rhett-julian-blog

[rhett-julian-blog]

Touch

Chapter 1

Summary: The story of two unlikely individuals forced together begins as one might expect: with a thief, a dwarf, and a bit of magic. Whether the magic is of the good kind is for them to decide. 

OR

Yet another fix-it fic in which a random, new character is thrown into the already existing plot of "The Hobbit" and manages to change the outcome -though many of the events remain the same.

Disclaimer:  I do not claim any sort of ownership over any of the characters other than my OC's. I am merely borrowing the others and their story for a little while (maybe). This is just meant to entertain anyone who can stand my particular style of writing.

Author’s Note: Hugely based off of the Hobbit movies by Peter Jackson and the book that started it all by J.R.R Tolkien, I’ve been sitting on this idea for a long time. I’ve finally gotten around to writing it and posting it. I admit, it’s like many others that repeat what we already know but I thought of giving it a shot. Can’t hurt! Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Original Female Character

Rating:  T

Word Count: 5095

><><><><><><><><><><>< 

In a clearing in the woods, there is a camp. Not a loud, rowdy camp but a quiet camp of weary travelers. There are sixteen individuals in all. A single hobbit sleeps uncomfortably near a dying fire, a wizard in gray dozes against a log and thirteen dwarves all snore into their beards. It would be a serene, if not completely normal scene, had it not been for the fact that the original company was composed of only fifteen. It is not difficult to determine who does not belong, as this unwelcome guest currently perches most precariously near a sleeping dwarf, hand stuffed deep within his pocket.

It is early in the day, the new dawn gray and still.  The hour is that where creatures of the night begin to settle and those active in the light barely begin to stir. As such any sound seems muted, drowned in the peace of the groggy morning. To break the stillness of the atmosphere would seem a most unforgivable sin.

 Then again, as a hand retrieves a pouch stuffed full of coins, it seems the intruder wishes only to not wake the sleeping dwarf, rather than preserve the tranquility. Eyes shadowed by a thick maroon hood bounce between the dwarf and the pouch as slowly, with utmost care, the purse is settled snugly within the confines of the thief’s own sack. But the task is not yet done. After robbing the dwarf of his coins, other pockets are scrutinized with curious fingers and more objects are quickly added to the thief’s collection.

 It is a pity that the dwarf fell asleep while on watch, for his valuables are but the first to fall prey to the hunter’s greed. The thief, in turn, blesses the morning’s fortune. One by one, eleven more dwarves, the hobbit and even the wizard are relieved of their material goods. It is a cautious but not sluggish task. Moving with a practiced ease among the bedrolls, hands and fingers wander confidently but carefully. The thief’s dexterous digits seem to move of their own volition, like hounds sniffing for their quarry they seem to locate the most valuable goods with ease.

 Within minutes, as the dawn barely begins to blush with color, all but one of the company has been robbed. It is a dwarf, but he sleeps far from the others and does not lie across the ground. Instead his back is to a boulder and he keeps one hand upon the wooden haft of an axe. Such a position would commonly suggest alertness; one the thief would avoid, but the dwarf has succumbed to exhausted sleep. His head droops loosely to the cushion of dark hair swept over his shoulder. His snores are deeper and steadier than all the other dwarves. He would be, according to the thief, the easiest one to steal from - too tired to notice the warm presence that now hovers at his shoulder.

 As predicted, the job is quick and simpler than all the rest. This dwarf does not carry much in valuables, even his pack is barren of many belongings. The thief displays little remorse in leaving the traveling group without a cent as the job concludes with one more sack of coins stolen.

 But then, of course, it happens. A minor thing of seemingly little importance; the dwarf moves his hand. It is a small, unconscious movement, merely a twitch. The thief freezes. There, unseen until now, within reach upon the dwarf’s finger sits a large, gleaming ring. A silver square-shaped ring that would surely bring in quite the sum - if it were to be taken.

 The thief looks out towards the woods and the waking sky and takes a single step in that direction before looking back at the ring. It is a marvelous piece of jewelry, thick and heavy; obviously crafted by talented dwarves. Anxious fingers toy with a vial tied from the thief’s neck. Eyes flicker back and forth from the safety of the trees and the gleam upon the dwarf’s finger. The sounds of bird song already whistle in the trees, a rabbit darts from one bush to another and still the thief does not move. To take the ring would be risky. To stay any longer would be to risk getting caught. The thief cannot afford to be caught. Nodding, their mind made up, three steps are taken in direction of the woods, before being retraced in a hurried fashion back to the dwarf’s side.

 Greed overpowers the knowledge that they have enough, but it does not hinder the thief’s caution. Looking about the camp, and sparing the sleeping dwarf a wary glance, a tentative hand reaches out for the ring. Pinching with forefinger and thumb, the ring begins to wriggle free from its rightful place. Little by little, twist by twist the ring loosens. The entire affair takes only a few seconds, but the loud thumping in the thief’s ears makes it seem like an eternity as their gaze flits worriedly between the dwarf and his possession.

