#but again. none of that would ever happen. tilda's too possessive.

[kumqu4t]

In (Gold) Sickness and In Health

Pairing: Human Female!Reader/Thorin

Request: @anjhope1 requested a human reader with Thorin for the prompt: “I’m done. We’re done.”

Brief Summary: After the Battle of the Five Armies and Thorin’s actions under the Gold Sickness, you wonder if things between you and Thorin will ever be repaired.

Warnings: Violence and injuries

A/N: Gold sick Thorin is a gold mine (pun intended) for angst. Thanks to @anjhope1 for being so so patient and kind!!! I’ve never really written anything other than headcannons and I really enjoyed this!! I have a long list of fic ideas that I hope to write after school ends and this really got the ball rolling! :D

 @fromthedeskoftheraven (who inspired me to actually start writing <333)

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 “Thorin?” You called into the seemingly empty castle. Your voice echoed hauntingly. No response. You turned the corner and ventured into the treasury, though a part of you hoped you would not find him there. It was the only place he ever seemed to be, and not for good reason. You followed the sound of digging and hushed whispers. There you found Thorin talking to himself in furious murmurs, his voice tinged with hysteria. He seemed to be digging through the millions of glimmering treasures, bringing each item close to his face for a thorough inspection, and then scoffing angrily and throwing it over his shoulder at the discovery that it was not, in fact, the Arkenstone. You approached him quietly, gnawing on your bottom lip worriedly. You were soon only a few steps behind him, his back to you, yet he made no notice of you.

“Thorin?” He didn’t even flinch. You, about fed up with all of this, put your hand on one of his shoulders and lightly shook it. He whirled around instantly, a mad expression on his face that only eased slightly when he saw you.

 “Ah, (Y/n). How have you been?” He asked absentmindedly, his gaze still stuck on the gem in his hand. 

“Well, I’ve been better I suppose. Things are not looking good out there Thorin. I worry.” You made sure to keep your voice as non-confrontational as possible, because if you were being honest, you were a bit afraid of Thorin at the moment. You weren’t sure if you even recognized the dwarf in front of you. He finally raised his eyes to look at you. His lips curved into a slightly mad smile, one that showed altogether too many teeth. “You have nothing to worry about, my love. Once I have the Arkenstone, everything will be taken care of. The world will finally put itself to rights.” His eyes seemed to reflect the very gold covering the floor. You frowned at this response. 

“Thorin, I know finding the Arkenstone is important to you, but I don’t know if it is the… greatest concern at the moment. The people of Laketown need our assistance, and there is talk of an orcish army heading our way.” Thorin’s head snapped up, and he took an intimidating step forward. You were almost nose to nose.

“Finding the Arkenstone is my one and only concern, as it should be yours,” he snarled. “Are you not on my side? Do you not want to see me as King?” You took a tentative step back. 

“Of course I’m on your side, Thorin. I only want what is best for you.” Your voice turned stern. “But a King should be generous and fair, should know when to help others. 

“A King,” he growled, “is measured only by the amount of wealth he has. If I don’t have the Arkenstone, I have nothing but these pathetic jewels.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Your stomach churned at hearing the words he spoke. This was not Thorin. The man you knew and loved, who once spoke so passionately of honor and loyalty. Your sadness and grief were soon overpowered by anger. Not only does he speak such horrid, greedy words, but he would dare be so dismissive and uncaring towards his own beloved? 

“You have nothing?” You asked in disbelief, your voice hard. “What about me? Your wife, remember? What do I mean to you? We have spent almost no time with each other since Laketown, I am surprised you even remember my name,” you said bitterly. Thorin’s eyes seemed to lighten a few shades. But it was still not your Thorin. And his next words only proved that. 

“I have not forgotten about you amralime. I will have you. Seated on a throne next to mine. Adorned in precious jewels and fine cloths. My most prized possession.” 

You suddenly lost all of your fear. Fists clenched tight at your sides, you spat out, “I am not a thing to be had! I am my own person.” 

“You are my wife!” He roared back, “You will do as I say, and you will like it!” Your lip curled in disgust and dismay at this.

“Is that really what you think marriage means?!” Your tone, while still angry, held a hint of desperation, as if you were hoping Thorin would apologize for whatever sick joke this seemed to be. But alas, that did not happen. He only stayed silent, his eyes unfocused. Whatever clarity they had gained earlier had once again vanished. 

The harsh silence created a lump in your throat. You swallowed once, and in a shaky voice said, “Well, then. I am afraid I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know who I am looking at. Who even are you? This is not the Thorin I know and love, not the Thorin I married!” 

