#thorin oakenshield x oc

[esta-elavaris]

Flufftober Day 1: I've Got You ~ Thorin Oakenshield/OC [2,818 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here 💜✨

Erebor was beautiful. Gwen had thought so when they’d first entered – sneaking through the hidden door and doing their best not to wake the dragon slumbering within. Although she’d quickly forgotten all about it thereafter. Not because of the dragon, but because of how she was forced to watch as the Gold sickness claimed the dwarf she’d so reluctantly come to love over the months that had passed between her taking on this ‘job’ and now.

Now, though? Now that Smaug was defeated, the battle thereafter was won, all were alive, and Thorin was himself again? Now she was able to appreciate the splendour of Erebor once again. Save for the damn walkways.

“I don’t know how I feel about your sending everybody out from the Throne Room just for this,” she commented to Thorin where he stood somewhere behind her, the great walkway to the throne stretching before them.

“You said you wished for no witnesses as you overcame this.”

“Because I thought you’d find a quieter walkway to practise on.”

“I am King – and in a moon’s time, after your coronation, you will be Queen. We can order all from the mountain, if we so wish.”

“That’d make for a pretty depressing kingdom,” she said, doing what she could to keep her tone light as he led her to the main walkway that led up to her husband’s throne.

“Did you run out of stone to make railings? Is that it?”

“Dwarves are sure-footed.”

“And hard-headed.”

“I heard that.”

“I did not whisper,” she countered with a smirk that felt much too bold for the fear creeping up through her chest.

While that fear did not show on her face, however, it did in how her hand anxiously sought his where it was pressed over her hip, planting it there as if to make sure his grip remained firmly on her. Her shrewd husband recognised the gesture for what it was immediately.

“You’ve crossed higher paths than this before,” he pointed out. “On Durin’s Day.”

“That was different. I had a dragon snapping at my heels.”

“Well now you’ve your brute of a husband to offer you similar motivation.”

“Yes, well, it should warm you to hear that I much prefer you to dragons.”

Unless he was in a really foul mood.

“This is folly, Gwen.”

Thorin’s humour might have been lighter these days than it was during their quest, but an excess of patience in the face of what he viewed as foolishness was not one of his virtues. It showed now in the edge his voice gained. At least, it did until he moved from behind her back and saw just how pale her face had grown.

“I can’t help it,” she said quietly – too focused on the pit in her stomach to see how his features softened.

It was folly – he was right. If someone draw a chalk outline on a path the same width as this walkway, she could stick to it without so much as thinking about it, laughing all the while at the mere notion of being worried about somehow falling over the edge of that outline. But the mere presence of the unfathomable drop at either side of the walkway raised the stakes, and had her unable to think of anything but. It was instinct – self-preservation, the same sort of in-built thing that would have her thinking twice before she stuck her hand in a fire, or caused a problem with someone twice her size. She was unable to help it.

Nor would she be able to make a life here if she was unable to approach the throne at a speed greater than one foot per hour. The embarrassment only made this all the worse. Thorin had met her when she was a thief in Bree – hardly an occupation without its risks. Now she was paling over the prospect of placing one foot before the other. It hardly did anything to combat the beliefs of the Dwarves here who revelled in shaking their heads and grumbling over their King’s affection for a human. No doubt a Dwarrowdam would have covered the distance a hundred times or more in the span of time she’d stood here faltering like an idiot.

“Do you think I would bring you here if there was any risk of your falling?”

“I don’t think you’d love me if there was any risk of my falling, considering it would take an impressive level of idiocy to manage and you don’t suffer fools. Gladly or otherwise.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he teased. “You would make a very beautiful fool.”

“I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.”

He chuckled lowly.

“Whichever you choose, you’re distracted. See? We’ve already covered some distance. That is the key – do not think of it. Simply do it.”

Well, that was the sort of thinking that had gotten her here, wasn’t it? Not only to her shiny new station – regardless of how it had intimidated her, a woman of no birth who had once been a cutpurse far, far west of here – but throughout all of the hardships that had hounded their path to Erebor itself.

“All right,” she sniffed, straightening her shoulders and nodding decidedly. “All right.”

Thorin’s hand remained at her back, all the same…throughout the hundred strides up and down the walkway it took before she finally began breathing properly and trusting the fine stone beneath her feet not to suddenly crack and give way.

She did grow used to it – eventually. Over and over that day they’d strode up and down the walkway to the throne room until fear turned to unease, and unease turned to boredom. Gwen dreaded to think what the folk of Erebor thought they were up to in here that would cause their King to demand privacy for so long, but it did the trick, and she’d no longer spend this walk battling with the temptation to lower herself to the floor and crawl the distance towards the throne next time she had business here. Although that was a sight Thorin might enjoy, depending upon his mood.

Still, as she strode across the walkway not two moons later, shiny new sapphire-laden diadem upon her head, she had a surprise that she knew he’d enjoy a great deal more. And the drop on either side of the walkway was the furthest thing from her mind – a grin on her face, and a spring in her step.

The King was holding court, dealing with a visiting merchant who had seen fit to scam a number of the people, so no doubt he would be in need of a bit of levity once he was finished. She would wait on the sidelines, Gwen decided, until he was finished. Then she would tell him.

“I was not aware, your majesty, that steep prices were a crime.”

The merchant was kicking up a stink so loudly that he could be heard throughout the entirety of the hall.

“Perhaps not, but swindling the honest peoples of Erebor is,” there was a warning note in her husband’s voice. “Your trading permissions have been revoked, so unless you have some other manner of earning a living here, I suggest you leave and take your way of doing things elsewhere – and count yourself lucky that you have not found yourself in the dungeons.”

Was he so unimpressed because of the merchant’s misdeeds, she wondered, or because he was being forced to deal with something so beneath the notice of a monarch? She could hardly fault him for either one, although she suspected it was some combination of the two.

Folk cleared a path automatically to let her by as she neared the throne – something that was still taking some getting used to, even though it had been that way ever since Thorin declared his intentions to take her as his wife – but she seemed to escape the notice of one person. The merchant.

Either he thought the path had been cleared for him, or he simply did not care, whirling and beginning to storm his way down the walkway with a face like thunder – the fury in his eyes blinding him, no doubt. Or perhaps what he did next was an act of pure defiance in the wake of his dressing down. If it was, it was an incredibly stupid one.

When he barrelled into her, she thought little of it. Queening around didn’t come quite so naturally to her as to have her ordering beheadings because somebody shouldered their way past her; but it appeared the merchant himself wasn’t happy to let things lie there.

“Move!” he demanded, one hand planted flat in the centre of her chest so as to shove her backwards.

Which was when things very quickly went pear-shaped. Had she not gone on here stubbornly refusing to swap her sturdy and comfortable boots for the delicate slippers the ladies of the court here favoured, it would have been worse. Had she not had to wear a stupid number of skirts it disguise those boots, it would have been better.

For the grip of her soles stopped her from skidding back right over the edge of the walkway, but the skirts sent her tumbling to the ground, rolling to a halt not so much close to the edge, but at the very edge itself. Indeed, she feared to move at all, her body hanging over the endless drop right down to the bottom of her ribcage, face down. The silence that took over the throne room was unparalleled and stretched on and on…which was what allowed them to head her diadem clatter, and then smash, as it clattered down to the next level below.

Gwen let out a slow, shuddering breath. The angle did not allow for any purchase with which she might pull herself back, but before she could even think of how to best act, strong broad arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her back and up. She did not need to look to know who they belonged to.

“I have you. I've got you,” Thorin said, pulling her back from the edge. “Are you well?”

She took a moment to actually consider the question, rather than nodding automatically in response. Thank the stars she’d fallen on her side, and then rolled from there – her right hip ached something fierce, but her abdomen had taken none of the impact.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I’m all right.”

One hand remained at her hip – her sore hip, though she hadn’t the heart to shrug it off when he appeared just as shaken as she was. Although that worry quickly turned to ire, a positively glacial gaze turning in the direction of the merchant. At first the poor sod looked half-tempted to turn and run, but the guards at his back quickly made their presence known, and he was stuck between them and the King Under the Mountain. An unenviable position for him. The paling of his face told Gwen that he quite agreed, and the hall remained perfectly silent – all gathered dying to hear how Thorin would deal with this.

“The dungeons,” he said flatly. “Until I deem that you’ve had enough time to recall proper courtly manners.”

Which would take months. If not years. Thorin was capable of many things, but swift forgiveness was not one of them.

“Your majesty, I did not mean to-”

“Or the blade. An attempt on my queen’s life is treason.”

The merchant looked to Gwen as though hoping for an intervention. He would not find one, her hand was itching to grasp the hilt of a blade that was now seldom at her hip. In the end, he seemed relieved when the guards stepped between him and Thorin so that they might clamp irons about his wrists.

“How long will you keep him in the cells?”

Gwen asked Thorin as she changed for bed that night. In the end, she’d decided to keep her announcement for tonight, any mood having been well and truly killed stone dead by the merchant and his idiocy.

“For however long that bruise takes to heal, tenfold,” Thorin replied grimly, his eyes fixed on the angry bruise already forming at her hipbone.

She sighed quietly, slipping into the nightgown and hiding the injury from his brooding eye.

“You could have died, Gwen,” he said sharply – misinterpreting her sigh.

“It’s not that,” she shook her head.

“I’ll craft your next diadem myself,” he said. “It will be good – to make something again, rather than sitting on my backside listening to inanities. If I’d crafted the first, it would have survived the fall.”

“It’s not that, either,” she laughed softly, slipping into bed beside him. “But thank you, husband.”

“Husband, now?” he echoed with a smirk. “You seek a favour from your king, then.”

“No,” she pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw, and received one in turn at her brow for her troubles, a broad hand settling itself into the curve of her waist. “Well. Perhaps. I would ask that you don’t lose your temper when I tell you this.”

“My temper? Why?”

The lazy sort of tired humour left his face and he became all King Thorin again, eyes searching her face as if he’d find the answer to his question hidden in the gap between her eyebrows.

“The reason I came to see you today…the reason I was in the Throne Room at all…I was going to wait until you were finished holding court, and then I was going to tell you…”

“Tell me?” he pressed.

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, she pressed her hand over the top of the one at her waist, and then she brought it around her abdomen until it was pressed flat over the yet-unrounded area just below her navel.

His eyes flickered down in question and then realisation hit him with the impact of an arrow, and he met her gaze with eyes wide in wonder.

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

Any who liked to dismiss Thorin as nothing but grim and dour could only do so if they’d never seen him smile – truly smile, and the way it lit up his entire face, no, the entire mountain. Gwen was powerless to do anything other than grin back, laughing softly as he used that famed Dwarvish strength to draw her up nearer to him as though she were as light as a feather.

He kissed her then – a kiss that they both smiled into – and pulled back swiftly thereafter, unable to contain his joy to an extent that a longer embrace would require.

“Why would I lose my temper over this, my love?” he chuckled. “This is…”

He trailed off as it clicked, and then he looked downright dangerous.

“I’ll have his head, Gwendolyn.”

“Thorin…”

Already, he tried to slip from the bed – but she leapt forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, dragging him bodily back to her. He allowed it, she’d have never managed it otherwise, but he didn’t make it easy for her.

“I shall try not to take it personally that you’re willing to have his life as revenge for our child, but not just for your boring old wife,” she teased, leaning forward to press a kiss to the side of his jaw.

He made a noise caught somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff, and she knew she’d just saved the merchant from being murdered by Erebor’s half-naked king.

“I would have thrown him from the walkway myself, had I not known you wouldn’t wish it. This just makes me less inclined to heed that.”

“I had no idea I had such sway over your decisions,” she planted another kiss on his neck this time, then another on his shoulder. “Perhaps I might use it to tempt you back to bed.”

“You should see a healer – after that fall.”

“I did. I’m well,” her hands trailed across the muscular expanse of his chest, fingers threading through the hair there. “My hip took the impact.”

“That does not please me, either.”

“If you’re looked to be pleased, I can think of a thing or two better than bloodshed.”

“Oh?”

“Unless I’m mistaken,” she sighed. “After all, your husbandly duty is done. Perhaps you see no reason to-”

As she put on her best show of feeling forlorn and neglected (which still was hardly very convincing), she released her grip on him and made to untangle her arms from his body – only for  strong, rough hands to catch hers and keep her where she was.

“Your machinations have lost their subtlety over time, my queen,” he all but rumbled.

“You just know me too well now for them to work,” she laughed. “But I can hardly mourn that fact.”

“Mm. Nor can I,” he said softly – and then he did return to bed.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

#esta's flufftober '23 fills #flufftober #flufftober 2023 #thorin oakenshield x oc #thorin oakenshield/oc #thorin oakenshield fanfiction #thorin oakenshield fanfic #flufftober2023

[legolasbadass]

Shelter From The Storm

Relationship: Thorin x reader

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

Rating: E

Word Count: 2.7k

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

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

Khuzdul translations:

Amrâlimê: My love

Bunnelê: My treasure of treasures

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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#the hobbit #thorin fanfic #thorin x reader #thorin x you #thorin x oc #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield x you #thorin oakenshield x oc #tolkien secret santa #tss 2022

[shierak-inavva]

marriage

real quick before i kick into full mermay mode -- been doing some lore diving and have a lot of feelings 😭 they’re basically secretly married after a night in lake town by elven & dwarren conventions at this point

(or not-so-secretly, especially after she turns up with a baby bump a few months later 🫣)

#my ocs #elowen lenbereth #elowen of the green gaze #teladriel the lady of bronze starlight #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x oc #thorowen #lotr oc #elves are swans and dwarves are smaller chubbier swans #tolkien was a very straight white catholic man and physical intimacy = marriage is just so on brand there #there's a whole scene i wrote with a friend surrounding this because we went IN on it last night #they are VERY sweet and it is very sad they don't have more time together u_u #but that's what aus are for : D #the thing around their hands is for handfasting which isn't EXACTLY canon compliant but it's not NOT canon compliant #we thought it would be cute and so here it is u wu

[delicatenightfury]

Star of the Mountain Chapter 24

Warnings: fluff, angst, canon-level violence, spoilers for the Hobbit films

Pairing: OC x Thorin Oakenshield

Beta'd By: @mistys-blerbz

Author's Note: please do not steal my work! I do not own the Hobbit or the characters, but I do own my OCs and the parts of the plot that are not part of the movies. I have worked very hard on this fic. Please be respectful and do not steal.

Please comment, reblog, and like!

Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Pleasantries with Gandalf were short-lived. The wizard seemed very anxious and dove right into what he wished to say.

“You must set aside your petty grievances with the dwarves,” he said. “War is coming. The sepsis of Dolguldor have been emptied.” Thranduil cast a lazy look over at Bard, indicating that he was not truly taking the Grey Wizard seriously. “You’re all in mortal danger!”

“What are you talking about?” Bard asked.

“I can see you know nothing of wizards,” Thranduil replied before Gandalf could. The elven king stood to pour a glass of wine. “They are like winter thunder on a wild wind rolling in from the distance, breaking hard in alarm.” He handed Bard a glass. “But sometimes a storm is just a storm.”

“Not this time,” Gandalf said. “Armies of orcs are on the move. These are fighters that have been bred for war. Our enemy has summoned his full strength.”

“Gandalf,” Oreliell said, stepping forward slightly. “Are you sure of this?”

The wizard nodded gravely.

“I have seen them with my own eyes.”

“Why show his hand now?” Thranduil questioned.

“Because we forced him! We forced him when the company of Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim their homeland. The dwarves were never meant to reach Erebor.” He led the elves and human out of the tent to look at the mountain. “Azog the Defiler was sent to kill them. His master seeks control of the mountain. Not just for the treasure within but for where it lies, its strategic position. This is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the north. If that fell kingdom should rise again… Rivendell, Lórien, the Shire… even Gondor itself will fall.”

“These orcs armies you speak of, Mirthrandir, where are they?” Thranduil asked.

Gandalf sighed heavily, unable to give an answer. Thranduil rolled his eyes and returned to his tent. Oreliell and Vedis looked at Gandalf.

“Are you all right, Gandalf?” Oreliell asked quietly. He looked rather beaten up. “Perhaps you can have Vedis take a look at your wounds-”

“I am fine,” he said. “Truly. Besides, we have much larger things to worry about than a few cuts and bruises, don’t you think?” He paused and looked between them. “How is the company?”

Oreliell sighed.

“They are all alive. But the dragon sickness has taken root in Thorin’s mind.”

Gandalf nodded gravely.

“Then we must think of a way to get through to him.”

“Gandalf, I’ve tried. He is my One and even I struggled to speak with him.”

“I understand. Nevertheless, we mustn’t give up.”

Oreliell smiled a little.

“You’re crazier than I thought to believe I would give up.”

Gandalf smiled back at her before returning to the tent. Vedis placed a comforting hand on Oreliell’s arm.

“All will be well, muinthel.”

Oreliell nodded and followed her sister to the tent. Gandalf was back to trying to convince Thranduil.

“Since when has my council counted for so little?” he asked. “What do you think I’m trying to do?”

“I think you’re trying to save your dwarvish friends. And I admire your loyalty to them. But it does not dissuade me from my course.” Thranduil rose from his chair. “You started this, Mirthrandir. You will forgive me if I finish it.” Oreliell exchanged glances with her sister as Thranduil approached one of his guards. “Are the archers in position?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Give the order. If anything moves on that mountain, kill it. The dwarves are out of time.”

Gandalf stormed out of the tent, clearly angered. Oreliell looked at the elven king, who still stared out at the mountain.

“You said that you would attack at dawn,” Oreliell said. “Would you be so heartless as to shoot while they are not expecting it?”

“They have been given their warning,” Thranduil said.

“And what about the warning Gandalf has given you? We have traveled many months with him. If what he says about the orcs is true, then I think we must at least consider his words.”

“Oreliell.” She glanced over her shoulder at her sister, only to realize that Vedis was no longer standing there. “You’ll never believe who just showed up.”

A moment later, Vedis entered the tent with Bard, Gandalf, and Bilbo in tow.

“Bilbo,” Oreliell said with a smile.

“I’m glad to see you’re all right, Oreliell,” Bilbo said.

“Who is this?” Thranduil said.

“Bilbo Baggins, the official burglar of the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

“If I’m not mistaken, this is the halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.”

Thranduil sat down in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly at Bilbo. The hobbit shuffled in place.

“Yes,” he said under his breath. “Sorry about that.” Oreliell glanced at Vedis, who was also smiling. They watched as the hobbit stepped forward, pulling something out of his pocket. “I came to give you this.”

He placed the item on the table and pulled away the cloth. Everyone stared in shock and awe.

“Oh my gosh,” Vedis murmured.

“The Heart of the Mountain,” Thranduil breathed, standing slowly. “The King’s Jewel.”

“And worth a king’s ransom,” Bard said. He looked down at Bilbo. “How is this yours to give?”

“I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure.”