 With a final decisive tug the ring plops warmly into eager fingers. The thief gazes fondly at the prize but the euphoria of success is interrupted by a deep, sleep-addled voice. “What are you doing?” The dwarf is waking up, alerted by the sensation of a foreign touch. There is a moment of stillness, it lasts less than the life of a single breath. As soon as it is over, the thief stares into the eyes of the dwarf as comprehension fills their cerulean depths.

 Striking out with ferocious speed before the thief can react, thick dwarven fingers wrap around the hand holding the ring and the other reaches out attempting to grab a hold of the intruder. The thief wastes no time in responding just as viciously. Already clutching a small blade, it is swung towards the dwarf. It makes slicing contact and he lets go with an aggrieved grunt.

 No time is wasted looking for the point of contact. Pulling free the thief collects the sack full of stolen goods and races towards the woods. The knife is hidden away safely, wiped of what little blood remained on its blade. The thief has not determined a destination but rather only a single goal: to escape. And it is almost guaranteed were it not for the sound of one very angry dwarf in pursuit. It will not be simple to lose him, after all everyone in Middle Earth knows that dwarves are natural sprinters. But the thief has some confidence. Despite their own lack of speed, they are running through a forest filled with fallen branches, rotten logs and clearly many, many trees. Surely, a burly dwarf can be outrun.

 However, after minutes of running at their top speed, the thief is tiring. Legs aching and lungs burning, they push on only because the dwarf is gaining ground, the sounds of his own labored but measured breaths getting closer and closer. The thief will not be eluding the dwarf much longer. It seems the right time to change tactics. Slowing, the thief hopes that by surrendering, the dwarf can be appealed to. The pursuer however, does not slow. He does not so much as weaken in his step. He keeps running and collides heavily against the thief, hurdling them forward and effectively smashing them against the trunk of the nearest tree.

 Crack! Rammed against rough bark, the thief tastes blood. Little time is left to ponder the pain or the taste as the dwarf finally and roughly jostles them around to face him. Slightly dizzy, the thief puts up no fight. Instead they slyly slip the stolen ring into their pocket and blink blearily up at the angered dwarf from beneath their hood.

 The dwarf spares the short man only a cursory glance. There is not much too see except dirt streaked clothing, a lowered hood and a cracked vial filled with purple liquid. The dwarf holds out a sharp axe menacingly, deterring any hope of escape. “Run, and I shall cleave this axe into your back.”

 “Woah,” the thief’s voice is a rough, panting whisper as small hands are raised in surrender and the hooded head ducks down further, “no.  I won't run.”

 Accepting this as truth, the dwarf relaxes his defensive stance and allows the axe to slide to the ground. Just as soon as the axe is lowered, the thief gives a mighty push and charges away as fast as possible.

 Thwack! The thief does not make it far. Handle vibrating from the force, the axe imbeds itself into the tree, inches away from the thief’s head. The dwarf stalks up, anger overflowing at the blatant lie and betrayal. “You dare try to run away? To try and escape from me?”

 The cloaked thief can do little but turn to face the advancing mass of fury. A huge dwarven fist swings towards them, aiming straight for their head. Narrowly avoiding it, they escape only by falling against the tree and axe. Now trapped between the tree and one extremely furious dwarf, there is nothing to do, but to beg. Chest still heaving, the thief grabs the vial filled with purple liquid in one hand and pleads, “Oh, please no! Don't hit me. I'll-“

 “I'll do as I see fit to any man who dares steal from me!” Such is the dwarf’s wrath, he is deaf to what the thief’s voice reveals. Shooting out his injured hand, (for the knife had cut across his palm) he grabs the thief’s cloak and keeps them still as he clenches his fist again and swings.

 There was no escaping the oncoming impact of the enraged hit, but the thief is desperate. That meaty fist looks like it could break something and easily. In a last attempt to spare too much injury, the thief reaches up and pulls down the maroon hood while rapidly speaking, “And a woman?”

 The advancing punch falters only enough for the fist to open. A heavy hand slaps straight across the thief’s face, snapping her head sharply to the side. It was, thankfully, no bone shattering punch, but her cheek now stung and her neck ached from the force of it. Raising cool fingers to her cheek, she winced as she looked back at the dwarf. “Yes,” her jaw hurt as she spoke, “very well. I deserved that I suppose.”

 The dwarf feels a moment of guilt. He had vowed to never raise his hand in violence toward a woman. She had a dirt streaked face, her bottom lip was split and her cheek was blossoming in an angry red color. It was a pathetic picture. But his anger soon returned to him, his guilt pushed aside. The thief being a woman did not change the fact that she had stolen from him and his company. He took another step forward, crowding her while tightening his hold on her cloak. “You will return what you have stolen from me immediately.”

 “Of course.” There was no use fighting it now, and much less of trying to escape.

