#dwalin fundinul

[ironmandeficiency]

balin: by ten, my handwriting had gotten considerably tighter

dwalin: among other things

[nakmor-leigh]

Idk who needs to hear this, but Thorin's last name (besides Oakenshield) wouldn't be Durin.

The dwarves' last names are all "son of-", and Khuzdul has a suffix specifically for denoting this, "-nul".

For example, Balin and Dwalin's father was Fundin, so in Khuzdul their names are Balin Fundinul and Dwalin Fundinul.

So, Thorin's father is Thrain, meaning his last name is Thrainul

[formlessvoidbeast]

Nwalin Week Day 2: “Fox” or AND “Ram”

.

It wasn’t legal, the fighting ring; not really.

There were laws that, technically, should have shut it down. But it managed to skirt just to the edge of them, and it was a great way to make some spare coin if you were any good, and so long as no one was being hurt the powers that be were willing to turn an indulgently blind eye.

In a nod to the illegality of the ring, competitors hid their faces with fanciful masks and helms to hide their identities, and used absurd stage names. It was as much theater as it was battle.

Few were as popular, or won as consistently, as the Stone Ram. He was a great giant of a dwarf, all muscles, and he always fought shirtless to show off the hairy strength of his body, much to the delight of the crowds. His helm was a beautiful work of art, finely worked blackened steel shaped like a ram’s skull to cover his face. Though the helm had two curled horns on it that seemed to offer a handhold, and even though the Stone Ram favored fighting close and grappling, it did not prove a handicap. He was too strong, and too skilled. When he swaggered into the arena, roaring and beating his chest, the audience never failed to go wild.

Dwalin settled the helm and the persona of the Stone Ram over himself, feeling the familiar thrill of adrenaline course through him. He did not know his competitor, a new fighter, all he knew is that he went by ‘Smoke Fox’. It happened a few times a year that some cocky young thing wanted to face the best as soon as they joined the ring. Dwalin was always happy to show them their error. He was not the best by chance, but by skill.

Dwalin bellowed the Stone Ram’s challenge as he entered the arena, flexing and showing off for the crowds. They ate him up, chanting his name--and then his competitor’s as Smoke Fox made his entrance.

It seemed a joke. Smoke Fox came in dancing and tumbling like a jester, flips and cartwheels, and he was tiny. Grown dwarves were not meant to be so slender. Ram scoffed, loudly, to much agreement from the crowd. They could not possibly mean him to fight this little lad? This dancing jokester?

Yes, it seemed they did. Fox accused him of cowardice in a high nasal sneer and did one last backbend to get into position to square up against Ram. It was slow, a gorgeous arch of his body into a bow, a slow rise as he brought his legs over his head and then over to the ground before him. Slow, and smooth, and Ram knew the kind of muscle control that must take. That, and the razor-thin smile below Fox’s ornate leather eye-mask, were the only warnings he had that this was not going to be an easy match.

The bell rang, Ram made a grab for him, but Fox had already spun away and landed three sharp blows that made his arm go numb up to the shoulder. Smoke described the small dwarf’s fighting style perfectly. He was never there when Ram reached for him, always just out of reach. If there was a fool in this fight, it was Ram who was made it. He looked as bumbling as the adolescent he’d taken Fox for, stumbling uselessly after him.

By the time Fox cleverly knocked his feet out from under him the third time, ending the match, he had only returned the favor once, and that had been pure luck. Ram laughed, flat on his back on the ground. How could he do anything else?

The judge held up Fox’s hand in victory, and Ram surged up. He grabbed hold of Fox, lifting him easily up onto his shoulder to better wave to the cheering crowds. Never let it be said that Ram was any worse a loser than he was a winner. He carried Smoke Fox out of the arena, clearing it for the next match, and set him down in privacy.

Dwalin pulled the Stone Ram mask off his face, smiling down at the impossible little dwarf who’d defeated him. him. “Who are you?” he asked, breathless. “Where did you learn that? I must know.”

Smoke Fox smiled like a blade’s edge as he wound one hand around Dwalin’s neck, pulling him down and himself up. “Ah-ah,” he chided softly, and pressed a chaste peck of a kiss to Dwalin’s lips that knocked the air from his lungs for all it was so simple. “That’s not how the game’s played, is it, gorgeous?” Smoke Fox purred.

Then he twisted away, and was gone, leaving Dwalin reeling in his wake.

.

edit: there is now a continuation [here]

[nazghoulz]

As the Raven Follows the Wolf

[ao3] [soundtrack]

It starts off as your average romantic fairy-story: A Dwarrow prince and his lover are cursed by a pretender to the throne, forced to spend a decade wandering the wilds in search of a way to break the spell. But just as Smaug gets ready to consolidate his power within Erebor, a possible cure presents itself, and Dwalin and Thorin are in a rush to get home. However, getting into the mountain unnoticed is far from easy.

Neither is getting out of it, for that matter.

Bilbo Baggins, a Hobbit thief from the Shire, is the only being in living memory to have escaped Erebor’s dungeons alive. While he wants nothing more than to be able to make his way home, his plans are fouled when he accidentally crosses paths with a mysterious battle-scarred warrior and his peculiar blue-eyed raven. To make matters worse, he’s being plagued by strange dreams involving a terrifying black wolf and the beautiful Dwarf who cares for it.

Things soon get complicated, and Bilbo, Thorin, and Dwalin soon find that things are never as simple as they seem, and that home as a concept is thoroughly what you make of it.

[The Dwagginshield medium-burn Ladyhawke AU that absolutely nobody asked for, but here you go]

Genre: Fantasy, Romance

Pairings: Bilbo Baggins/Dwalin Fundinul/Thorin Oakenshield; Bilbo Baggins/Dwalin; Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield; Dwalin/Thorin Oakenshield

Rating: E 

Length & Status: In Progress; 6/8 chapters; Probably will top out at ~40k

I have no explanation for this. I watched Ladyhawke (1985) and went into a five day fugue and then this came out. Features food as a love language, lots of cuddling and sleeping for a fantasy adventure story, and the “there was only one bed” trope but it’s a cloak. Enjoy?