Oreliell almost laughed in disbelief. She was stunned by his courage. But she couldn’t help but worry about what Thorin might do if he found out.

“Why would you do this?” Bard asked. “You owe us no loyalty.”

“I’m not doing it for you,” Bilbo told them. “I know that dwarves can be obstinate and pigheaded and difficult. They’re suspicious and secretive, with the worst manners you could possibly imagine. But they are also brave and kind and loyal to a fault. I’ve grown very fond of them, and I would save them if I can. Now, Thorin values this stone above all else.” Oreliell noticed that he glanced her way. “In exchange for its return, I believe he will give you what you are owed. There will be no need for war.”

Oreliell glanced at the two leaders. Bard turned to Thranduil, still in shock at the hobbit’s actions. Thranduil looked at him for a moment before looking back at Bilbo.

“We will take this into careful consideration,” Thranduil said. “Someone will show you a place to rest for the night.”

Bilbo nodded. Gandalf ushered him toward the entrance, but the halfling suddenly stopped.

“I nearly forgot!” he said. He turned around and pulled a sheath far too large for his body. He handed them to Oreliell. “You left your swords back at the mountain. I figured you’d want them back.”

Oreliell looked down at the swords then at Bilbo. She was surprised that he had noticed and that he had brought them with him to give to her. She put her hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Bilbo. You did not have to do that, but I greatly appreciate it.”

Bilbo smiled at her then stepped out of the tent with Gandalf. Oreliell looked back at her blades. She had not really realized that she had left them in the mountain; her haste to leave made it slip her mind. But Bilbo had brought back both her swords and her pair of daggers.

“He is a brave hobbit,” Vedis commented.

“Yes. Much different from when we first met him. I just hope he stays safe tomorrow if war breaks out.”

Vedis put her hand on Oreliell’s shoulder. The two exchanged small smiles.

“The halfling is quite impressive,” Thranduil said, regaining their attention. 

“Indeed he is. You also need better guards,” Oreliell replied, barely casting him a glance.

She heard Bard half choke on a laugh, but he tried to cover it with a cough. Oreliell smiled to herself. She didn’t need to look at Thranduil to know his eyes had narrowed. 

“I noticed that both of you are without armor. If you are interested, I can provide both of you with sets for tomorrow.”

Oreliell wanted to roll her eyes. She wanted to ask why on earth he thought they would need armor if they were going to confront Thorin. But she knew better.

An army of orcs were on the way.

And she recalled something Thorin had told her long ago: “never underestimate dwarves.” She hated to come before the man she loved dressed for battle, but she wasn’t sure what kind of plan he had come up with to handle Thranduil’s army.

Oreliell sighed and glanced at Thranduil. She nodded.

“Then I shall make sure that you have it.”

He stepped aside to deliver the orders to one of his guards. Bard looked at the Arkenstone then at the sisters.

“What do you make of it?” he asked. “The stone.”

“Bilbo is right about it,” Oreliell said after a moment. “Thorin craves this stone more than anything. It is sacred to the dwarven people, the crowning glory and symbol of their house and power. Thorin will not be pleased to see it in your hands.”

“Our hands? Would you not carry this?”

“I barely want to look at it,” she admitted. “That rock has taken away more from me in the past few days than I ever wanted to lose. And that says a lot, for I have lost much in my long lifetime. Simply seeing me siding with you will create a reaction. I do not want Thorin to think that I have betrayed him further by taking that stone.”

Bard nodded.

“I understand. I shall speak with Thranduil to see what we shall do with it.”

“Before we get to that,” Thranduil said as he stepped back inside the tent, “I would like to have a word with Oreliell.”

Bard glanced at her before going outside. Vedis stayed a minute longer. She studied Thranduil for a long moment before looking at her sister.

“I will go inspect the armor we are being given. If you would like, I can take your swords with me?” she said. 

“Thank you,” Oreliell said, passing her blades over.

“Let me know if you need me.”

“I will, muinthel.” 

Vedis nodded and stepped out. Oreliell took a breath before looking at Thranduil. The elven king had remained standing and was watching her.

“{You risk a lot going with us tomorrow,}” Thranduil said after a long moment. “{Why do it?}”

“{Because I have already lost so much. And I do not wish to lose my betrothed as well.}”

“{Even after everything he has put you through?}”

“{Do not pretend you know him better than I do.}”

Thranduil motioned for her to follow him. They stepped outside once again to look at the mountain. The braziers were lit above the gate, but otherwise everything appeared normal. Oreliell couldn’t help but wonder what was going on inside.

“I want you to know that I truly do not want this,” Thranduil said. “While the heirlooms of my people are of great importance to me, this was not the outcome I had hoped for. I tried to avoid this when your company passed through my kingdom, but Thorin turned me down.”

“Because he still holds a grudge against you for what you did when Smaug first took the mountain. Or rather, what you didn’t do.”

Thranduil sighed. He turned to look at her.

“I want you to understand what it is you are risking going into this, what this could potentially do to you if things do not go smoothly tomorrow.”

“I am well aware what could happen, Thranduil. And that is why I must be present tomorrow. If something were to happen to Thorin, I would never be able to live with myself. I will protect Thorin with my very life.” She looked at the mountain again. “No matter what happens to me, he will live.”

#The hobbit #Tolkien #Thorin Oakenshield #Thorin #Thorin Oakenshield x oc #Thorin x oc #Thorin Oakenshield x elf oc #Thorin x elf oc #Thorin x elf #The hobbit oc #Fan fiction #Star of the mountain

[xxbyimm]

XxByImm's Works in Progress - 2023

Since Tumblr is a bitch and won't allow me to find or edit my old post (a bug I reported ages ago, twice ffs.), here's a new "Works in Progress" ❤❤❤😊

+ (Anti-)Hero - Joel Miller x OC - Chapter 2 Joel and Jess got me by the balls, UNGGHH. I'm working on chapter 2 now and their dynamic has me FERAL! Follow my sideblog @sluttyforpascal for the filthy updates. 😈😭

+ Roles - Pedro Pascal x reader oneshot Why is Pedro Pascal so handsome? And why is he distracting me from my writing projects? Fuck that man!! 😭🙈🥵 This oneshot I'm working on is to get him out of my system. Follow my sideblog @sluttyforpascal for the post! 🤗

+ A Tale as Old as Time - Bard the Bowman x OC - Chapter 7 The angsty ride is not ever yet... Let's goo.... 🙊

+ Enya’s Unexpected Journey - Thorin Oakenshield x OC - Revision of all chapters Yes, I am insane. Rewriting this fic is a disaster, but it must be done. Currently, I'm working on chapter 15, 14/30 chapters are done and waiting to be published.

Spoiler: Enya always gets what she wants... 😈🍑🍆

+ The Bet Series - Thorin Oakenshield x OC - Phase IV Orgasm Ooff I still have to finish this series. I truly intend to. 🥰

In the meantime.. Have some Joel with me. 🥵😈

#xxbyimm's upcoming works #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x oc #joel miller tlou #tlou #joel miller fanfiction #bard the bowman #bard the bowman x oc #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x oc

[enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog]

-The Best of Intentions-

***********************

This is my first jump into the Tolkien/Hobbit/LOTR fandom.
Its been a while since I've written anything fun for myself. I recently reread The Hobbit an LOTR books, then proceeded to binge watch the Hobbit, followed by LOTR and then subsequently The Rings of Power. All those feelings I had as a pre teen reading the books and then the even stronger love/hate feels after BOTFA was released have led me to this moment of jumping back into my love of creative writing feet first . 
And here we go!


**I Do not own nor claim to own any of J.R.R Tolkien's work or characters. 
Reviews are appreciated. 


Chapter 1

***
The chest pain was acute and constant with each inhale. He closed his eyes and savored the feeling the leafy concoction of Gandalfs pipe gave him. The pain was worth it, eager to ease the pain and numb it. He couldn't help the shudder his body released when he finally exhaled, his eyes still closed as he leaned back against the destroyed wall of the rampart behind him. He let the feeling of the smoky substance seep into his weary body.


Gandalf chuckled as he reached to retrieve his pipe that the exhausted and beat up dwarf king offered back to him. "Oin would not be pleased seeing you all out here with me."


"He can go kiss a troll." Thorin quipped, his voice deep and slow, eyes still closed.


Gandalf's mouth twitched humorously as he heard the dwarves to his right snicker at their King's retort.

He felt a nudge against his right arm, "Care to pass that along?" Fili held out his hand, eager for the same reprieve his uncle was currently enjoying.


Gandalf shook his head and chuckled, taking a quick puff of his own pipe before passing it down to the younger dwarf.


"Share brother." Kili groaned as he adjusted how he sat against the demolished wall.


"Wait your turn. You weren't stabbed then tossed off a bloody cliff." Fili ground out before he took a deep inhale from the pipe.


"Attempted stabbing." Kili corrected, "And I caught you, lest you forget that. Nearly tore my arms from my body. One would think you were a bloody rock troll with how much you weigh."


Fili rolled his eyes and exhaled deeply, his body slowly relaxing. He grimaced slightly as his back twinged, reminding him of the ugly black bruise that covered the left side of his back. "Oh he tried all right. The mithril might have saved my skin but my back is screaming at me. I can barely move."


"Be glad lad, tha means yer alive. Thank the Valar we all decided to wear mithril mail before we joined the battle." Dwalin grunted roughly, still trying to calm the storm of emotion that stormed turbulently inside his gut. Only his eyes betrayed him to those who were closest to him, how terrified he had been that he nearly lost his closest companions to their sworn enemy just mere hours before.


Kili was wracked with a coughing fit, not anticipating Gandalf's pipe to contain a stronger substance he was used to. His eyes started to water as he held out the pipe to the bald, battle scarred warrior sitting next to him. "Here." He wheezed. "Don't be like that."


"Thank Mahal! There you are! Bilbo and I have been searching everywhere for you!" Balin exclaimed, his exasperation obvious. "You were supposed to be in the infirmary getting seen to. We need to make sure your injuries are cleared. Oin is fit to be tied."


"He has more pressing injuries to see to." Thorin growled. "We are fine. We will wait until every other warrior is seen to."


"Aule preserve me." Balin grumbled as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "At the very least let someone look you over. I don't want you bleeding out from some unseen wound."


"My mithril mail prevented any fatal injury. I am just bruised."


"Internal bleeding is nothing to scoff at." Balin ground back, his jaws clenched in frustration. "Give your kin this one peace of mind."


Thorin sighed, only to wince as his ribs protested the movement. "So be it." He conceded. His cerulean eyes opened slowly, slightly misty from the affects of the wizards pipe. "Come boys. let us prove that we are not the dead walking."


Balin let out a sigh in relief as he watched the king and his nephews get up, stiff and slow. Dwalin got up as well, slower than he normally would have. He would have to make sure his brother took time to be checked by a healer as well. Lost in his worrisome thoughts, he failed to hear Bilbo approach him. "Oh good, you found them. Are they coming willingly or am I going to have to go fetch Dain to drag them in?"


Balin huffed, his humor shallow and fleeting. "They are coming of their own volition. Probably because he's too exhausted to put up a real fight."


Bilbo's gaze fell upon Gandalf, who continued to sit against the crumbled rampart and puff on his pipe as he stared out into the battlefield.

Those who were able were respectfully moving the bodies of the deceased dwarves, elves and men away from the foul bodies of the orcs and goblins. Despite the cool breeze coming down from the mountain side, the stench of death hung heavy around them. Gandalf knew they narrowly won the battle, and it was sorely won. So many innocent lives cut short, death dealt quickly on swift wings. He also knew this was only the beginning. Despite the victory this day held, the darkness was encroaching upon them. Time was now bought, but paid for dearly. He could only hope they would have a reprieve from the evils he knew were ahead.


"Gandalf?"


Bilbo had approached the wizard quietly, concern seemingly a permanent look etched into his face. So much had happened in the past 6 months, how did he ever think this quest wasn't going to change him?


"Yes Master Baggins?" Gandalf spoke out of the corner of his mouth, the pipe stem still fixed between his lips.


"The quest … Its done is it not? Thorin and his people have claimed their mountain. We have defeated the orcs, Azog is dead at Thorin's hand…" Bilbo rambled, his hand gesturing dramatically as if personally checking off tasks on a to-do list.


"It is done for today, yes. And perhaps tomorrow, a week, a month or even years from now."


Bilbo's eyebrows furrowed. "I feel as if you are insinuating that this peace is not made to last?"


They both sat in silence for a moment, watching Gandalf's smoke rings drift off to be swept away on the breeze. "Not only is this Thorin's victory, but all of Middle Earths against the one who seeks to destroy all." Gandalf paused, carefully considering his words. "This is only the beginning. And now our dear King Under the Mountain is in his rightful place to help keep that evil at bay. He has a long, hard won path ahead of him."


Bilbo swallowed the dread that had settled thick against his Adam's apple. "Then we must make sure he has all the support he needs."


Gandalf smiled, despite the severity that hung thick around them like a fog. "Yes, Master Baggins. I have no doubts that he will have just that. And more if I'm not mistaken. All in good time." 
*********


#hobbit thorin oakenshield #hobbit thorin oakenshield x oc fanfiction #thorin fanfiction #thorin and company #erebor #the hobbit #kili durin #Fili #thorin durin #durin #dwarves #thorin oakenshield x oc #alternate ending #bilbo baggins #gandalf #happy ending #botfa #the hobbit botfa

[lathalea]

Blame It on Cider, part 8

Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Thorin x Yrsa (Dwarf Female OC) Rating: E (18+ only) Warnings: snowed in, smut, smut, smut, smut, Thorin head over heels in love, fluff

Summary: After a big celebration (and a lot of cider) Yrsa, a cheeky herbalist from the Blue Mountains, wakes up in the arms of a handsome (but grumpy) blacksmith who turns out to be none other than the famous king - Thorin Oakenshield. Fighting her hangover, she decides to avoid the awkwardness of "the morning after" and disappears. Will Thorin find her again?

You can read this fic here and on AO3.

Searching for the previous parts? Here they are:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 Smut below. You have been warned.

Khuzdul: Harsûnê - my flame-lady Mabiramarralûnê - my passionate man Thorinuldûm - Thorin’s Halls (the place in the Blue Mountains where Longbeards lived after Sack of Erebor)  Ursarusê - my tiny fire  Biraijzêr - “the pull”, for Dwarves, both being in love and feeling that this is the right person to marry Lulkh - fool

Blame It on Cider, part 8

One week later

The sweet weight of Yrsa’s body as she straddled him, the warmth of her skin flush against his, made Thorin wake up in an instant. His eyes blinked open only to see her fiery hair cascading down towards his face as she lowered herself over him. She was like a secret magical spring glade in the middle of a frozen winter forest he was fortunate enough to find. Yrsa. His eyes took in the sight of her; her radiant eyes, green as fresh grass, her glistening locks caressing his cheek and filling his lungs with the scent of a blooming meadow, her full, pink lips, inviting and warm, like the first rays of the morning sun. “Good morning, Master Blacksmith,” she brushed her nose against his, a mischievous smile dancing on her lips, her fingers playing with the curls on his chest. “Have you slept well?” “I think I may still be dreaming,” he murmured and let his lips meet hers in a lazy, lengthy kiss, their private little ritual they eagerly repeated every morning since their first night at the shepherd’s hut. A shadow of a grin formed on Thorin’s lips when he recalled that kissing was not the only thing they did with equal eagerness every morning. 

His hands slid down her shoulders, gliding down her back only to rest over the enticing curve of her hips, eliciting a small sigh out of her. Yrsa’s knees were pressed against his sides now, her hands resting on both sides of his head. A thought crossed Thorin’s mind – his warrior instinct should have been warning him about being trapped. Instead, his whole body reveled in the fact of being surrounded by such an alluring cage. Their kiss deepened, its sweetness giving way to fire inside him, kindled by her delicious mouth, by her nimble tongue, by the sensation of her pebbled nipples brushing against his pectorals. Oh yes, his whole body was awake now, hot magma running through his veins, rousing his most primal urges, spreading through his lower abdomen and making the tension in his groin grow more intense. His fingers dug into the beguiling softness of her skin as he bent his legs up, his feet flat on the bed, making her round bottom bump against his thighs. Their lips parted and Yrsa gave out a surprised gasp. Her lovely face seemed to glow as her eyes suddenly opened. Her unfocused gaze, her copper eyebrows, arched like robin’s wings, contrasting with the paleness of her creamy skin, her plump lips already slightly swollen because of his ministrations, everything about her was… wonderful. Perfect. Beautiful. Thorin yearned for Yrsa deeply, as if the last time they made love happened not several hours but several centuries ago.

A triumphant growl left his lips as he devoured her mouth, so tender, so delectable, and Yrsa let out another sigh as she slowly lowered herself over him. The impossible heat of her womanhood pressed against his hardness. Sweet Mahal, she was so wet already, so incredibly ready for him. Thorin felt dizzy, utterly drunk with her, and yet he wanted more of her, all of her, body and soul; she was his and he was hers, and he needed to show it to her at that very moment.

He began to sit up, intending to bring her even closer and then plunge into the sweet pool of her arousal to soar with her on the wings of passion, but just then a slender hand pressed against his chest.

“Let me…?” Yrsa spoke, a shadow of a blush settling on her cheeks, and all he found himself able to do was nod and rest his back on the bed once more. 

During the last few days, Thorin found it exhilarating to see those new rare glimpses of her boldness as Yrsa seemed to be testing the waters with him. Secretly he hoped that perhaps she was finally accepting that he was a Dwarf of flesh and bone and not only that cursed title that seemed to unnecessarily intimidate her.

She lowered her face to press a tender kiss on his lips, making a river of heat rush down his spine. His palms rested on her strong, shapely thighs, caressed them impatiently, ready to move to her hips and set them at that one sweet angle so that he could finally burrow inside her and become one with her.

But her small hands closed on his wrists and pulled them away from her body, pinning his arms to the bed. He met her gaze and found a playful flicker in her eyes. Yrsa tilted her head surrounded by the halo of her flaming hair that flowed all the way down to cover her mouthwatering, full breasts. Thorin wanted to reach up and expose those beauties to his hungry gaze so he could admire their perfect shapes to his heart’s content, then touch them and taste them, but Yrsa’s hands still held his wrists firmly against the bed. “You Longbeards have this saying… Let the forge come to the blacksmith, is that correct?”

“Aye.” Thorin’s tongue wet his suddenly parched lips and he was rewarded with a smile.

Yrsa let go of him, then her fingertips meandered along his shoulders, his pectorals, his abdomen and lower, kindling all-consuming fire within him, painting a sizzling trail all the way to his navel and beyond.

“Close your eyes?” she whispered. “Please?”