 “And what you took from the rest of my company.”

 The woman grits her teeth and the grip she has on the vial tightens. “I don't think so.” She does not notice the sudden bite of glass in her palm. “I stole that stuff fair and square. If they want it back they can come and get it themselves.” He is still crowding her, pushing her heavily against the tree. Releasing the crushing hold she has on the vial, she raises her hands to his chest to push him away but only manages to do so weakly as she begins to cough.

 He too coughs a few times before stepping away from her and allowing her the room she demands but he remains cautious. This time, the dwarf will not underestimate the thief’s desire to escape.

 With her free hand she reaches deeply into her pocket, and as she retrieves it, his ring is cushioned in her palm. She holds it out and he makes an avid grab for it before she snatches it right out of his reach. His fingers close over nothing but air. Glancing up their eyes lock: hers brown and mischievous, his like twin blue flames.

 She breaks the contact first by tossing him his ring and stepping out of reach. “The ring didn't fit anyway, so no big loss I suppose.”

 “And the rest of it?”

 “Like I already s-” With the pain subsiding in her cheek and her breath finally calming, she finally feels the sharp sting in her palm. Surprised, she turns her hand over and looks at the shards of glass clinging painfully from her skin before realizing the glass could only belong to the vial that had hung about her neck for months. The vial filled with a purple liquid. The vial filled with a very powerful potion.

 A bitter taste crawls up her throat, the dwarf’s voice becomes a mumbled background noise. The vial was broken, the potion released. The potion she had taken out of pure curiosity because the description of its powers had been too fascinating to not wish to witness it for herself. But it had not been meant for her.

 In a hurry, she opens her sack of stolen goods and retrieves everything she had taken from the dwarf in front of her and tosses them at him. Her desperate voice is clipped and short as she says, “Here, here. Take your things.” It is her luck that he abandons the surprised look he is giving her to collect his belongings. So while he is distracted she scurries off, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the dwarf.

 It is in those moments, as she sneaks away from him, that she hopes she is wrong. Surely, it takes a while for a potion to take effect. Undoubtedly, it does not actually do what she was told it did. Without question, it would not be potent enough to take effect. Right?

 She is nearly thirty hobbit paces away when he finally realizes that she has escaped him, again. The thief hears him call out to her, his words mean nothing as they are carried away. Her measured and careful steps become strides as she realizes she is nearly in the clear. Just another step…

 There is a tug in her gut. It is too late. The potion has worked and she knows it. Despite this however, she takes another step, futilely hoping it is her imagination. With the next step, she feels her legs seize up, the muscles tensing and cramping painfully. She takes another, praying the cramps are merely a result of being chased through the forest. Another step and her body freezes in pain.

 On this morning, while drops of dew cling like precious jewels to an old spider web, while cheerful bird song lifts the air and the sun’s warm rays fall in dappled patterns through the trees, two lives are irrevocably forged together.

 The thief does not take another step. She freezes in her spot and inhales the fresh air deeply through her nose. The pain that grips her has not abated but as she forces herself to calm, she finds it is a tolerable sort of pain, though definitely an unwanted one. The potion, its magic, has worked.

 To continue moving away from the dwarf would be to spell disaster. It is still, however, with great reluctance that she turns back to look at him. He is still standing in the same spot, an exact thirty hobbit paces away from her. His face, she imagines, looks much like her own. Twisted in discomfort and arms helplessly clutched about his abdomen. Unlike her however, his dark brows are drawn tightly together in confusion. The thief is not confused, she knows exactly what has occurred. And she knows exactly what she must do next.

 Stiffly she trudges back through the undergrowth towards the dwarf. The pain does not subside even for a moment, but the nearer she gets to him the more desperate she becomes to reach him already. But she slows as soon as she can see the deep blue of his eyes and finally she stops as he rights himself. Slowly, apologetically, she reaches her bare hand out towards him.  

 He is clearly worried, not understanding the source of his debilitating and uncomfortable pain. The dwarf can see the woman standing there, her hand held out to him but he cannot comprehend what has occurred. He knows of the cramps that grip his leg muscles, he feels the discomfort as plainly as he can see it on her face and he knows she suffers just the same. But why? He realizes it matters little as he glances down at her outstretched hand and then goes back to looking straight at her. She has a pitiful smile about her lips because they both know. He knows what he must do, though how he knows precisely, he cannot be sure. Sighing, he reaches out and takes her hand in his own.

 The relief of release is swift and instant. The pain melts from their bodies through the brief contact of their hands. As soon as it is over, they let go of one another and the dwarf looks long and hard at the woman in front of him. She in turn, avoids his gaze for as long as she can before dropping her shoulders in defeat.

 “We are cursed.”

 ><><><><><><><><><><>< 

 As soon as she has finished explaining what has transpired, the thief goes very quiet. Her arms are crossed, frown deep and pensive. She looks just as he feels. The dwarf can hardly wrap his head around it: they’re cursed. Of all the many obstacles he had believed would hinder him on his journey, this particular instance had not crossed his mind a single time.

