is a blur, you can’t distinguish the faces of everyone around you any more, tears of anger welling in your eyes.

“Because he’s a piece of bastard, so full of himself that he thinks I will come crawling to him, begging him to take me back. But he can keep sitting there and brooding for as long as he likes, he can die with that frown on his face for all I care!” you raise your voice in fury, your cheeks suddenly wet. “M’lady…” Dwalin’s eyes widen for a moment and then he just stops dancing, and pats your back gently. You are both standing in the middle of the hall, and he quickly moves his face towards yours, so you are shielded from the prying eyes. You curse your temper and your momentary weakness and discreetly brush away the tears. “Thank you, Captain Dwalin,” you whisper words of gratitude, only now noticing how close your faces are and how it has to look for the other guests. Damn it. The last thing you need is more gossip, this time about you and the Captain of the Erebor Guards making out while dancing. “Think nothin’ of it, m’lady,” he takes your hand in his and kisses it with reverence. You dare to cast a glance at the place at the head of the table, only to discover that the seat is empty. The King is gone. And then the music stops. The dancing couples cease to spin. You feel as if the eyes of everyone were turned directly towards you. You see a movement in the corner in the eye. Gold against black. That fur-lined cloak resting on his wide shoulders, trailing behind him like a stormcloud. The cold glint of his crown in the candlelight. The King Under the Mountain is leaving the feast.

A wave of murmurs ripples through the Main Hall as soon as his majestic silhouette disappears through the door leading out of the stone chamber. Damn it. Damn it all. The stupid treaty, the feast, the damn the King. Damn you and your stupid heart. You’ve had enough of this constant torment.

A fiery mane of hair suddenly fills your vision, along with golden beads and two boar tusks, merrily pointing up.

“Well, well, well, it looks like yer little moment of affection disturbed the king!” Lord Dain grins from ear to ear, a mug of ale in his hand, his cheeks red as rubies. “Who would have thought!” “I’m sorry, Lord Dain, but I need to leave,” you state firmly, ignoring his words, ignoring the stares everyone is giving you. To make matters worse, your headache is increasing. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Let me walk you back to your seat,” Dwalin offers.

“You will have to excuse me, Captain Dwalin,” you take a step back. “I need to put an end to this mess once and for all.”

And then you follow your king one last time.

* * * The Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...

Please let me know how you liked this chapter!

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[cassiabaggins]

An Extra Burglar Chapter Nine: Goblin Town

A/N: Happy Halloween! This is a sort of topical chapter, I suppose? Anyway, happy Fili Friday, as well! Please reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed this! 

Warnings: Canon-typical violence

Word Count: 4,050

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Tags: @demigoddesofchimichangagod @pistachiozombie @swoopswishsward @d3-iseefire @moony-artnstuff @legolasesboo522 @sage-willow-raven @underthemoon-n @legolaslovely @guardianofrivendell 

 Cassia wakes up quite quickly. You cannot stay half asleep while hurtling down a stone tunnel, and even less so when you land with a thud in a gigantic metal and wood cage. She lands on top of Fili and Kili, lucky to not land on the bottom of the pile, though Kili groans when she kicks him in the head. 

“What’s happening?” She asks, her heart in her throat. Fili grabs her arm. 

“I don’t know I—”

“Look out!” Someone cries and then suddenly they're beset on every side by creatures. Cassia thinks they may be Goblins; she isn't sure. They rush at them and grab them from all angles, dozens of hands snatching and grabbing and jostling, and the dwarves go wild.

Cassia and Fili are torn apart and he yells, “Get your hands off her!” grabbing a knife from somewhere and stabbing wildly. He reaches her and grabs her hand and she clings to his arm and from then on, the dwarves barely let the goblins touch her. At one point, Cassia witnesses Bifur bite a grotesque arm reaching for her. They're hustled along caverns and wooden walkways, and it's all Fili can do to keep hold of her. She can say with certainty that she has never been more frightened in her life, she feels near tears the whole time. She has no idea what’s going to happen, no sense of what is going on even, it’s just dwarves yelling and goblins screeching, and she clings to Fili as hard as she can. 