As darkness surrounded him, Thorin gave out a growl when her delicate fingers encircled his throbbing member and moved lazily back and forth only to finally press his tip against her pulsing heat. Yrsa descended upon him unhurriedly, letting him delve into her depths, enveloping him with her silky flesh, pulling him in deeper to the very core of her wetness and, as his hips bucked into her, she tightened around him. A half-grunt half-moan of pleasure left his lips. There was only her touch, her scent, the sound of her quickened breath, her dewy warmth, her firm thighs pressing against him. There was only her.

“Harsûna…” he muttered, savouring the moment, feeling the slight pressure of her palms splayed on his chest, her body swaying slightly. “May I look now?”

“Yes,” Yrsa whispered, her voice slightly tense, but she didn’t move.

Thorin opened his eyes. How lovely she looked above him, joined with him, slightly tilting towards his face, her moist lips forming a delicious “o” of something akin to surprise.  

“Is all well, my little witch?” he asked, moving his hand towards her face.

“It is,” she panted, her eyes unfocused. “You are just so… so much…” “Too much?”

“Just enough,” Yrsa took his hand, placing a kiss in the middle of his palm, and intertwining her fingers with his. “I’m savouring you.”

“Then let me give you more to savour,” Thorin moved his hips in a circular motion, in a way he had already learned Yrsa liked especially much. A chuckle died on her lips as she moaned and rocked on top of him. Her fingers tightened against his palm while she slowly lifted her hips only to lower herself against him, and a jolt of pleasure ran to his core. Her hips repeated the motion, slightly quicker, and then again, and soon a triumphant but contagious smile appeared on Yrsa’s face as she found her unhurried pace; each of her movements kindling new fires inside him.

Thorin did not know when her palms pressed his hands against the bed, their fingers still intertwined. Mesmerized, he devoured every single inch of her nakedness with his eyes like a starving man. He feasted on the way her body rose and fell, the way her thighs moved, her hips finding the perfect angle every single time, picking up speed; the way his hardness sank between her taut folds; the way her pert behind brushed against his own thighs and each time it happened, eliciting a moan from her. 

Thorin noticed how unfocused Yrsa’s heavily lidded eyes were while her soft eyelashes cast sensual shadows on her flushed cheeks. He could not tear his eyes off her every time she took him deep inside her, a myriad of sensations etched in her beautiful features. Snugly enveloped in the heat of her little forge, he matched his movements with hers, giving her an extra thrust whenever her pelvis met his, and then being rewarded with yet another melodic moan that fell from her lips. Not being fully in control was a new feeling for Thorin, an exhilarating feeling that swelled inside him even more whenever her velvety walls tightly wrapped around his girth in a fluid motion, never slowing down the pace.

The burning pressure in him was almost unbearable, Yrsa’s body keeled towards his chest, her breathing uneven, her fingers tightening against his even more. By now, Thorin learned her reactions well enough to recognize what was about to happen. Yrsa was lost in her passion, chasing her pleasure, her movements faster and erratic. When she pressed her alluring, trembling body against his with all her weight, his hips instinctively bucked upward, making Yrsa stiffen, and she succumbed to the rapture that consumed her with his name on her lips.

That was when the intense feeling of release rushed through Thorin’s body and stars exploded under his eyelids. As the waves of pleasure swept over him, he held her close against his chest, and it felt right and exhilarating and all-encompassing, and each breath he took filled his lungs with the scent of a blooming meadow. His fiery Yrsa.

As he felt Yrsa relax against him in the afterglow of their lovemaking, Thorin pressed a small kiss on her forehead and whispered, “Good morning, Harsûnê.“

“Thorin, Mabiramarralûnê…” she mumbled drowsily, melting into him, her full lips brushing against his earlobe.

He drifted off to sleep, holding the woman he loved in his arms, for the first time in years feeling at peace with the world.

***

“Thorin… Thorin, wake up! We have overslept!” Yrsa placed her hand on Thorin’s bare shoulder and shook it gently.

“Again…?” he grunted into a pillow, wrinkling his nose.

“Yes, again,” she stifled a chuckle when he pulled the blanket over his head. “It is almost noon!”

“In that case… Let us go back to sleep,” he offered and pulled her into him, his powerful arms wrapping tightly around her. In the blink of an eye, Yrsa found herself pressed against his chest, his coarse hair tickling her nose. She would be lying to herself if she said she minded it. To be honest, the thought of dozing off like this again, enjoying the warmth of Thorin’s body and his closeness, did not seem like a bad idea at all.

“But weren’t we supposed to leave the hut first thing in the morning?” she protested faintly.

“Not after you rode me like a pony all the way to Emyn Muil and back.” As he spoke, one of his hands started tracing the line of her spine, making her purr like a cat that had just drank a bowl of cream.

She giggled, “That was yesterday. Today it was all your doing! I was minding my own business, sleeping innocently, while you decided to… stoke the fire in the forge with your poker.”

“My poker?!” He opened one eye and huffed, faking indignance. “Truly?” “Yes, and a very large one, too!” Yrsa tried to avert the damage, failing to hide a smirk in his chest. “Because its owner is a very… very big and strong Dwarf!”

“Keep talking, my little witch,” he murmured into her hair, but she tilted her head up and found his lips instead, kissing him sloppily. At that very moment, kissing Thorin was undeniably superior to talking. Yrsa did not mind that either. In fact, it would be so easy to get used to it… 

“A few more of your kisses and I will start suspecting that you want me to forget who complained about being too sore to walk today...” Thorin’s sinfully low voice rumbled in his chest, interrupting her thoughts.

“I have no memory of saying any such words!” Yrsa chuckled teasingly, her fingers running down the hard plain of his pectoral while something even harder and incredibly hot pressed against her upper thigh. Something fluttered in her core as a familiar growl left Thorin’s lips.

“Allow me to refresh your memory then, my lady,” he murmured, cupping her bottom with one of his large palms and rolling her on her back.

“Thorin! This way we’ll never leave the bed until the evening!” she rolled her eyes theatrically.

“Challenge accepted, Harsûnê,” as he spoke, his breath set the smooth skin of her breast on fire. And guess what? She did not mind it at all.

***

Ploughing through the deep snow, Yrsa smiled to herself, quickly glancing at Thorin who walked beside her. It took them two more days until they finally managed to wake up on time and leave the cavern. Shamefully she had to admit that it was not their (nonexistent) internal discipline that allowed them to finally leave that place, but rather… hunger. No, not the one of carnal variety (this one would have kept them in that bed for at least a week more). The truth was simple: their food rations were running low. Besides, Yrsa had one more reason to hurry home.

“I wonder if Ursarusê will remember me at all. I’ve been gone for two weeks,” Yrsa sighed, her eyes set on the large gates of her home city carved into a mountain wall ahead. The tip of her reddened nose tingled. It was a freezing winter afternoon and the sky was rapidly darkening, but at least the blizzard was gone for good.

“I have often left Dís with her sons for weeks or even months when they were tiny pebbles. Every time I returned, they would give me their big, toothless smiles and ask me for stories, as if I had never left,” Thorin’s lips curled up in a fond smile when he stopped for a moment.

Yrsa took his outstretched gloved hand and squeezed it in appreciation. Whatever happened between them in that shepherd’s hut (she desperately tried to avoid thinking about the most graphic details at the moment, soon she would be home, greeting her family and she needed to have her wits about her and act like a respectable lady and not like his Harsûnê), and wherever it might lead, having Thorin around felt surprisingly… well… good. Comforting. Reassuring. And no, she was not drunk (and certainly not on cider! Uh, what would she give now for one mug of warm, spiced cider!). Unless one meant the dizziness she felt every time Thorin looked at her in that tender way of his, making her knees weak.

She had to admit that after spending a bit more time with him, she occasionally caught herself thinking of him as “her” Thorin. Not a haughty king, certainly not a grumpy blacksmith, but just Thorin. Thorin, her… who? Yrsa was not quite sure. A part of her (a growing part, to be honest) needed time to seriously think about his proposal, or rather, his proposals. Each of them, separately, overwhelmed her with its implications, and together, they made her mind whirl.

The first one, the offer of employment in Thorinuldûm, seemed too good to be true. Luckily, Yrsa now knew Thorin too well to even suspect that an honourable Dwarf like him would lower himself to bribing her in that manner only because of their… um… not-yet-specified-but-very-private-and-very-enjoyable-relation. From what she heard, the new settlement of the Ereborean refugees was quite large. If they really had only one healer and one apothecary, as Thorin claimed, she could easily make her ends meet there — unlike in her home city, where there seemed to be as many healers, surgeons, and herbalists as mountain goat herders. And Thorin reassured her that both she and Ursarusê would be welcome in Thorin's Halls (and of course she only meant the name of the city in Westron, certainly not Thorin's own halls! No, not his home! Certainly not his bedroom! Not at all! Not thinking about a cute little rocking cradle standing next to a bed large enough to fit two people!). In that new city, she and her little girl would be away from the prying eyes of people who have known Yrsa all of her life – and their wagging tongues. Not often a Dwarf-maiden returned home after a long absence with a newborn babe in her arms, but without a husband.

And then there was Thorin’s second proposal. Whenever she tried to wrap her head around it, something seemed to paralyse her at the idea of her, Yrsa, a simple herbalist, courting the king of Longbeards. And don’t even try to think about where that courting would lead to, Yrsa’s brain! Every Dwarf knew that courting was only a step away from plaiting the marriage braids and rarely—if ever—broken off. And Dwarves married only once in their lives! One simply did not agree to be courted if they did not feel the biraijzêr. The pull, as her people called it. The deep conviction that one found the person they wanted to spend their life with. Did Thorin feel it? Or was it just mostly lust and maybe a pinch of infatuation on his part? And what about her own feelings? As much as she liked the idea of enjoying Thorin’s closeness or falling asleep in his arms every night, she realised how absurd the idea of her becoming his wife was. Stupid Dwarf! Why couldn’t he be a simple Broadbeam blacksmith? Why did he have to ruin everything by being born into some stupid royal family half the world away?

“Do not fret, Harsûnê. Ursarusê will be happy to see you again,” the stupid Dwarf’s rumbly voice reached her.

“Your nephews… How old are they?” Yrsa tried to focus on their conversation again.

“Fili is eleven and Kili is six, but he claims he is ‘almost ten’,” she heard Thorin chuckle. “I wonder what you will think of them when you meet them.”

Yrsa did not feel any fluttering in her belly at the thought of crossing the threshold of his halls (yes, now she meant his home!) and meeting the stupid Dwarf’s family. She gritted her teeth. It was simply hunger, nothing else.

“Kili reminds me of Tovi, my eldest brother’s son. He is eight, but these days he claims he is ‘almost half-battle age’. I suspect it may have something to do with the fact that his little brother was born a few weeks ago.”

“My mother tells me I was exactly like Kili when my younger brother was born,” Thorin admitted. Looking into his face, it was easy to imagine a tiny, proud princeling puffing up his chest and Yrsa could not stop herself from smiling.

A sudden, strong whiff of wind made Thorin look at the sky with a slight frown. 

“If your leg allows it, let us walk faster. I do not like the sight of that cloud.”

Nodding in agreement, she squeezed his hand again and they hastened their pace. Yrsa’s sprained ankle was not yet fully healed—neither was Thorin’s leg—but she did her best, using Thorin’s arm as support when needed. The thought of another blizzard coming soon added to her strength. They would rest and recuperate when they reached the Firebeard stronghold and Yrsa’s family home. The plan was simple. They were to spend several days there and then she would pack all the needed things, her tinctures and herbal essences – everything that could be needed to heal Thorin’s ailing mother. After that, they would travel across the mountains, to Thorinuldûm.

But first, Thorin had to meet her family. And not run away screaming.

***

Yrsa’s stomach growled. It had to be hunger. But since the moment she saw the entrance to the Dwarvish stronghold she was born and raised at, there was also a growing worry in her, making her stomach clench. With every step they were approaching her family home and she still had not talked with Thorin. As soon as the guards greeted them and let them pass into the spacious entrance hall, Yrsa pulled Thorin to the side, away from curious ears. There was no use delaying the inevitable. 

“What is it?” Thorin frowned, taking off his hood.

“Would you…” she swallowed. “Would you be greatly offended if I introduced you to my family simply as Thorin the blacksmith?”

He shook his head, “Not at all. This is my craft, after all. Is anything the matter, Yrsa? You look worried.”

“It is just… My family…” she looked away. “It would be better if they did not know about… about who you are. Apart from being a blacksmith, that is. I mean… Maybe when…”

“YRSAAA!!!” an animalistic roar pierced the air. No. This could NOT be happening. Not now. Something—or rather someone—very bulky and very furry charged towards her, heavy footsteps thudding against the stone floor. That someone looked exactly as it sounded – like a drunk bear.

“What in the name of–” Thorin started.

“Ugh!” Yrsa managed to utter before the aforementioned drunk bear crushed her in a hearty hug.

“Lil’ sis!” the beast exclaimed and then hiccuped. “You’re back!”

“Bjalfi! My ribs!” she chuckled, disentangling herself from her brother’s affectionate embrace and giving Thorin a reassuring smile only to see a frown on his face. Not good. She needed to act fast. “Thorin, this is my brother, Bjalfi. Bjalfi, this is Thorin, my… travelling companion.” “Your travelling companion, huh?” Her brother took a good look at him, from head to toe. Yrsa cleared her throat. She was not lying, was she? It was true, they were travelling together and they were companions. Of sorts. They kept each other company, right? Especially during long winter nights… Shut up, Yrsa’s feminine parts! It was time to use the upper brain for once and avoid getting herself in trouble!

“Yes, we met on the trail. Thorin will be staying with us for a couple of days,” she added in a firm voice.

“Will he now…” Bjalfi folded his arms across his chest and glared at her “companion”. And then he hiccuped again.

“Yes, he will,” she rested her fists on her hips. “Because I invited him!” 

Yrsa ignored her brother’s ostensible huff that followed and then her eyes rested on the darkening frown on Thorin’s face. She wondered if she should thank Mahal for his silence so far or prepare for the storm his calm preceded.

“A pleasure to meet Yrsa’s brother,” Thorin finally spoke. Coldly. Here he was, the grumpy blacksmith, folding his arms as well and scowling. And then she glanced at her brother who was busy sizing Thorin up and letting out something that sounded like a growl. She tried not to roll her eyes too much. Overprotective Dwarves and their egos.

“Straight from the tavern, eh, Bjalfi?” Yrsa asked lightly, attempting to change the subject.

“Been celebratin’, sis!” her brother grinned widely and hiccuped, making the multiple braid cuffs in his copper-coloured beard clink. “Mithril! He won the race!”

“Congratulations! I knew he would make it this time!” she patted his meaty forearm and explained to Thorin, “Mithril is Bjalfi’s prized race buck. My brother is a mountain goat breeder.”

“Aye,” Bjalfi offered proudly, swaying slightly and puffing up his chest. He was slightly shorter than Thorin, but with his bulk and muscle mass her bear of a brother made up for the height difference. When Thorin offered his reserved congratulations for the victory, Bjalfi narrowed his eyes. 

“It was easy. You just need to know how the mind of a billy goat works,” he flashed his teeth in a skewed grin. “In a way, those beasties are like men. Always thinking of getting their paws on a piece of… juicy cabbage. You just need to show them their place, y’know?”

Thorin pressed his lips in a thin line and balled his palm in a fist.

Yrsa felt a pressure increasing in her temples, a sign that a headache was coming. She stepped closer to Thorin, giving him an I-am-losing-my-patience-but-also-please-no-scenes-in-public-yes-I-know-my-brother-is-a-lulkh-sometimes look. Or at least she hoped that was what her gaze conveyed.

“Bjalfi, one more word and I swear…” she groaned and shook her head. “Let us go home, I am famished.”

Yrsa was about to pick up her rucksack from the floor where she had left it when Bjalfi’s heavy hand rested on her shoulder.

“No, no, allow me, lil’ sis. You’re tired!” he pointed at the stone floor, trying not to sway, and added in an ostentatiously resounding whisper, flexing his muscles. “Between you and me, your companion looks like he’s a bit of a wimp.”

“Bjalfi!” Yrsa did what sisters usually did in these kinds of situations and gave him a kick right in his ankle. And she had her favourite iron toe cap boots on! Unfortunately, her misbehaving brother wore thick leather boots too and did not even notice it. Drat! Life was so cruel sometimes.

“What, sis?” he grinned mischievously. “You know very well what I’m talking about!” she retorted, wishing her eyes could shoot lightnings.

“I’d better carry it.” Thorin lifted the rucksack with a grunt. “Bjalfi does not seem stable enough. Not enough juicy cabbage in his diet, I assume.”

“Oh, no! Not you too!” Yrsa turned to him, irritation growing in her. “I can carry it myself, thank you very much. You both better follow me and stop behaving like little boys!”

With these words, she grabbed the rucksack and marched off, gritting her teeth. Behind her, she heard someone grunting and someone else hiccuping. Muttering something about ridiculous Dwarves, she kept on walking, followed by the angry stomping of two pairs of heavy Dwarvish boots.

And to make matters worse, her stomach growled loudly, echoing against the walls of the corridor. She needed some food. And a mug of cider. Or five.

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

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[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

The Wormhole, Part 1

Long time no see, Tumblr friends!  To put it simply, college and real life have been my focus for these past few months and now that things are (hopefully) slowing down a bit for the summer, I hope to maybe scroll this hellsite more often than once a month.  

Writer’s block has also been defeated (for the moment) and I’ve got a fun new story in the works.  This one here is just one I’ve been sitting on for awhile.  Enjoy!  

Character Relationships:  Thorin Oakenshield x Modern!Female OC

Content Warning(s):  Mentions of manipulative behavior from an ex-boyfriend and his appearance.

Summary:  Reverse of the “Girl falls into Middle Earth” trope.  Thorin finds himself mysteriously transported to the modern world after surviving BOTFA and winds up in the care of a New York Academy of Arts teacher, Estel Cavanah.  She has no idea why this man is so incompetent with the day’s technology.  

“…And as you can see, the honey shade matches up pretty well with Nashville blue.  The darker tones cool the orange.”  I paused to glance at the clock on the other side of the room.  The neon red numbers signaled the looming end of my class period.

Or, by the way my students were shuffling in their seats and surreptitiously packing away pen and paper, perhaps it was more of a couldn’t-come-soon-enough.  

“Seeing as we are almost out of time, I’ll let you all go. See you on Friday!”  I smiled as the room immediately erupted into a flurry of movement.  The students, all eager to head home to relax at the end of a long day, feverishly packed up the last of their things and filed out of the room.  It was almost insulting how quickly they wanted to leave my class.  But I could understand their hurry; I had been a student once, and no matter how much I loved art, sometimes I couldn’t wait to get out of the classroom.

I turned to my own desk to pack up my stuff for the day, only to pause when a knock broke the silence.  Annoyance sprung to life at the thought of having to spend more time here when I could be at home.

Slowly, I turned around, wondering what student had dropped by.  But it wasn’t a student.  The person wasn’t even a resident of the state!