His mouth opened in outrage, prepared to no doubt yell back, but you continued before he could get a word in. “You know what? I can’t do this anymore,” you started. You grabbed your marriage bead- elegantly and thoughtfully crafted by Thorin, and once so tenderly braided into your hair- and harshly ripped it out. You definitely pulled out quite a few hairs along with it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at the moment. 

You curled your shaking hand around the small bead, and spoke. “I’m done. We’re done.” In a fit of intense anger and disappointment, you chucked your bead straight at Thorin’s head. You instantly ran as fast as you could in the opposite direction, fearing his reaction. You figured he did not see that coming, and was frozen in shock and confusion for a moment.

As you sprinted down the vast empty hallways, you heard Thorin’s enraged roar in the distance. You ran and ran and ran. You quickly gathered your belongings when you passed the room you had been staying in, and made your way out of the mountain. You said goodbye to none of the company. You ran and you didn’t look back. You squinted your eyes, trying to find your way in what was left of the daylight. 

Tears ran in rivers down your face, and they didn’t stop. Not when you found Bard in Laketown. Not when you reunited with Bilbo and approved his plan. Not when you came across a small room to spend the night in. 

You slid down the wall of the room, sobs tearing at your throat, as you looked at the split pieces of hair that once secured your marriage bead. How could everything have gone so wrong so fast? Smaug was dead. The mountain was reclaimed. Everything was supposed to be back to normal. You were supposed to be living happily in Erebor with Thorin. 

But you weren’t.

You screamed into the night, “Why? Why?” Why did things have to happen like this? Why did Thorin have to be struck with the Gold Sickness after everything he had been through? Why did you two not gain happiness and peace? Did you not deserve that? 

There was no answer. The universe was silent. 

You were not only angry with Thorin. You were angry at yourself. Were you a coward for reacting the way you did? Did you give up too easily, running right when things got hard? Maybe you were a coward, but you simply couldn’t stand to see Thorin like that any longer. It made you sick to your stomach and tore at your heart. 

With a wet laugh, you thought back to your wedding, which took place only about a month earlier. It is odd how things can change so much in so little time. That day had been the happiest of your life. Now here you were, at your lowest, with not even your husband to comfort you. 

The company had been staying in Laketown for the time being. After a much needed relaxing night (free of the stress of orc attacks), you awoke blearily to Thorin’s smiling face. His rough hands tenderly cradled your face.

“Will you marry me?” He asked it in such a soft tone, and you were still so tired, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was just a strange, albeit wonderful, dream. After clarification that it was not, in fact, a dream, and a discussion with Thorin, you two decided to get married that very night. After all, you two were each other’s Ones. Why should you not? You were crazy in love, and you two hadn’t known contentment like you did during this resting period of the quest. There was also the lingering fear that one, or both of you wouldn’t survive for much longer. 

After your affirmative response to Thorin’s question, tears of joy were shed by both of you. That day was full of warm, fuzzy feelings (and frantic planning by Dori and Balin, who despite being quite pleased with the decision, were extremely frazzled with the short amount of time left to prepare). You didn’t have an expensive, ornate dress (you borrowed one of Sigrid’s). There wasn’t a huge crowd. Just the company (plus Sigrid, Tilda, and Bain- Sigrid and Tilda because they wanted to experience the romantic declaration of love and commitment, and Bain because, in his words, his sisters “forced him to come”). 

But it was perfect. It was all you could have wanted. Kíli, ever the jokester, insisted on being the “flower girl.” Fíli was the bead bearer (like a ring bearer, but with beads, because you and Thorin wanted to do it the dwarrow way). Balin was the justice of the peace. Bombur made a wonderful cake, especially considering the lack of resources.

It was a magical day. Your wildest dream had finally become a reality.

You remembered the vows from your wedding. You remembered the promise you made on that day. ‘For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.’ You couldn’t help but snort at the unfortunate irony of that. 

You wondered what Thorin was thinking right now. Was the gold sickness still plaguing his mind? Or was he too thinking back to your wedding day, to the broken promises left between you two? 

You crawled into bed and tried to calm your thoughts, to no avail. You laid your head on the flat pillow, feeling oddly numb. You let your eyes flutter shut, a lone tear escaping to trail down your now puffy face. 

No sleep was had that night. 

 ———————————————

 Around you, the battlefield raged. You had arisen early in the morning, for the orcish army was no longer just a rumor, but a promise. A promise of war. The knowledge of the bloodshed the future held electrified you, helping you to use your fear and anger to aid your fight. You wielded your sword with ferocity and confidence, a scowl on your face as you quickly swiped at the blood that dribbled down the side of your face. Your head swiveled at every sound as you frantically looked to see if you recognized any faces around you. 

