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Entangled 4/10

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit) Rating: G (subject to change) Warnings: ANGST Summary: Arranged marriages are common among the dwarven nobility. After reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, the Kingdom Under the Mountain needs to be rebuilt. Thorin agrees to marry a lady from the Blue Mountains, securing a mutually beneficial alliance with the Broadbeam Dwarves. Lady Mista is said to be a practical and hard-working dwarf-woman, willing to give him an heir who would secure the line of succession. A decent queen material, his advisors say. If only Thorin could let go of his past… You can find this fic on AO3 (search for lathalea).

A/N: First of all, sorry it took me so long to update this story but your comments and messages kept me going! TRSB and Real Life™️ hit me hard, but I haven't forgotten about this story. In fact, I have a treat for you: an XXL-sized chapter as a thank you for your patience 💙 Special thanks to @legolasbadass and @absentmindeduniverse for your help. You are amazing and you made this chapter so much better than it originally was! 🤩🙏💙 -*-*-*- KHUZDUL: ‘Urdêk - ereborean variant of Lonely Mountain (referring to the Halls within the mountain) Nadad - brother Nan’ith - little/young sister Zabdûna - the Queen Zabdûna undu ‘Urd - Queen Under the Mountain Khagal'abbad - Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains Azsâlul'abad - the Lonely Mountain (both the mountain and the dwarven kingdom known among Elves and Men as Erebor) Tumunzahar - an ancient dwarven city in the Blue Mountains rebuilt by the Broadbeams in this story. The Elves call it “Nogrod”. Gabilgathol - an ancient dwarven city in the Blue Mountains rebuilt by the Firebeards in this story. The Elves call it “Belegost”. Thorinuldûm - Thorin’s Halls, the settlement of the refugees from the Lonely Mountain in the Blue Mountains Iglishmêk - the sign language widely used by all the dwarves -*-*-*-

✨ Chapter list: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4... ✨ Entangled Masterlist

Thorin opened his eyes with a gasp. That cursed dream again. Those eyes…

Several deep breaths helped to banish the haunting afterimages from his mind for good. Deep inside the Mountain — much deeper than the Royal Chambers — the mine bell struck eleven times. One hour before noon. It was later than he expected.

Thorin’s head was pounding, and the bitter aftertaste of rowanberry brandy in his mouth made him yearn for a mug of water. Slowly, he rose, noticing that he was not in his bed but in his armchair, still wearing some of yesterday's clothes. His finely embroidered undershirt and similarly adorned trousers — now crumpled. Parts of his wedding attire. His wedding.

He truly needed a drink.

The only thing he found in his chamber was an empty brandy bottle that lay forgotten on the floor. For a moment, Thorin wanted to ring for a servant, irritated at the fact that he slept so long — and his usual breakfast tray was nowhere to be seen. Had they overslept in the kitchens as well? What could have been so important that… Of course. His wedding.

He grunted. There was not going to be any breakfast tray and no servants. Not until he rang for them, at least. No one would disturb him in the morning after his wedding night. Frowning, Thorin managed to recall that a celebratory dinner was scheduled later that day — not only for the people of ‘Urdêk, but also for the whole royal family and the family of the bride. His wife.

Thorin ran a hand down his face. He was a married Dwarf now. A husband. Years and years ago, in another lifetime, that thought would have made him enormously proud — and happy. And yet, on this very morning, the only thing he felt was that bitter taste in his mouth — and shame; his foolish dreams of youth long forgotten. The weight of a new braid in his hair, the marriage braid, was not a symbol of perfect, eternal love he had foolishly envisioned as a youth. This braid only denoted the contract between the two dwarven houses: the Longbeards and the Broadbeams.

A memory from the previous day appeared in his mind: pale, small, pale fingers nervously sliding through his hair, braiding a pattern that was unfamiliar to him. The personal pattern of the lady who now occupied the adjacent bedchamber — Lady Mista. The woman he had barely met and knew nothing of. His wife.

He should have felt something about this image, anything — sadness or perhaps the satisfaction of yet another duty he fulfilled as the King; hope or disenchantment. There was nothing — only a gaping hole deep inside him where his feelings should be. He stared with disappointment at the empty brandy bottle in his hand, and placed it on the table beside him with a clank.

Perhaps everything was as it should be. His was an arranged marriage, after all. The Kingdom Under the Mountain needed an heir to the throne. The future and prosperity of the realm depended on it. It was Thorin’s duty to fulfil, and time was of the essence. As the ancient scriptures stated, only the firstborn son of the firstborn son — of the current king — had the right to the throne of this realm. The Book of Law emphasised that it had to be the direct descendant of Durin — as the line remained unbroken since the beginning of time. If the direct line was to be lost, the next in line was the second son and his progeny. Thorin closed his eyes and Frerin’s kindred face appeared before him — and quickly disappeared. That future perished more than one hundred and forty years ago beneath the East Gate of Khazad-dûm before it even had a chance to come to fruition. As for the other possibilities… they were just as painfully non-existent.

“Is there truly no legal way to name Fili or Kili as my heir apparent, Master Maldur?” Thorin crumpled a piece of parchment in his hand.

“I am afraid not, Sire.” The elderly scholar adjusted the emerald pince-nez on his nose. “They are both the sons of a daughter of Durin.”“Besides, since Fili is married to Lady Fridvi of the Firebeards. According to the treaty between our houses, their firstborn child will rule in the Blue Mountains,” added Balin with an apologetic smile.

“Aye. Even if it’s a daughter,” Thorin said and added, as if to himself, “I have always thought the Firebeards to be more sensible when it came to the laws of succession.”“Yes, well, Your Majesty…” Master Maldur cleared his throat in ill-disguised disapproval, shuffling some parchments in front of him. “The Longbeard laws, however, clearly state that if no male heir is procured by the current king before his 200th birthday, the next Dwarf in line — albeit one who is not a direct descendant of Durin — would be the grandson of your Grandfather’s brother, Grór, the firstborn son of his firstborn son, Nain, your…”

“I do know the lineage of my cousin, Dain Ironfoot, quite well, thank you,” Thorin remarked curtly. Genealogy, lineages, and recounting endless familial connections always made him irritable.

“And hypothetically speaking, if your revered cousin was not there to claim the crown of the Kingdom Under the Mountain, may Mahal give him long life,” Maldur spoke in his hoarse voice that made Thorin think of crumbling stones, “the next in line would be, of course, Lord Balin, the firstborn son of Fundin, the firstborn son of Farin, who, in turn, was the firstborn…”

“Thank you, Master Maldur.” Thorin nodded to him, having heard enough, and then turned to the firstborn son of Fundin. “Balin, how would you feel about becoming the next king?”

“I would rather not. Unless you and Dain plan to drink your way to the Halls of Awaiting together anytime soon?” Balin chuckled, shaking his head. “I have other plans, laddie, and besides, I’m not getting any younger.”

“And yet your wit is as sharp as it was one hundred years ago,” Thorin offered him a half-smile.

“Your Majesty, may I take this opportunity to point out how crucial it is that a direct descendant of Durin sits on the throne of Azsâlul'abad?” The frown on Master Maldur’s forehead deepened. “Additionally, the unfortunate discord between Your Majesty’s Grandfather and his brother, Grór, is vividly remembered by your subjects. Sadly, because of this, Lord Dain is quite an unpopular personage here. Not a favourable position to be in for a prospective ruler. If such an event were to happen, of course.”

“Of course.” Thorin sighed. “Any more ideas, Balin? Lord Bori?”

Balin slowly shook his head.

“May I remind you, Your Majesty, that we have received several offers of alliance through marriage?” said the white-haired chancellor, who — until that very moment — remained silent. Lord Bori always picked the perfect moment to strike.“Very well.” Thorin stood up, signalling that the meeting was adjourned. “It seems that we have run out of heirs. Balin, would you be so kind as to discuss the matter with my sister? I entrust you both with choosing a suitable royal consort for the King Under the Mountain.”