“Zach, what are you doing here?!”  I asked incredulously, unable to believe that the man was even standing in my doorway.  “You live in North Carolina!”  

“I came here to talk with you,” he said.  I shot him a look.  

“Zach, there is a reason phones were invented. Besides, what is so important that you come up to New York without calling me?”  I asked, propping my hands on my hips.  Then another thought occurred to me.  A much darker and more disturbing thought.  “How did you even know where I was?  We haven’t talked since high school!”

Zach just shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he walked further into my classroom.  “That’s not really important, Estel—”  

“Oh, I really think it is…”

“…I just wanted to see if you wanted to get back together.  I think we made a mistake when we broke up.”  Zach kept walking, and I began to feel the cold chills of anxiety trickle down my spine.  I stepped behind my desk, putting it between me and him.

I really didn’t think he would do anything, but at the same time, it felt like a very real possibility.

“Zach, we dated in high school.  We’re adults now.  If it didn’t work out then, I don’t think it will work out now.  Now, get out of here before I call security.”  I made a show of picking up my cell phone and unlocking it.  

He stopped walking, finally taking his hands out of his pockets to raise them in the air.  “Woah, slow down girl.  Let’s just talk, okay?  Just because we didn’t work out in high school doesn’t mean we won’t work out now.”

“I really don’t think it does…  And don’t tell me what to do, Zach.  You’re the one who’s shown up out of the blue after stalking me!” My finger hovered over the keypad on my phone, waiting to dial the campus police.  

“I’m not stalking you!”  The words burst out of Zach like an avalanche.  Immediately, his face became apologetic, and he took another step towards me.  “I’m sorry, that was rude of me, Estel…”

Instantly, I was brought back to my days as a high schooler trying to figure out both my life and manage a boyfriend at the same time. Everything pointed towards us becoming high school sweethearts.  Then one day the daydream shattered.  I was introduced to just who my boyfriend really was, and he wasn’t the man I had thought he was.  

Early on in our relationship, he’d stood behind me in my goals and dreams.  When I said that I wanted to be a teacher, he told me to follow my heart.  But when the topic came up again a few months later, he wasn’t as supportive.  

To put a long story short, he wanted to get married young and start a family.  My going away to college in a different state would put a damper on his goals.  That made me the selfish one in the relationship.

And he didn’t want that.  He did his best to hold on to our relationship and convince me to stay with him, but in the end I had to be true to myself and follow the path my heart was leading me on.  

I wasn’t sad when it ended; I felt freer than I had felt in what seemed like forever.  And the saying about hindsight being 20/20 was a constant presence in my mind as I went over our relationship.  I noticed manipulative behaviors that I hadn’t picked up on before. I realized how lucky I was to get out of it early.  To be true enough to myself not to give up my dreams for a guy.

Gathering my courage, I slipped my laptop into my bag. “No, I don’t want to hear anything from you.  We aren’t ever getting back together, Zach.  I don’t even know why you would think that.  Now, I have to go.”  Grabbing my bag, I slung it over my shoulder.  Holding my phone—keypad at the ready—I marched past Zach.

I left him behind just like I had all those years ago.  No glances over my shoulder for one last glimpse.  I just wanted to go home where I felt safe.  

The walk to my car had never felt longer, even in the broad daylight.  Clicking the button on my fob to unlock it, I pulled open the door and threw my bag in before climbing into the driver seat.  As I sat and collected my bearings, a niggling thought rose in my brain.

If Zach knew where I was teaching, chances were he knew exactly where I lived.  Right down to the apartment number.  

All of a sudden, home no longer felt as comforting. It felt dangerous to go back to, despite how much I wanted to.  And I had no choice.