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

The Battlegrounds

AU where Dwalin is one of the best Dwarf wrestlers in Middle Earth and goes up against a Dwarrowdame who has to win the fight to gain her freedom after years of being forced to wrestle.

*This could possibly become more than one part*

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used:  Asgre

Word Count:  2,835

Translations at bottom

**Cultural Note:  Dwarves are immensely proud of their beards and anything that insinuates a short beard or lack of a beard is extremely insulting to them.**

~~~~

Vaguely, from my chambers, I could hear the roar of the crowd as they waited for the match to begin.  Letting out a deep breath, I closed my green eyes and rolled my shoulders experimentally, my tight braid of blonde hair gently brushed my back as I did so.  

This would be the most important match of my life.  If I won it, I would be set free, allowed to live the life I wanted to live.  I had to be prepared for anything; ready to take on any type of opponent.

"Miss Asgre?"  A soft voice called, making me open my eyes and turn in my seat on the plush canopied bed that I called my own.  A young girl stood in the doorway, her golden locks cascading down her shoulders as she leaned into the room.  

"Yes, Sissal?"  I asked, my voice hoarse from the many years I had spent yelling to be heard above the roar of a fired up crowd.  

Sissal entered the room, walking over to me and hesitated before she spoke.  "Do you know who you are up against tonight?"  She asked in a whisper, glancing around as if to reassure herself that it was only us two in the room.

I gave her a look, rising to my feet and walking over to my vanity, where I studied my reflection in the cracked glass.  "Of course not.  It ruins the fun if I do.  Besides, they don't like me to know ahead of time, especially with this match being such an important one."  I said, laughing grimly.

Sissal looked confused, brown eyes looking down at me as she stood by my side.  "I do not understand? Why is this such an important fight?  Aren't they all important?"  She asked, and I gave her a tight smile.  The girl was young, and didn't understand how the world worked yet.  The powerful ruled the weak and that was how it was.  I had learned not to question it by this time, and just accepted it.  It was easier that way.

Letting out a quiet sigh, I stared deep into my own eyes that had seen so many horrors that I would never be able to unsee.  The thick, crimson substance creeping slowly across the stone

flooring within my childhood home, leaking into the cracks within the stones and filling them like tiny rivers of scarlet.  But yet, it still came ever nearer, never stopping.  Then there were the twisted expressions of agony on my parents cold, frozen faces, blood dripping through their hair and staining it horrible shades of red before adding to the scarlet flood.  Later in my life, there were the broken, contorted limbs of wrestlers as they were carried from the ring, their screams of pain drowned out by the crowd cheering for the victor.

"Sissal, this fight determines whether or not I get my freedom.  If I win, I go free; but if I lose..."  My voice trailed off, and Sissal nodded silently.

"I see," she whispered.  "I hope you win."  But then her soft brown eyes lit up, and she opened her mouth once more.  "Miss Asgre, I know who you are up against!"  She whispered, and I whirled to look at her, my mouth open slightly.

"You do?"  I breathed, and she nodded vigorously, face alight with anxiety.  "Tell me."  I murmured, and she took a deep breath.

"It's Dwalin Fundinul of Erebor.  Have you heard of him?"  She asked, but I couldn't answer her.  My mouth had gone dry the moment the name had met the air.

Dwalin Fundinul was the strongest Dwarrow within the lands of Arda.  His name was known from the Seas of the West to the dark caverns of Melkor.  None had ever won against him, and  as a Dwarrowdame I wouldn't stand a chance.

There was only one thing going for me in this fight.  I wanted to win more than he did; my freedom depended upon it.

"I have.  I doubt anyone has not heard his name, Sissal, for he is only the strongest wrestler within Arda."  I said, and her eyes widened at my words.  

"Oh...  Then you'll need all the luck in the world to win."  She mumbled quietly, but I just shook my head.  

"No, I just need to want the victory more than him.  Although a bit of luck wouldn't hurt," I said, smiling at her.  

Suddenly, the loud clanging of a bell cut through the rough rock of my chambers walls, and I swallowed hard.  It was time.  

Nodding towards Sissal, I walked out of my room and down the hallway, automatically following the familiar path towards the cheering crowd.

The roar steadily grew louder as I drew nearer, prompting a scowl to appear on my face.  It was  

beyond me to understand how anyone could enjoy such a cruel sport such as wrestling.  But it seemed cruelty was in the nature of man.  As a Dwarf, I couldn't understand it.

Reaching the curtained opening to the ring, I paused, waiting for my cue.  Faintly, through the roar of the people packed around the ring, I heard the clear voice of the announcer.  

"On one side we have the strongest Dwarrow in all of Arda; the one and only Dwalin Fundinul!  And on the other, we have our region's reining champion, Azaghâl Dushin!"  

At the mention of my ring name, I pushed through the black velvet curtain and walked out onto the wooden walkway that led me towards the ring.  

My opponent frowned when I stepped into the ring through the ropes, his stance slackening a little as he took in the sight of me.  Confusion furrowed his scarred features as he looked me over.  The roar of the crowd was deafening as they grew rowdy, waiting for the fight to start.  But he said, in a low growl of a voice, “I don’t fight girls.”  

My lip curled as I replied, “too bad, because I fight boys.” And knocked his legs out from under him.  Perhaps this would be easier than I had thought.

The Dwarrow wheezed as I quickly climbed onto his back, grabbing his thick forearms and pulling them back behind him.  "You are older than I expected..."  I said as I pinned him down, marveling at the ease of it.

"Not too old though, Azaghâl Dushin."  He growled, suddenly twisting beneath me and throwing me off his back.  

My body met the wooden mat with a harsh cracking sound, and I grimaced at the feeling.  The noise was worse than the actual pain, yet it still stung like a hornet.  But before I could get back up, Dwalin was standing over me, a smirk spreading across his bearded face.  He planted a foot on my stomach, steadying transferring his weight onto that foot, making me cough and squirm.