 But then again, maybe this issue could be resolved. Perhaps, not all was lost. At the very least he would not give up hope yet.

 Abruptly he stands, hefting his axe into his hand and walking away. He does not look back or call out to her, simply starts marching back towards his campsite. He supposes, briefly, that there is an upside to his predicament: she cannot leave. She can’t stray too far from him, nor can she deceive him any longer. The thief absolutely must follow, which means she will have to return the items stolen. This pleases him, but it is a very small comfort. After all, what if the issue cannot be resolved?

  “Are we returning to your camp?”

 His reply is a curt, “Yes.”

 Sighing, the thief supposes she should have expected this. If they were to be cursed together she would have to go where he went. She resigns herself to the fact that she must give up her own life to follow the dwarf. The loss of her independence makes her ache to the very core. Her only comfort: that he seems to be as equally upset by the circumstances.

 He speaks again as they get closer to the camp, “There is someone in my company - a wizard. He may be able to help us out of this unforeseen and inopportune quandary.” This news seems to delight her. Her step quickens to match his pace rather than lagging a few steps behind. As soon as they are free of one another, the better for them both.

 Upon reaching the camp, he pays little attention to the number of still sleeping dwarves (their lack of initiative would have angered him at any other time) and rushes along towards the wizard in gray who sits on a boulder packing tobacco into his pipe. The man in question glances up with a bright smile aimed in their direction, but as the dwarf and the thief get closer, his smile fades.

 “Gandalf,” says the dwarf, wasting no time in getting to the point, “we require your help immediately.”

 “Indeed. What on earth has occurred to the two of you? You simply reek of magic!”

 “We’ve been cursed.”

 “Cursed?!” Gandalf’s raspy voice deepens in surprise as his pipe is all but forgotten. “How did this come to be?”

 “We have… well, been inadvertently exposed to a very powerful potion.” This time the thief speaks up. The wizard’s eyebrows shooting up prompt her to continue; she can already imagine the question he wishes to ask. “It magically bonds two self-aware beings forcing them to remain near one another. To venture outside of the limits allowed causes pain to prompt the two… subjects back to one another.” She had only explained the situation twice thus far and already she could feel it weighing her down. She was stuck… to a dwarf! The reality of it was closing in on her but she tried to focus and breathe deeply. Surely the wizard would fix this. He must. He is a wizard.

 Gandalf suddenly seems to remember his pipe and ignoring the two miserable looking people before him he raises it to his lips and begins to puff away. For a long while, he does not speak, nor does he make eye contact with either of them. Rather, he begins to blow perfect rings of smoke above his head, watching them disperse into the atmosphere.

 He finally speaks when a glance over at them reveals their near-murderous expressions, “I am afraid there is nothing I can do.”

 The thief clicks her jaw. Her mouth opens, lips twisted in a sneer before she allows a sinister smile to claim the position. A small huff escapes her nose and she notes how quickly the wizard ceases to smoke. “There is nothing you can do?” Gandalf seems to wish to say something but she beats him to it, stepping forward and saying, “You took all that time, to tell us there is nothing you can do? So much for a great and pow-” The thief cuts herself off, closing her eyes to refrain herself from speaking unnecessary words.

 Gandalf clears his throat, clearly affronted. “There is nothing I can do, but I may have a friend who can.”

 “A friend? Where can we find this friend of yours?”

 “Oh…” he drawls distractedly, “He is still some ways off, but undoubtedly our journey shall allow us to cross paths with him.”

 Our journey? She supposes she grew too excited at the prospect of being free. It had been hopeless from the start. Slowly she looks around the camp. There are four empty bedrolls, two undoubtedly belonging to the dwarf and the wizard. The rest are filled with lightly sleeping individuals. Individuals she stole from and now apparently, has to travel with. She supposes it could be worse, but she honestly cannot imagine a worse scenario.

 The dwarf has similar thoughts. However, he feels his situation is much direr than her own. He muses on his misfortune. His quest was already nearly impossible, but now he had to include the extra responsibility of another person, and a woman at that. To make it worse, he was magically bonded to her, now he also had to watch his step, ensuring neither of them wandered too far from each other as if he did not have enough to worry about. He looks to Gandalf, “I do hope your friend will be more capable.” Turning away, he gives the wizard no chance to respond.

 Directing himself towards the woman, he leads her to where two of his company members are returning from the woods. “It would seem we must tolerate each other for a while.”

 “It appears so.” They stand side by side until the two other dwarves arrive.

 “Balin. Dwalin,” he begins, “there is something we must discuss immediately.”

 “What has happened? Who is this lil’ girl?”

 She could understand the large dwarf’s worried and suspicious questions but calling her a little girl was a bit too much. The thief glares at him sharply, but he does not notice or does not care (she cannot tell which), he is entirely focused on the dwarf beside her.