Scanning the parking lot, I pulled out of my space.

~~~

I showed up early at the stable I worked at part-time, not feeling safe at my apartment.  Coincidentally, it was also owned by my brother who was too busy managing the family estates down in Havana to spend much time managing it.  That job fell to me as his little sister.  

The black sheep of the family.

I could only hope that Zach didn’t know about it. Maybe I could buy a sleeping bag and camp out in one of the empty stalls for the night…  Or text Ash and see if I could crash at her apartment for the night. She wouldn’t refuse me.

At least, not if her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Mike, wasn’t around.  Then I really didn’t want to be in the same flat.

Pulling out my phone, I unlocked it and began typing out the message to her when the bugling of a stallion ripped through the air. I frowned, the noise out of place at the normally serene stable.  

Then I heard the screaming.  

Shoving my phone in my pocket and throwing open the door, I bolted out of my car and towards the one pasture that contained a stallion.  The most ill-tempered beast I’d ever had the displeasure of handling.  Although, given that I didn’t get involved too much with horses, wasn’t really saying much.

Quickly catching up to a teen who was also hurrying towards the commotion, I grabbed their arm to stop them.  “Grab a lead rope!”  I gasped before taking off again.  I could only wonder which cocky new teenage boy had decided that he would be the one guy Ferrari—the stallion—liked.  

And exactly how much legal trouble I was about to get into.

Turning the corner to the gate of the paddock, I stopped and did a double take.  The man currently dangling from the mouth of the bay stud definitely was not one of the kids employed here.  Nor did he look like the sort that frequented prestigious stables like this one.  He looked more like a well-kept hobo than anything.

“GET THIS BLOODY HORSE OFF ME!”  The man bellowed, catching sight of me standing like an idiot on the outside of the paddock.  

I snapped out of the daze I’d gone into and looked around wildly for the stable hand I’d stopped earlier.  “Where’s a lead rope!?”

I was answered only by a stream of curses from the man as Ferrari shook him like a ragdoll.  Then pounding footsteps heralded the arrival of the kid with a lead rope.  

Snatching it out of his hand, I jumped the fence and sprinted towards the grappling pair.  “Ferrari!”  I screamed, trying to get his attention on me and away from the unknown man.  “Ferrari!”  

But the stallion paid no attention to me and continued to grind his teeth into the shoulder of the man he had cornered.  

As Ferrari tightened his grip, the man swung at him, calling him a variety of colourful names as he tried to pull away from the stallion.  

I darted in, clipping the lead rope onto Ferrari’s halter.  Then I swatted his rump with the end of the rope to get his attention.  Instantly, Ferrari dropped the man and went after me. Jumping out of the way of his teeth, I waved my hands at the man now crumpled on the ground.

“Get out of the pasture!  Go!”  I yelled at him, dodging Ferrari again.  “He hates men!”  

The man didn’t move, and I began to worry about what it would mean if he was dead.  Probably more legal troubles than if he was injured, that was for sure.  Beckett was going to be absolutely thrilled.  

“Estel, I’ll take him!”  A feminine voice called, and I shot a quick glance over my shoulder towards the stable.  Chelsea—one of the most experienced horsewomen employed here—was jogging towards me.  

As she approached, Ferrari began to calm down.  Chelsea had a way with him that none of the other female employees had.  His ears were stilled pinned tightly back and he danced in place, but he wasn’t trying to bite me anymore.

“Hey, Ferrari…”  She cooed, taking the lead rope from me, and stroking his nose.  Ferrari snorted suspiciously.  “Come here, boy.  Let’s get you inside, huh?”  She pulled gently on the rope and led Ferrari away.

That left me with the unfortunate man who had found himself in Ferrari’s pasture.  As I ran over to him, he suddenly pushed himself up off the ground, clutching his shoulder and grimacing in pain.

“Sir, are you alright?”  I asked, dropping onto my knees beside him.  From a distance, he’d looked like one of the bums that littered the streets of New York, but up close was a different story.

He obviously had some concept of hygiene—he certainly smelled nice—and his beard was neatly trimmed.  And as he raised his head to look at me, he revealed startling blue eyes that pierced me with a distrusting gaze.  

“I’m fine.”  He spat in a voice that carried the thickness of an unfamiliar accent.  “Where am I?”

“Blacktop Stables in New York.  Now, I think I should take a look at your shoulder. Ferrari is a man-hater, and it looked like he had you good.”  I reached out to gently pull his hand away from his shoulder.

He let out a short laugh.  “Horses have never liked me.  You have healer training then?”  He asked, resisting my attempts to pull his hand away so I could look at Ferrari’s handiwork.

“If by healer training, you mean medical training, then yes, I know a little.”  He dropped his hand, revealing a slobber-soaked fur vest.  “Umm…  I think I’ll need you to remove your shirt…”  

He grunted, unbuckling the belt that held the vest closed before shrugging it off.  A dark blue, velvet looking coat followed directly after.  The movement of his arm caused him to grimace and let out a hiss of pain.  Beneath it was a metallic sort of shirt that looked like some sort of armor.  He pulled the armor shirt over his head, leaving him in only a blue shirt that reached almost to his knees.  

“Blast…”  He hissed through clenched teeth.  Gingerly, he lowered his injured arm back to his side.

By this point, I felt like I was watching the clothing version of a clown car.  I couldn’t help but wonder if he had another two shirts underneath this one.  

Unbuttoning what I guessed was called a ‘tunic’, his upper body was finally revealed.  And it made the artist in me want to weep tears of joy.

If ever there was a perfect body, he had to have it. Thick, muscled arms hung from broad shoulders.  There wasn’t a speck of fat on his torso to hide the chiseled abs this man possessed. And he was able to make it look like the most natural thing in the world, unlike some of those shirtless male models I had tried to use as inspiration in the past.  

“You said you have healer training?”  

The distinctly masculine voice broke me out of my…reverie.  Quickly, I focused my gaze on his face.  Away from the abs that I was itching to sketch.  

“Uh, yeah.  Let me take a look here…”  I peered at the bite mark on his shoulder.  Ferrari had left him deep indents of his teeth, but the skin hadn’t been broken.  Already I could see the purple bruising characteristic with horse bites forming in a wide circle around the bite marks.  His excessive layers of clothes had saved him from a much worse injury.

Not that he wouldn’t go through hell in the coming weeks.  Bites of this severity literally made you unable to move the arm without excruciating pain for weeks.  

“Will I live?”  The question was quiet, and I glanced up to see a whisper of a smile on his face.  Oddly, I got the sense that this wasn’t an unfamiliar question for him to ask.  

“I can almost guarantee you will,” I shot him a small smile.  “Just put some ice on it, take some ibuprofen, and try not to use that arm much for a few weeks.”

He frowned.  “Ibuprofen?  What is that?”

The fact that he was unaware of one of the most basic over-the-counter drugs was baffling.  Everybody knew what ibuprofen was!  

“It’s a medicine you can take if the bite hurts too much.  And from what I’ve heard, a bite like yours hurts like hell.”  I explained, leaning back on my heels.  “If you aren’t able to get any, I could give you some.”  

“No, I’ve had worse than a horse bite.”  He dismissed my offering.  “Now, you said we were in someplace called New York?  Is that on the Anduin?”

I stared at him.  “The Anduin?  I’ve never heard of that.  New York is a state in the United States.  East coast?”  

The look I got back told me he’d never heard of any of it.

This whole thing was weird.  First he showed up out of the blue in Ferrari’s pasture.  The same pasture that had seven-foot fencing supplemented with electric wire and was surrounded by private ground.  And somebody would have stopped him inside the stable.  

Second, there was the whole deal with his clothing.  It looked nothing like anything made today. That and he wore armor.  To be quite frank, it didn’t even look like it was from this world.

Third, he had never heard of the US before, and he was living in it.  

Or maybe I was turning into one of those off-the-grid hippies who believed in UFOs.  There had to be a logical explanation for all this.  It wasn’t like he actually had come from a different world.  That was preposterous.

He probably just hit his head or something when Ferrari was slinging him around.  I reasoned with myself.  He’s probably just a little confused right now.

Standing up, I motioned for the man to join me. “Follow me and I can get you a bandage for your shoulder…”  I paused, waiting for him to introduce himself.

“Thorin,” the man supplied with a nod of his head.  “At your service.”

“Estel, uh, at yours.”  I fumbled, hoping I hadn’t just entered into some deal with the man.  Turning around, I took one look at the stables and felt my heart stop beating in my chest.

Zach was standing at the gate of the paddock.

“Oh, no….”  I whispered, frozen in place.  I’d felt so sure that he’d had no idea that I worked here.  Beckett certainly didn’t advertise by using me.  “He followed me…”  

“Is something wrong?”  Thorin asked from behind me.  I looked back over my shoulder at him, taking in his broad frame. He had his clothes bundled up in his arms, hiding his torso from the world.  Dark brown hair sprawled across his shoulders, untamed by any sort of hair tie.

“Um,” I looked back over at Zach.  He was staring at Thorin; a small frown on his face as he took him in.  Automatically, I began formulating my “it’s not what you think” speech in my head.  I knew what it looked like.  A man and a woman out in a field, alone.

Except…That was exactly what would get him off my back. If I was a taken woman, he couldn’t come after me.  

“Thorin, I know this is asking a lot, given that we don’t know each other, but I really need you to pretend you’re my boyfriend. He,” I nodded over in Zach’s direction, “is my ex from a long time ago and he’s been stalking me, trying to get back together.  I just need you to pretend for like a day and then we can part ways.”  I pleaded, looking up into light blue eyes.  

Thorin stared back at me, then glanced up to look at Zach.  “You don’t want his attentions?”  He asked, and I nodded.

“Yeah, I just want him to leave me alone,” I sighed. The defeat I felt over my helplessness must have carried into my voice, because the iciness began to fade from his eyes.  

“You’ve told him this?”  His voice took on a gentler tone.

“I made it very clear, and he obviously didn’t listen.”

“Then I will pretend to be your…boyfriend.”  He agreed, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth.  Instantly, his tough, rough-hewn aura faded to be replaced with a sense of security. “He will not lay a finger on you, Miss Estel.”

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[linasofia]

Among The Stars

Armitage Summer Splash #11

Trope: Crossover

Quote: “I could stay like this forever.”

Relationship: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Riin in a galaxy far, far away.

Warnings: none

Thanks @lathalea & @legolasbadass for your support! 💙💙

”I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold. The difference matters little to me.” The frightening words spoken through the modulator in the bounty hunter's helmet still ring in my ears as I run through the dusty streets of the small town I desperately try to escape. The memory of his gloved hand around my throat as he almost lifted me from the ground and the reflection of my own panicking gaze in his black visor as I fought to bring air to my lungs makes my eyes tear up. The warm and dry air left me thirsty hours ago but I don’t dare to stop. I need a safe place to hide before that man finds me again and drags me back to his ship. There is nothing more I want in this world than to fly off this planet but not like that. Not in his company and not to the destination he has in mind. I don’t even know why I have a price on my head. I am nobody important to the Empire, I try to keep a low profile and I don’t bother other people. I sell information to the highest bidder but that is all. A lot of people do it. Surely that can’t be enough for whoever is paying for my body.

As I run like a startled animal along the city wall, constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting to see that shiny beskar armor and the long sniper rifle he carries over his shoulder, I suddenly collide with something hard and the impact forces the air from my lungs.

”Watch out!” The voice belonging to the firm body I just collided with is deeper than any voice I’ve ever heard and the foreign tone in those two words are enough to stop me from continuing running. That and the fact that his two large hands clasp around my upper arms and hold me still. I pant heavily, both from the shock and the long run when I suddenly notice that my hands rest on the chest of a stranger. I pull them away as if his worn cloak just burned my palms. Under the wide hood of his cloak, a pair of icy blue eyes rest on me. The stranger is broad over the shoulders, like the bounty hunter, but he is not in armor. The look in his eyes is not hostile, instead, he watches me with a questioning frown on his face. I can’t help but notice the interesting features of his face. His thick, dark eyebrows, his patrician nose and the full beard that makes him look rough but also just a little bit alluring. I shake that thought away. Not the time nor the place.

”I’m sorry. I didn't mean to cause you any inconvenience.” My voice sounds strangely normal and I dare to meet his gaze again.

”Don’t mention it. What about you? You seem like you are in trouble, fleeing like a frightened rabbit over endless fields. Is there a hawk-bat searching for you?”

His words confuse me a bit. How can he tell? Is my fear for the man haunting me written all over my face? I got one chance to escape and I took it without hesitation. The bounty hunter misjudged my character when he thought he had scared me into submission. If he catches me, he will never make the same mistake again. Something reassuring shifts in the eyes of the man standing in my way and I decide to be as honest as I can.

”Yes. I am being chased. By a man I don’t know and for what reason I can’t imagine. He wants me dead or alive, he said so not long ago.”

The man with the icy blue eyes remains silent. His grip on my arms is firm but not so tight it will cause bruises. He has a reliable look and at this point, I need to follow my instinct.

”Please, I don’t have much credits. But if you know a safe place to hide for at least tonight, I will give you as much as I can spare.”

The man gives me a confused look. ”Are you insinuating that I should accept credits for my protection?”

”Well, yes?”

”I have no interest in your credits. If you need it, I will give you my help, without any claims.”

I look at him, search his face and try to read what hides in the depth of his expressive eyes. Is this man for real? No man around here gives anything without expecting something in return. A sudden uncomfortable feeling crawls over my back. What if he is expecting another type of payment? The thought makes me clench my fists. I could never do that. Not even for the price of my safety.

”My body is not up for trade.” I stare firmly, getting ready to run again.

He stares at me, his piercing eyes burning a hole in the inner shield I try to hold up against him. When he speaks, it sounds like thunder rolling over the Manarai Mountains on Coruscant.

”What kind of man do you take me for?” His chest heaves under his tunic, I can see it clearly as the movement stretches the fabric in front of my eyes. He pulls the hood down, revealing a dark thick mane of hair with silver strands framing his face. He is even more handsome than I first thought. In fact, the longer I stare at him, the more certain I get. I have never seen a more alluring man in my life.

”I mean what I said,” he continues in a somewhat calmer voice. ”I don’t want anything from you. My protection is free, if you need it.”

I realize I have offended him deeply with my words and shame silences me. Like the warm evening sky, my face changes in color. ”Thank you.”

”I know a place not far from here. If we hurry, it will offer us both protection and a warm place to sleep tonight. The nights get very cold here.”

Something deep inside me tells me to trust this man and since he is so far my best option to stay alive and not get caught, I give him a small smile. ”Ok, please lead the way.”

Hours later, when my stomach is filled with warm, tasty soup and I rest my head against the rough wall in our temporary shelter while the light from the fireplace dances against its ceiling, I look at the stranger next to me. A brooding frown darkens his face but his eyes are just as clear as before. Dark, long lashes make his eyes impossible to ignore. He doesn’t speak much, but neither do I. I’m very grateful for his help. My night could have been a lot colder without him. Or I could be on a ship, transported away from this horrible place wearing heavy cuffs.

”Who are you?” I ask softly, curious to have a name to go with the handsome face. He looks back at me and I catch a small glimpse of insecurity in his eyes. Trust no one is the motto in the Outer Rim, if you want to stay safe and alive. But then he answers me with a raspy voice: ”My name is Thorin.”

”Nice to meet you Thorin. I’m Riin.” He nods slowly and turns his attention back to the fire.

As tiredness claims my body, I lay down on the hard floor to rest. I have slept in worse places. Without a word, Thorin pulls off his cloak, rolls it up and places it like a pillow for me to rest my head on. I smile at him. ”This pillow is large enough for both of us. I can’t accept this if I know you will have nothing at all.”

Again his eyes expose his feelings and I pat the cloak with my hand. ”I don’t bite, I promise.” The smile I receive could melt any stone heart, but mine is already weakened by all the hours in his company. When he lays down beside me, his scent surrounds me. Pine and leather mix with his unique manly scent, and I know it will stay with me long after this night has passed. I close my eyes and carefully move a little closer to his body, seeking his warmth. He doesn’t move, not even to withdraw. I feel safe and slowly drift to sleep. Somewhere in the dreamland between sleeping and awake, I hear a low mumble: ”I could stay like this forever.”

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[esta-elavaris]

Flufftober Day 16: Singing one another to sleep - Thorin Oakenshield/OC [1,006 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here 💜✨

“Thorin!”

Gwen jolted upright from a dead sleep, hands coming up to block a blade that was not there – wielded by a foe that no longer breathed. But it took her a moment to remember that, pain slicing through the long-healed scar that ran across the back of her forearm from wrist to elbow.

Reality registered, her limbs slackened, and she sighed shakily. Sweat drenched her, her nightdress sticking to her, and her heart and head warred for which could pound the hardest. She cursed quietly beneath her breath.

“The dragon?” Thorin’s voice sounded behind her, rough with sleep.

“Ravenshill,” she corrected hoarsely. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

As she spoke, she tried to rub the phantom pain out of her scar.

“You survived,” he spoke quietly.

It was difficult to say whether he was reassuring her of that fact, or himself.

“…despite a bit of touch-and-go in the middle there,” she murmured, hand settling over the scar.

Were it not for the healing abilities of the Elves, she would have lost the arm. It spoke volumes that Thorin had even taken her to them so entirely without reluctance, in the aftermath. As it was, there was occasional loss of sensation here and there, and she’d never move it with the same deftness she’d been capable of before, but it was a small price to pay.

“That’s not what bothers me in the dreams,” she admitted. “In the dreams, I don’t get there in time.”

To distract herself from the discomfort of speaking the words aloud, she peeled off her nightgown, throwing it away from the bed where it landed with little more than a rustling flutter. It was only keeping her cold, the way it clung to her damply lending to her sense of unease. But since she wasn’t willing to lie down again just yet, she only ended up colder as the sweat cooled and dried on her skin.

Wrapping her arms about herself, she tried to steady her breathing – helped by the fact that Thorin sat up and shifted til he was at her back. Her husband was like a furnace, and with his chest at her back she could no longer pretend the tremors were purely to do with the cold.

“You are here,” he said softly into her ear. “As am I. It is over. Although you paid a hefty price to see things as they are now.”

“I’d do it again.”

He did not sound cheered by the prospect, humming lowly in the back of his throat. “I would not ask that of you.”

“Since when has that ever stopped me?”

The rueful sound he made in response had a note of fondness to it. Winding a strong arm about her waist, he pulled her back – the gesture a suggestion more than an insistence, and she knew that if she insisted on remaining upright, he would ease up immediately. Instead, though, she leaned into the embrace, allowing him to lead her to lie down, more atop him than the bed itself. But that helped. She could not convince herself that he was not here, nor that he was not breathing, when his heartbeat beneath her hand, and she could feel each inhale and exhale every time.

“I’m all sweaty,” she protested half-heartedly.

Thorin scoffed. She looked at him properly for the first time since waking then, finding concern clear and unhidden in his striking eyes and his hair mussed from sleep.

“Do you think I care at all about that? No, my thoughts are with how I might repay wife for saving my life,” he mused quietly – likely sensing that she needed the silence filled so that her thoughts would not run away with her.

“You married her, for one thing.”

“A poor reward indeed,” he teased, one corner of his lips upturning. “A punishment, some might argue. Depending on my mood.”

“Stay awake with me?” she asked quietly. “Just for a little while?”

His manner lost what little teasing there had been in it to begin with, his face softening as the hand not at her waist found her hair.

“All night, if need be,” he vowed.

“I’m sorry. If you’re tired-”

She wasn’t used to being this shivering, frightened thing – and beyond her disquiet felt ridiculous for how he was being forced to pander to it, husband or no. But he dispelled her fears with a tightened hold and a firm interruption.

“Do not apologise. Not for this. Never for this.”

“It’s been so long since the last one. I thought it was over.”

“That is the way with them,” he murmured ruefully. “The gaps betwixt them lengthen and lengthen until one day they will be no more. In the meantime, you’ll recover more quickly from them each time. They will…jar you less.”

He spoke from experience, and how could he not? Given all that he’d seen across his years? She knew that Dwarves’ lives spanned further than those of humans, but he’d seen enough for ten lifetimes, even with that difference in mind.

“Do you get them? From the battle, I mean?”

“You dream that you did not succeed,” he said softly. “I dream that you did, but did not live to see that success.”

“I did.”

“You did.”

They lapsed into silence, Gwen slowly managing to match her breathing with his. After the third time he tactfully pretended not to notice her glancing up at him to check if he was awake, he began singing in low, soothing tones to save her the bother. The song was in Khuzdul, she knew not the words (the argument over the fact that Erebor’s Queen should know it being a surprisingly uphill one thus far), but that helped somewhat – focusing on his impossibly deep voice rather than the words it was forming, and feeling the vibrations of it throughout his chest.

When she finally did fall asleep again, it was a dreamless one, and she suspected it came long before he allowed himself to drift off again, too.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

#esta's flufftober '23 fills #flufftober2023 #flufftober 2023 #thorin oakenshield x oc #thorin oakenshield/oc #the hobbit fic #the hobbit fanfic #thorin oakenshield fanfic #thorin oakenshield fic

[legolasbadass]

Heart of Gold, Chapter 27

Summary: Thorin, the heir to the lost throne of Erebor, lost everything when the dragon came. Everything except the one thing he will find out he cannot live without. His One. A great love develops between them — a love to surpass war and hunger and grief. But a love which is forbidden.

Relationship: Thorin x OFC

Rating: M

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: No, your eyes do not deceive you, I have finally updated this story!! I know there is no need to apologize for not updating for months, but I still want to do so; first I was attacked by a major writer's block that lasted for months, then real life got in the way. This was also a very challenging chapter to write, and without the help of my wonderful friends @lathalea and @linasofia, this chapter would have probably remained unfinished for another year, so I want to give them a massive thank you for their constant support❤️❤️

Read on AO3

Khuzdul translations:

Amrâlimê: My love Tada abrafu shaikmashâz: That descendant of rats Bunnelê: My treasure of treasures Amad: Mother

Chapter 27 - Beloved Wife

A few hours later, Thorin pressed a kiss into Dania’s hair, then moved to sit at the foot of the bed, his heart heavy. He could not sleep; every time he closed his eyes, he saw his father crying in his mother's arms and his sister in that dark hallway, crying out for help. He saw Dania, too, facing off against that vile man. He knew better than anyone how strong she was—she could very well defend herself—but he could not help but think of what might have happened, and he hated himself for having been away. All he wanted now was to hold her tightly against him so that he knew she was safe, but also so that he himself would feel safe, for only she had the power to banish the darkness that crept into his mind. But she deserved to rest after everything they had been through, so guilt stabbed his chest when he heard the sheets rustling behind him. 