A thud brought him out of his reverie. It came from the adjacent bedchamber. Thorin heard two distinct voices, although he could not quite make out the words. It must have been Lady Mista discussing something with her maid, he suspected. He clearly recognized the soft lilt of his spouse’s voice, so characteristic among the Broadbeams. Perhaps she was readying herself for the day, as he should as well. Thorin was about to ring for his servant when a resonant voice reached his ears despite the thick door between their rooms.

“Why doesn't it surprise me, Mista?!” The voice was definitely feminine. “You had one job…” “Let me explain…” That was Lady Mista speaking. Thorin was able to recognize only one or two words.

“There is nothing to explain!” The first voice returned. “It was your wedding night, for Mahal’s sake! Couldn’t you have made an effort? Just look at yourself! For once in your life…”

“Mother, you don’t understand, I…” Lady Mista’s words trailed off. She sounded tense.

The pounding in Thorin’s head intensified. He glared at the door.

“Have you forgotten how hard your father and your uncle worked to achieve this?! Is that how you repay your family, Mista? By ruining everything? On the very first night?”

Without thinking, Thorin placed his hand on the door handle and pressed. He had heard enough.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he demanded.

In the silence that filled the room, just after he stepped into Lady Mista’s bedchamber, he saw Lady Mista sitting in her bed. Her face was as pale as the bed linen, her eyes wide, and her quilt pulled up to her chin. She looked at him as if she wanted to disappear underneath it. With her hair tousled and her slightly skewed spectacles, she looked more like a defenceless young maid than an adult Dwarf-woman.

Next to her bed stood a corpulent red-haired matron in a fashionable green-and-gold gown, her hair immaculately dressed, her neck and wrists adorned with elegant jewellery, her fisted hands resting against her hips.

“Your Majesty.” The matron executed a customary curtsy, offering him a sweet but artificial smile. “What an honour to see you in my daughter’s bedchamber. I believe…” “Lady Milva.” He gave her a curt nod of recognition and graced her with a cold stare. “You will have to forgive me, madam, but I do not intend to reciprocate. I, for one, cannot understand why you would choose this particular time to visit Her Majesty the Queen.”

“Ah, but Your Majesty would surely understand that I wanted to see to my daughter’s comfort on the very first day of her rule.” Her smile widened.

“Do you wish to imply that I am incapable of such a feat, madam?” Thorin hissed.

“Oh no, Your Majesty, not at all!” The matron attempted a giggle. “On the contrary, I believe it is my daughter who failed to see to your comfort.”

Thorin’s head seemed to be pounding even more than before.

“Mother, please…” He heard Lady Mista’s strained voice behind him.

“Enough, Mista, you should be apologising to His Majesty for disappointing him!” Lady Milva turned to her daughter and Thorin decided that he had heard enough.

“My lady, you are disturbing me and my spouse in our private chambers. Only because you are my wedded wife’s mother, My Lady, I am going to ask you kindly.” Thorin hissed. “Leave now.”

Silence filled the chamber for several heartbeats. Lady Milva’s gaze moved between her daughter and Thorin before she spoke again.

“Very well, Your Majesty,” she replied stiffly, abandoning her insincere manner. “Mista, I will return later, to prepare you for dinner.”

“Is that what you wish, My Lady?” Thorin turned to Mista.

“I… Thank you, Mother,” Lady Mista’s words were a mere whisper as she clutched the quilt, “but I think I will manage on my own this time.”

Her mother stood there for a moment longer, her brow furrowed, and then she replied, “If that is what you wish.”

She made another curtsy to Thorin, and then, in a swift flurry of her opulent gown, she stormed out of the bedchamber.

“Forgive me, My Lord, have we woken you up?” The bedclothes rustled, making Thorin gaze at Lady Mista — the woman he wed yesterday. As she left the bed, he caught a glimpse of her bare feet, so much smaller than his, and so dainty. Her sleeping gown flowed elegantly down her body, hugging her figure and revealing patches of smooth skin that only a husband was allowed to see. Quickly, he looked away. He did not feel like one.

“I was already awake,” he offered, glancing around the chamber. “Have you broken your fast yet, My Lady?”

“No, My Lord,” she replied. “I’m afraid I lost track of time. I was reading.”

Thorin followed her gaze to the thick tome that lay open on the bed. It looked like something from the Royal Library of Erebor, but he did not recognize the cover.

“I’ll ring for breakfast for you then. You must be famished,” he offered.

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Lady Mista replied, her words barely audible, like the chirping of a frightened little bird. “Would you… would you like to join me?”

Thorin shook his head decidedly.

“I am expected elsewhere. The meeting of the Guildmasters is going to be held quite soon,” he was amazed at how easily this half-truth slipped out of his mouth. That meeting was on his general agenda, but no one expected him to join it, not so soon after his wedding.

“Oh, I see,” Lady Mista’s voice wavered, but she continued after a pause. “In that case, allow me, My Lord, to thank you for your… intervention. My Mother can be tempestuous at times, but she means well.”

“Forgive me, My Lady, but her behaviour was out of place,” he said, attempting to ignore the insistent pounding in his head. “You are not only her daughter but — first and foremost — the Queen. No one is allowed to treat you so, no matter the circumstances. No one. Not even her.”

Thorin took a deep breath in order to rein in his temper. He was abrupt, his words far from courteous, but his patience was wearing thin. The last thing he was willing to endure was a lady on the verge of tears, bullied by her own kin. A half-forgotten memory surfaced in his mind: those sobs, that lavish but abhorred wedding dress, and his sister’s words: “You can’t help it, nadad. This is women’s lot in life.”

This time, unlike that other time, Thorin could help it — and so he did. That was the least he was able to do for this terrified woman. His wife.

He did not find the strength to look into her face once more and see those glossed-over eyes and those trembling lips. Instead, he excused himself under the pretence of procuring breakfast and left her bedchamber.

He found his reward in the form of a full jug of water in the adjacent parlour. Quenching his thirst, he rang for a servant. Katla, Lady Mista’s new maid, arrived soon after. She was one of the maids who worked for their family when they lived in the Blue Mountains. Now, however, Dis decided that Katla was exactly the person Lady Mista would need. The girl was unusually agitated, and as soon as Thorin asked about Lady Milva’s presence in the Queen’s bedchamber, her countenance wavered.

“Forgive me, m’lord,” she curtseyed, her gaze lowered reverently. “I had no means to stop Her Ladyship, I asked her not to disturb Your Majesties, but she said that she was the Queen’s mother and the Queen would dismiss me right away if Her Ladyship was not allowed to enter, and I thought…”

“Thank you, Katla, I understand,” he said. “You are not going to be dismissed. However, Her Majesty does not need such disturbances. Should someone attempt to storm into Her Majesty’s private chambers without her consent again, do not hesitate to call the guards.”

“Of course, m’lord,” Katla nodded stiffly. “And… Thank you. For not dismissing me.”

“My Mother, the Dowager Queen, always spoke highly of you. Now, I need you to take care of the new Queen in a similar manner. This is her new home, and we need to make her feel like it. Can I rely on you?”

“Always, m’lord.” A hopeful smile appeared on her face. “Does the Queen need anything now, m’lord?”

“She is requesting a hearty breakfast,” he ordered.

“I’ll be right back with her tray! Shall I bring one for you as well, m’lord?”

“No, thank you. I have matters to attend to.”

With these words, Thorin directed his steps to the Royal Baths. Hot water and steam were exactly what he needed at that very moment. A sizable pile of documents waited for him on his desk, but he needed to clear his head first.

***

“Here you are, nadad! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Dis’ voice made him raise his gaze from a parchment.

“Where else should I be?” Thorin tilted his head, observing his sister as she approached his desk. There was only a handful of braids in her modest hairdo — her wavy strands as dark as his own — and she wore a simple day dress. Yet, Dis looked more elegant than many other ladies in their finest gowns. She inherited her noble bearing and facial features from their paternal grandmother, after all.