"Not so good now, eh inuthi?"  He jeered, and anger flooded my veins at his words, prompting me to grit my teeth and glare up at him.  

"You have not seen anything yet, you beardless fool."  I hissed, incensed, grabbing his leg and yanking it out from beneath him, causing him to fall over backwards.  The crowd let out a groan, and I could hear comments being directed towards both of us.  But I ignored them.  If I wanted to win, I could not become distracted.

Scrambling to my feet, I pounced upon the groggily moving form of Dwalin, slamming my knee down into the ridge of his spine, prompting him to let out a cry of agony.  

Instantly, I felt a surge of guilt for causing him undeserved pain.  It was not within my nature to intentionally harm another, but I had had to become desensitized to such things eventually in my career as a wrestler.

I snaked an arm around his neck, pulling it back in a choke-hold.  Dwalin's stubby fingers scrabbled desperately at my arm, his close-cropped nails leaving faint scratches across my skin.  

This match could only end once one of us was either unconscious, or too injured to continue fighting.  I wasn't strong enough to knock Dwalin out by force, but I could choke him down.  

Slowly, Dwalin's movements become more sluggish as his oxygen-starved body began to weaken.  I could see victory on the horizion, but I didn't let that notion distract me from the Dwarrow beneath me.  He could still have a few tricks up his sleeve.

But a distraction did surface, just not in the way I ever expected.  It appeared in the form of a burly, dark-haired Dwarf in the front of the screaming crowd.  Grey streaked through his dark brown hair, and he had the aura of a commanding figure.  "Dwalin, Fanâd duzdnu targ usganul mi mê!"  He yelled, and my mouth dropped open in shock.  That was a stinging insult if I had ever heard one.  

As I was distracted by the rude Dwarrow, Dwalin stirred beneath me, the muscles in his arms bunching powerfully as he clenched his fists; the cords in his neck tightening as he prepared to catch me off guard.

By the time I realized this, it was too late, and he had flipped himself over beneath me, his calloused hands grasping my slender neck and squeezing it tightly.

I choked, my hands clamping over his as he rose to his feet, raising me with him until he basically supported me with one brawny forearm.  "Mukhuh..."  I gasped out, staring into Dwalin's amber eyes with my own green ones that were rapidly beginning to fill with tears.  "Ma, mukhuk."  

I couldn't lose this fight.  Doubt began to creep into my mind, and I couldn't hold back the salty tears.  An aching hole began to dig itself within me, my fighting spirit slowly draining into it and disappearing.

A derogatory sneer appeared on Dwalin's lined, scarred face, and he began to laugh.  The deep rolling chuckle drowned out the sounds of the cheering crowd who sensed the fight was nearing its end.  "You ask for mercy?  'Adadmêzu duhû bintarg 'ubkât, zain."  He laughed, and the sound of the crowd began to fade away, only to be replaced by a unidentifiable roaring in my ears as a memory danced across my mind's eye.

A Dwarrow with long, braided golden locks and dancing blue eyes, his long blond beard carefully combed and tucked into his ornately decorated belt stood over me.  "Halw Asgre, what are you doing?"  He asked suddenly, a smile appearing easily on his face as he picked a toddler me off the floor and up high into the air.  

But then a crash echoed through the house, and my father's expression quickly changed fearful.  "Asgre, don't move."  Setting me back down on the floor, he reached to grab his axe that was leaning up against the wall.

A mace landed heavily on his back, and he crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain.  His fingers groped for the axe that was only inches from his grasp, but a spear sprouted from the back of his head, and his fingers went limp, body jerking convulsively for a moment before falling still.  

Crimson stained his golden locks, spreading across the stone floor towards me.  The blood of my father who had died protecting me.

"Do not speak of my father like that!"  I growled angrily, fingers digging into Dwalin's skin as I glared at him.  My heart began to pound, hands clenching tightly around Dwalin's as I began to force them away from my neck, jaw clenched in determination as I stared into his startled eyes.  

My arms trembled with the amount of strength it took to remove Dwalin's hands from around my bruised neck, but I wouldn't give up until I had won.

"You have made a fatal mistake.  Ankakimê."  I hissed, a victorious grin spreading across my face.  

For the first time, I saw fear within Dwalin's eyes as I slammed my head into his.  We crumpled to the ground together.  He slumped over, unconscious, while I tried to steady my tilting world.  Everything swirled around me, the crowd going wild.  

Bowing my head, I closed my eyes, tears streaming down my face as I pictured my father.  "Adad, astu tada khama."  I whispered, my voice choked up.

Sudden movement caught my eye, and I looked up to see the same Dwarrow who had shouted such a rude thing to Dwalin clambering into the ring, followed closely by two young Dwarrows that looked like polar opposites of each other.  

"Dwalin, my friend."  The rude Dwarrow said, shaking Dwalin roughly in an attempt to wake him up.  But as Dwalin remained unconscious, he let out a scoff and rolled his steely blue eyes.  "Fili, Kili, fetch some water."  He commanded, and the two young Dwarrows nodded to him and vaulted through the ropes of the ring to sprint off in search of water.  

The rude, dark-haired Dwarrow looked over at me, and I stared back at him unblinkingly.  I would not take any of his insults lightly.  But he remained silent, returning his gaze to Dwalin until  the two Dwarrows returned, a pail of water held in the blond one's grasp.  "Here you are, Uncle.  Sorry it took us so long, Kili spilled it once."  He said, and the dark-haired one gave him an indignant look.

"I did not spill it!  You tripped me in front of--"  He cut himself off, flushing.  The blond Dwarrow give him a cheeky grin.

"Uh huh, please continue, brother."  He said, but Kili shook his head.  

"It's nothing, nevermind."  He said, but the blond one wouldn't let it go.  