You plunged your sword into an approaching orc, making a face at the horrid squelch it produced as you pulled out your blade. You ran across the battlefield, swiftly killing any orcs that dared get in your way.

What you saw in the far distance, through squinted eyes, made your heart drop into your stomach. 

You saw Thorin, fighting Azog on the ice. 

You watched as the pale orc fell off of the chunk of ice he stood on, and into the murky abyss. You prayed to all of the Valar that he was dead. But fate was not on your side. You watched in horror as a knife plunged upwards from below the ice and impaled Thorin’s right foot. 

You heard his guttural roar of pain, and your body moved into action. You ran as fast as you could, your chest and legs burning. But you were still too far away. Everything now seemed to be happening in slow motion. You could still hear the echo of Thorin’s cry in your head. 

Suddenly, Azog jumped out of the water and landed on his feet. Thorin was on his back blocking each strike from Azog to the best of his ability. All that you heard was the sharp clang of metal against metal and your own blood roaring in your ears. 

You felt something harden within you. You were no longer afraid. You had only one job, and that was to save Thorin. Azog’s blade was now only inches away from Thorin’s chest. Thorin grit his teeth and gasped deeply, using every bit of his strength in an effort to block the attack. 

You were sprinting straight towards Azog’s back. You had absolutely no plan. Common sense and battle strategy had officially left the building. Yet your rage towards Azog, who had already taken so much from Thorin, fueled your fight. 

You propelled yourself up, in a strange burst of strength, and clawed your way up Azog’s back, clinging to him. He grunted and twisted his head around. But before he could do anything more, you drove your sword into his back with all of your might. 

Azog’s roar seemed to shake the very ground he stood on. Your hands, slick with sweat, burned as they tightly grasped the hilt of your sword. Your heart sped up as you tried to pull your weapon out to strike once again, but it was stuck. Azog turned, his face now pulled into a sickly sneer, and he slashed at your shoulder with his sword. You hissed in pain, and jerked yourself away. You saw Thorin breathing deeply and attempting to get up out of the corner of your eye. 

Go, you screamed at him in your head. Go, my love. Leave and get to safety. 

Seeing Thorin in pain, thanks to Azog, filled you with a boiling rage. It filled you up from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head- a fiery, molten lava swirling inside of you. 

Your lips twisted into a ferocious snarl as your hands tightened on the hilt of your sword. You twisted the sword further into Azog’s wound, plunging it deeper into his mangled flesh. As you twisted one last time, you pulled it out with a hard gasp. Azog’s stinking, black blood splattered your neck and arms.

You still clung to the pale orc’s back and shoulders, your nails digging into his scarred skin. He thrashed and blindly slashed at you, but you held tight still. You kept your mind sharp, blocking and ducking to avoid his stabs. Reaching your hand into your bloodstained tunic, you hurriedly patted yourself down, frantically searching, until your hand was greeted by your hidden blade. 

You grabbed the hilt of the sharp knife and whipped it out. You positioned yourself so that your feet were pressing into Azog’s back. You drew your arm back and threw the blade, with masterful precision, into the back of Azog’s neck. He roared once again, his head spasming, and made to grab you. 

Unfortunately, this time, you were unable to avoid his grasp. His sharp nails dug into your neck as he grabbed you and pulled your body off of his back. He held you in front of him with only his right hand, the blade at the end of his metal arm pointed at your throat. You felt the pressure building on your throat, and a low buzzing noise started to take over. The blade dug painfully into your flesh, and you felt it begin to break the skin. All of your previous confidence had vanished. You were now at the mercy of the pale orc. 

Azog gave a sickening smile, his pointed teeth glistening with blood. He issued a raspy chuckle that chilled you to your core. Time seemed to slow down once again as he drove the blade of his arm into your side. You gave a sharp intake of breath, as if you could not fathom what was happening, before you let loose an ear-splitting yell of pain. Your voice crumbled and cracked as you screamed until your vocal cords were weak. In the back of your subconscious, you registered a voice, desperately screaming your name. You struggled uselessly, trying to escape the pain. The blade felt hot, as if your insides were being lit on fire and seared open. You wondered for a moment why he did not completely skewer you, and quickly rid himself of your bothersome presence, until it hit you. He wanted your death to be agonizing. Slow and painful. You felt the blade being slowly pushed deeper in, creating a sickening puncturing sensation, and you could do nothing. It must have been almost halfway through you at this point. He tightened his other hand around your throat, and you saw spots floating at the edges of your line of vision. 

You were dancing at the edge of oblivion, barely holding onto consciousness, when you felt your hand which dangled at your side, still clutching your sword. A glimmer of hope sparked inside you. With a guttural cry of pain, you used your last bit of strength. Your arm elongated at your side and rose before you swiftly cleaved Azog’s head from his shoulders. Your face was promptly sprayed with his blood and innards, before his hold on your neck loosened, his grasp slack. His severed head hit the ground with a satisfying klunk, his eyes glazed over. His body collapsed to the ground with a loud thud, bringing you down with him. 