They're ushered out into a platform and Cassia is hidden away in the midst of the dwarves. Bofur takes off his hat and pushes it low on her head and makes a ‘shh’ motion. Fili and Kili are in front of her, hiding her with their bodies, and she’s glad of it. Even Thorin steps in front of her and easily draws any eyes away from her, being much more noticeable.

Sitting before them on a massive chair is the hugest, fattest, most grotesque being she has ever laid eyes on. It's (his?) skin is mottled yellow and covered in sores and leaking pus. Stringy hair hangs around its face and a crown of bones rests upon its brow. He (it?) is singing (although its more like yowling) about torture and crushing and other nasty things. Occasionally, the other goblins join in his song. It’s such a horridly loud noise that Cassia can’t help but to cover her ears. It hurts! 

"Clap, snap, the black crack Grip, grab, pinch, and nab Batter and beat Make ‘em stammer and squeak! Pound pound, far underground Down, down, down in Goblin Town (Down, down, down in Goblin Town)

“With a swish and smack And a whip and a crack Everybody talks when they’re on my rack Pound pound, far underground Down, down, down to Goblin Town (Down, down, down to Goblin Town)

“Hammer and tongs, get out your knockers and gongs You won't last long on the end of my prongs Clash, crash, crush and smash Bang, break, shiver and shake

“You can yammer and yelp But there ain't no help Pound pound, far underground Down, down, down in Goblin...Tooooooooooown

The Goblin King ends his song with a flourish and clambers back up onto his throne, crushing a few of his subjects to use as a stepstool. 

“Catchy, isn't it?” he asks, peering down at them with surprisingly intelligent (if grotesquely pus-filled) eyes, “it's one of my own compositions!”

Cassia frowns and leans towards Fili, attempting a joke through her fear, “it's a little pitchy.” He seems to understand her fright and reaches back, sliding his hand into hers. She clings to it like a lifeline.

“That's not a song,” Balin cries, seeming in agreement with her, “that's an abomination!” The other dwarves agree loudly. It truly is an awful song.

“Abominations!” The great goblin says, “mutations, deviations… That’s all you’re gonna find down here.” He spreads his arms to indicate the vast, tiered city. The walls of the cavern really are absolutely teeming with his kind. Cassia tightens her hold on Fili’s hand.

Just then, a few goblins elbow their way through the crowd and drop the Company’s weapons at his feet. Cassia can’t help but feel a little indignant at the sight of her sword resting on the top of the pile. The goblin’s have no right to it!

“Who would be so bold as to come armed into my Kingdom? Spies? Thieves? Assassins?!” The Goblin King scrambles out of his throne again, loaming huge above them. Cassia tries to be inconspicuous. 

“Dwarves, your malevolence,” one of the beasts says. “We found them on the front porch.”

“Dwarves?! Well, don't just stand there! Search them! Every crack, every crevice!”

The goblins take to the task with enthusiasm, and hands are suddenly all over Cassia, touching her in places she very much does not like. “Hands off!!!” She yelps, catching one in the gut with her foot and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Don't touch her!!!” Fili roars, striking out. The other dwarves fight the goblins off from her, bloodying noses and cracking a few limbs, but the Goblin King reaches over their heads, grabs her by the back of the shirt and hoists her into the air.

“Cassia! No!” Fili shouts, reaching out and missing her by mere centimeters. The other dwarves shout their own protests.

“What's this? Too soft and pale to be a dwarf! What are you?!”

"Let go of her!!!" Fili roars, lunging forward, but he's pounced upon and wrestled back in quick succession.

“I'm a hobbit!” she shouts, wriggling angrily. “Let me go!”

“Hobbit? Never heard of a Hobbit before! Sounds like dwarven lies!”

“I'm not lying! Let go!” She kicks out and catches him in the nose and he roars, throwing her at her companions. Cassia is caught by Bifur and Kili and shoved back into the circle of dwarves, to Fili, who’s fought himself free. He wraps his arms around her protectively. 