"In front of those pretty Elf maids?  Is that what you were going to say?"  He said teasingly, making Kili scowl.  It looked to me as if they would go to blows over it, but their Uncle interrupted.

"Fili, just give me the bucket."  He growled, and the blond one handed the bucket over to him.  "Thank you."  He then promptly dumped it over Dwalin's face, causing him to start violently and sputter at the water dripping across his face and soaking into his graying beard.

"What was that for?!"  He asked, annoyed, but the rude Dwarrow just laughed.  

"Still charming as always, even after losing your first match to a Dwarrowdame."  He chuckled, giving Dwalin a hand up.  

"Shosh, Thorin.  Let me speak with her."  Dwalin grumbled, and Thorin grinned at him, clapping a hand on his shoulder and speaking in low tones so that I couldn't make out what they were saying.  But whatever it was made a flush begin to spread up Dwalin's neck.

Swatting Thorin's shoulder, Dwalin pushed past him and walked up to me.  "This was one of the best matches I've ever had, Azaghâl Dushin.  You fought well."  He said, extending his hand for me to shake.

I cast my eyes downwards, forcing a small smile onto my face.  "I only fought well because this fight determined whether or not I get my freedom."  I said, and shock crossed Dwalin's features.  

"So if you lost, you would have remained here?  You aren't doing this of your own free will?"  He asked, and I shook my head.

"No...  I was enslaved as a child.  They killed my father and mother and took me to raise as a wrestler.  It's basically all I have known."  I said quietly, and Dwalin laid a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Azaghâl Dushin, zhayad astâ, 'ugbal dan astâ gabil 'ubkat khama."  He said, and I shook my head.

"I mean my words."  Dwalin said roughly, and a hint of a real smile crossed his craggy features.  

"My name is Asgre.  Azaghâl Dushin is just my ring name."  I murmured, and Dwalin's smile grew.  

"Asgre.  It's beautiful."  He said, and started to walk away before stopping and looking back at me.  "If you are interested, if you don't have any particular plans after you're free, you are welcome to come along with us," he gestured towards Thorin, Fili and Kili, "back to Erebor.  The ancestral home of Dwarves."  He clarified, once he saw my confused expression.

I smiled at him.  "I will consider it, Master Dwalin.  Thank you for the offer."  

He nodded to me, and turned to leave with the other three, climbing down through the ropes and walking away through the slowly dwindling crowd, leaving me behind to watch them go.

For the first time I could remember, I was free to decide for myself.  I could choose to go with them, or to stay behind and make my own way through the world.  But even though I had dreamed of doing the former during the entirety of my enslavement, I felt drawn to this odd quartet of Dwarrows.  

Perhaps I would go with them.  I just needed to pack my few belongings and then I could be off on the adventure of a lifetime.  

An adventure that I eagerly anticipated.

Translation(s): Azaghâl Dushin:  Dark Jewel

nuthi:  Lesser girl (derogatory)

Fanâd duzdnu targ usganul mi mê:  Elves have a longer beard than you

Mukhuh:  Please

Ma, mukhuk: Don't, please

'Adadmêzu duhû bintarg 'ubkât, zain:  Your father has no beard, woman

Ankakimê:  I look (at) you (derogatory)

Astu tada khama, Adad:  Father, this (is) for you

Shosh:  Shush/Quiet

Zhayad astâ, 'ugbal dan astâ gabil 'ubkat khama:  (I) respect you, for truly you are greater than words

[crieativity]

If you thought I was kidding about my fondness for this au, you’re damn well wrong and here, have a MsMojo fake video on fun facts about Fíli and Kíli as princes! Yes, I did write them so go Keep Reading if you wanna see! 

Prince Fíli was trained in wrestling, boxing and fencing. (Not just fencing, like how His Majesty, King Thorin Durinul II had said!) The Crown Prince was apparently trained by the ex-Head of Security of Erebor, Sir Dwalin Fundinul and had kept up his practice even after Sir Dwalin had left his service.

Prince Kíli doesn’t know how to swim. (Rumours tell that he has a tutor from the Iron Hills!) The younger prince had explained that he had never really found much opportunity to properly learn how to swim and it was never an issue for him until he fell off a yacht while he was at a party during his gap year.

Prince Fíli had written an extensive analysis on children’s fairytales and Ereborean folklores for his Literature thesis under the pseudonym of F.D. Vílliul. (Vílliul being a misspelt version of his patronymic: Víliul) Prince Fíli later on went to publish his thesis under that pseudonym followed by further books analysing, critiquing and explaining various literary works of Erebor and surrounding kingdoms.

Prince Kíli had studied and mastered ballroom dancing when he was 63. (The most interesting part about it is that he studied both roles!) This actually might explain why he had said he doesn’t watch ballroom contest shows. An Ereborean dance school had actually leaked out information that he had enrolled for a course on all of the Ereborean folk dances!

Prince Fíli is seen every year at the Dale and Esgarothean Pride Parades as a member of the crowds, usually he would be in casual clothes (against the dress code of the Royal Family) while waving a pansexual flag among the sea of participants. (This of course, led to everyone that manage to spot him to speculate that he is part of the LGBTQA+ community)

Prince Kíli is actually pretty good at baking all sorts of pastries and other baked yummies! (This hobby started more or less during Captain Frerin’s visit when the former claimant to the throne had taught his nephews how to bake chocolate chip cookies. While Fíli CAN bake, Kíli was the one that developed a strong fondness for the activity.)

Prince Fíli had once been seen frequenting stuffed toy shops by various people. When one brave soul decided to tail the Crown Prince, they found out that the prince makes anonymous donations of toys, money and food to various children’s hospitals. 

Prince Kíli is not only good at archery but also at mountain goat racing. Apparently the young prince had developed that fondness the moment he was taught the mechanics of riding goats and this he took to with great gusto.

Prince Fíli on the other hand, was known to join circuit racing and other racing competitions, all the money he wins go to charity. The Crown Prince had joined his first race when he was just 72, he had faked his age and had concealed his face to get in and had won the race. His winnings were donated to women’s and children’s shelters that was renamed to honour Prince Fíli.