“Where should you be? Let me see…” she tapped her mouth with her index finger and then asked innocently. “Perhaps with your wife?”

Thorin cursed inwardly. Dis inherited their grandmother’s wit, too.

“If only those trade licences could somehow sign themselves…” he grunted.

“And while you are drowning in parchments, your newly-wed wife is halfway through the second volume of The Golden Age of Azsâlul'abad,” she grunted back.

“The second volume?” Thorin’s eyebrow rose as he recalled the size of that monstrous twelve-volume work. He never managed to make it past the first one.

“Yes. Apparently, Mista finished the first one during lunch. Which she ate alone.” Dis folded her arms on her chest. It had never been a good sign when Grandmother Birgit folded her arms like that.

“I ate my lunch alone as well.” He pointed at a plate with a forgotten piece of dark bread left, half-covered by a couple of documents.

“On the first day of your marriage,” Dis retorted.

“These licences are vital for…”

“Thorin…” His sister rolled her eyes.

“Dis…” He sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“Some things need time,” he heard himself say.

“I know, Thorin,” Dis stepped to him, placing her hand on his forearm. “Of all the people in the world… I know.”

“At least you knew Vili before your wedding,” Thorin put his quill aside.

“Vaguely. While you managed to spend a whole evening with Mista in Tumunzahar.”

“Which apparently happened a long time ago — and of which I remember nothing.” He admitted with a frown and then drummed his fingers on the desk. “Nan’ith, I may have made an utter fool of myself yesterday.”

Dis sat heavily on a chair beside him, “Let me hear it.”

“Lady Mista was convinced that I remembered meeting her at a feast. Apparently, we danced and talked, and she expected me to…” He sighed. “I don’t know. The problem is that instead of playing along with it, I told her that I did not remember it at all.”

“Nadad, I have always admired your disarming honesty, but…” Dis paused and then grinned. “Well, it looks like you have figured it out yourself. You are an utter fool.”

When she elbowed him, as if they were smooth-cheeked youths again, Thorin simply had to elbow her back.

“Thank you, dearest sister. I know I could count on you.” He let out a lukewarm chuckle.

“How did she take it? Is that why you are hiding in here?” Thorin shook his head, “Lady Mista did not seem offended. I’d say she was perhaps… surprised? Disappointed?”

“I would be too if my future husband first sent me a letter in which he spoke fondly of our meeting years ago and then admitted to not remembering it at all,” Dis waved her hand in despair.

“A letter?” Thorin’s frown deepened.

“The letter. Don’t tell me you haven’t read it.” A frown appeared on her face as well. “Balin and I spent half a day composing it before it was sent along with the marriage contract.”

“For which I am very thankful. I have no head for this sort of letters, as you know.” “That was precisely why you were supposed to read it before it was sealed, Thorin.” She rolled her eyes.

“I knew I could trust you with its contents. Dis, we were rebuilding the Forges at that time! I barely had time to eat or sleep; that letter was hardly on top of my agenda.”

His sister let out a long sigh.

“It is not me you should explain yourself to. What happened, happened. Tell me, do you truly not remember anything from that meeting?”

“This was one of many feasts I was obligated to appear at. Amicable relations with our allies, and all that,” he offered.

“We were there together, you know.”

“Were we?” Thorin searched his memory. To no avail. All those feasts seemed like a blur in his mind.

“Balin was there, too. And Dwalin, I think.” Dis added. “And Mother. She wore that emerald green gown.”

He tried once more. Still nothing.

“There was lots of food, lots of political scheming… Oh, and there were quite a few mothers flaunting their offspring at me and you. Mostly at you, the Crown Prince,” she snickered.

“You have just described most of the feasts I have attended in the past.” He ran a hand over his face. “Every time I felt like game during hunting season. Did I really spend the whole evening with Lady Mista?”

“Quite a bit of it.” Dis nodded. “You were seated next to a matron who insisted on making you dance with each of her daughters — I think she had two or three of them — and then you did what you usually used to do. You disappeared. When you returned, Mista was with you already, and then you danced. That matron, together with her cronies, was of course appalled, because you never even looked at anyone else. And Mista was not even formally out, she was maybe a few years over half battle-age at that time!”

“It seems that I scandalised the matrons of Tumunzahar and nearly robbed a cradle. What an achievement. And I cannot even remember it.” Thorin smiled wryly, although an image or two flickered before his eyes. A handkerchief with his monogram in a lithe hand. Grey-brown hair adorned with pearls.

“At least no one bothered you afterwards,” she put her hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “Now, I hope you find a way to make amends with your wife, nadad.”

Thorin gave her a nod, “You and me both. I simply do not have the slightest idea how to talk to her. I feel as if she is afraid of me.”

“We both know that you are not the greatest charmer when it comes to the matters of the heart,” she offered him a smirk. “And neither am I. I can only tell you what Mother told me once. Marriage is like the endless forging of a sword. If you want to make a great blade, you have to keep the fire going, and work the metal every single day. Draw it, shape it, and then keep on tempering it so that it never breaks.”

“She knew her way around the forge,” Thorin admitted fondly. He liked to think that he inherited his bladesmithing skills from their Mother.

“She knew how to deal with Father, too. I took her words to heart, and it worked for me — for us. Vili and me…” Dis cleared her throat. “We had nothing in common — or so I thought at first.”

A sad smile softened her features, and Thorin covered her hand with his.

“He was even younger than me,” she continued, “so rowdy and boisterous, and talked only of mountain goat races and throwing knives. Remember how terrified I was when I had to braid his hair?”

“You? Terrified? You were as decorous as Grandma Birgit would,” he said.

“That was because I knew Grandma Birgit would have been appalled if I fainted halfway through the ceremony. You cannot believe how mortified I was before the wedding night!” His sister chuckled.

“You asked me for two pints of the strongest malt beer we had,” Thorin offered lightly. It was good to see her smile.

“I only wanted to take the edge off things!” Dis grinned. “How was I supposed to know you spiked it with Dwalin’s horrible brandy?”

“You weren't. And you and Vili were supposed to drink them together. How should I know he would down them both at once?” He shrugged as if he had not seen it coming.

“I think I was the first bride in the history of Arda who spent her wedding night listening to her new husband’s loud snores.”

“You should talk with Bombur’s Ronja,” he quipped.

“Nadad! I shall not discuss their wedding night with her!” Dis feigned outrage only to burst out in laughter.

“Be glad that you did not hear his snores during the Quest. Every. Single. Night. He even made us think a storm was coming! And once, in the Misties…” It was so easy to fall back on the anecdotes from the past, and Thorin was awarded with another bout of laughter. Since Dis arrived back to the Mountain — their home — for the first time in years, it was easy to make her smile. There was a new spark in her eyes too, one that Thorin saw in countless eyes these days. A glint of hope for their reclaimed homeland they were rebuilding — and for their future. Was the same glint present in Lady Mista’s eyes last night? He could not say.

“Thank you”, Dis startled him, pecking him on his cheek.

“For what?” He met her eyes.

“For many things… like not terrifying your bride too much.”

Thorin swallowed, “What do you mean?”

“You know how you can be sometimes.” Dis patted his hand.

“Are you going to tell me once more that I scare others away with my ‘brooding’, or whatever you call it?” He rose from his chair and looked down at her.

“Not at all! Brooding is not as loud as snoring.” Tilting her head up, she winked at him. “Do you know you sometimes come off as quite intimidating?”

“I have never heard of such a notion,” Thorin let his lip curl up. “Especially from you.”

“What about that agreement you managed to hammer out last week with those stubborn donkeys, the Guildmasters?” Thorin knew better than to offer a reply.

“I heard your voice all the way to the warehouses! And when the Masters left the council chamber, they were meek as lambs, even the fiery Master Karg!”

“I simply reminded them that the world did not revolve around their coin pouches. Loudly.”

“I am glad you made use of it this morning.”

“You heard about what happened,” Of course. His sister had a knack for knowing things that did not happen in her presence.