“Fili,” she breathes, knowing full well that if he goes into Durin’s Rage down here, he’ll be killed within seconds. “Fili, please stay calm.” She can feel his chest shuddering against her back and she rubs his hands. “Breathe, Fili.”

He takes a deep breath in response, his cheek pressing to the side of her head. His heartbeat is beginning to slow. She also notices Thorin put a steadying hand on Fili’s arm.

“It is my belief,” One of the goblins says, holding up an elven candlestick, “That they are in league with elves!” 

Cassia wonders briefly where in the world that came from. Then she spots Dori giving Nori a withering look. Oh.

The Goblin King grabs the candlestick, turning it this way and that. 

“Made… in… Rivendell,” he reads from the bottom, and scoffs. “Second Age. Couldn’t give it away.” He tosses the candlestick away into the depths of goblin town. 

“It’s just a couple of keepsakes,” Nori says, as if he hasn’t possibly doomed them all. Dori looks like he is going to strangle his younger brother, and Dwalin looks as if he’ll help. 

The Goblin King points at Cassia. “What are you then? Some sort of spawn of an elf and a dwarf? You’re too small to be an elf, and no beard so you cannot be a dwarf! What are you? Speak up!” 

“She doesn’t have to say anything!” Fili shouts, stepping in front of her. The other dwarves shout their agreement. The Goblin King knocks them aside with his scepter, catching Fili a particularly vicious blow in the shoulder.

“No one asked you, dwarf,” he spits. He jabs his scepter at Cassia, who is so angry at the way he’s hit Fili and the fact that he thinks she is some sort of dwarf-elf hybrid (perish the thought!) that she forgets to be scared.

“I’ve already said I’m a hobbit!” She shrieks, putting her fists on her hips and stomping her foot. She shakes her finger at him. “And a perfectly wellbred one at that!”

“There’s no good breeding down here,” the great goblin laughs, “only inbreeding.” He laughs wheezily. “What are you doing in these parts, hobbit?”

Thorin begins to step forward but Oin stops him.

“Don’t worry lads,” the elderly medic says, stepping forward. “I’ll handle this.”

“No tricks!” The Goblin King says. “I want the truth! Warts and all!”

“You’re going to have to speak up,” Oin says, holding up his ear trumpet. “Your boys flattened my trumpet.”

Cassia has the overwhelming urge to giggle at that, even despite her fear. Not because his trumpet is flattened (the poor dwarf can barely hear) but because Oin is perfectly indignant and has the gall to say something about it.

“I’ll flatten more than your trumpet!” The great goblin roars, storming toward them, and Cassia shrieks as the dwarves scramble back.

“If it’s for information you’re wantin’,” Bofur cries out, “I’m the one you should speak to!” 

The Goblin King pauses, and stares at him. “Mhm?”

The dwarf seems alarmed that that had worked and flounders for a few moments. Then, he rallies. “We were on the road. Well, it’s not so much a road as a path. Actually it's not even that, come to think of it. It’s more like a track. Anyway, the point is, we were on this road like a path like a track… and then we weren’t! Which is a problem because we were supposed to be in Dunland last Tuesday…” He looks back at the others, and Dori leaps to his rescue.

“Visiting distant relations!” He puts in.

Bofur nods, running with that. “Some inbreds on my mother’s side—”

“SHUT UP!!!!!” The Goblin King howls. His subjects cower, allowing Fili to scramble back to Cassia’s side, and Bofur shuts his mouth with a clop.

“If they will not talk,” the goblin says, “we'll make them squawk! Bring up the Mangler! Bring up the Bonebreaker! Start with the hobbit!” 

Cassia goes very, very still. 

"No!" Fili shouts, surging forward. 

“Fili, no!” Cassia screams as Bifur and Kili are thrown out of the way when they try to grab him and hold him back. The goblins stop him and slam his face to the ground viciously, and Fili goes limp, clearly dazed. She gasps. "Fili!"