He looked back to find Dania stirring, her hair all tousled and her eyes half-closed as though still focused on a distant dream. As she sat up, the blankets pooled around her hips, drawing his gaze to her enchanting curves. Mahal, she was beautiful, and when she sent him a tired smile, his heart threatened to explode from the love that surged through him.

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice slurred by sleep in the most endearing way.

"Not yet dawn."

"Then what are you doing over there?" she asked with a frown. He chuckled when she patted the spot next to her, and though part of him thought of telling her to go back to sleep, he was helpless to resist her. 

When he sank next to her, she wrapped an arm around him to cuddle against his chest. Thorin groaned as her breasts pressed into his stomach, but all he wanted at this moment was to hold her and be held by her, so he merely drew her more tightly against him and pressed a kiss into her hair. She smelled like honey and jasmine. Like the forest air after the rain when the sun comes out.

She smelled like home.

"What are you thinking about?"

Thorin sighed, squeezing her shoulders. "Nothing important."

To his disappointment, she pulled away to look up at him. Her wild chestnut locks, with a dozen half-unplaited braids that bore evidence of his fingers, fell over her shoulders and down to her waist, and as he reached out to tuck a stray strand behind her ear, his gaze fell to his clasp, which she wore around her neck. It belonged in her hair, for the whole world to see she was his One, but Thorin's heart was warmed at the sight nonetheless. Then he looked into her bright hazel eyes, and his emotions began to pour out of him despite how much he feared giving them voice.

“It is my father. He … he is not well….” 

As though sensing his hesitation, Dania reached out to hold his hand and brought it to her lips, but she did not rush him, and for that, he was grateful. 

"There is so much anger and resentment in him, Dania, I—I have never seen him like this," he began, swallowing heavily. "I know he has not been well since Frerin—since that battle. But now … he is not himself." 

Dania frowned. "Not himself?" 

“He—he shouts at advisors at the slightest inconvenience, always demanding more and berating people when he deems things do not unfold according to his wishes. I am surprised your father has not told you." 

"He mentioned briefly how the king had grown much more severe but—"

"No, it is much more than that. He—he is ..." Thorin shook his head, unable to describe it. Even if he had been able to find the right words, he doubted he would have had the courage to speak them aloud. 

In an instant, Dania wrapped her arms around him and pressed his head firmly against her chest, one of her small, gentle hands moving to caress his hair. When she kissed the top of his head, Thorin pulled her toward him more tightly, his face pressed into her soft skin. 

"Your father just needs time. You need not worry," she murmured, and her voice alone would have been enough to give him hope. "Your father is not alone; he has your mother and Dís—he has you." 

"That is what troubles me ..." he began slowly, lifting his head just enough to meet her worried gaze. "What if I do not know how to be there for him?" 

“Thorin—”

“I mean it, Dania,” he interjected despite the pain that now marked her face. “When my mother told us what happened to Dís … he became so agitated—and I just stood there. I had no idea what to do or say to him! And when my mother asked me to leave, I did—but was it not my duty to stay? I am my father’s heir. I am supposed to step in during such situations, yet I was lost.”

“Oh, Thorin…” Dania breathed out, raising a hand to caress his hair softly. “You are too hard on yourself; you are not only your father’s heir, you are his son. And I’m sure he understood your anger and … and would never have expected  you to neglect your feelings simply because duty demands otherwise.”

“You do not know him,” he replied, causing her to sigh. She was trying her very best to comfort him, yet all he did was make it harder for her, and he hated himself for it. “He does expect more from me, I know he does. I already disappointed him once when I told him I could not marry Ester; I must do everything in my power not to disappoint him again.” 

A moment of silence ensued, broken only by the drumming of Dania’s heart against his ear. 

"I’m sorry,” she said after a while, causing him to frown. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but I really am sorry.”

“Sorry? Whyever are you sorry?” he questioned as he pulled back to look at her despite wanting to remain in her embrace forever. 

“For this whole mess with—with Ester.” Her lips trembled, and she looked away. “For forcing you to do nothing about it. And for causing this strife between you and your father. I never wanted to cause you all this pain—”

“Oh, Dany….” Thorin’s voice faltered as he brought his hands to cradle her face, and when her eyes met his, and he noticed the tears gathering there, a sharp, unyielding heaviness stabbed his chest. “None of this is your fault, amrâlimê, “ he said, desperately hoping these words which she so often spoke to him would soothe her. He cemented his words by pressing a soft kiss onto her trembling lips, hoping she would understand. “It is Ester’s fault! Tada abrafu shaikmashâz!”

Dania winced at the anger in his voice, and Thorin pulled her tightly against him, one hand gently holding the back of her head. At this moment, Dania felt so fragile in his arms, and he vowed anew to protect her with every fibre in his body, even if it cost him everything. 

“I wish I were a lady,” Dania said suddenly, her voice so faint it was almost a whisper. “A lady of full dwarven blood. Perhaps that way, our kin would have accepted us and none of this would have happened.” 

Thorin’s heart was heavy as a stone in his chest, cracking under the weight of each heartbeat. He knew what she meant, but he hated that she could ever feel like she was not enough—that she could wish to be someone else only to be with him. He found himself thinking of their secret glade where they had danced and bound themselves to each other for all eternity. Everything had seemed so simple, so perfect, in that short moment.

“I wish I were not a prince,” he replied after a moment, surprising even himself. Shame wrapped its hand around his throat, but he could no longer deny how much he wished he was not a prince. He was proud to be the heir of the House of Durin. Proud to have been chosen by Mahal to one day lead his people, but he cursed how much pain that responsibility brought upon Dania. “I wish I were but a regular blacksmith. Perhaps it would have been easier for my family to accept us then, and if they did not, there would be nothing to stop us from running away and starting our life far away. We would not need to hide. We could work in a village, and build a small cottage … and we could start a family—”

He stopped abruptly when Dania’s hands tightened about him, and her tears stained his chest. His heart grew heavy with guilt, but when he kissed her head and whispered an endearment in her ear, she abruptly pulled away. 

“Please … don’t…” Dania shook her head as she looked away from him. Then, between uneven breaths, she said, “I’m sorry … Here I am, trying to comfort you, and you end up comforting me.” 

“Oh, Dany, bunnelê, you need not apologize,” Thorin hastened to say, hesitantly reaching out to hold her hand. “You have comforted me, in more ways than I can name.” After a moment, she allowed him to cradle her into his arms once more. “I should not have spoken about it, I am sorry. I just—I saw you with that young boy yesterday and I—” 

His voice cracked as he thought of Dania bearing their children, holding them in her arms, and kissing their round cheeks. Then she shifted in his arms; he was barely aware of it until he felt the gentle touch of her hand against his cheeks as she wiped his tears away. A long moment of silence ensued, broken only by Dania’s uneven breaths and his heart pounding in his chest as they gazed into each other’s eyes. 

“Perhaps it is for the best,” Dania spoke at last, causing him to frown. She did not need to say anything more for him to understand, but her words troubled him.  “Everyone speaks of childbirth as though it were a miracle, and perhaps it is, but it is also so dangerous.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked in concern.

“A few days ago, a woman came to see Master Gróin. Mistress Signy was her name … she, er—she gave birth to a beautiful little boy. But she died during her labours. She died—right there in front of me and I—I can’t stop hearing that child’s screams—it was as if he knew that he would never feel the gentle touch of his mother’s hands.”

Thorin’s heart tightened in his chest as he watched Dania, her shoulders quaking and her eyes heavy with guilt—guilt that was not hers to bear.

“I am so sorry, Dany,” he said as he caressed her hair gently. “It is terrible, but these things happen….” 

“But how—how could Mahal be so cruel? She did not even get a chance to look upon her son once!” 

Pain and fear were evident in her voice and her eyes, but Thorin suddenly felt as though he were standing on the mountainside and the light of the morning sun shone upon him. Dania. His darling Dania. So kind and pure despite the harsh world they lived in. For a moment, Thorin wondered how it was even possible that she had chosen him—he, who was always so sombre and resentful—to be her husband, but then he thought that perhaps that was why Mahal had brought her into his life. 

“Mahal is cruel,” Thorin began, one of his hands tracing the soft line of her jaw. “I was but four-and-twenty when I came to understand this. Smaug attacked Erebor, our allies deserted us, then we wandered aimlessly through Eriador for years, only to find ourselves in the midst of the most terrible war our people have fought in centuries. And through all this, Mahal did nothing. He merely looked on while we lost everything.

“But he has also brought you into my life. And you have brought me the greatest joy and comfort, Dany. So perhaps Mahal has some purpose, for putting us through all this. A purpose which has yet to be revealed to us.” 

“You truly believe that?” she asked, her voice soft as the log on the fire cracked. 

Thorin took a deep breath. “I have to.” 

***

Thorin snuck out of Dania’s chamber just before dawn while everyone still slept soundly under the mountains’ bosom. Not a single torch was lit in the hallways, but he did not need them to see; his eyes were well accustomed to the darkness. As a young boy, he would sneak out of his chambers and the safety of the royal wing and pass silently through countless dark hallways and staterooms to reach the parapet above the massive gates of Erebor. From there, he would watch the stars, which gleamed in the night sky above the Long Lake like the moonstone beads Amad used to wear in her dark hair. He remembered feeling so at peace, so free, sitting there on his own, with the cold wind caressing his face. 

Now, he stood outside the main gate of Lord Yngvi’s Halls, and he felt anything but peaceful. He was grateful for all that Dania had said to him during the night, but their conversation had troubled him just as much as it had comforted him. He wished more than ever that he could give her everything she deserved. But, alas, all he could do was ensure Ester was out of their way so their secret would at least be safe. And even that, he struggled to give Dania. 

Just before they fell back asleep, they found the courage to discuss their strategy. Thorin could not think straight, his fury and indignation too strong to be contained, and so he was eternally grateful for Dania, who always knew just how to reason with him. Revealing Ester’s transgression to the world was out of the question, for she would simply retaliate by divulging their secret. They could deny the truth, but the rumours would never leave them alone, and Thorin doubted he could ever convince anyone he was indifferent to Dania if questioned on the matter. The only way forward—as Dania astutely determined—was for Thorin to speak with Ester and convince her that they should not be together; that way, their secret would be safe, and perhaps his father could remain allies with Lord Ivar and Lord Yngvi, even if their houses would not be united through marriage. Thorin did not know how he would ever succeed in this endeavour, for just the thought of Ester repulsed him and filled him with rage. 

Dania was convinced that despite everything, Ester was also opposed to their union. She is trapped, Dania had told him this morning. So many people expect her to marry you, her father, most of all. She plays along because it is her duty, and she does not want to fail, but deep down, it is not what she wants. Thorin found that hard to believe, but he trusted Dania’s instincts, and this was their only hope. 

The sun stood on the horizon like a bronze shield when Thorin finally gathered his courage and stepped back inside. Delaying would only make matters worse. The torches were now lit, but somehow, they seemed only to deepen the shadows at every corner, and Thorin found it difficult to meet the eyes of those he met along the way. When he arrived in her family’s chambers, where he knew Ester was staying, the pleasant smell of eggs, sausages, and freshly baked bread filled his nose as servants carried breakfast into various chambers on both sides of the hallway. Thorin had not eaten anything since yesterday morning, yet the tension twisting his insides made it impossible for him to even think about food. 

He had to ask one of the servants for directions, and after thanking them, he directed his steps toward the large stone doors leading into the dining room where—he was told—Ester was enjoying breakfast with her mother, Lady Inger, and Lady Vigga, Lord Yngvi’s wife. He did not even have a chance to knock or announce himself to the three dwarrowdams before they looked up at him and smiled in a way that made him even more uncomfortable. 

“Lord Thorin, what a pleasant surprise!” Lady Vigga exclaimed, inviting him into the room. 

Thorin forced himself to smile in return. “I hope I am not interrupting—”

“Oh, nonsense! Of course, you aren’t!” 

Thorin became aware of how intently Ester watched him, and though her gaze made him uneasy, he had no desire to waste time exchanging pleasantries with Lady Vigga and Lady Inger, so he cleared his throat and went straight to the point. 

“I have come to speak with Lady Ester—privately—if you would allow it.” 

Ester’s eyes widened, and a faint blush crept up her cheeks under her beard while the other two dwarrowdams exchanged a conspiring look. 

“You may use the drawing room,” Lady Vigga suggested, pointing to the large stone doors at Thorin’s right. He nodded in thanks. 

Ester rose from her seat and led him into the drawing room with an air of assurance that seemed to please the other dwarrowdams, but Thorin noticed in her eyes no small amount of uncertainty, and nervousness, even. 

Tapestries portraying various mythological scenes covered the walls, one depicting seven dwarves cowering before their maker, Mahal, as he raised his hammer above them. Thorin swallowed heavily, but only managed to tear his eyes away from the scene when Ester shut the door and hesitantly called out his name. She wore a gown of dark green silk, and her hair was tied up into dozens of intricate braids, all secured with golden clasps which gleamed in the soft candlelight. The blush that now painted her cheeks did not escape Thorin's notice; it made him incredibly uncomfortable, but more than this, it heightened his already strong aversion toward her. How could she believe he could ever want her in that way when she had been nothing but cruel to Dania? Of course, she did not know that Dania was his wife—thank Mahal for that—but she suspected his feelings for her. If she had had an ounce of wisdom hidden beneath all those layers of silk and makeup, she would have known that to speak ill of Dania was a terrible decision.

“Lady Ester,” he began, forcing his voice to sound calm. “I hope you do not mind me coming to speak to you like this.” 

“Not at all,” she replied, moving to stand closer to him. They were still at a proper distance from each other, but even being this close to her felt so wrong. “I am glad you are here. You have been gone for a while, and I—I found myself missing you terribly.” Now that he was so concerned about rejecting her in the most courtly manner possible, Thorin became aware of how practiced and formulaic her words sounded; she was not speaking from the heart—this gave him courage. “And please, you may call me Ester.” 

She probably expected him to return the favour by asking her to call him by his chosen name; Thorin preferred that; he did not care much for titles, but titles reassured him in this situation.

“It would seem our fathers’ have plans for our future,” Thorin began, his voice much less certain than he wanted it to be.

“So it would,” she replied with a soft smile that forced him to look away. 

Thorin gulped. “What life do you expect you would have by my side?” 

“My Lord?” 

“When I was a boy, I was told that I would one day marry a lady of a great dwarven house. A union that would bring honour and wealth to both our clans. When my tutors described this future to me, I imagined a life of peace and prosperity, in the safety of Erebor, where my wife and children would want for nothing, just as my people. I do not think I need to tell you that that future is lost.” As he spoke, he thought of Dania and the life they dreamed of sharing, and his heart tightened in his chest. “You have spent many years now living among my people, in Dunland and on the road … you have experienced some of the hardships that have befallen us since we were driven out of our homeland. That is the life you would be forced to suffer if you and I …” He could even bring himself to say it. 

“This alliance is very important to both my father and uncle,” Ester replied, her chin raised. 

Thorin sighed and forced himself to meet her gaze. “And what do you want?” 

“What if I told you that making my father proud is what I want?” 

“Lady Ester, we both know we could never make each other happy,” he said, unwittingly raising his voice. “I cannot offer you what you seek.”

A moment of silence followed, and for some reason, a faint smirk appeared on Ester’s face. 

“Do you truly think I do not know what this is about? You do not care about my happiness; you only care about her.” 

Thorin froze. He and Dania had spent so much time worrying over their secret and what might happen if they were discovered, preparing themselves for the worse, but for Ester to hold their secret—their future—in her hands made him even more distressed. His first instinct was to deny that there was any truth to Ester’s claim, but then he realized that that was pointless.  

“What do you even see in her? She is not one of us!” 

Despite all his best intentions, Thorin could not hide the fury burning inside him, and when he took a step toward her, his fists clenched, all her haughtiness and sharpness evaporated. She seemed afraid now, and Thorin was surprised by how good that felt. 

“Do not ever say that again,” he growled. “In fact, do not ever speak of her again.” 

“So you will not even try to deny your feelings for her?”

Thorin bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from shouting at her, and tried to think of Dania instead. The soft pink of her cheeks, the sweetness of her smile, her loving, reassuring embrace. 

“Dania and I can never be together,” he heard himself say. He did not believe this—he could not—but something told him this was what he needed to say. 

Ester’s eyes widened, though how she could be shocked by his confession after everything she had done based merely on her suspicions, he could not understand. 

“Because of people like you, Dania and I can never be together, and thus I have no choice but to keep my affections secret. Perhaps you should have thought of that, before going out of your way to try and separate us.” For the briefest instant, a shadow fell over Ester’s face, but it was enough to confirm Dania’s accusation. “That’s right—I know what you did.” 

Ester swallowed heavily and shook her head. “You have no proof,” she said in a trembling voice.

“The expression on your face is proof enough,” Thorin replied, and he relished in her evident fear, but he knew better than to declare her defeated prematurely. 

“If you say anything, then you reveal your secret!” Ester hastened to say, failing to hide her desperation.  

“Which is why I offer you a proposition,” Thorin began, his right hand now resting heavily against the pommel of his sword, Deathless. “If you agree to put an end to our fathers’ plans for us, then no one will ever learn of your transgressions.” 

Ester crossed her arms over her chest. “Why would I ever agree to this?” she said with a deep frown, then shook her head. “No—in return for your silence, I will not divulge your secret. That is all. 

And Mahal knows you should be begging me for that; your love for her is a disgrace.” 

Thorin managed to swallow back his anger, but he could not keep the edge out of his voice. “If you do not accept my proposition then so be it. My secret will be revealed, and you will rot in the dungeons, or be sent into exile, forsaken by all Seven Houses.” 

“You wouldn’t—” Ester replied, choking on her words. 

“I will never marry you, Ester—I cannot. My heart belongs to Dania. If you do not accept, then we both lose. But if you do accept, then we can work together to ensure that both our secrets are safe.” 

Silence engulfed the room as Ester watched him, her eyes narrowed and uncertain. Thorin still feared that she would see through him and realize he could not risk exposing his secret and that she could indeed still turn the situation in her favour if she was clever enough. So he forced himself to remain impassive and prayed to Mahal for mercy. 

“I did not expect this from you,” Ester spoke at last after an eternity, now trailing around the room. “I always thought you were too honourable to manipulate people in this way.” 

“Honour does not dictate me to marry you when I love another, nor does it dictate me to plot against you, or send strange men to attack you during the night … which is why I came to talk to you.” 

The tickling muscle in her jaw told him his words had found their target, and when she turned back to face him, an air of resignation surrounded her. 

“Tell me what you expect of me.”

Tag list: @lathalea @linasofia @mcchiberry @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome @laurfilijames @swoopswishsward @quiall321​

Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from my tag list or tagged in future chapters! 💙

#the hobbit #thorin #thorin fanfic #thorin x oc #thorin x reader #thorin x you #thorin oakenshield x oc #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield x you #heart of gold

[shierak-inavva]

see i said i’d do more mermaid stuff before the month was over !! a little late birthday present to myself uwu

#my ocs #elowen lenbereth #elowen of the green gaze #thorin oakenshield x oc #thorowen #teladriel the lady of bronze starlight #mermaid au #mermaids #merfolk #this is rly scribbly so u can see where i was waffling over giving him chest hair LMAO #he needs like. scars. but i wasn't rly thinking too hard on it #i wanna give him more accessories too hmmm #mermay #mermay 2023

[delicatenightfury]

Star of the Mountain Chapter 27

Warnings: fluff, angst, canon-level violence, spoilers for the Hobbit films

Pairing: OC x Thorin Oakenshield

Beta'd By: @mistys-blerbz

Author's Note: please do not steal my work! I do not own the Hobbit or the characters, but I do own my OCs and the parts of the plot that are not part of the movies. I have worked very hard on this fic. Please be respectful and do not steal.

Please comment, reblog, and like!

Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Fili watched his uncle as Thorin slowly approached him. Kili was following him and the rest of the company stepped back to give the family space. Fili could see the difference in his uncle’s face. He still looked tired, but there was life in his eyes now. Fili smiled.

“It’s good to see you, uncle,” he said, his voice soft.

“You as well, Fili.” Thorin pressed his forehead to Fili’s, much like he had done with Kili moments earlier. “I am glad to see you both safe.”

Kili nodded, but Fili had another thought at the front of his mind.

“Thorin, what about Oreliell?” he asked.

His eyes softened further and Fili could see his worry.

“Have you seen them?”

“Not for some time. It got hard to keep track of them.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Kili said. “They’re both capable of taking care of themselves.”

“Indeed they are,” Thorin agreed. “But I believe we would all feel better when we see them again.”

Thorin signaled to the company, who began moving quickly. Bombur climbed the gate once more with a horn in hand while the rest readied a large bell, pulling it as far back as possible. When they were ready, Thorin signaled Bombur again. The horn echoed loudly; Fili was sure that it could be heard from Dale. With another signal, the dwarves released the bell.

The bell swung forward, knocking into the stone wall they had built and destroying it.

Thorin led the charge, sword drawn and shield at the ready. Fili and Kili were quick to follow him, the company close behind them. The Iron Hills dwarves that had gathered in front of Erebor parted to allow the company through.

“To the king!” Dain shouted to his men.

The dwarves cheered and joined the charge.

“Du bekâr!” Thorin shouted, sword raised.

In moments, they clashed with the orcs. Fili swung his sword, taking down whatever orcs he could reach. He was determined to press on and follow his uncle through the battle.

The sea of orcs seemed to be never ending. Fili would take out one orc, only to be greeted by another one when he turned. He was glad to have his brother by his side. They knew to take care of each other. It was something they had promised their mother before joining Thorin on the quest. Even during the heat of the battle, they were watching each other’s backs.

“Lads!” Dwalin called.

He motioned for them to join him and Balin, who had managed to wrangle up several goats despite the heat of the battle. Balin’s smile was visible beneath his beard.

“Azog is commanding his army from Ravenhill,” he said. They all knew that Thorin meant to kill Azog. “You’ll need these to get there.”