 Quietly he began to explain to both Dwalin and Balin what has occurred. He leaves not a single detail out, beginning with her stealing from them early in the morning. This particular piece of information has Dwalin snarling at her angrily through bared teeth. She grumbles at him right back; she is not ashamed of what she has done or of what she is, she merely regrets the fact that she now has to return it.

 As his thorough tale concludes, he looks closely at his trusted companions. Balin is silent and pensive, hand stroking his beard in a continuous rhythm. Dwalin looks angrily at the woman, while she stares back with equal if not greater ire.

 “You,” began Dwalin, “This is all yer fault.”

 The dwarf is about to step in when she says, “My fault?” He decides his interference is not required as she goes head to head with the fiercest warrior he knows. She barely reaches Dwalin’s chin, but she points her finger at him with overabundant confidence. “I did not intend for this to happ-”

 “Ye were stealing and-”

 “Don’t interrupt.” Despite the shaking of her hands, the thief makes sure to keep her voice even and steady. She will not turn this into a yelling contest. “I was stealing, yes. However, that was my single intention: to steal your goods and to be on my way. That potion I had was never intended for myself. I may be a thief, but I am not a liar.” She pauses briefly, cooling herself down, “However, you may have whatever opinion you wish… oh Master Dwarf.” She bows her head at him mockingly, eyes never leaving his.

 They glare at each other, he doesn’t blink, neither does she. His teeth are set firmly, her fists are clenched tightly. “It does not matter if ye are a lass – If ye hurt anyone, or betray anyone, you will pay.” With that, Dwalin turns around and leaves.

 Balin does not follow. Dwalin’s outburst had its foundations but it had been somewhat too aggressive. Ever the peacekeeper, the older dwarf waves his hands in a placating manner, “Do not let him unsettle you lass. Dwalin, like most dwarves, is highly suspicious and untrusting.”

 “Yes. I’ve dealt with dwarves before.” Her voice has cooled considerably, but she can’t help but feel sheepish. Her own outburst had been unnecessary. Most likely the only effect she will have achieved in confronting Dwalin, will be to alienate him further from her and cause him to mistrust her even more. “I understand. And I also apologize. This is a quite the unfavorable situation, one we could all do without, but it is what it is. If it were not for this, I would be long gone with all I had stolen.” The two dwarves raise their brows at her; the one at her side going so far as to cross his arms over his chest but remaining quiet.  “But I will be returning everything I have taken as a sign of good will.”

 “You would have had to return it regardless of good will.”

 “True.” She shakes her head and looks back to Balin. He is kind enough to say nothing, offering her only a vague shrug of his shoulders. “True. But I am hoping that by returning it, I can introduce myself and begin relations a tad better than I just did with Master Dwalin.”

 He supposes it would be a start. The dwarf does not much care whether she gets along with his company or not but he knows it would make traveling easier if they did. This was to be their life now. At least until they met with Gandalf’s mysterious, but apparently very powerful friend. The thief at least seems open to adapting, a good trait, one he would do well to imitate. Like she had said, it is what it is and they would simply have to deal with it. So, he would. He had to. “Very well,” he finally says, arms still crossed over his chest and not quite looking at her, “That does seem to be the best manner in becoming part of the company.”

 The thief merely hums at him. She is willing away her disappointment. She has to make the best out of her situation and that means integrating herself into the social dynamic of her new companions. But that does not mean she only intends to make friends. No. She knows she must help and contribute in any way she can. The woman is not helpless and she would make sure they would not treat her as if she were. She refuses to be another load they have to carry. She can pull her own weight and then some. Besides, she muses thoughtfully, what if Gandalf’s friend is unable to help us as well? What if there is no solution? The thought is too dark to ponder for long. He will be able to help us… Until then she will strive to make amends and to live as peacefully with the thirteen dwarves, the hobbit and the wizard as she can.

  “What is your name, lass?”, says Balin after a long silence.

 His smile is comforting and genuine. Despite her many thoughts she gives them pause to reciprocate with a small smile of her own. “Sona. My name is Sona.”

 “Sona.” He smiles a little brighter as he says it. “Well Sona, despite the circumstance, allow me to formally welcome you to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

 “Thank you.” Thorin Oakenshield? He said it as though the name had some great significance. The name did sound familiar though, quite familiar. But she could not remember where she had heard it or why. Thorin Oakenshield… Thorin Oakenshield…

 She is about to shrug it off when it comes to her. Thorin Oakenshield?! Surely, not The Thorin Oakenshield… Not the prince of Erebor. Not the descendent of the line of Durin. Not the hero of Azanulbizar. Not the dwarf that had led his people to a prosperous life in Ered Luin… But then again, how many could there possibly be? Sona looks at Thorin and winces. It is undoubtedly him, The Thorin Oakenshield. The one she has heard so much about. How could I have been so stupid and blind? Her optimism withers, the horrible situation has gone from very bad to the absolute worst.