“Wait!” Thorin says, stepping forward.

“Well, well, well,” the Goblin King jeers, quickly losing interest in Cassia, “look who it is! Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thrór, King Under The Mountain.” he bows mockingly. “But wait! You don't have a Mountain, do you? And you're not a King, which makes you no one, really.”

Thorin raises his chin proudly. Cassia can practically feel the rage pouring off him as she kneels next to Fili. The blonde dwarf groans and tries to get his arms underneath him. 

“You need to calm down,” Kili hisses to his older brother, hauling him upright. Fili grunts, wiping at his bleeding nose. Cassia stands and presses close to them. “I’m serious,” Kili continues. “Aren’t you meant to be the levelheaded one?”

“I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head,” the Goblin King continues to Thorin, “just the head. Nothing attached. Perhaps you know of who I speak? An old enemy of yours. A Pale Orc. Astride a white warg.”

Thorin finally speaks. The idea of his old enemy still living is enough to begin to crack his shell. His voice trembles a little with barely concealed rage.

“Azog the Defiler was destroyed,” Thorin spits. “He was slain in battle long ago.” 

“So you think his Defiling days are done, do you?” The Goblin King says mockingly. He turns to one of his subjects. “Send word to the Pale Orc. Tell him I have found his prize.” As the goblin skitters off, he turns back to the Company. “Now then. We only need the one dwarf,” He surveys them with a grotesque grin. “So let’s have some fun.”

Cassia hears clattering and scraping behind them, and out of the corner of her eye sees a whole lot of great, nasty-looking contraptions brought up, machines whose uses she can only guess at, and all the guesses are awful. 

The Goblin King surveys them again, and his eyes land on Fili, who looks rather worse for wear, blood staining his mustache. Cassia’s heart lurches. “What about this blond one? He looks fun, eh Oakenshield?” Horror sweeps over Thorin’s face, just briefly, but the great goblin spots it. “What’s this? Is this dwarf special to you? A son?” Thorin clams up again, and Fili bears his teeth, refusing to be afraid. “No,” the Goblin King continues, “Not a son. He doesn’t look similar enough. A nephew, maybe?” Cassia doesn’t see what Thorin does, but it’s met with a slow grin. “Ah! Hit the nail on the head, have I?” The gigantic goblin throws his head back in a laugh. Fili is dragged forward, despite the struggling of the dwarves, his hand torn away from Cassia. 

“Kili!” Fili cries frantically, “Don’t let Cassia—” He’s silenced by a blow to the head, but his brother gets the idea, grabbing the lass and pulling her back. Cassia feels sick. She’s convinced she’s about to see the person she loves be tortured...

But then, all of a sudden several goblins cry out and Orcrist is thrown to the ground, partly unsheathed.That is what saves Fili.

But ultimately dooms them all...

The Goblin King rears back, clambering on to his throne. “I know that sword!” He cries, “it is the Goblin-Cleaver! The Biter! The Blade That Sliced A Thousand Necks! Slash them! Beat them! Kill them! Kill them all!”

Cassia gasps, only able to watch as Thorin is being wrestled to the ground. There’s nothing she can do, since she really can’t fight at all, and all the dwarves are as beset as she is, kicking and screaming, she's grappled to the ground, and she’s terrified and convinced she’s going to die. She can barely breathe from the weight of the goblins on top of her, when suddenly, blessedly, it’s gone.

“Mizimelûh!” someone shouts, and Cassia, though she doesn’t know the dwarvish word, knows it is directed at her. She rolls over and sees Fili for a brief moment, before he’s dragged down again. “Run!” he roars. 

And then, there's a great white light and a force that's like a thousand raging winds and they are all blown back and to the ground. Cassia is one of the first to recover, having been on the ground already, and she sits up slowly, brushing her hair out of her face.

Gandalf emerges from the darkness, and she has never seen a more beautiful sight.

“Take up arms!” The wizard commands. “Fight. Fight!”

There's the clattering of weapons and shouting of dwarves and Fili drops to his knees beside her. He smooths her hair off her face. 