Prince Kíli had been the first Ereborean royalty to almost be arrested for something. Catcalling was already illegal in the Woodland Realm, but the young prince had also parked in the wrong place and had been brought to the local city precinct by the officer he had catcalled. Lucky for him, he had diplomatic immunity so he was let off after some heated discussion between Lord Magildur and King Thorin. 

Bonus (Comments):

Enjoy the cringing UWU 

[joyfullynervouscreator]

“Permission?!”

Random inspiration is random. Over-protective!brother!Dwalin and pining!Thorin.

“Are you looking at my sister?” Dwalin growled darkly. Thorin flinched in his seat, doing his best to pretend that his interest was completely innocent. It wasn’t.

“N-No?” he stuttered, well-aware that there was only one acceptable answer to that question. His best friend continued to glare, but he seemed mollified after a minute, sinking heavily into the seat beside Thorin and turning his own gaze towards the fire where Svala was providing the night’s entertainment, telling an old saga about a Moongazer from the Orocarni.

Her face was animated, the shadows of flickering flames only making her eyes appear brighter in Thorin’s mind, catching in her hair and glinting off the beads that kept it under control. Unlike Dwalin and Balin, Svala braided her hair and beard, the dark brown colour offsetting the gilded clasps nicely.

“You’ll have to get used to the idea at some point, Dwalin,” Glóin mused on Dwalin’s other side, and Thorin wondered if anyone would mind him strangling his cousin when he continued, “Svala is a bonny lass, she’s bound to catch the eyes of some lad soon enough-” Dwalin’s loud growl killed the words in Glóin’s throat. The merchant wisely moved a bit further away from the simmering anger that was bound to erupt every time he thought about Svala – his little sister, Thorin reminded himself, for the n-th time, why Svala was entirely off-limits – getting married or courting anyone. To an extent, it was a sentiment Thorin shared… though his reasons were far more selfish than his friend suspected, wanting Svala’s heart for his own. The warrior’s fingers crushed a walnut with ease. Glóin shifted further away.

“No one is going to touch my baby sister,” Dwalin growled, and part of Thorin sympathised – had he not felt the same about the lads’ adad? – but a far larger part of him wanted to stop caring what Dwalin thought and scoop her into his arms before anyone else got up the courage to defy the scariest warrior in their Clan. Thorin said nothing, making no move to draw attention to himself.

“Dwalin!” Svala’s voice snapped across the camp. The warrior stiffened, turning to face her with an innocent look that would only have worked on Kíli’s face. Svala scowled. “Are you being an arse again, nadad?” she asked sweetly. Dwalin shook his head. “Did we not talk about this?” she continued, as though he hadn’t replied at all, “I’ll court whomever I want, and you do not get a say in my choice!” she continued, her temper a match to Dwalin’s any day.

“But Svala…” Dwalin tried, “It’s our job to protect you!” Across the fire, Balin was shaking his head, but Dwalin didn’t subside, his protest only adding fuel to her rant.

“Dwalin!” she shouted. “I am an adult! I have been for years, and anytime anyone so much as looks at me, you’re there to threaten certain highly useful appendages I’d want my future husband to possess!” she seethed. Kíli choked on his drink. “I’m sick of it!”

“Nana’…” Dwalin tried again, clearly not noticing Balin’s frantic ‘Shut up, NOW!’-signing. Thorin winced.

“Don’t you ‘sister’ me!” Svala shouted, moving closer. “I can take care of myself, Dwalin Fundinul! You overprotective lummox!” Throwing a pebble at him, Svala’s angry tirade continued.

“None of those boys were good enough for you!” Dwalin bellowed back, jumping to his feet.

“No one will ever be good enough for you!” Svala screeched, punching him in the gut. Gesturing wildly at him, she continued ranting, “I bet even Thorin wouldn’t be good enough for you!!” Thorin wondered what he had done to deserve the level of fury both siblings were now turning in his direction, holding up his hands in a weak attempt to ward off their anger.

“Thorin would never-” Thorin really would, Thorin thought, when Dwalin faltered halfway through the sentence, staring at Svala who was moving swiftly towards them.

Soft… soft lips were pressing against his, and Thorin’s raised hands had tangled themselves in her hair before he could inform them why that was a spectacularly bad idea, his involuntary gasp silenced by the appearance of Svala’s tongue in his mouth. Kissing her back made it even better, tasting that plump top lip that had starred in so many fantasies of his ever since she reached adulthood. Svala moaned softly, tugging on his braids, but she made no move to get away from his touch, in truth – ohhh… Thorin couldn’t help but wonder if he had fallen asleep by the fire, dreaming the whole thing when he felt her arms sliding around his shoulder, her legs wrapping around his hips and her weight settling in his lap like she belonged there – she does belong here, part of him whispered, urging him to bring one arm down to wrap around her back. She tasted sweeter than he had imagined, and he wanted – badly – to taste her elsewhere, find out if the sweetness – a growl interrupted his thoughts, and Thorin finally managed to pull away from the best kiss he had ever had. Of course, he admitted ruefully, it was also likely to be his last kiss, if Balin and Dori let go of Dwalin any time soon. Figuring he might as well be killed for two as for one, he dipped his head once more, taking her lips in a kiss that spoke of sweetness, gently cupping her face and staring into her gold-flecked brown eyes. Svala was staring at him, wide-eyed, and a little afraid, and Thorin released her instantly. She did not move away. Instead, she pulled his mouth back to hers, licking across his lower lip before returning the gentle kiss, nipping at his lip when she pulled away.

Thorin slowly became aware of the deadly silence surrounding them; only the crackling sound of the fire and Dwalin’s heavy breathing could be heard. He purposefully avoided looking at Dwalin, keeping his blue eyes locked with Svala’s deep brown.

“I… I didn’t expect that,” she whispered, like it was just the two of them and the rest of the Company weren’t on pins and needles around them.

“I didn’t expect that,” Thorin teased, giving her a small smile. Svala winced.