“A word or two.” “Lady Mista’s mother needed to be put in her place,” Thorin quickly recounted his confrontation with Lady Milva.

When he finished, Dis pressed her lips in a thin line.

“What a viper,” she huffed. “Now I know why Mista looked so shaken today. But we are in luck. The whole Broadbeam delegation is leaving in a week or so. We will manage.”

“We have managed worse.” He finished the thought, their private saying, one that they used since the vile Smaug ravaged their kingdom. Last time they spoke it happened just before the Quest to reclaim their homeland. Now, both the current circumstances and stakes felt vastly different, and Thorin could not help but wonder — would he manage?

“I must say you did wonders with the Queen’s bedchamber in such a short time.” Thorin admitted in a hasty attempt to change the subject. “It looks quite… comfortable. Especially with that tapestry from Grandmother’s chambers. And to think it survived Smaug almost untouched…”

“Oh, so you did spend some time with Mista after all?” Dis raised an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling. “Were there two pints of malt beer involved or not? Don’t you make that face at me, nadad! This was your wedding night and everyone will jest about it, whether you like it or not!”

Sadly, she was right.

***

Dis’ prophetic words proved true in the evening at the celebratory dinner. It was held in the largest cavern under the Mountain, the Great Hall. It was as tall as several levels of the Dwarven kingdom, making it easy for people to freely join and leave the festivities, catch a glimpse of the royal family or listen to the music while feasting in their local quarters. Thorin remembered that this natural formation in the depths of the Mountain was where all the largest festivities happened when his Grandfather, King Thrór, ruled. He himself did not expect to celebrate his royal wedding in these legendary chambers as well. After all, marriage had not been a part of his plans for the future.

Upon entering the Great Hall, it was difficult not to notice all the lavish adornments he remembered from the day before, countless tables filled anew with various dishes, lanterns and candles that cast their golden glow on the walls, brightening everyone’s faces — and the fact that all the eyes were now set on Thorin and his new royal consort. They were both clad in matching attires made especially for this occasion; every detail, pattern, and jewel on those black, silver, and gold garments was supposed to symbolise the imperishable beauty and opulence of the Kingdom Under the Mountain. Judging by the reactions of his subjects, the newly-wed royal couple made a favourable impression on them.

Casting a sidelong glance at Lady Mista, Thorin expected to see the joyful or perhaps even triumphant smile of a new queen. Instead, he noticed the strained lines of her face, the paleness of her cheeks, and her bespectacled gaze set somewhere above the heads of the guests. Only the crown over her temples softened the solemn impression somewhat and lent her a regal air. Lady Mista’s palm rested stiffly on his forearm as Thorin led her through the chamber towards the royal table. He could feel how stiff her muscles were, as if she was a wooden doll controlled by an invisible puppeteer.

Thorin made an effort not to look at Lady Mista’s kin, who had already gathered at their side of the royal table. After what he experienced with the members of this family so far, it was not at all difficult to infer what face — or rather, faces — that puppeteer bore.

That poor, terrified girl. His wife. The new Queen Under the Mountain.

“Our people are curious about you, My Lady,” he whispered just as they walked onto the stone dais where the royal table was placed.

“Oh?” Quickly, she turned towards him, her eyes wide. “About me?”

“They do not know you yet, and many of them are wondering what they can expect of you, their new Zabdûna,” he murmured, leaning slightly closer to her.

“Of… of course I will do my best to care for them,” she lowered her gaze and a blush darkened her cheeks. Then she added, “There is no Kingdom without its people.”

The last time Thorin heard those words, he was barely a youth, and his days were filled with endless studies and training. One of his Grandfather’s sayings — words of Dagur Sture, an ancient philosopher from Khazad-dûm — spoken in the trembling voice of a Broadbeam lady from the distant Khagal'abbad, the Blue Mountains.

“Indeed,” he said, shaking off the surprise as they both turned towards the guests, an endless sea of faces before them . “Pray, show it to them, My Lady.”

“But how?” Lady Mista blinked, adjusting her spectacles on her nose. “I do not know what to do…”

“Simply greeting them will be enough,” Thorin attempted to say these words with an encouraging smile. “Acknowledge your new subjects.”

Lady Mista nodded slightly and swallowed, lifting her gaze upon the crowd. He felt her right hand tighten on his forearm, but then her left hand rose into the air, and she waved to the gathered crowd. An avalanche of cheers went through the cavern; some of the guests responded to her greeting in turn, their faces brightening.

Thorin chose this moment to greet the gathered Dwarves in the same fashion, enhancing their jubilation even further. All it took was a wave. A simple trick his Grandfather taught him a lifetime ago, but one that never failed.

When he glanced at Lady Mista’s face again, there was a new glint in her eyes and a timid smile on her lips as she took in the enthusiastic response to her gesture.

“They like you already, My Lady,” he whispered, nodding to her in approval and seeing her features finally soften when her lips curled up slightly. A welcome change, he thought. People needed to see their rulers glad, especially on such an occasion. Appearances mattered more than one’s true feelings; he had learned that bitter lesson well.

After the customary welcoming speech — Thorin somehow managed to keep it short — he led Lady Mista to their chairs at the centre of the table, and then the feast began. Soon, he found himself in a lively conversation with Glóin, Dwalin and Lord Taran, Lady Mista’s uncle, discussing the strategy applied in the siege of an Orc stronghold that happened during the Great War. Various pieces of golden tableware turned into numerous units of dwarven troops, a nearby platter with fruit acted as a mountain range, the octagonal brass salt cellar became the stronghold, and leftover pheasant bones served as Orcs.

“What a battle it was! We hadn’t slept for three days in a row!” Glóin announced as the culinary re-enactment of the battle came to an end. “When we were done with the Orc scum, Thorin looked every bit as tired as he looks now after one night with his bride!”

Thorin grunted.

“Aye, he does, but can ye imagine his state after three nights of storming her stronghold?” Dwalin roared with laughter.

Thorin glowered at his friend, who, in response, laughed even harder.

“With such a meek lass like our Mista, he doesn’t have much storming to do!” Lord Taran bellowed, the tattoos on his cheeks stretching in a wide grin.

Thorin clenched his fist.

Dis threw him a meaningful glance from across the table. We will manage. Mahal, give him strength. Casting a fleeting look at Lady Mista, Thorin saw that she was deeply immersed in a conversation with Balin, who at that very moment patted her on her hand.

“May Your Majesty strike a gold vein quickly so we have a new reason to celebrate soon, a naming ceremony!” Lord Tair, the new Queen’s father, raised his goblet, meeting Thorin’s gaze. “May Mahal bless this union with many children!”

Other cups shot into the air, and the toast echoed across the hall, countless eyes set on the royal couple. Thorin gritted his teeth. This was not a purely well-meant wish, not in Tair’s mouth. The Broadbeam lord, who negotiated the marriage contract himself, alluded to its crucial clause: children from this union meant prosperity for both of their houses. On the other hand, no offspring by Thorin’s 200th birthday meant the dissolution of the marriage, the end of the vastly profitable trade agreements for the Broadbeams, and the end of the direct line of Durin for the Longbeards — and Thorin. The stakes were high for both houses.

Decidedly, Thorin grasped his own goblet and returned the gesture. A quick glance to his left told him that Lady Mista followed his lead, her fingers stiffly holding her goblet’s stem. He felt her eyes on him, but he found himself unable to reciprocate her gaze.

Another toast came after the first. This time, it was Dis wishing the newly-wed couple a long and happy marriage. A couple of toasts full of platitudes followed, and when everyone in the Great Hall drank their fill, conversations returned. Thorin’s sister was talking with Lady Mista now; he thought he heard them speak of a library when a sonorous voice reached his ears.

“Such a match happens once in a lifetime, Lord Balin, wouldn’t you say?” Lady Mista’s mother gave the older Dwarf a charming smile.

“As you say, Lady Milva. And it is a prosperous one, too,” Balin nodded with a twinkle in his eye.