“Are you hurt?"  he asks, looking her up and down. Cassia shakes her head. Her breath is coming is harsh, terrified pants and she grabs on to him and doesn’t let go. He hugs her tightly, then drags her to her feet.

"Don't let go of me!” He instructs, snatching her sword out of the air as it's thrown towards them and handing it to her. “Understand?”

She nods, holding his hand tightly, and the next thing she knows, they’re running. Cassia doesn’t really remember what happens, except from time to time she is passed from dwarf to dwarf. The goblins are trying their damndest to stop them, and Cassia is very glad of her sword and Fili’s fighting lessons, and even manages to cut off a few hands and fingers as they run, although most of the goblins are thrown out of her way by the others.

They all burst out of the more winding places and onto a bridge and suddenly the Goblin King explodes from the bridge to stand before them, blocking their path. The rest of his subjects swarm up behind them, covering their escape from that direction, too. 

Fili pushes Cassia behind him, his arm in front of her protectively, Kili at her back, so she’s sandwiched between them. 

“You thought you could escape me?” The Goblin King jeers, and swings his scepter at Gandalf. Cassia yelps as the wizard falls back, caught by Ori and Nori.

“What are you going to do now, wizard?”

Gandalf surges forward and jabs the Goblin King in the face with his staff and slices him open with Glamdring.

“That'll do it,” the monster says. Gandalf cuts his throat. 

Then, the whole bridge crumbles and the bottom of the world just seems to fall away. Cassia’s stomach is in her throat and she screams, grabbing on to Fili. He pulls her against his side as the bridge (miraculously intact) slides down the rocks as if it were a gigantic sled. Only much, much more dangerous. 

Down, down, down they careen through the canyon, occasionally catching and skittering on rocks and in tight places. Cassia is quite glad she isn’t the only one yelling.

Their descent stutters as the ends of their makeshift sled catches between the sides of the cavern, and then they hit the ground with a jarring thud that has Cassia’s teeth rattling around in her skull and the wooden bridge finally falling to pieces.

She is spared from being hit by most of the debris by Fili's body, thankfully, as he covers her head with his arms. 

Gandalf reaches in and lifts her out by the back of the shirt (rather like the Goblin King had, only much gentler) as easily as if she had been a small animal. 

“Well,” Bofur says, “that could have been worse!”

The Goblin King's corpse lands atop the dwarves, immediately proving him wrong, and they all cry out.

In the brief moment of peace they have, Cassia realizes something horrible. She looks around frantically as her companions scramble slowly out from the rubble, her heart in her throat, but the person she is looking for is nowhere to be found. 

"Where's my brother?" She asks Fili, who has come over to her.

"What?" He queries. She opens her mouth to repeat herself, but is interrupted.

"Gandalf!" Kili yells, pointing up the way they had come. Hundreds of goblins are swarming down toward them. 

“There’s too many of them!” Dwalin shouts, dragging Nori to his feet. “We can’t fight them!”

"Only one thing can save us now!” The wizard says. “Daylight. Run!”

Fili grabs Cassia’s arm, dragging her along. "Come on!"

"Fili!" She cries, pulling back, "Where's my brother?! Where's Bilbo!" She can’t leave without Bilbo!

"Cassia!" He shouts. "We don't have time for this!"

"But—" 

Fili scoops her up and throws her over his shoulder. 

"Put me down!" She shrieks, punching his shoulder, "put me down, you beast! Let me go!" But she is tiny and her fists are next to useless against his back. Fili just tightens his iron grip around her legs, and runs. She can't do anything but scream at him. 

.

Finally, he lowers her back to the ground. They're out in the sunlight, now, goblins left far behind. As soon as he lets go of her, she whirls on him and shoves him. He doesn't even budge, because he is solid and strong, like a mountain. "How could you do that?!" She screams at him. "I hate you!" She doesn't, really, because she could never feel anything but love for him, but he still looks stricken. 