“Sorry,” she whispered, looking so contrite that he had to kiss the expression off her face. Somewhere off to the side, someone groaned. “What… What happens now?” she asked, her face so close that Thorin felt her lips move against his with every word, felt the whisper of her breath across his skin.

“That’s entirely up to you,” he admitted quietly. “If you want to pretend it never happened… I won’t speak of it ever again.” He really wished she wouldn’t want that, but he knew he had to make the offer nonetheless, hoping beyond hope that he would be strong enough to go through with it now that he knew what she felt like in his arms. Svala stiffened. “If…” Thorin swallowed heavily, “if you want to…” he trailed off, his eyes falling shut; he had never felt so exposed before, so shy in reaching for what he wanted.

“Court you?” she asked softly, cupping his face. Thorin’s eyes flew open, staring wildly at her. The firelight glowed on her skin, limning her form in low orange light, but it was her smile that made his heart beat faster. “Would you let me court you?” she murmured against his lips, but Thorin was kissing her again before he even realised what she had asked, pouring his desperation into the kiss as he clutched at her. Someone cleared their throat.

“I accept,” Thorin croaked hoarsely. Svala smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and then she was kissing him again, mewling softly against his lips as he pressed her against his chest.

“See, Balin, I told you it’d work eventually,” Dwalin said, making them both turn to stare at him with eyes in danger of popping out of their skulls.

“Aye, brother, I guess I do owe you five gold coins,” Balin sighed, but he was smiling at them. Thorin almost couldn’t comprehend their meaning. “Though you’ll have to wait till we reach Erebor; I haven’t that much gold on me.”

“Wait, what?” Thorin asked. In his arms, Svala was gaping at her brothers as though they were strangers.

“Did you really think you could hide your feelings from me of all people?” Dwalin asked pointedly. Thorin blushed. He’d thought he had managed quite well. “And she’s been mooning after you for just as long, Mahal save us,” he continued in a loud grumble, “only she didn’t think you’d want her; and you’re completely impossible, too.” Tugging his arm out of Dori’s grasp – the tailor looked as stunned as the rest of them – Dwalin returned to his seat, taking up a stick and poking at the fire.

“It was Dís’ idea… I think,” Balin mumbled, hiding a chuckle in his beard. Thorin felt a powerful surge of love and gratitude for his sister. Squeezing Svala’s stout form slightly, he smiled at her.

“I always said if it had to be anyone, should be Thorin,” Dwalin added. “I can take him in a fight if he gets handsy.”

“But you!” Svala cried out, smacking Dwalin’s arm, and trailing off in angry mutters. Thorin immediately let go of her. Svala turned her head to glare at him, while Dwalin guffawed. Thorin smiled sheepishly, wrapping his arms back around her and accepting a kiss as reward. Deepening the kiss, he turned her soft and pliant in his arms once more.

“OI!” Dwalin shouted, interrupting them, “I may have given permission, but I don’t need to see that!” Across from them, Fíli and Kíli were nodding; each had a hand clapped over his brother’s eyes. Thorin chuckled.

“Permission?!” Svala screeched, jumping off of Thorin’s lap to whirl on Dwalin once more. Thorin winced at the volume of her voice as his future queen began haranguing her brother once more. Sharing a glance with Balin, who nodded gently, Thorin leaned back against his tree, tuning out the argument and watching his fierce Svala in the light of the fire until he fell asleep, dreaming of the diamonds he’d braid into her hair when they reached Erebor.

@life-is-righteous @pandepirateprincess

[leah-halliwell92]

Crushes Suck

Summary: Bilbo drew a deep breath as she saw how the Darrowdams of worthy statuses fawned over the Durin men. She saw how the bolder ones openly leered at them and even made passes while the shier ones would blush prettily as greetings were exchanged.

Bilbo Baggins blew her bangs away from her forehead and kept on walking to the library where Ori was sure to be talking to Balin. She had been tasked to take the day's council meeting scrolls directly to Balin for him to look over as the Kings royal advisor. Bilbo couldn't help but smile at the thought of Thorin sitting at the helm in his crown, braids and royal dressing he truly is a wonder to look at. She knows he this...after all she only spent almost a year traveling with them to Erebor. She knew what her dwarves look like unclothed (much to her mortification if she was honest) and she had to say that some of them made a rather lasting impression upon her as a member of the fairer sex. The Durin line made a striking vision all muscle and hair...well in all honesty Dwalin wasn't far behind them in physique so he too made a lasting impression on her. But Thorin... with the dark hair and jewel blue eyes combined with his voice made her feel warm from head to toe. He of them all had made her feel all warm inside both physically and emotionally. If only he noticed–

She shook herself out of that particular train of thought and continued on her trek to the library such feelings were for naught. They'd never happen...they were never to come true. She's only a hobbit lass whether or not she is a part of the company of Thorin Oakenshield or not.

"Oh his majesty is too kind," Bilbo heard a woman say giggly as she entered the library.

Bilbo furrowed her brow and made her way down the rows of tall bookshelves to see Thorin grinning at a rather fetching Dwarrowdam. Bilbo felt her throat close as her heart gave a painful lurch. Hugging the scrolls to her body, she made her way back hence she came to find Ori sitting at his desk books, scroll and quills strewn around him.

Ori looked up at Bilbo with a ready smile but frowned when his gaze fell on her pale appearance and shimmering eyes.

"Are you alright Miss. Bilbo?" He asked brow furrowed in worry.

Bilbo looked up at him with a start and with a watery chuckle said, "I'm fine Ori...must not be feeling well. Have you seen Balin anywhere?"

Ori nodded and pointed to a door at the end of the hall.

Bilbo nodded her thanks a small grin on her face and made her way to where Ori had directed.

Bilbo knocked on the door and entered when she heard, "Come."

Balin looked up to see Bilbo with a fatherly smile but as it happened with Ori, the smile fell as his gaze met that of the pale lady hobbit's complexion, watery eyes and faint, almost resigned, grin.