“I am truly overjoyed that I had this idea! I told my husband: ‘Remember that winter feast we had in Tumunzahar, love? The one when Prince Thorin — for His Majesty was merely a prince then — danced only with my dear Mista?’ He only had eyes for her that night! So many mothers had fits of jealousy, because he did not even spare a glance for any of their daughters!” Lady Milva chuckled.

“That must have been quite an event,” Balin admitted.

Thorin gritted his teeth, acutely feeling the weight of his crown on his head — and the eyes of his subjects on him. Instead of addressing a few curt words to Lady Mista’s mother, he took a large gulp of wine.

“So it was, Lord Balin, so it was! If you only had been there to see it!” She dabbed an invisible tear from her eye. “They danced, and danced, and afterwards my sweet daughter would sigh, and dream away, and ask if Prince Thorin would attend the next feast! So when the Lonely Mountain was finally reclaimed, I told my husband: ‘My love, if you are not going to send that marriage proposal to King Thorin, I am going to take her to Azsâlul'abad myself!’. And do you know what he said?”

Thorin’s old mentor declared, “I have not the slightest idea, My Lady.”

Neither had Thorin. He refilled his goblet. Beside him, Dis asked Lady Mista a question he did not quite hear, but she received no answer. Lady Milva’s daughter, the new Zabdûna undu ‘Urd, sat unmoving, staring at her empty plate, her lips pressed into a thin line, while her relentless mother kept on talking.

“Well, my dear Tair said ‘No need to do that, my dearest, for I have already sent the proposal!’. I swear, we act and think as one, is it not so, my lord husband?” Lady Milva turned to her spouse and loudly pecked his cheek.

“You speak the truth, my dove,” her husband replied, running his hand down his thick silver beard braid with clear contentment. “It was a great honour that His Majesty agreed to our offer this time!”

“Oh, hush, my gem, no need to bring that up, it happened such a long time ago,” Lady Milva waved her hand. “It is of no consequence now.”

“May I ask what you mean, My Lady?” Óin put his fork aside and brought his hearing trumpet to his ear. “Is there another layer to this charming love story?”

“Indeed, there is! I can tell you in confidence,” Lady Milva clapped her hands, leaning towards Óin, although Thorin noticed that she did not bother to lower her voice, “that we sent a marriage proposal to Thorinuldûm a few years later, but we were informed that King Thorin was not interested. I must admit that we made a grave error that day! You see, dear Lord Óin, we offered the hand of our daughter Adla in marriage instead of Mista! Therefore, it was not at all surprising that His Majesty was not interested. She was simply not the right daughter! The whole Blue Mountains wondered why he would not marry our Adla — for you must know that she is considered one of the greatest beauties of our clan — nor any other lady for one hundred years!”

“A true mystery indeed,” Óin agreed with a chuckle.

Thorin glared into his goblet. It was not a mystery to him. He clearly remembered the day the first proposal arrived. This missive from Tumunzahar came together with another letter from Gabilgathol, the city of the Firebeard Dwarves. The city he vowed never to return to. The memories he buried on the bottom of his mind, never to revisit. The eyes he would never look into again.

“...so when we sent our second offer,” Lady Milva placed her goblet on the table with a loud thud, “the answer came swiftly. And now — just look at these two, My Lord, and tell me this was not a match carved in stone.”

“May Mahal grant them happiness!” Óin said, lifting his goblet.

Lady Milva did the same, stood up and added loudly, “Let us drink for their long-awaited reunion! Will our royal lovebirds sweeten the toast with a kiss?”

“A kiss! A kiss!” Several voices from among the guests were heard at first, and then more and more of them joined in the chant. “King and Queen! King and Queen!”

What a viper, Thorin cursed inwardly. So that was her revenge. He should have seen it coming. At that moment, he could no longer pretend that he had not heard Lady Milva’s words. Neither had Lady Mista. Their gazes met; her spectacles slid slightly down her nose, uncovering a pair of brown eyes — wide open and terrified.

Thorin leaned towards her, whispering into her ear in order to be heard despite the continuous chanting.

“Forgive me, Lady Mista. This is not how I…” He paused, searching for the right words that did not seem to come. “I am afraid that we may need to make a little spectacle of ourselves, if you do not mind.”

“Kiss! Kiss!” The chanting grew louder, just like Lady Milva’s vicious smile, as people started clapping their hands, stamping their feet, and banging their goblets against the tables.

“I understand. I apologise for my mother.” She signed discreetly in Iglishmêk. Her fingers trembled when she added, “Let us turn it to our advantage and give our people the fairy tale they expect.”

Our people.

“Very well,” Thorin signed back, offering her his hand, palm up, and trying to empty his mind of all the importunate thoughts. With everyone in the Great Hall staring at them expectantly, they had to do it. There was no other way. Lady Mista took his hand, and it seemed to him that in that very moment, a spark of understanding passed between them. This was something they had to do together, something they were expected to do as the King and Queen Under the Mountain. A duty. Nothing more.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The guests continued to chant.

Thorin stood up, waiting for Lady Mista to gather her skirts and do the same. A moment later, they stood, arm in arm, before the gathered crowd, their hands joined. The continuous chanting echoed against the ceiling of the Great Hall when he turned to face her. Their gazes met; in the candlelight, her eyes looked like molten amber. The new Queen nodded almost imperceptibly, her fine hand gave his a little squeeze, and he could not stall any longer. Thorin lowered his face towards her and his nose bumped against hers, so he tilted his head further, mindful of her spectacles, and let his lips gently brush against hers.

Her breath hitched, and he carefully moved to press his lips against hers, and she must have stood up on her tiptoes because he met the softness of her lips much sooner than expected, and she smelled, or perhaps tasted, like an apple orchard, sweet and innocent, and—

An enthusiastic storm of cheers washed over the Mountain, drowning all the importunate thoughts of his for a long while.

To be continued...

✨ Chapter list: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4... ✨ Entangled Masterlist

💙💙💙 Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it! 💙💙💙

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dumbassunderthemountain · 2 months

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thorin is such an uncle

look at him. look at him right now and tell me he isn't the kind of middle-aged man who's trying to shake his smoking habit and needs a CPAP machine to sleep

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dumbassunderthemountain · 2 months

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*somewhere in Erebor*

Dori (in the process of tailoring Thorin a new coat): There you go. How do you feel?

Thorin: Like I said a dozen times, it is fine! I am late for court!

Dori: Fine is not good enough. Do you feel bonita?

Thorin: Do I- what?

Dori (through his teeth, a vein protruding on his forehead): Do. you. or. do. you. not. feel. bonita?

Thorin:

Thorin (starting to sweat): ... Come to think of it, I do indeed feel bonita.

Dori (delighted): Wonderful!

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dumbassunderthemountain · 2 months

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Smaug practice~

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dumbassunderthemountain · 2 months

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Thank you for the tag! I love these things (I’ve just been moving and tired)

Rule: answer and tag

Favorite color: forest green

Last song: Sun Bleached Flies by Ethel Cain

Currently Reading: Nothing really just jujutsu kaisen and chainsaw man during their weekly releases (I’m moving I have no reading energy ☹️)

Currently watching: My Hero Academia

Currently Craving: a cigarette

Coffee or Tea: coffee (with a Thai milk tea exception bc it’s the best drinkable liquid on the planet)

Tagging anyone who wants to participate!

get to know me game

rules: answer + tag six people u want to know

fav color: green (if u haven’t noticed hehe)

last song: heaven & back - chase atlantic

currently reading: king of sloth

currently watching: sofia the first lmao

currently craving: crab rangoons

coffee or tea: matcha tea

(ps thanks for the tag angie baby)

@yuenity @sceletaflores @kyletogaz @harpsinfinity @neoarchipelago @the-californicationist @mostly-imagines - this is lowkey humiliating bc I don’t talk to many of u, but i love ur writing so… 🤝 (also i did do seven… whoops)

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dumbassunderthemountain · 2 months

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dumbassunderthemountain · 3 months

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You get isekai'ed into the last fanfiction you WROTE

Reblog for sample size or perish

#the castlevania verse is a rough one

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dumbassunderthemountain · 3 months

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#10 unquestionably

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dumbassunderthemountain · 3 months

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painted Thorin's arrival at Bag End 🕰🍂

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dumbassunderthemountain · 3 months

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The Traveler (Trevor Belmont x Reader)

Chapter 1: Down the Sacred Well

Summary: Via the infinite corridor, you get isekai-ed into the Castlevania world

A/N: I've been daydreaming this up for 4 years and am finally getting around to writing it; rumor has it (I tried but I can’t find legit evidence of this) Hoia Baciu has been habited since 6500 BCE which would make it the first known human settlement in Romania; If you haven't seen Inuyasha it's an anime from the early 2000s about a girl that falls down a sacred well and into feudal/warring states era Japan where there are yokai (demons but not the western Christian kind) and magic and stuff.