[rhett-julian-blog]

Jewel pt. 2

Story based on imagine from @imaginexhobbit :

The second part to Jewel.

Part 1

“Come here. Come on.” You were trying to coax the playful Jewel out from under the bed using an especially high pitched voice to get her attention. With a happy bark she came towards you, barreling into your awaiting arms. “That’s my madtithbirzul.”

 “Madtithbirzul…” Thorin’s disdainful remark had you smirking as you stood up. “It’s a dog. It doesn’t what all of those endearments mean.”

 You turned to Thorin, putting Jewel down as you reached a hand out towards him. He resisted for a moment before rolling his eyes and putting his hand in yours. “Is that jealousy I detect?”

 Thorin said nothing but you could see the way his bottom lip protruded in a subtle pout. You couldn’t help but laugh and pull him closer, wrapping your arms around his chest as best you could.

 “Thanu men,” you chided gently, “You have nothing to be jealous of. Yes, I love Jewel very much, but how can I love her more than you?” Thorin finally wrapped his arms around you, holding you back tightly. “I mean sure, she’s not grumpy like you and she doesn’t stomp her boots when I’m falling asleep. Jewel also isn’t constantly misplacing a crown, nor is she too busy with diplomatic matters-“

 “Abigail.” Thorin slapped your bottom in reprimand. Looking up you could see the shadow of uncertainty in his gaze. It was as though he actually believed you loved Jewel more than him. Stupid, loveable dwarf.

 Giggling you continued, “But she cannot love me like you. She will not hold me or kiss me like you. She will not be with me as long as you.  And while she makes me very happy, there is nothing that makes as elated as your smiling eyes, your joyful laugh or your loving touches.” And to make your point you leaned up and kissed his bearded chin.

 Thorin nodded and smiled. You knew that this did affect him, and you wanted him without a doubt. You loved him more than anything else. How did he not see that? Thorin hummed in thought, “Are you sure? What if you had to choose?”

 You did not like his insecurity, the doubt in his tone did not suit him. Reaching up you cupped his face between your hands and pulled him down to make direct eye contact with you. “Get this through your thick skull you khuzd allâkhul.” You spoke fondly to Thorin, stroking his hairy cheeks with your thumbs. “I love you. I love Jewel as well. In fact, I love many people, but you I love the most. In less than a month I will finally have given you all I have. My heart, my mind, my body, they all belong to you and only you, and soon my life will be yours as well. If I didn’t love you so, I would not be so ready or so happy to spend the rest of my life with you. You are my one, okay?”

 This time Thorin’s smile was sheepish, “Okay.” His large calloused hands held your face tenderly as his moistened lips made contact with yours. It was a sweet kiss, soft and gentle and you broke away, continuing to peck softly at his lips while you both took deep breaths.

 When you came back together again, the tenderness was gone, replaced by the burning desire for more. You greedily demanded entrance, seeking out Thorin’s tongue with your own. At some point your hands had grabbed a tight hold of his loose raven hair and Thorin’s palms were pressing against your bottom, pulling you tightly against him.

 But you had to pull away. Thorin looked displeased as you did so, but you could only offer him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I promised Kili-“

 “Thorin kissed you again, silencing you. “Stay. Kili can wait.”

 Oh, you were so tempted but you had promised. Placing your palms flat against Thorin;s chest you pushed him away. “I want to, but I promised Kili I would help him choose the gems for a necklace he is making.”

 Nodding, though still unwilling to see you go, Thorin released you. His breaths were heavy and uneven, his eyes darkened with lust. You were sure you looked the same. Slipping on a pair of light slippers, you smiled at him, “I’ll be back later.” You shared matching grins, filled with devious intent, both of you knowing you would continue “this” as soon as you returned. “While I’m gone make sure you and her get along, hmm?” And with that you were gone.

 Thorin sighed and flopped into the nearest chair. With you now gone he could no longer ignore his responsibilities, but it would be best if he completed his duties before you returned. That way he would be free to be with you for the rest of the day.

 Deciding that this was his plan, Thorin made to rise from his seat when two paws set themselves on his knee. It was your dog, and despite what you had assured him, he still didn’t like the golden-haired pest around, especially if it was around him.

 Shaking his knee in an attempt to throw her off, Jewel remained steadfast, blinking at him with inquisitive brown eyes. “Get off.” She sat down in front of him after he had gowled, but the pup hardly looked fazed. Her limp ears perked up and when thorin finally stood, her tail wagged eagerly.

 Ignoring her, Thorin walked away, grumbling about possibly getting rid of the dog, though he knew he would never do such. To see you heartbroken due to the loss of your four-legged friend would be worse than having to deal with Jewel for the foreseeable future.

 It was a soft tinkling that got his attention and he looked down. There she was, wiggling excitedly at Thorin’s feet, the gem encrusted collar you had had made for her, creating a merry sound. Thorin growled, “No.” This put an end to Jewel’s wiggling, “Go.” And after a moment of hesitation the small pup backed away. Satisfied, Thorin entered his bedchamber and closed the door behind him.