Fili and Kili nodded their thanks to Balin, giving Dwalin a moment to say his farewell to Balin. Then, Dwalin mounted his own goat. He kicked it into action, the princes following close behind. They approached Thorin, who had found his own goat and was talking with Dain.

“Lead on!” Dwalin shouted to Thorin.

Thorin nodded and urged his own goat forward.

Together, they tore through the front line of a new wave of oncoming orcs. It was hard to see through them all, but the four cleared enough of a path that they were able to break all the way through. Kili gave a cheer, raising his sword. Thorin, still in the lead, felled any orc in his path. Fili, Kili, and Dwalin cleaned up behind him, killing the ones that he missed.

Thorin led the way up Ravenhill, their goats scaling the cliffside almost effortlessly. They quickly reached the ruins of Ravenhill. With only quick looks exchanged, they broke apart, taking different routes to the top. Fili swung his sword whenever he got the chance, killing orcs left and right.

When he reached the top, he saw that both Thorin and Dwalin had dismounted and were fighting once again. Fili leapt from his goat, slicing the leg off an orc before killing another. Kili was beside him in moments. Soon, the orcs were dead. Fili looked around quickly to make sure of that fact, breathing a small sigh of relief.

Thorin stepped up to the edge of the stone platform and looked across the frozen water. Fili followed his gaze. The watchtower appeared abandoned through the mist. It sent a chill of unease through Fili.

“Where is he? It looks empty,” Kili said. “I think Azog has fled!”

“I don’t think so.” The dwarves quickly turned around at the new voice, their eyes widening. “Azog is far too smart for that.”

“Oreliell!” Kili said.

He dashed forward and wrapped his arms around her. Oreliell stumbled ever so slightly, but smiled. Fili and Dwalin also approached her.

“It’s good to see you, lass,” Dwalin said.

“We weren’t sure what had happened to you,” Fili said. “We lost sight of you.”

“I am fine,” she said. “I am glad to see that you four are all right as well.”

Fili quickly remembered his uncle. He glanced back at Thorin. His eyes were wide and trained on Oreliell. He seemed stunned to see her.

“Oreliell,” he breathed.

She looked up, eyes immediately landing on him. 

“Thorin.” Her voice sounded almost softer than his.

Fili stepped back from her, pulling Kili to do the same. Dwalin seemed to have disappeared. Thorin walked toward her. His steps were slow, as if it were an effort. Fili supposed it was. The two had not been in the best place over the last several days.

Thorin stopped only a few steps from Oreliell. His eyes would not leave her. Thorin lifted his hand, his fingertips touching her golden braid. Fili glanced away from the intimate moment. He sent a silent prayer to Mahal; he wanted his uncle and future aunt to find the happiness they both deserved. He also hoped that someday he would also find his One like his brother and uncle had.

“You’re here?” Thorin asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I could not leave you to fight Azog on your own.”

Thorin’s hand fell away from her.

“Despite-”

“Thorin. I am here. That is what matters. We can talk about things once Azog is dead and this threat has ended.”

Thorin nodded, a look of determination washing over him again. He looked out over the water for a moment before looking at Fili and Kili.

“Fili, take your brother,” he said. “Scout out the towers. Keep low and out of sight. If you see something, report back. Do not engage. Do you understand?”

“I will go with them,” Oreliell said.

They looked at her.

“You’re sure?”

She nodded.

“Another set of eyes will not hurt.”

Dwalin suddenly appeared again, ax gripped tightly in his hand. 

“We have company,” he said. “Goblin mercenaries. No more than a hundred.”

They turned to see that goblins were indeed coming over the walls. Fili adjusted his sword in his hand.

“We’ll take care of them. Go! Go!”

Oreliell nodded to the brothers.

“Let’s go,” she said.

#The hobbit #Tolkien #Thorin Oakenshield #Thorin #Thorin Oakenshield x oc #Thorin x oc #Thorin Oakenshield x elf oc #Thorin x elf oc #Thorin x elf #The hobbit oc #Fan fiction #Star of the mountain

[sorisooyaa]

Angel/Demon - June 18th

Pairing: Modern!Dragon Sickness!Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!OC

Movie: The Hobbit (Dark modern AU)

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @lathalea​ @eunoiaastralwings​

In a world where the Arkenstone is the most powerful element known to all. But only with an unyielding mind and consumption of the Dark Hold can one reign with it.

Within the depths of underworld, he craved for it, to have that power and the knowledge that could be bestowed upon him when he will harness it.

But to have such a thing he must win and corrupt the heart of one of the Heaven's angels.

All I saw in her was purity and innocence, not a speck of my darkened soul could be seen in her little being. And there certainly wasn't any bit of her nature in me. Creating an angel for the devil. What a catastrophic mistake to have been made, yet underlyingly perfect, for the devil craved for the innocence and purity of the angel; to engulf that light within her.

And he had succeeded, filling her mind and heart with dangerous desires and knowledge of power, and most importantly with the lust he trapped her under with promises of love.

"I feel like you don't care!" He lowly growled at her, wrapping his calloused fingers around her chin. His claws revealing themselves to mark her skin, possessively.

"But I do! I do, Thorin!" She pleaded, whimpering slightly and he rejoiced at the sound, for he it was a sign of her submission to him.

" Then bring it to me! Bring the Arkenstone and the Dark Hold! Then you will become my Queen of the Underworld as this world perishes for something anew... something worthy of my reign!"

#armitage summer splash #richard armitage #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x oc #modern au #dark au #Modern!Dragon Sickness!Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!OC #dragon sickness #the hobbit au #from shalinizhara's temp acc #soriyaa graphics #shalinizhara graphics

[enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog]

The Best of Intentions

-Chapter 3-

Dis was surprised to find her brother sitting in a chair in the corner of the room of the dwarrowdam's room. She had practically shoved him into his room in the early hours of that morning. His elbows rested on his knees as he leaned forward, his eyes firmly fixed on the their unconscious guest, his face slightly contorted in what seemed to be a blend of confusion and discomfort.

“Brother. You should be resting." She admonished softly as she stood beside him, startling him back to reality.

He grunted and rubbed his face wearily. "I couldn't sleep."

She frowned in concern. "Something disturbs you … about her?"

“It's hard to explain Dis."

“You can't seem to keep your eyes off her." She tried to not sound like she was accusing him. She couldn't help but wince at her tone. "I heard she held a knife to your throat."

“She was badly injured and confused. She was just trying to defend herself." Came his quick response. "She didn't hurt me … obviously."

She followed his gaze to her face. She was strikingly beautiful and ethereal. Her skin was extremely pale against the mottled purple and green bruising that was scattered about her diamond shaped face and neck. Her hair was the color of the palest gold, glowing faintly in the light of the fireplace. It was long and thick, curly and wild against the pillowcase and bedding, surrounding her head like a halo. Her lips were full and bow shaped, their shade hard to determine due to the cuts that spit both her upper and lower lip.

“Ive never seen a dwarrowdam of her coloring, or of the features she bares." Dis thought aloud, trying to draw her brother out. She had never seen him act like this before. It was unsettling, feeling the nervous energy emanating from him.

“Dis…" he started, but his voice failed him, as if he was struggling to find the right words to say.
She knelt next to her brother, grabbed his hand and looked up at him encouragingly.

Thorin looked at his sisters hand that was firmly clasped in his. He breathed in deeply and managed to look her in the eyes. They were tumultuous with an emotion she rarely saw. 
"I felt the pull Dis. When I looked into her eyes. Just like Amad described when she met Adad." His voice was low and gravelly. "I've never felt this before, with anyone."

Her eyes widened. "Are you certain?" She breathed. Thorin sighed and nodded. His whole demeanor exhausted and defeated. "Yes. Unfortunately."

Dis scoffed, despite the situation she wanted to smack him. "Unfortunate? You stubborn ass, if you truly felt the pull then that means she's…"
"Don't." He ground out, suddenly standing up feeling the need for distance.

“Thorin, you can't avoid this. If she truly is, you will need to face it."

“Not a word to anyone." He hissed, his anger scantily covering the cold dread that had been slowly filling him the moment his eyes locked on hers. "Until we know more about her, you are the only one trusted with this. Not even Balin or Dwalin are to know."

Dis stood slowly to face her brother. "You have my word." She reached out and put a comforting hand on his harm. "We can't assume the worst without knowing more. Don't overwhelm yourself with burdens that do not yet exist."


00000000


The strong scent of wintergreen and lavender overwhelmed her groggy senses as she slowly came to. She blinked, willing her sight to focus as she gingerly tested her sore limbs. She hissed as she pulled herself up against the headboard of the small bed. Her ribs were definitely bruised. Her right shoulder throbbed dully. "Great." She huffed in exasperation.

This wouldn't do. She can't stay in this weakened state. She scanned the room quickly as she pulled the covers up and swung her legs over the side. The walls were a dark green stone, marbled with veins of black and white. She cursed to herself when she realized there were no windows. Breathing in, she pushed herself up onto her wobbly legs. She pushed herself through the initial pain, breathing steadily as she willed her body to cooperate. Gradually the pain subsided enough for her to move about tenderly.

She found her clothes folded nearby on a table with her leather and fur boots resting at the foot of her bed. Her armor and weapons were nowhere to be seen. She groaned. "Figures."

She dressed quickly, ignoring the protests of her body. She had to get out of here, wherever here was. She silently approached her door and leaned her ears against it, and only silence greeted her. She gently tested the doorhandles, and silently praised Aule that the door was unlocked. She opened it slowly just enough for her to peer out. Facing away from her stood two dwarves, bent over a table examining something while talking in hushed voices. One was obviously older, his hair pure white and spectacles perched on his nose. His companion was younger, with thick golden hair. He had many warrior braids weaved throughout, and the way he held his shoulders back spoke volumes of his strength.

“I can take two of them." She thought to herself as she quickly formulated a plan of escape. Her eyes fell on a tray close to where her door was, and on its surface were several knifes of various sizes. Her eyes narrowed in determination. Perfect. Subdue the younger, stronger one and use him as leverage against the older one. She would lock them in her room. She silently opened the door enough to squeeze by and sneak towards the knives. She managed to grab the biggest one without a sound and situated it perfectly for the task at hand.

Fili and Oin were lost in their conversation, not suspecting for one moment their guest would be of the mind that she had to escape. They were looking at a map of Middle Earth, quietly talking about the Northern Wastes and possibilities of a Dwarven kingdom thriving without the rest of all dwarven kingdoms knowing. Fili was listening to Oin intently when he suddenly felt a cold thin object against his throat. He watched Oin's eyes widen in horror. 
"Easy Lass! Put the knife down now!" Oin pleaded as he watched the female dwarf hold the knife to the prince's throat in fierce determination as she quickly relieved him of the daggers that he had sheathed in his belt.

“Quiet. Do as I ask and no harm will befall you." Her voice was calm as she finished tossing the daggers away from them, then grabbed Fili's shoulder to direct him firmly.

“Into the room I was in. Now." She ordered, gesturing her head towards the room. Oin held his hands up and slowly started walking towards the room. "Lass, our king saved you from the orcs. We mean you no harm." He pleaded.

“I can't take that chance. I don't even know what kingdom this is." She growled.

“You are in Erebor." Fili managed to grit out, angry at himself for being caught unaware. By a female no less. He didn't want to try to overpower her, in fear of hurting her further. "If we had meant you harm you would of woken up in the dungeons not the infirmary."

“Long Beards? Ruled by a Durinson? I can't trust any of you." She spat, her eyes flashing. "Get in the room now!"

Oin quickly stepped into the room, frantically trying to think of a plan to rescue Fili. She brought the prince right to the door jam. "No hard feelings my good dwarrows. I'll take my leave of you now." With surprising quickness she removed the knife from the princes throat and shoved him forcefully into the room, making him stumble into Oin and onto the ground in a heap.

She slammed the door and quickly locked it with the key that had been hanging by the door on the wall, and rushed back towards the daggers she had pulled from her captive. She quickly heard pounding on the door and faint yelling. She smirked, knowing no one outside of the empty infirmary was going to hear them. By the time they did she would be long gone. She scoured the room looking for any of her weapons or armor, only to discover they were not in this room either. She cursed her bad luck. She would just have to make due with what she had, although she was grateful for her leather corset that she had cinched tightly over her white long sleeved. It provided her bruised and battered torso with much needed support.

She opened the main door to the infirmary and peeked out, relieved to find that no one was out. "Now to find my way out, and find Luna." She laid out her goals in her mind. This was going to take all of her stealth training, sneaking out of the Lonely Mountain. She quickly dashed into the shadows along the wall and started walking away from the infirmary and the distant pounding of the door. She heard multiple heavy footsteps ahead and she quickly ducked into an alcove that was ahead of her and watched in dismay as a group of very intimidating dwarves entered the hall, walking with purpose towards the infirmary.

The leader of the group looked familiar; he was very tall and proud both in stance and bearing with curly raven black hair. His face was stoic, jaw firmly set in determination as he listened to the elderly dwarf that kept pace with him with an undivided attention. He was flanked by another tall dwarf who was partially bald, the Khuzdul runes reserved for the greatest warriors tattooed proudly on his scalp. He was heavily armed, his fierce eyes partially hid by bushy eyebrows set in a furrowed brow. A younger version of the leader walked alongside the warrior, armed with a similar dagger to the one she now had possession of. Two guards came to a stop at the end of the adjoining hall that the group had come from and stood at attention, effectively cutting off her clean getaway.

She grit her teeth as she pressed herself closer to the stone wall. "Now what?" She growled to herself.
"Wait … Do you hear that?" The young dark dwarf stopped the group, drawing their attention from the hushed conversation to the faint sound of pounding.

“Its coming from the infirmary!" The leader exclaimed as he broke out into a run.

The sound of his voice made a shiver run down her spine. She recognized that voice. He was the one who she had held at knifepoint that night they saved her from the orcs. The bitter taste of doubt and regret overwhelmed her at the realization. Her heart was now beating rapidly. She was on the verge of being recaptured.

“Too late to turn back now." She scolded herself mentally. "Got to get out of here now." 
She heard shouts coming from the infirmary. Her captives had been released. "Curse it all." She seethed. She started to slink alongside the wall, hoping the guards would leave their post at the sound of the shouting.

“She can't of gotten far!" Her heart seized in her chest, It was now or never. She had to make a break for it!
The guards looked towards their king, and she took advantage of their distraction. It wasn't a matter of being seen now, but of speed. She bolted from her hiding spot and sprinted towards the hall.

“There she is! Wait!"

She didn't wait. Ignoring the pain that was searing up her torso she sprinted down the hall, past the surprised guards and towards the light leading her way out. Her blood was pounding in her ears as she ran, muffling the sounds of the heavy footsteps and shouts that thundered down from behind her. She focused on the feeling of her legs and feet as she ran as fast as she could, schooling her breathing to give her the very will to help her escape.

“How is the lass even runnin?!" Dwalin thundered incredulously as they pursued her.

Thorin was just as shocked. Just this morning she was unconscious and pale, seemingly helpless in the bed from her wounds. And now she was flying down the hall, her hair streaming behind her. "We have to cut her off! Balin! Have the front gates shut! No one enters! No one leaves!"

“It will be done!" Balin broke off from the group and ran as quick as he could towards a shortcut that would take him to the front gate.

As she neared the end of the hall, she realized that she was approaching the main cavern of the mountain kingdom. The main gate was to her right, and several stories down. She was on one of the higher levels that oversaw the entire market that stretched as far as she could see. Impressive stone bridges criss crossed above and below her, and large banners of dark blue velvet displaying the emblem of Durin's crown hung, gently waving in the slight breeze blowing in from the main gate.

She was breathing heavy, determined to not let panic seize her. The market was teeming with dwarves, men and elves alike. If she took the stairs she would be caught for sure.

She looked at the banner that was hanging from the pillar in front of the landing she was trapped on and her eyes followed it down. Within jumping distance, it would take her down to the main level. She would have to jump down onto a roof of a small shop, but it would be better than breaking her leg on a sheer drop onto the stone floor.

It was her only option.

She pulled out the confiscated daggers and gripped them tightly as she looked back at her pursuers briefly before her eyes narrowed in determination, and then turning and jumping onto the landing rail and launching herself towards the banners, daggers outstretched.

“NO! STOP!" She heard a terrified shout boom and echo around her.

0000000

Thorin could of sworn that his heart had stopped cold in his chest when he watched his One throw herself off the landing into the air. He didn't even remember screaming for her stop. He didn't pay attention to the horrified shouts from his nephews and friends as skidded up to the railing and dared to look down.

He was stunned to see her sliding down the banners, with Fili's daggers slicing through thick velvet with ease.

“What in Mahal's name!" Oin exclaimed as they all watched in shock.

“There is no way I am following her!" Kili stammered as they watched her descent.

Startled screams and shouts started to echo throughout the market as onlookers watched the bizarre scene unfold before them.

She should of known that the daggers were sharp, thus her rapid descent down the banners were a little too quick for her liking. Before she knew it she had sliced completely down the banners and was now free falling down towards a small shop roof. She landed on her feet, but the old shop collapsed on impact and she found herself laying in a ruined heap of old wood and shattered shingles.

Thankfully she had fallen on a shop filled with rugs, her fall somewhat padded although her body seized in pain with the shock of the fall, the air completely knocked out her lungs.

She groaned as she tried to push herself up. "Can't stop now you dolt." She chastised herself mentally.

Screams and shouts thundered in the enormous cavern around her as all chaos broke loose. She gasped desperately for air, her body fighting to obey her command to get up and run.

Thorin, Dwalin, Fili and Kili practically slid down the stairs. He heard the the shouts of his guards over the panic of the market and the resounding 'BANG' of the gates closing off the outside world.

“She's here somewhere!" He shouted over the din to his nephews and Dwalin. "Fan out and spread the word!"

Bofur and Bifur ran out of their toyshop into the pandemonium of the market. Bifur grunted and signed to his brother, confused and worried.

"I don't know! Lets find the rest of the company!" He shouted.

“Bofur! Bifur! We need you!" Fili ran up to his friends, still trying to regain his breath.

“What is going on?" Bofur took in the prince's bedraggled appearance with concern.

Thorin came running through the crowd that had begun to gather around the collapsed rug shop.

“That lass uncle rescued? She escaped, held me a knifepoint!" Explained quickly as he grabbed his friend's arms. "We are trying to catch her."

It was then that they heard gasps and cries ahead of them, and a dusty, rumpled figure stumbled out of the ruins of the rug shop. Thorin's stormy blue eyes met her turbulent green ones for a split second before she turned and ran away from him.

The dwarf King growled in a renewed fury as he took after her. "Halt! I command you to halt!" He yelled as he weaved in and out of his confused and scared subjects. 
"Try to cut her off!" He yelled as they started to gain on her.

He still couldn't believe she was still running at the capacity she was, he wasn't even injured and at the peak of physical fitness and he was starting to struggle with keeping up with her pace.

"How is she still running?! Dwarrowdams can't run like this?!" Kili panted as he fought to push himself faster.

What did you lot do!?" Bofur yelled, still confused about what was happening. Just minutes before he had been working on some of his new toy designs, and now they were chasing this poor female through a crowded market as if she was a wanted fugitive.

How is she still running?! Dwarrowdams can't run like this?!" Kili panted as he fought to push himself faster. 
"What did you lot do!?" Bofur yelled, still confused about what was happening. Just minutes before he had been working on some of his new toy designs, and now they were chasing this poor female through a crowded market as if she was a wanted fugitive.

“We did nothing!" Fili panted in exasperation. 
"Hogs Spit! No lass runs like this for no reason!" Bofur tossed back.

A growl ripped out of Thorin's chest as he pushed himself further, faster, desperate to just make her stop running. He slowly started to gain on her as they began to reach the end of the market and towards the depths of the mountain.

Ahead of them, he saw a line of guards run across and block the way with their massive axes. His relief disappeared as quickly as it appeared as he watched in disbelief as she ran towards the stone wall and picked up speed. Right before she was about to crash into the guard she jumped and ran up the wall with an unbelievable ease, up and over his head to land gracefully on the ground behind the shocked dwarf guards.

As she turned to dart off again, a blur of red hair tackled her to the ground with a loud thud. Tauriel; who had been residing within Erebor as Mirkwood's Emissary, had tackled and pinned the breathless dwarrowdam to the ground with relative ease.

“Oh thank Mahal." Kili heaved as he came to a stop.

Thorin slid to a stop directly in front of the Tauriel and her gasping captive. "Heavens. Above. Woman…" Thorin growled as he breathed heavily, his face dark with anger. "Why. Did. You. Run!?"

Her eyes bore defiantly into his as she struggled to catch her breath. Her nostrils flared in barely contained anger as her body shook with the exertion of her poorly planned and failed escape.

They held each others glares for several moments as everyone around them attempted to catch their breath. "Nothing?" Thorin pressed, his icy tone seemingly making her more defiant.

“Fine." He growled, he gestured for his guards to step forward. "Bind her and bring her to the throne room."

“It shall be done your majesty." Came his guards terse reply.







#erebor #hobbit thorin oakenshield #balin #hobbit thorin oakenshield x oc fanfiction #fili durin #kili durin #thorin and company #thorin durin #thorin fanfiction #thorin oakenshield #alternate ending #hobbit fanfic #dwalin #the hobbit bofur #creative writing #thorin son of thrain #thorin oakenshield x oc #king thorin #thorin

[lathalea]

The White Raven 5/9

I bet you haven't expected this! I'm back with a new chapter! Ha! Thank you so much for your patience - real life has been busy for me but I've finally found some time for writing.

As you probably noticed, this is the FIFTH chapter of SIX and I'm blaming @guardianofrivendell for jinxing it (affectionately 💙). Really, I can't be trusted when it comes to the number of chapters!

And now, let's get to it. Happy reading!

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Rating: T Author's notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield's quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike. TW: battle, blood, wounds, angst You can find this fic on AO3.

Special thanks to @legolasbadass and @linasofiaa for all your help, discussions and amazing support 💙 (Feel free to check their stories here and on AO3, these two are really talented, you won't regret it!)

Khuzdul:

Karkûnê - My Raveness Tharkûn - Gandalf

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 ... 🌟

The White Raven Chapter 5: The Choice

Soon after the eagles brought them to the Carrock, Thorin heard Carra’s chirping above him and in his ears, it was the most beautiful song in the world. Even some of his companions recognized her shape against the sunset sky.

“Look! Up there!” Bofur pointed above.

“A raven!” Óin announced. “The birds are returning to the mountain!”