You had to admit, all the families picnicking in this supposedly haunted forest was unexpected, to say the least. So was the frequently used dirt road circling the forest and all the residential houses. However, when you took a trail deeper into the Hoia Baciu in Transylvania it did not take long to understand where all the ghost stories came from. Despite there being very little undergrowth, the forest was eerily quiet, even if you only went ten feet off the road. Even the bird songs were missing. As a matter of fact, the only animals you saw inside the forest itself were a very large snail and a dead cicada along the trail. In terms of vegetation, the trees curved and twisted in unusual ways. The thing that made the forest feel most haunted, however, was that no matter where you went inside the forest it always felt like something, just out of view, was watching you. Not to mention the large circle, called the Poiana Rotunda, where no trees would grow, even the trees surrounding it arched away from the center. According to the legends of the forest, the Poiana Rotunda was a landing spot for aliens or a portal Hell, along with many other absurd explanations for the bare patch of Earth.

Luckily, no one else seemed to be in this part of the forest at the moment, though someone had been recently based on the dying bonfire in the center. You walked out of the quite shady forest into the hot, blinding, Romanian, summer sun and knee-high grass, taking out your phone to get a few pictures and videos from the edge before going to the center. The smoldering fire was unfortunately dead center of the circle, which was disappointing. Something drew you to the center, probably just the mysticism and fantasy of the haunted Transylvanian Forest.

After taking your videos you began to turn around when something iridescent and glowing peeking through the ash caught your eye. Kneeling down you grabbed a nearby stick, that had survived the fire, to try to uncover the object. As you pushed away the ash the iridescent object continued to grow, yet somehow the stick did not come into contact with anything except the ash. Confused, you continued until suddenly it was no longer a spot in the grey but expanded across the entire ground.

The next thing you knew you were plummeting downward. The world around you was a strange mix of every color in existence in an oil-slick pattern with windows filled with strange pictures and videos of impossible things, like flying cars, dragons, and an endless library of shelves pointing in every direction. This place was so overwhelming, that your eyes hurt from all the sights as your brain simply gave up on processing it all. You only knew it was over because you suddenly felt a rush of very cold air before slamming into the cold, wet ground, briefly losing conciseness.

Stretching your fingers you felt…snow? How are you feeling snow? It’s June and like 30 degrees outside. What the fuck? Your head hurt way too much for this shit. You slowly cracked open your eyes to see that you were in fact surrounded by snow, and it was the middle of the night. Despite the freezing ground making your entire body violently shiver, you couldn’t quite force yourself to get up. Instead, staring at the bright star-filled sky. Speaking of which, you didn’t remember being able to see the Milky Way from Cluj Napoca yet you were staring at it beside the moon… The strangely large moon. There was something else off about it too. You lay there in the snow trying to figure out what felt so incredibly disturbing about the celestial body you’d been gazing at your entire life. You looked closely at each crater, seeing them more clearly than ever before, and that’s when you realized the difference. The craters were wrong. The fucking moon was wrong.

The realization made you shoot up into a sitting position making your head spin. You leaned down to place your head against your knee and panicked when you heard a low growl in the distance. Looking around to locate the noise you realized you were somehow still in the Poiana Rotunda, just a different one perhaps, considering the incorrect moon.

Hiding in the forest was a very large creature, you could mostly only see its silhouette, except for its six glowing red eyes and extremely long white fangs. You slowly moved into a sitting position trying to remember all your wildlife safety knowledge and desperately hoping it wasn’t different wherever you were. If it was a big cat, you couldn’t turn your back, but if it was ape-like you couldn’t make eye contact or bare your teeth, and if it was a bear you needed to make yourself bigger and louder unless it’s like a grizzly or a polar bear, then you’re just fucked.

The creature roared before launching towards you. Apparently, fucked was the answer. You turned away from the creature sprinting as fast as your legs could carry you but the deep snow and spinning head made running pointless. You had barely reached the trees by the time you tripped over a log and the creature’s claws ripped through your left leg. Just as you were expecting to die a loud crack sounded behind you. Turning around you saw the creature begin to glow and boil before exploding and standing in the smoke was a gruff man in a long black cloak topped with white fur and a scar through his eye.

“Can you walk?” He asked in an incredibly deep and rumbling voice.

“I… I don’t know.” You mumbled. The cold, head injury and clawed-up leg were beginning to take their toll. Frankly, you weren’t thinking enough to know much of anything, you tried to answer his question before everything went black.

When you woke up you were lying on a pile of sticks and wrapped in a blanket that smelled like piss, beer, and body odor. The scent was so strong you nearly started gagging. There was a small fire in front of you with the strange gruff man from earlier starting daggers into you from across the fire, except he was missing his fur and cloak. He held your phone in his hand lazily flipping it around. When he noticed your eyes were open, he stated, “Silver doesn’t work on you.”

“What are you talking about.” You grumbled attempting to move before realizing that your feet and hands were tied.

“Are you working with vampires? Are there more coming through the corridor?” He angrily asked.

You stared at him dumbfounded “What the hell are you talking about? And why am I tied up?”

He held up your phone, lighting up the touch screen. “This is vampire magic.”

This was turning into, by far, the weirdest conversation you’d ever had. What the fuck did this guy mean ‘vampire magic’???? Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought? Hopefully. “It’s not…it’s my phone… Can you please just give it back and untie me? I just want to go back to my hotel…” Your words drifted off as you looked around at all the snow and the large foreign moon. “Where am I?”

“In the Hoia Baciu.”

“Outside of Cluj?”

“Yes.”

You looked at the man’s odd outfit. He wore a very dirty and worn tan shirt, with an emblem embroidered on the chest. You didn’t recognize the symbol, beside the cross embedded in it. On top of the shirt were dramatic brown and gold shoulder pads that connected to red straps holding tiny little throwing knives that crossed his chest. A red sash/cloak thing was belted around his waist and he had odd sherpa-lined brown arm guards. His pants were odd, puffy old fashioned pirate pants, tucked into fur-lined boots. The whole ensemble was very unusual, but between that and his insistence that your phone was ‘vampire magic’ perhaps something rather Inuyasha-like happened to you.

“When am I?” You asked.

“Excuse me? When?” Now he was confused.

“Yeah, what year?”

“I don’t know…” He paused seeming to realize something. “1474, maybe 75, not sure if the new year has passed.”

“1474!”

“That’s what I just said.”

So, you did get sent back 500 years into the past, into a place that presumably had demons, considering that thing you saw earlier, just like Kagome in Inuyasha.

“500 years? You expect me to believe that?” Shit, you thought, you accidentally said that out loud.

“Just bring me the phone and untie me I can show you.” He looked at you very skeptically. “I’m too injured to fight anyway.”

He grumbled before getting up and crossing the few feet between you. The man kneeled pulling back the smelly cloak and untying your wrists. Then he held out your phone. You tried to take it out of his hands, but his grip tightened around it. Sighing you typed in the passcode and opened the calendar app. “See! June, 2024.”