"Cassia, I—"

"Shut up!" She screams at him, punching his chest. "Shut up!!! I told you he was missing and you made me leave him behind! I hate you!"

"Miss Baggins!" Gandalf says, "Cassia! Whatever is the matter?”

"We left Bilbo behind!" She wails to him. 

There is an instant uproar.

"Where is he!" Gandalf shouts, "where is Bilbo?!"

"I thought he was with Dori!" Someone shouts.

"Now don't blame this on me!"

"I saw him slip away when they first collared us!" Nori cries.

“Well, what happened exactly?” Gandalf commands, “Tell me!”

"We left him behind," Cassia sobs, her tears coming hard and fast now, "and I tried to say something but Fili carried me off!" She whirls back on him. "I hate you! I'll never forgive you!"

"Cassia—" he tries again.

"You could've gotten killed!" Kili interjects.

"I don't care!" She screams at him, "he's my brother! Wouldn't you do the same?!" Kili has no words, because of course he would. 

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Thorin snarls, and Cassia is quite sure she’s going to hate him for whatever will come out of his mouth next. “Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it. He has thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since first he stepped out of his door. We will not be seeing our hobbit again. He is long gone.”

She gasps indignantly. Her brother is missing, possibly dead, and all Thorin cares about is that fact that he may have run off?! “Shut your mouth!” Cassia shrieks. Shockingly, Thorin does, his eyebrows raising. “He wouldn’t do that! He’s not like that!” She steps forward toward Thorin, and Fili grabs her around the waist. It’s a good thing, too, because she is in such a state of rage that she would undoubtedly have slapped the dwarf king if she had reached him. “He’s come all this way to help you! We both have! And all you’ve done is be horribly rude and awful toward him. If he did run off, it’s because you drove him away, you absolute—”

She doesn’t have a chance to finish her insult, though, because, oh joy of joys, her brother’s voice rings out. 

“No one’s driven anyone off!”

They all turn. Bilbo is standing just behind them all, looking a bit scratched up (they all do), but alive. Cassia screams. 

“Bilbo!” 

Fili lets her go and she throws herself at her brother, arms around his neck, face in his shoulder. Bilbo stumbles a little, but hugs her back. She can hear the dwarves making little relieved noises at the fact that he is alive and well. “I thought we’d left you back there,” Cassia sobs. "I thought you were dead!"

“I know,” he mumbles. “But you didn’t. I’m perfectly fine!"

“We’d given you up!” Kili cries, relief clear in his voice.

“How on earth did you get past the goblins?” Fili queries. Cassia pulls back from Bilbo. That is a very good question. 

“Bilbo?” she asks. 

Her brother flounders for a moment, before Gandalf speaks up. “Well,” the wizard says, “what does it matter? He’s back!”

“It matters,” Thorin declares, eying Bilbo suspiciously. “I want to know. Why did you come back? Was it just for your sister?”

Cassia finds herself frowning. As angry as she still is with the dwarf king, he does have a point. Bilbo had seemed quite ready to up and leave immediately after the giants, and ready enough to drag her with him. Perhaps he still means to leave, but was unable to without her. She peers at Bilbo. He sighs. 

“Part of it was for Cassia. She’s my sister. I can’t abandon her. And… and I know you doubt me. I know you always have.” He glances around at the other dwarves. “And you’re right. I often think of Bag End.” He shrugs. “I miss my books. And my armchair. And my bed. See, that’s where I belong. That’s home. And that’s why I came back. Because… you don’t have one. A home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back, if I can.”

There is a silence, and no one says anything, waiting for Thorin, who just looks at Bilbo for a long time. Then, to everyone's surprise, he nods his head to Bilbo, in a sign of thanks, and perhaps a little bit of respect. The relief that washes over the Company is palpable. But it doesn't last for long.

All of a sudden, from up the mountain, there comes the far too familiar howling of wargs. Cassia’s heart leaps in her throat. Not again! Not now!

“Out of the frying pan,” Thorin mumbles. 

“And into the fire,” Gandalf finishes. “Run. Run!”