Thorin opened his mouth and then closed it hastily. He wanted to make it known that this was his Carra, the one who had watched over them since the moment they left the Blue Mountains, but then he thought better of it. This was not the time. Not yet. Later, if Mahal allowed, he would introduce his One to his companions in Erebor when…

“That, my dear Óin, is a thrush,” Gandalf said with an impenetrable expression on his face, but when the wizard’s eyes met Thorin’s for a briefest of moments, Thorin understood something.   

He was certain that the wizard had recognized the bird that now made a playful loop high above them, as if it truly was a thrush and not a raven. Gandalf not only knew of all living creatures of Middle Earth, but also had keen eyes and often searched the sky during their travels. Not for the first time Thorin wondered how much Tharkûn truly knew and how much he had guessed when it came to the White Raven. And for some inscrutable reason the wizard wished to keep her presence a secret.

***

“Thank Mahal, Carra, you are well.” Thorin pulled her close to his chest, his fingers delving into her silver-white hair. The smell of snowdrops and crisp night air surrounded him. Even his recent wounds and aches could not stop him from climbing down the Carrock shortly after the night fell. He left the sleeping Company behind him, hoping that none of them would notice his disappearance.  

A spacious cave stood at the feet of the eyot and there she waited for him, her eyes shining with iridescent warmth, the same warmth he felt in his chest.

“And so are you, Wind under my wings,” Carra replied, a hint of moisture gathering in the corner of her eye, but she quickly blinked it away. Gently, he cradled her dear face in his palms and pressed his forehead against hers.

“I do not have much time, my companions may soon notice my absence. But I needed to see you. I worried for you so,” he rasped out, his voice carrying all the anguish that festered inside him from the moment he lost sight of her. The thunder-battle. The rainstorm. And the goblin assault. Seeing her in the air, alive and well, shortly after they escaped from those cursed caverns was a relief, but now, in this very moment, feeling her lithe body in his arms, he finally allowed himself to indulge in relief and joy.

“Oh, my love,” Carra’s whisper reached his ears as she tenderly caressed his bearded cheek. Before he could reply, her lips found their way to his. Thorin gave out a groan and kissed her adoringly. For a few fleeting moments he allowed himself to taste her soft sweetness and cherish her warmth for the first time in the two long months when he was deprived of her closeness.

“Karkûnê”, he muttered breathlessly. “My heart of hearts. I saw you in battle, helping Fili attack that Warg-rider. It was too dangerous. I cannot think what I would do if you… Promise me that you will keep safe if we encounter enemies again.” “We will. The path of your life leads through great perils.”

“I am aware of it,” Thorin nodded. “I must enter Mirkwood and afterwards — face the dragon.”

“There is more,” Carra took his hand into her delicate palms, their soft paleness contrasting with his weathered skin.

“What do you mean?” he frowned.

The stars in her eyes came alight for a briefest of moments only to be shrouded by sudden darkness.

“Since I was a fledgling, I have had a recurrent dream,” with a solemn expression on her face, Carra took a deep breath, clearly weighing her words, her lower lip trembling slightly. He wanted to kiss the unease away, but stopped himself; now was not the time for such indulgences. “A dream…?” Thorin asked softly, feeling as if he stepped on an obscure path into an unknown territory. “Is it not forbidden for me to know of your dreams?”

Her arms around his neck stiffened as she spoke tentatively, avoiding his gaze.

 “For the first time in my life, I am not certain what the future will bring. I do not know if… when we will have the chance to speak again,” her voice was barely audible, trembling slightly.

“Carra…” he started, shaking his head, but she interrupted his words before he had a chance to protest. “Please. This dream is my gift to you. It can help you conquer the darkness when it comes.” “What darkness?” Thorin tilted his head, looking at her intently.

“I cannot see it clearly. I have never had another dream that reached this far ahead in the future,” she finally spoke. “A great army of the Enemy marches on Erebor; Men in bronze armour, Orcs in black breastplates. Dwarves are there to face them, along with the Men of Dale, but the attacking army is like a sea washing over an islet.” In the silence that fell after her words he heard his own heartbeat. “When is this to happen?” “In my dream, the Raven Crown graces your temples. And your beard has the same colouring as my feathers. Silver-white.”

“The Raven Crown,” he whispered to himself in disbelief. “It means that Erebor will be reclaimed!” “There is hope along the path you tread,” speaking these words, Carra looked away for the briefest of moments, but this detail did not escape him. 

“But at the same time, the Enemy will grow in strength even more,” she rested her hands on his shoulders, gazing up at him. Whatever raven secret she omitted, Thorin could not find it in her eyes.

Hundreds of thoughts swirled in his head at this revelation.

“What else does your dream say? How does it end?” Her reply was prompt and her voice unwavering, “The Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain and the Iron Hills join their forces with the Men of Dale. Only then do you achieve victory.” “These three armies fighting together? As one? If only my Grandfather could hear it…” he mused.

“Remember this when you arrive at the Mountain. An alliance with the Men of Dale is crucial — both now and in future,” Carra swallowed and Thorin noticed a shadow passing over her face. 

“What is it that you are not speaking of?” he heard his own voice.

Her next words were merely a trembling whisper. “Reclaim your kingdom and survive, Wind under my wings.”

Warmth bloomed in his chest at her concerned expression and Thorin pulled her closer into his embrace. 

“Worry not, Karkûnê. This is precisely what I have been planning. First, the Dwarves of Erebor and the people of Dale were always allies and I intend to renew that alliance. Second, I can hold you in my arms only if I am alive. I do not plan to perish, I assure you.” “The servants of the Enemy have other plans. Darkness hides them from my dreamsight, but a growing cloud of danger surrounds your Mountain.” “I knew that the Quest carried danger since before I left the Blue Mountains,” he caressed her cheek reassuringly, enjoying the featherlike softness of her skin under his fingers. “I am a warrior, remember?”

“All is motion now, Thorin. Nothing is as it is supposed to be. The pattern…” Carra broke off and tried again, agitation clearly visible in her misty eyes, “I cannot stop thinking about us and the path we took against the laws of our peoples. What if we somehow influenced the future and brought more peril upon your Quest?”

“Never doubt our feelings, Karkûnê,” he pulled her close to her chest. “You are my One. I am your mate. A bond as true as ours cannot be wrong. If I were to live again, I would have made exactly the same choice.”

Carra looked up at him from under her pale lashes, a stray tear running down her cheek.

“So the old tales speak the truth. Dwarven feelings are truly etched in stone,” she graced him with a faint, hopeful smile.

“Indeed they are,” Thorin gently cupped her face, marvelling at her delicate features. “Like your name in my heart.” And he poured his whole heart into the tender kiss that followed his words. Carra’s lips tasted like sweet, ripe raspberries gathered at dawn and Thorin allowed himself to cherish her closeness for a few stolen moments longer. When he finally took his leave, her eyes seemed to glow with iridescent light.

***

Thorin returned to the top of the Carrock still feeling the tingling warmth of Carra’s lips against his. One glance around the campsite told him that all of his companions were asleep. Almost.

“Your gaze rests on the Lonely Mountain, but there is frown on your face, Thorin Oakenshield.” Gandalf’s eyes flickered under the brim of his hat. The wizard sat on a piece of rock with a pipe in his hand.

“It will be many weeks until we reach Erebor,” Thorin said with his eyes set on the dark outline of the mountain, its achingly familiar top crowned by the stars. His home. “Much can happen along the way. The stakes are increasing with every step we take.” “How fortunate of you to have an excellent guide, would you not say?” something akin to a smile appeared on Tharkûn’s face.

Thorin took a moment to choose his words with care. Whatever Gandalf knew or suspected about Carra, this was only a Dwarf and Raven business. And there was the question of why Tharkûn decided to mislead the Company, claiming they saw a thrush instead of a raven. As much as Thorin wanted to keep his One’s presence a secret, he wondered what purpose Gandalf’s words served. Even though the grey wizard was an old friend of his people, Thorin remembered his grandfather’s words: We are the children of Mahal, but the wizards serve other masters. “It is my guide who warns me that the path is narrow and uncertain,” Thorin finally spoke. “One must tread the path that need chooses, Thorin. You know that better than most.” Gandalf’s words rang out in darkness as if imbued with some strange magic. “As long as your heart is in the right place, the flame of hope will burn bright.”

***

Carra misses Thorin. Her son of Durin. He is in Laketown. Finally. She sighs in relief. He is safe for now. For the first time in months, the events feel familiar. Once again the tapestry of the world aligns with the years old pattern of her dreams. She hears the speech Thorin gives to the Men of Esgaroth. The people look at him with hope in their eyes. She remembers it from beyond the veil too. Both in her dream and now they see the king of legend. The one who has returned to reclaim the Lonely Mountain. 

She feels hope, too. But Carra’s hope flies on two wings: her desire for Thorin to succeed and her wish that the pattern has not changed further. She has no way of knowing this. Darkness steadily grows beyond the veil, enfolding her dreams with a thick shroud. It sows black nightmares where colourful threads have once intertwined.

Then Thorin leaves Esgaroth. Carra observes him from a distance. A fisherman’s boat carries his Company across the lake, towards Erebor. Exactly like in her dream. And yet she worries. She has not spoken with him since before the events in Mirkwood. His people always surround him. There are no waterfalls nor hidden caves for them to meet. And Thorin changes. Since arriving in Laketown, he no longer raises his eyes up to the sky as often as before. He does not search for her among the clouds. Instead, there is a constant frown on his face. His darkened gaze lingers on the mountain peak to the north. 

She observes him as he climbs up towards the secret entrance to his kingdom. Her hope flutters on the fragile wings of a thrush for the last time when he proudly strides into the Mountain. The last moon of autumn crowns his hair with silver. King Thrór’s hidden door closes behind Thorin. A dull thud rings in her ears. Her mate never looks back. A whiff of cold wind ruffles her feathers. She shudders and something aches inside her chest. Can a raven’s heart turn to ash and drown in the dark waters of the night?

***

One day passes. And then another. Strange sounds come from the Mountain. Carra hears sonorous roars. Something rumbles deep underground. The ground shakes. Soon after, the Dragon leaves the Mountain in a cloud of fire and dark smoke. She remembers it well from her dream. The one she has been dreading to see with her raven eyes and trying to forget. She shudders.

The Lonely Mountain becomes quiet, but a sea of flames rages where Laketown used to be. 

The Dwarves of Erebor and the people of Dale were always allies and I intend to renew that alliance.

No one leaves Erebor. No one from the Mountain offers help to the people of Esgaroth who flee to the ruins of Dale. Bard the Bowman arrives at the gates of Erebor only to return empty handed.

Days turn into a week. Two weeks. The Mountain looks almost deserted if not for an occasional Dwarf manning the rampart above the main gate. Carra tries to dream. She is safe now, at Ravenhill, reunited with her kin. Every day at dusk she shifts into her two-legged form to cross beyond the veil. Only nightmares come to her. Snow. Blood. And ice. They are like feral beasts, hungrily following her trail. Every day at dawn she returns to her raven form. Her wings carry her towards the Mountain. She hopes to see Thorin at the rampart, his face turned up to the sky, searching for her. It does not happen. Other Dwarves appear among the carved stones. Never him. 

One morning comes. The chilly air makes her feathers stiff. She lowers her flight. Two robust dwarven silhouettes stand at the rampart. One of them is quite tall. Bald. Tattooed. No. Not Thorin.

“Tell me, brother, is there any hope for him?” Dwalin speaks, his moustache covered with a thin layer of frost. His breath turns to fog. Winter is almost upon them.

“It is hard to say. His grandfather had moments of clarity, but…” replies the Dwarf beside him. Balin. His white, forked beard seems slightly unkempt. He shakes his head. “But what?” Dwalin demands. “That same madness has taken root in Thorin’s heart, brother, we both know it,” the older Dwarf replies. Carra sees how he lowers his eyes. “I do not know how to speak to him any longer. It is as if he was not there. I fear for the worst.”

“No, brother, I won't hear more of it! I’ll go and talk to him. This lunacy needs to be stopped.” Dwalin clenches his fist. “He’ll listen to me! Ye’ll see!”

“I hope so, brother,” Balin rests his hand on Dwalin’s arm. “I truly do.”

Carra’s heart skips a beat. Fear. This is wrong. Very wrong. So unlike the dreams she remembers. She refuses to believe it. Thorin has to follow his path. Gather his forces. Ally himself with Bard the Bowman and his people. She flutters her wings and hears herself croak. 

Thorin! Thorin! I am here! Where are you?

She wants him to appear there, at the rampart. To give lie to what the Dwarves said. She needs to hear him speak. See him smile. Call her name. Like he used to.

Instead, only the echoes of her own voice against the solid rock of the Mountain respond her. Can a raven fly without the wind under her wings?

***

The battle horns pierce the air with their deadly song. 

 Orcs and Goblins. Wargs. Dwarves. Men of Dale. Elves of Mirkwood. Five armies march into battle.

Carra ruffles up her feathers. Unease. Worry. The Orc and Goblin armies join forces. The threatening hum of their drums fills the air. She has not seen it in any of her dreams. Unease makes her flap her wings faster. She soars higher. The dwarven horns roar and the Iron Hills army appears. Turning her head, she gazes at the main gate of Erebor. There is no movement. It remains shut. Her dreams tell her what is supposed to be happening now: Thorin emerges from the mountain with his Company. He joins forces with Dain Ironfoot and the Men of Dale, and leads the charge to victory. None of it happens. The gate of the greatest Dwarf kingdom in Middle Earth remains shut. She feels empty and aimless, like an arrow shot from a bow with no target to reach. A powerful wail of the horn of Erebor pierces the air and Carra can barely believe her eyes. A small group of Dwarves looms up from the Mountain, their Iron Hills kin joining them. 

“To the king!” a strong, dwarven voice is heard across the battlefield. “To the king!” And the king is truly there! Thorin! She can see him clearly. He is leading the charge! Excitement washes over her. Carra flutters her wings and directs her flight towards her mate. It is truly him! There is still hope! She sees him clearly now. Her heart beats fast, almost as fast as years ago.

“Du bekâr!” Thorin roars, lifting his grandfather's sword into the air, the royal raven shield on his arm. 

But something is not as it is supposed to be. In her dream, Thorin goes to battle with his legendary oaken shield. The one that lays now among the faraway pines. Somewhere at the edge of the Misty Mountains.

A thread or two may change colour, but the tapestry stays true to the pattern.

She recalls Grandfather Arc’s words. And then she searches her dreams. Thorin remains victorious in one of the old ones. Only one. As much as one. There, he wields Orcrist and the oaken shield. Carra remembers it clearly. Even though she has dreamed new dreams since then. The ones that show her Thorin fighting with King Thrór’s weapons. The ones that end with the black river waters. Thick, white ice. A growing pool of red blood.

He needs a white raven to watch over him. To ensure that the Enemy does not try to cut the thread of his life before its time.

Carra feels a new wind under her wings. She follows Thorin’s every move, wanting to croak in warning whenever danger approaches. But he does not need any distractions of this kind. One glance at the sky may mean for him a missed chance for an attack. Or a defence. His warriors accompany their king wherever he goes. The large warrior Dwalin, Thorin’s sister-sons and several others. They are guarding him on the ground while she watches over him from the air. For the first time in her life, Carra wants to be one of the two-legged ones: a Dwarf-woman with a long, sharp halberd. Standing firmly on the ground. Fighting for the one she swore to protect. 

Promise me that you will keep safe if we encounter enemies again.

A foul shriek of an Orc horn rings out in the valley and then another joins in. Carra finds a rising air current. Several strong beats of her wings allow her to observe the battle better. She sees two large silhouettes commanding the enemy forces. Azog, the Pale Orc. Bolg, his spawn. A cold shiver runs down her spine. Her dreams show her a different path: one Orc leader. One army. Another deviation from the pattern.

Carra’s heart beats even faster than before. Too many changes. Too many currents flowing in various directions, leaving her disoriented and lost. A single leaf on a rapid river. Countless threads, completely tangled. She is trapped in the middle of it. A fly caught in a spider’s net. The battle rages on below while she tries to put the chaos of her thoughts and events into order. A realisation dawns on her.

White Sister! The Orcs have entered the old watchtower! she hears the voice of her coal-feathered kin in her mind. They are big! And there are so many of them!

Rawk, brother, what are you saying? in disbelief, she turns towards the sharp rock silhouette of her home. Quick, sister! To Ravenhill! We need every pair of wings! They are destroying the nests! The nests. The fledgelings. The mothers. Carra does not need to hear it twice. She lets out a series of caws and sends her thoughts to her brethren on the battlefield. Some of them serve as scouts to the Dwarves. Others attack the enemy together with the two-legged ones. Now most of the ravens have to regroup. Fly to Ravenhill to protect their families — their home.

A rustle of many feathers accompanies Carra. Dozens of black ravens surround the watchtower, picking out the enemy targets. Soon, a burly Orc drops his mace and falls to the ground with a thud under the assault of countless raven beaks and talons. His roar of pain is the last sound he makes. The raven warriors caw in triumph.

She lowers her flight on time to see two Dwarf silhouettes entering the watchtower. The hair on one of them is pale yellow, like ripe wheat. The other Dwarf’s mane is dark like elm bark in winter. The young sons of Durin. 

They will be outnumbered! Rawk gives out a warning caw. The Orcs are inside! 

Rawk, my brother, gather a group of our brothers and sisters. Follow Thorin Oakenshield’s sister-sons. Protect them at any cost. She tilts her head, her eyes set on yet another Dwarf silhouette below.

Of course. The line of Durin must survive. Rawk snaps his beak and follows her gaze. What about you, White Sister? Will you not need more wings?

Our kin are fighting for our home. Carra shakes her head. Like a Dwarf. Ravens do not shake their heads in refusal. And yet she does. Just like Grandfather Arc. She glances at her son of Durin below. His grandfather’s sword in his hand.

This is my duty . Mine alone, she croaks. 

***

Below her, the River Running stretches ahead, its waters shackled with a thick layer of ice. The cold headwind picks up. Carra beats her wings faster. There are two warriors on that ice. The large, pale-skinned Orc with terrifying scars and the king of the Longbeard Dwarves. A duel that has not been woven into the pattern of her dreams now becomes a part of the tapestry of the world. Azog swings his makeshift weapon. Its chain clinks and the stone block crashes into ice barely inches from Thorin. A blink of an eye before it happens, her mate swiftly moves to the side and his blade, the legendary Orcrist, slashes across the Orc’s abdomen. The creature roars. The events flash before her eyes like multicoloured threads dancing on the loom. The eagles. Thorin throwing the stone block back at the Orc. Azog falling into the dark river waters. Floating under the ice. His eyes closed. At last.

Thorin! Azog is no more! She chirps happily.

For the first time in months, her mate looks up at the sky and finds her circling above his head. A broad smile brightens his features.

Carra! Thank Mahal, I have… Thorin’s roar of pain as the Orc’s weapon pierces his foot is deafening.

She gives out a confused croak. Azog is supposed to be dead. He has to.

Thorin falls on the ground with a groan and blocks his enemy’s blade with his sword, but the sharp tip of Azog’s weapon slowly travels towards her mate’s chest. Thorin’s chainmail is not fastened up in front. She sees only a thin layer of fabric beneath it. A tunic is never a match for an Orc blade. She lets out a panicked hiss. Blood seems to turn to ice in her veins.

This is when the whole world ceases to exist. There is only the Elvish sword blocking the Orcish blade that relentlessly moves forward. Nothing more. Time seems to move at a snail’s pace. She hears Thorin’s laboured breathing; the Pale Orc’s grunts; her own heartbeat thrumming in her ears. She hears Grandfather Arc’s words.

We are never to act unless the pattern woven into the tapestry differs from our current dream. 

Yes. Yes, the pattern differs. There are countless changes in the tapestry. She barely recognizes all of its threads. So many new elements. Too many. She finds new, wrong-coloured threads in places where there should be none. In place of order, there is chaos. But Carra knows one thing for certain. Thorin must live. He cannot die. Even though she is not an armour-clad warrior. She has wings and talons, but not a shield and sword. And yet she cannot remain idle. This is her moment to act. This is the focal point of her life. Her duty. Even if it means never looking into the starry evening sky of Thorin’s eyes again. Never again enjoying his embrace. Never again hearing his voice. 

Grandfather Arc’s stern voice rings in her ears again.

Any interference disrupts the natural order of events that need to pass.

I remember, Grandfather, the wind carries Carra’s strained croak to the sky as she spreads her wings. And I am willing to pay the price.

***

The Pale Orc bared his teeth in triumph as he pushed his blade harder against Orcrist. Metal screeched against metal in protest, but the elven steel held firmly. His only shield and protection from the inevitable for a few more moments. Thorin realised that the last thing he would see in his life was the hideous face of this Orc filth. His grandfather’s killer he swore to lay his vengeance upon. In his mind, Thorin had no doubts; he clearly saw the path ahead. His fingers tightened on his sword’s grip. There was only one way to draw in Azog close enough — one way to deliver the deadly blow straight into his foe’s heart. With a grunt, Thorin began sliding his sword to the side, his lungs working heavily, his muscles tense in anticipation. He had only one chance.

That was when a piercing sound filled both his ears and the air around him. A low, thrumming note. The thick ice beneath him seemed to reverberate with the echo of this incessant ringing. Azog gave out a pained roar, still pressing his weapon against Thorin’s sword. The distance between the tip of the Orc’s blade and death shrunk steadily.

The deafening sound grew in strength and suddenly its source manifested itself straight before Thorin’s eyes. A blur of silver-white. A flutter of wings. An opened beak.

And then the thrumming, unsettling sound stopped as unexpectedly as it started.

“Carra, no!” Thorin cried, trying to free himself from the imminence of his enemy’s blade.

His eyes could barely follow her rapid attacks on the Pale Orc’s contorted face. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! With her beak and talons, Carra carried out her assault with precision, eliciting a growl from Azog. But he was a giant Orc warrior and she — a delicate raveness. And Thorin’s One.

Thorin poured all of his strength into his next move and swiftly freed Orcrist from his opponent’s forked blade. A rush of sensations, images and blink-of-an-eye moments flooded his mind, as if he once again was an awestruck pebble looking into a colourful kaleidoscope for the first time. This particular kaleidoscope however seemed to contain only flawed gems.

The mournful wailing of distant battle horns. The cold, hard ice beneath him.

Carra’s feathers spattered with Orc blood. Her beak, glistening darkly in the light of the setting sun.

Azog screeching in pain. Swaying. 

Thorin attempting to push his foe off his body. His muscles trembling with exhaustion.  Failing him.

The Pale Orc attacking with a guttural roar. His forked blade finding its target.

The sharp metal piercing Thorin’s body.  Pinning him to the ground.  A blinding white lightning of pain.  His vision. Blurred. His breathing. Shallow.

A shadow of a movement. The Orc swinging his free arm.

Carra’s anguished cry.  A flurry of feathers.

His One’s body falling onto the hard ice. Far away from Thorin’s reach.

Thorin’s roar of protest.  Blinding pain. 

The unmoving silver-white shape in the corner of his eye. Spattered with blood.

Carra!

Silence ringing in his ears.

The warmth of his own blood pooling on his chest. The reassuring weight of Orcrist in his outstretched arm.

Azog baring his teeth again in a feral smile.

Thorin meeting his gaze… … and thrusting his sword straight into the Orc’s chest.

For his people. For his grandfather. For Carra.

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 ... 🌟

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