"Here are the scrolls from the day's meeting Balin," Bilbo said faintly.

Balin Took said scrolls from her hands and pulled her to a nearby bench where she collapsed in a bundle of tears.

“Oh lass,” Balin said sitting beside her and pulling her to him and asking, “What’s happened?”

Bilbo nuzzled into Balin’ s neck and quietly said, “Looks like Thorin is looking for a dam.”

Balin looked down at her in shock. How did she know this?

Bilba gave chuckled sigh and as if reading his mind said, “I saw him walking through the library a dam on his arm.”

Balin held the lass close not knowing how to reply.

After a moment passed, Bilbo sat up and took a couple of deep breaths to gain some semblance of control over her emotions. Taking a handkerchief from a pocket in her skirts, Bilbo dried her tears and blew her nose.

“No worries my dear Balin. I knew this would come pass in time,” Bilbo said a sad smile etched on her lovely and normally lively features.

Balin was astounded at the seeming ease in which she collected herself enough to seem almost open to others approaching her.

’Always putting others over her own needs that one,’ he thought with a sad grin as he watched her make her way to the door only to be greeted by Thorin and the Lady Belren Daughter or Kelren as they were about to knock on the door.

Balin saw the almost untraceable shift Bilbo’s body made as she froze at seeing them there.

But if Balin knows anything about Bilbo is that she’d rather face Smaug a second time than let anyone in their company see her in any shape or form of discomfort may it be physical or emotional.

Bilbo’s body remained stiff as Thorin introduced Bilbo Barrel Rider Baggins to Lady Belren.

Bilbo gave a respectful bow and a bright smile in return.

Balin gave his own bow but kept a watchful eye on Bilbo as he saw the stiff smile that she wore in the presence of Thorin and whom might be the future queen of Erebor.

Thorin, to Balin’s shock and disbelief, seemed to be completely unaware of the stiffness their Burglar had adopted in his presence when in other times she was as comfortable around him as any of the lads of the company.

”My apologies to cut this visit short but I seem to have forgotten my notes with Ori. I’ll see you tomorrow morning in the meetings your Majesty,” Bilbo said.

Balin could see she was fighting back tears.

”Will you not be joining us for supper this evening Ms. Baggins?” Lady Belren asked as kindly.

Bilbo turned to the dam with a strained smile and said, “I may ma’am. Depends on how I feel this evening.”

”Are you alright Bilbo?” Thorin asked worry etched upon his features.

Bilbo smiled tiredly at Thorin her eyes bright and nearly shimmering with unshead tears.

“Must be a chill nothing more really there’s no need to cause for concern,” she said.

With one last bow Bilbo left the office fighting the urge to run away from the rather fetching pair standing in Balin’s office barely containing the tears that so wanted to fall.

Bilbo walked passed a clearly worried Ori into the  empty corridor where always watching Nori found her nearly heaving under the stress of keeping herself together long enough to reach her rooms.

"Balin sent Dwalin a raven," the spymaster said worried for the lass that had turned into something of a sister to him over the year they spent on the road.

Bilbo nodded at Nori and was grateful when the dwarf offered to walk the rooms Dwalin and Balin are living in.

"Thanks Nori," she said with a kind smile.

"No worries lass and don't worry the lads won't hear of anything from me," Nori replied giving her shoulders a squeeze as he hugged her.

Bilbo nodded gratefully at the dwarf and turned to the door of the Fundinul quarters.

Bilbo knocked on the door and nearly gasped in fright when Dwalin pulled her into a nearly bone crushing hug.

And as if a dam had burst, Bilbo broke down in his arms.

Dwalin loop his free arm under her knees and pulled her into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all. He made his way to the wingback chair that is near the hearth and sat down placing her on his lap. Dwalin wrapped his large warm arms around her offering his silent support.

Bilbo cried her heart out on the dwarf's shoulder not knowing what else to do or say.

"He's going to marry her isn't he," Bilbo asked once she had calmed down some.

Dwalin nodded and tightened his hold on the lass.

"Will I be expected to marry?" She asked quietly.

Dwalin sighed giving her answer enough.

"Many in the mountain have heard of your deeds and are quite taken with you. Some have admitted to wanting to court you openly but the lads don't think it prudent to have just anyone ask for your hand," Dwalin said as he ran a soothing hand up and down her back.

Bilbo looked up at him and sighed grateful for the silent support.

"But why? I'm only a hobbit," Bilbo said looking down at her hands on her lap.

"You ain't just a hobbit lass," Dwalin said his chest rumbling with astonishment, "You saved our hides more times than we could count, you riddled with a dragon, and vouched for us when none would believe we could defeat the dragon and offer those in danger not only shelter but safety as well. We owe ya so much Bilbo. You mean more to us than you think."

Bilbo was speechless as she heard Dwalin list of her accomplishments.

"And...if you'd give me the chance to show ya...I'd like to court ya," Dwalin stuttered out his cheeks growing red, "I hadn't planned to ask you like this. I had a courting gift ready but just didn't quite figure out when or how to tell you."

Bilbo's cheeks reddened as the warrior pushed through his declaration.

"Could...could we take our time?" She asked quietly.

"Ya don't have to ask lass, we've known you fancy the clueless oaf known as Thorin Oakenshield for some time. If time is what you need it is time you shall have," Dwalin promised.

Bilbo grinned at Dwalin in thanks and asked, "Could I see my courting gift?"

Dwalin looked shocked at her for a moment thinking she would not have him (or even consider him if he were honest), but he nodded none the less and stood up with her in his arms to gently place her on the chair so that he could go fetch his courting gift.