“Riiight.”

“The stupid circle is rumored to be a portal, right? Why can’t it be a portal to the future or an alternate world, because my world sure as fuck doesn’t have vampires, or that thing that attacked me earlier, and your moon is all wrong!” You nearly yelled, as you grew increasingly frustrated now that the fog in your brain was beginning to clear.

“There’s nothing wrong with my moon. Maybe something is wrong with your moon.” He quipped, earning him a glare. He sighed. “That would explain your clothes and… this thing.” Oh yeah, you were just in shorts and a t-shirt, his cloak was a surprisingly good defense against the cold.

“Could you untie my feet then?”

“Your feet aren’t tied.”

“What do you mean?” You asked in a panic ripping the cloak off of your legs. The sudden shock of the cold against your bare legs was agonizing, but not as shocking as the turnicid wrapped around your leg. Blood was already seeping through the cloth scraps that were used as bandages.

“If you want to live you need to get to town in the morning and clean that.”

Violently shivering you re-wrapped the cloak tightly around you, trying not to care about just how badly it smelled, and closing your eyes tightly willing the tears to not leak out as the panic set in. There was no way you could walk to Cluj in this state, especially not in this time period. Maybe if it was still in your time, when there was an ethnographical park, apartments, etc, but it was like a 30-minute taxi ride from Old Town to here, and you had a bad feeling there wasn’t much to Cluj beyond Old Town in 1474 or 5. The walk would take hours. “Is there still a road that circles the forest that people live on?”

“Not that I’ve seen. But I’m sure someone lives between here and town.”

“…Can you help me to…anywhere? Please, I don’t want to die here.” You looked up meeting the man’s icy blue eyes for the first time.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t mind some ale anyways.” He said longingly. “We’ll leave at first light. You should try to rest. It’s too dark to go now.”

“What are you going to do? Can you sleep without your cloak?” You asked, pulling it tighter around you and curling up into as tight of a ball as your leg would allow.

He shook his head crossing to the other side of the fire. “I’ll keep the fire going and keep watch for more night creatures.”

“Is that what attacked me earlier?”

He nodded.

“What are they exactly?”

“Souls of dead people ripped from Hell and shoved into the corpse of some poor bastard. The process mutilates the body, giving each night creature a uniquely hideous look. But the corpse bit is why that wound needs to be cleaned so badly.” The last sentence sent a shiver down your spine.

You gulped. “Are they common?”

“No. There are very few people who can make them, thankfully.”

“Humans make them?”

“They’re called forge masters.”

“Why? Does it need a forge to pull them from Hell?”

The man shrugged. “No. I honestly have no idea why they’re called that.”

“Huh,” You mused, attempting to get comfortable on the little platform or sticks he built to keep you out of the snow. The shock of being transported in time was beginning to wear off and the exhaustion was quickly setting in. “Thank you for helping me. I’m (y/n).

“Trevor,” he returned with a faint smile.

Despite the pain, you drifted off very quickly. At dawn, you awoke to find Trevor standing over you. “Time to go,” You’d barely had time to process his words before he was grabbing your arm and heaving you off the ground. You crashed into his warm hard body…the terrible smell most definitely belonged to him. “Get on my back”

“What??”

“You cannot walk. Especially not in those shoes.” He pointed at your tennis shoes. “Climb on my back. I’ll carry you.” His words nearly made you swoon. Never did you expect a muscular rugged man with glacial blue eyes and a chiseled jawline to fight a monster, take care of you, then carry you to town. You did manage to control yourself though and silently nodded, climbing on his back. Trevor then hooked his arms under your bare legs, God, you probably looked like you were in underwear to him. After that embarrassing realization, you did your best to wrap the cloak around your legs to protect them from the cold, before laying your head on his shoulder and drifting in and out of sleep.

“By the way.” You said groggily, breaking the silence. “What brings you to Hoia forest? I didn’t think it was a tourist attraction in the Middle Ages.”

“Tourism, here?” He looked over his shoulder at you skeptically.

“Yeah, complete with picnicking families, very few people think it's haunted anymore, at least according to my taxi driver.”

“Hmm.” He grunted. “Your taxi driver, whatever that is, was wrong.”

“Then why are you here?”

He was silent for so long you thought he wouldn’t answer. As you walked you swore you saw children in truly ancient clothing made of animal hides running between the trees and closely watching you, though Trevor did not seem to notice. You’d been so distracted by all the apparitions that when he finally answered you nearly jumped out of your skin. “I got into some trouble in Wallachia…they followed me through Transylvania, so I decided to go where no sane person goes.”

Great, a dangerous criminal. At least he was kind enough to kill that creature from earlier, bandage you up, and help you to town. Maybe he wasn’t that bad, but you were too afraid to ask, especially since he was just a random man in the woods. Still, you had no choice but to trust him under the circumstances. There is no way you could have traversed across the uneven ground and snow without him. You were honestly thankful to have him with you, for all the practical reasons, and because of all the ghosts and shadows watching you. On your way into the forest, you had problems with random anxiety and feeling watched but you never saw anything. Unlike now, where there was something creepy in every direction you looked. Maybe that was the difference between your world and this one… Here all the tales were real.

“What do you keep looking at?” Trevor asked, clearly annoyed by either your frantic head turning or your continually burrowing into him.

“Do you not see them? All the…people running around.” You decided to avoid the word ghost in case they could hear you.

He looked around, clenching his jaw. “I only see trees.”

“Well, I'm sorry to inform you but we’re surrounded by ghosts.”

“Not surprising considering where we are…have you always been able to see ghosts?”

You shook your head. “Nope. First time.”

He grunted. “Any I should be worrying about?”

“They’re just watching, but there is an increasing number of women in their twenties or thirties.”

“Odd” Was all he said as he walked on.

After about twenty more minutes the percentage of women continued to grow. They all watched the two of you from behind the trees. Except one, a woman with long stringy black hair, hollowed cheekbones, and a slit throat suddenly appeared not even 5 feet in front of you. “Stop, you must not go there!” She yelled, before disappearing again.

She’d nearly made you jump off Trevor’s back, but you managed to barely keep your grip. Trevor stopped immediately, his hand leaving your legs to find his weapons. “Where is it? What happened?”

“A-a ghost. She just-just yelled to stop and not go…somewhere…?” You spoke through shaky breaths.

“Well, that’s concerning.”

<3<3<3

I don't have a Trevor/Castlevania tag list so if you want to be on it let me know <3

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dumbassunderthemountain · 3 months

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While morally it might not be the best, who doesn’t want Trevor Belmont to protectively start a bar fight for them 😍

But protective angry Trevor turning all soft for his girl was amazing

Protective - Trevor Belmont

Trevor Belmont X Fem!Reader

Summary: When a drunk stranger crosses boundaries with you, Trevor's patience is tested.

Word Count: 822

You and Trevor sit opposite eachother at a table in a tavern. The flickering candlelight casts a warm glow as you sit together, enjoying each other's company. Trevor shares tales of his adventures hunting creatures of the night, while you share stories about your magical abilities.

Everything is going perfectly fine until a rowdy figure stumbles toward your table.

The figure, a burly man with a rough demeanor, slurs his words as he boldly takes a seat beside you. The scent of ale is evident, showing that he's clearly drunk. His eyes linger on your body for a moment too long and Trevor seems to notice.

The man wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in closer. You immediately feel uncomfortable but you say nothing as you're not one to usually speak up for yourself.

Trevor tightens his grip on his tankard, a subtle growl escaping his throat. His jaw clenches with a hint of jealousy and frustration as the stranger's words get more slurred as well as inappropriate. Trevor glares at the intruder, his steely gaze fixed on the man's hand around your shoulders.

You glance at Trevor, who's wearing a scowl that matches the intensity of his piercing gaze. You shoot Trevor a pleading look, silently urging him to handle the situation without escalating into violence.

Trevor's patience wears thin. "I suggest you remove your arm unless you want it broken," he warns, his tone sharp.