 Sometime later, Thorin found himself unable to focus on the parchment before him. There was a sound, a constant high-pitched noise. After several more futile attempts to focus, he leaned back and searched for the sound that had since quieted.

 Straining to hear, he waited, being as quiet in his breathing as he could so he wouldn’t miss it. And there it was again! A pitiful whimper coming from the other side of the door. Thorin groaned and determined to ignore the she-pup as best he could. Until she started scratching at the door.

 Snarling, he stood, “Cursed dog, I would be rid of it, if not for-“ Thorin opened the door and found the pup waiting on the other side. He tried his best to remain stoic, but the oft and imploring brown gaze had him relenting. “Very well.” And he stepped away, leaving the door open.

 Jewel wasted not a moment to follow him and as soon as Thorin had taken his seat, she sat quietly at his feet.

 And thus, Thorin was able to finish his royal duties, the pup ocassionally gnawing on the heavy end of his boot or pawing at his leg when he tapped his foot. Thorin would deny it but he had been playing with Jewel, using his foot to prod her gently and finding her responding growls and barks amusing.

 “Well,” he breathed, looking at Jewel, “Abigail’s not back yet.” Which meant he would take the chance to take a well-deserved nap.

 Thorin found the perfect spot on a soft sofa in the main chamber. The light that streamed through the large windows in the room, cast a warm light over that exact spot, promising a warm and comfortable nap. Remvoing his boots, he settled on his back and placed an arm over his eyes.

 There was a small bark and then pressure on his legs. Thorin lifted his arm to see Jewel crawling up his body and settling on his chest. She placed her head on the middle of his chest, her black nose quivering as she watched him. With a sigh that made his chest rise and Jewel with it, he placed his arm back over his face. “Very well, wee one. Just don’t get used to it.” Mahal knew you already pampered Jewel too much, Thorin wouldn’t do it. No, not him.

 You made your way quickly back to your chambers. After hours of discussing gems and cuts with Kili, you were ready to get back to Thorin. You had after all, not forgotten the promise of your earlier activities.

 “thorin, I’m-“ Your words fell short and you closed the oaken door as quietly as possible. After all, you had no desire to disturb the scene before you.

 You could hardly believe it and the longer you looked, the wider your smile grew. There, prostrated haphazardly upon the sofa was your amralimê. He had one arm hanging off the edge, fingers brushing the carpet below and the other was placed gently on a ball of golden fur. Jewel seemed quite content, lulled by the motion of Thorin;s chest rising and falling below her.

 Silently you kneeled by Thorin, smiling as you stroked his cheek and placed a kiss on the skin your fingers had touched. “Thanu men… Men lananubukhs menu.” And with a final chaste kiss, you left your love and your pup to continue their peaceful slumber.

 Madtithbirzul : little golden heart

Thanu men : my king

Khuzd allâkhul : stupid dwarf

Amralimê: My love

Thanu men : my king

Men lananubukhs menu : I love you

[rhett-julian-blog]

Jewel pt.1

Story based on imagine from @imaginexhobbit : 

This is my first fic ever, so I just hope you enjoy.

“There now. That wasn’t so bad.” You couldn’t help your laughter as the puppy in front of you shook her body free of the water you had bathed her with, sending small droplets of water everywhere. Now that her bath was over, she seemed much happier. “Now I’ll get you all dried up.”

 You had found the small puppy in Dale, when you had taken your weekly walk through the markets of the town. At first you had ignored the small ball of fluff that was following you, assuming that its master was nearby. But as the day went on and the skies became dark, the puppy continued to follow you, and you, well what else could you do? You did the right thing of course, and brought her back with you to Erebor.

 It was a female puppy, small and golden in color. Her ears were floppy and like all pups, she was excited and curious. You loved her already.

 There was just one small problem. You didn’t live alone and you weren’t sure how your “roommate” would react to your new addition. Well, it didn’t matter, you decided. He may be the King Under the Mountain, but you were his naiblilâmralê, surely he couldn’t refuse you the right to keep the puppy. Surely…

Once dry and well fed you carried the pup with you to bed. She settled comfortably into your lap as you read from an old parchment, gently stroking the fun of her back.

 It was the heavy stomp of boots on the floor that roused you from your doze and startled the sleeping puppy in your lap. She whimpered with discontent, pawing at your leg as you immediately set her back in your lap and drew the covers over you both.

 “Abigail?” the deep voice of your naiblilâmralê called you from the main chamber.

 Clearing your throat and trying to keep the hidden pup quiet, you replied, “In here, Thorin.”

 The sight of Thorin never ceased to make your heartbeat quicken. And after not seeing him for two weeks, it beat even faster. Oh, how you wanted to run to him, have him wrap his arms around you while you pointlessly declared how much you had missed him. Alas, you remained still in bed, no wanting to risk bothering the puppy.