You gave a low groan of pain at the impact. Azog’s arm, still impaled in the side of your torso, left the two of you attached. You slowly took your sword, whimpering softly at the painful stretching the motion caused, and sawed off the small bit of flesh that attatched the metalwork to his body. You were left sitting on the ice, a blade sticking out of you, as a ringing filled your ears. You heard your name being called, and a blurry figure made its way into your field of vision. You squinted your eyes, trying to see who it was. Once your vision cleared, you breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

Thorin was here. 

He hobbled over to you, his wounded foot dragging behind him. He lowered himself to the ice slowly. He looked at you with such sorrow as he scooted closer and cupped your face. His warm hands grounded you to reality. You felt every callous on them as he softly ran his fingers along the sides of your face, his touch only a whisper. 

“Ghivashel,” he started, his voice cracking. “I-

“No,” you interrupted, your voice hoarse from the abuse it had endured. You gave a pathetic cough and said once more in a slightly stronger voice, “No. Not right now.”

Tears ran down his face, their clean tracks a stark contrast to the dirtied skin it ran down. “I am so sorry. So very sorry. I cannot even begin to apologize for all I have-“

You reached forward and put your finger against Thorin’s lips. You gave a soft smile. “I know,” you replied. You brushed his hair out of his face gently. “We have much to discuss. Many things have been left unsaid.” You gazed into his warm blue eyes, “But right now, just be here. Be here with me, my love.”

Thorin’s lips quivered slightly as he gave a sad smile of agreement. He gently positioned you so that your head was resting in his lap. You gazed up into his face. The soft cloth of his tunic tickled the back of your neck. The warmth of his body was much more comforting compared to the harsh cold of the ice you both lie on. The pain would have been almost unbearable, but Thorin’s presence was like a balm to both your soul and body. He took on a tinge of panic as his eyes locked onto the blade sticking out of your side. Knowing he should not simply pull the weapon out, he quickly tore fabric from his body and wrapped your side with it, securing the sword into place, so it wouldn’t move and cause more damage. You reached out and grasped his hand, your fingers shaking slightly as they ran over his bloodied knuckles. 

“Thorin,” you rasped. “You are here.”

“Aye,” he replied softly, his eyes glistening in the light. 

“My bead,” you begged. Thorin looked confused for a moment, before understanding lit up his eyes. He pulled out your marriage bead, that you had thrown at him not long ago, from inside his tunic. He had evidently kept it on himself. He took your hair into his hands, and quickly wove a small braid into your hair, placing the bead at the end of it. He moved aside his own hair, showing you his marriage bead that still lie in his own braid. You gave a watery smile as you clutched at his hand.

After a pause, you spoke. “You are mine, and I am yours.”

“Always,” he replied, his voice strong. “My wife,” he added after a moment, the word an unspoken promise. My husband, you thought warmly. He ducked his head down to meet your own, and placed a soft, lingering kiss on your lips, his hand cradling the back of your neck. You responded in kind, deepening the kiss. You felt as if the part of yourself that had broken earlier had been sewn back together. You were whole again. You let out a soft sigh of contentment as Thorin pressed his forehead gently to rest on your own, his eyelids fluttering shut in the moment.

The King slid himself down, so that he too was laying down. Your head rested on his chest. His large hand rubbed soothing circles gently on your back as you breathed shakily in and out. You gazed out over the ice and saw eagles flying in the distance. You gave a grin of relief and squeezed Thorin’s hand. Healers were rapidly bustling about, gathering the wounded and tending to them. You had no doubt that you and Thorin would receive the help you required soon. 

But for now, you were here. And he was here. You were together at last, once again. Your hands intertwined in each other’s, your head tucked under his chin as he planted soft kisses on your head and murmured soothing words into your hair.

“My King,” you said softly, petting the soft hair of his beard as your hand ran over his jaw.

“My Queen,” he responded, his voice full of emotion, as he pulled you into one more kiss, your bodies melding closer together.

The eagles were coming. And all was well.

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  A/N 2: I hope you guys liked that! I am very new to writing, so I know I have lots of room for improvement, but I really enjoyed writing this. By the way, I do not picture Thorin and the reader dying at the end, but it is kind of a vague ending, so if you want to imagine that happening, no problem! (It would be quite tragically romantic, them dying in each other’s arms). Though personally, I like to imagine that they both eventually recover from their injuries and everyone lives happily ever after in Erebor with their beloved King and Queen under the mountain! :)