The man, momentarily taken aback by Trevor's stern demeanor, smirks defiantly and instead he chuckles, "No need to be so serious, friend. Just having a bit of fun."

Trevor's fist clenches, the veins on his arm pulsating with restrained anger. He narrows his eyes, his demeanor turning more menacing. His chair scraping against the wooden floor, he stands up. "Last warning," Trevor grits through clenched teeth. He steps forward, his imposing figure towering over the unwelcome stranger.

The man, still not fully grasping the gravity of the situation, stumbles to his feet, slurring his words, "And what are you gonna do if I don't leave?" the man asks tauntingly.

Trevor's eyes narrow, a dangerous edge to his glare. You finally muster the courage to speak, "Please, let's not make a scene." But it's like your words fall on deaf ears. Neither of the men react to your plea, acting as if you hadn't even said anything.

Trevor, his eyes never leaving the unruly figure, speaks with a low, threatening growl, "If you don't leave now, you'll regret it." The stranger, sensing the escalating tension, smirks arrogantly.

You decide to step in before either of the men do something they'll regret. You rise from your chair and plant yourself by Trevor's side, grabbing his hand gently. "Trevor, it's not even that big of a deal! Let's just get out of here," you say, hoping to ease some of the tension.

Trevor reluctantly turns his gaze from the unruly man to you, his expression softening. He takes a deep breath, visibly trying to control his anger.

He appears to calm down until the man speaks again, "Yeah, listen to the pretty lady." Trevor's patience snaps, and he delivers a powerful punch to the stranger's jaw, sending him crashing to the floor.

"Trevor!" you call out, shocked. You hadn't expected him to do that.

Trevor stands over the fallen man, his chest heaving with restrained anger. He turns to you, a mix of frustration and regret in his eyes.

"I tried to warn him," Trevor mutters, his grip on your hand tightening. The tavern patrons exchange uneasy glances as Trevor leads you towards the exit.

Outside, under the moonlit night, Trevor sighs, his tension slowly dissipating. As you both walk through the dimly lit streets, Trevor breaks the silence. "I didn't want things to escalate," he says, his gaze softening as he looks at you. "But no one should disrespect you like that."

You squeeze his hand reassuringly. "I appreciate that, Trevor. Though, you probably could've found a better way to deal with it. Like maybe without using your fists," you say, a small smile playing on your face. As much as you want to be mad at Trevor for punching a stranger, you understand why he did it.

As you continue through the dimly lit streets, Trevor nods, a hint of regret in his eyes. "I know, princess. Sometimes my temper gets the best of me. I'll try to work on it, I promise."

As you both reach home, you kick off your shoes and collapse onto the bed, tired after your fairly eventful evening. Trevor goes to lay down beside you, neither of you saying a word. You rest your head on his chest and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.

Shortly after, you feel yourself drifting off to sleep. The last thing you remember before falling asleep is Trevor pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and whispering, "Goodnight, princess."

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dumbassunderthemountain · 3 months

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trevor belmont

ugh i can't stand this bastard he's so cunty. in a really unwashed and sad kinda way

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dumbassunderthemountain · 3 months

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Trevor and Richter Belmont with an s/o that’s afraid of vampires

Trevor:

*Trevor can understand your fear, and he’s made it one of his top priorities to make sure you’re safe

*”you are aware that you’re in love with a vampire hunter, right?? The one that all vampires target??”

*You were quite aware of what you were getting into when you got together with Trevor, but you love him, so you don’t mind it too much

*you try to make sure not to go out at night, at least, not without Trevor to accompany you

*While you can protect yourself against night creatures, vampires you just… can’t fight alone, because of how scared you are of them

*you or Trevor don’t get it, but he’s always got your back and will help you out when needed

Richter:

*Richter can also understand your fear, but he will tell you not to worry about them

*he’s always there to protect you from vampires, no matter what

*you don’t go out at night, unless Richter is with you

*Richter will make sure a vampire never comes near you. He wants to keep you safe

*though he’s willing to help you with your fear, and teach you how to protect yourself from them

*or teach you a few things about how to get away in case he’s not around

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dumbassunderthemountain · 3 months

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you're amazing and i love your writing. you make my day when i come around here or when you appear on my dash

I've been keeping this in my inbox to read whenever I'm feeling really low.

But truly thank you so so much anon <3

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dumbassunderthemountain · 3 months

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The Traveler (Trevor Belmont x Reader)

Chapter 1: Down the Sacred Well

Summary: Via the infinite corridor, you get isekai-ed into the Castlevania world

“Can you walk?” He asked in an incredibly deep and rumbling voice.

“What are you talking about.” You grumbled attempting to move before realizing that your feet and hands were tied.

“Are you working with vampires? Are there more coming through the corridor?” He angrily asked.

You stared at him dumbfounded “What the hell are you talking about? And why am I tied up?”

He held up your phone, lighting up the touch screen. “This is vampire magic.”

“In the Hoia Baciu.”

“Outside of Cluj?”

“Yes.”

“When am I?” You asked.

“Excuse me? When?” Now he was confused.

“Yeah, what year?”

“I don’t know…” He paused seeming to realize something. “1474, maybe 75, not sure if the new year has passed.”

“1474!”

“That’s what I just said.”

So, you did get sent back 500 years into the past, into a place that presumably had demons, considering that thing you saw earlier, just like Kagome in Inuyasha.

“500 years? You expect me to believe that?” Shit, you thought, you accidentally said that out loud.

“Just bring me the phone and untie me I can show you.” He looked at you very skeptically. “I’m too injured to fight anyway.”

“Riiight.”

“Could you untie my feet then?”

“Your feet aren’t tied.”

“If you want to live you need to get to town in the morning and clean that.”

“Not that I’ve seen. But I’m sure someone lives between here and town.”

“…Can you help me to…anywhere? Please, I don’t want to die here.” You looked up meeting the man’s icy blue eyes for the first time.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t mind some ale anyways.” He said longingly. “We’ll leave at first light. You should try to rest. It’s too dark to go now.”

“What are you going to do? Can you sleep without your cloak?” You asked, pulling it tighter around you and curling up into as tight of a ball as your leg would allow.

He shook his head crossing to the other side of the fire. “I’ll keep the fire going and keep watch for more night creatures.”

“Is that what attacked me earlier?”

He nodded.

“What are they exactly?”

You gulped. “Are they common?”

“No. There are very few people who can make them, thankfully.”

“Humans make them?”

“They’re called forge masters.”

“Why? Does it need a forge to pull them from Hell?”

The man shrugged. “No. I honestly have no idea why they’re called that.”

“Trevor,” he returned with a faint smile.

“What??”

“By the way.” You said groggily, breaking the silence. “What brings you to Hoia forest? I didn’t think it was a tourist attraction in the Middle Ages.”

“Tourism, here?” He looked over his shoulder at you skeptically.

“Yeah, complete with picnicking families, very few people think it's haunted anymore, at least according to my taxi driver.”

“Hmm.” He grunted. “Your taxi driver, whatever that is, was wrong.”

“Then why are you here?”

“What do you keep looking at?” Trevor asked, clearly annoyed by either your frantic head turning or your continually burrowing into him.

“Do you not see them? All the…people running around.” You decided to avoid the word ghost in case they could hear you.

He looked around, clenching his jaw. “I only see trees.”

“Well, I'm sorry to inform you but we’re surrounded by ghosts.”

“Not surprising considering where we are…have you always been able to see ghosts?”

You shook your head. “Nope. First time.”

He grunted. “Any I should be worrying about?”

“They’re just watching, but there is an increasing number of women in their twenties or thirties.”

“Odd” Was all he said as he walked on.

“A-a ghost. She just-just yelled to stop and not go…somewhere…?” You spoke through shaky breaths.

“Well, that’s concerning.”

<3<3<3

I don't have a Trevor/Castlevania tag list so if you want to be on it let me know <3

#trevor belmont #trevor belmont x reader #castlevania

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