 “Amralimê , is everything alright?” Obviously Thoring had expected you to do as you so desired and seeing you just sitting there, had to be worrisome.

 “Of course! Everything is okay.” Huh, you’d said that a little too cheerfully. You could see the suspicion overcome Thorin, his smile fading and his brow furrowing.  “I just didn’t expect you for another week, is all.”

 That had perhaps not been the best thing to say. Thorin’s eyes darkened and when he spoke, his tone was clipped. “Negotiations lasted two weeks.” The dwarf king took a few steps forward, shadowed blue eyes focused intently on you. “I thought you would be pleased.”

 “Oh I am! I missed you so much.” Caragu, you were really messing this up. You weren’t sure how to salvage the conversation now. Maybe you could explain, honesty was the best policy. “Thorin-“

 “Are you hiding something from me?”, he interrupted. He slowly removed his fur coat from his shoulders, but made no move to get closer to you.

 Nervous and unsure what to say to calm his rising ire, you exclaimed a loud, “No!” Wrong answer! You were hiding something from him. “I mean yes!” His expression turned absolutely murderous after that. “But it’s not what you think. Thorin!” He was already out the door, slamming it heavily upon its hinges. “Allâkhul.” Slipping the puppy off your lap you left her on the bed and ran after Thorin.

 You caught up to him in the hall, having to place yourself directly in front of him so he would stop and look at you. Thoring did stop but he did not speak, only crossed his arms over his broad chest and tilted his chin upwards.

 Catching your breath after your brief sprint, you swept your tongue over your lips. “Thorin, how could you ever believe I would do that to you?” Thorin’s stern glare turned into a frown, but he still said nothing. “Gajut men,” you pleaded and his burning blue gaze slowly cooled. “I had been sleeping when you arrived and you startled me. I thought I had more time to prepare our discussion.”

 “What discussion?” Thorin’s voice was soft and throaty and you sighed in relief.

 “Let me show you.” You extended your hand and when he entangled his fingers with yours, you led the way back to your chambers.

 “I wasn’t sure how you would react to her,” you explained as you shut the doors. “I just wanted to be ready for your reaction.” Pointing towards the bed, you smiled, “She’s-, “ there was a distinctive lack of a golden furred puppy on the bed. “She’s gone!”

 Instantly panicking you raced toward the bed and tore off the heavy sheets. She was gone! Your puppy was gone!

 “Abigail…?”

 “No! Thorin! She was- She was right here! I have to find her.”

 “Abigail!” Thorin called a little louder but you were going hysterical checking everywhere you could. “Abigail!’ And then you heard her, an outraged bark and throaty chuckle making you look to Thorin who had her by the scruff of the neck. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

 Hurrying towards Thorin, you eagerly reached for the now whimpering puppy, but he held her out of reach. “Thorin!”

 ‘Ah, no. Not yet.” Once he was sure you wouldn’t try to snatch the puppy away, he looked at her more closely. “This is what you were hiding from me?” You nodded bashfully. With a hum, he handed her back to you. “Where did you find that thing?”

 Pouting you held her close to your chest, while he went about removing the rest of his clothes. “She’s not a thing,” you replied indignantly. “And I found her in Dale while I was visiting the market.”

 Thoring raised his brows and removed his boots. “Have you named it yet?”

 “No.” You had already considered so many names, but none of them seemed right.

 “Some sugesstions then.” You perked up. “Mangy.” Your glare only made Thorin smile. “Stinky? Annoying? Pest?”

 “Oh yeah,” you sneered sarcastically in response. “In that case I should just name her Thorin. But oh! Too bad, she’s a girl.”

 You were pleased to hear Thorin laugh and all the more pleased to see him walk towards you in nothing but his undergarments. He skipped his cerulean gaze between you and the wriggling puppy, before rolling his eyes and shrugging.

 “Does this mean I get to keep her? Your voice went up in excitement causing the puppy to bark enthusiastically as well.

 Thoring hummed thoughtfully, “On one condition.”

 “Anything. You just name it.”

 He leaned in close, his bare chest making the slightest of contact with your arm. “You let me, take you any way I desire for the rest of the night.” You blinked up at him, your eyes wide. “What do you say, ‘ibinê? Deal?”

 You were nodding enthusiastically, desire beginning to course through your body when it clicked. You had a name for your puppy! “That’s it! That’s what I’ll name her.” You took a deep breath and announced, “Jewel! I shall call her Jewel.”

 Just as you had announced the perfect name for her, a strong arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you against the firm planes of Thorin’s warm chest. In the next moment, his lips descended hungrily upon yours. You had only a few moments to put Jewel down before Thorin was carrying you away.

Naiblilâmralê: Betrothed

Amralimê: My love

Caragu: Shit / literally: dung

Allâkhul: Stupid

Gajut men : Forgive me

‘Ibinê : My gem

Part 2