Bilbo waited on baited breath for the gift but at the same time considering what her life would be like should she truly accept the suit from Dwalin. Setting aside her feelings for Thorin, Bilbo had to admit that courting the fearsome warrior and falling for him would not be as hard as it has been to fall for Thorin. In the sense that Dwalin had grown fond of her now that she realized it soon after the troll caves. He had taken the time to train her in Rivendell as well as spent time talking to her while they were at Beorn's and asking after her well being when they were being held prisoners by the Elven King. Bilbo felt like such a fool for not realizing earlier that had she not set her sights not the Dwarf King, she could have given Dwalin a chance from the beginning.

"Here," she heard Dwalin say as he offered her the cloth wrapped package that was in his hands.

Bilbo took hold of the gift and with gentle finger unfolded the cloth to reveal a pair of daggers.

Bilbo gasped and looked to a blushing Dwalin.

"Did you make these?" she asked as she pulled one out of it's holster to take a closer look at it.

The handles are made of bone and the metal used for the blades seemed to glisten in the dark.

"They're beautiful," She said at awe at the craftsmanship of the blades.

Dwalin's blush deepened and he sputtered, "Uh...yes well. The dragon's bones were good for something indeed. The handles of the blades are carved from his bones. And the metal is a combination of white gold with mithril. This way they will last you a very long time."

Bilbo stood and placed the parcel on the chair.

She made her way to the blushing dwarf and kissed his cheek.

"I accept your suit," She said a true smile brightening up her features.

Dwalin breathed a sigh and said, "I do mean it you know...take as long as you need."

Bilbo's smile grew and she said, "I know. That's why courting is important that way we can both get to know each other with no pressure from quests nor kings, not even our own King Thorin."

Dwalin nodded dumbly at this and asked, "And should he realize he feels something for ya?"

Bilbo gave the bear of a dwarf in front of her a kind grin and said, "The poor sod will have to deal with it. I'm not about to turn my back on the dwarf that seemed to worm his way into my good graces by simply being there when I needed him."

Dwalin smiled at her and pulled her off her feet into a hug.

"Unrequited crushes are things that need to happen at times I think. I believe they help us see just what we are looking for," Bilbo said into his ear.

Setting her down Dwalin gave her a look.

"It means that while you took your time to not only see to my well being and safety, you truly seemed interested in more than the friendship Thorin offered," She clarified.

The blush that dusted his face was sure to be made permanent at this rate he was sure.

"I was and still am," Dwalin said with feeling.

Bilbo nodded and with a happy smile said, "I look forward to getting to know the dwarf that seems to have fallen for this simple hobbit lass."

Dwalin laughed at that and said, "You are not simple at all my dear."

Bilbo laughed and nodded.

Bilbo could help but feel hopeful. She has a chance at being truly happy and in love...and she cannot wait to feel and give as much as he already seems to be giving her.

Tag List: @fizzy-custard, @patanghill17, @fandomgalcentral, @imagines-for-multiple-fandoms, @theimaginesyouneveraskedfor, @disneymarina

[makerbound]

——————— ROLEPLAYING HISTORY !

the rules are simple ! post ten characters you’d like to role play as , have role played as , and might bring back . then tag ten people to do the same ( if you can’t think of ten characters , just write down however many you can and tag the same amount of people ) . aside from that , please repost instead of reblogging !

CURRENTLY PLAYING !

·       cuthbert allgood    //    the dark tower   //   @cllgood​​

·       various characters & OCs    //   the dark tower   //  @ofthegun​ & @ofthebarony​

·       cassandra pentaghast    //    dragon age  //   @makerbound​  (hiatus / semi-active)

·       dwalin fundinul    //    tolkien legendarium  //   @fundinson​​  (hiatus / semi-active)

·       asunn asviul    //    tolkien legendarium   //   @ursinh​​  (hiatus / semi-active)​

HAVE PLAYED !

·       nyreen kandros    //    mass effect    //    @venatrixturiana​  (inactive)

·       king thráin II  //    tolkien legendarium    //  @thrainsonofthror​​  (inactive)

·       glaw-y-nos  //    tolkien legendarium    // @bearskinned​​​  (inactive)

·       clotaire bonchance  //    dragon age    // @wineandgildedarms​​​​  (inactive)

WANT TO BRING BACK !

·       thráin perhaps maybe like really kinda low-key. right now though i barely have the time to keep my active blogs going.

WANT TO WRITE !

·       ooooof. As said I barely have the time to dedicate as much time as I would like to to the blogs I have, but theoretically speaking: more OCs always everywhere in every fandom.

TAGGED BY: @chevaliersreach (ty dear!) TAGGING:  @curufinwefeanaro, @brightflight, @tofindthesun​, @makhlun​, @breniatham​, @defenestratio​

[ironmandeficiency]

lord of the rings/hobbit masterlist

decided to try my hand at the tolkien-verse after obsessing over several characters far too much. it’s barren af right now but it will grow, i promise. the list of who i’ll write for is below, and nsfw will be marked with 18+

the hobbit:

bilbo baggins

lovesick fools

kíli durin

council meetings

fíli durin

stupid goose

the best gift

dwalin

drinking songs

thorin oakenshield

silly king

bofur

love at first fight

bagginshield

cattails and chaos (reflections)

headcanons

thorin, fíli, kíli + finding out you have nipple piercings (18+)

thorin, fíli, kíli, dwalin, bofur + helping their s/o with insomnia

thorin, fíli, kíli, dwalin, bofur, dori, nori + sex (18+)

the hobbit + hozier songs

lord of the rings:

pippin took

free food

legolas

sending memes

boromir

the advice of hobbits

headcanons

aragorn, boromir, legolas, gimli + helping their s/o with insomnia

modern character hc’s

aragorn, boromir, gimli, legolas, pippin + romance

who i’ll write for:

bilbo baggins

thorin oakenshield

fíli durin

kíli durin

dwalin fundinul

bofur

ori

nori

dori

bard the bowman

tauriel

boromir

aragorn

legolas thranduilion

gimli gloinul

pippin took

eowyn

eomer

arwen

[msmerriam]

Chapters: 9/? Fandom: The Hobbit - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield/Original Female Character(s), Dwalin Fundinul /Original Female Character(s) Characters: The Hobbit Cast Additional Tags: Modern Girls in Middle Earth, Seer Trope, Viking Heritage, 15th and 16th Member of the Company, I'm Not Ashamed, I'm also not very good with tags, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Because they should live dammit, I DON'T OWN ANYTHING, clearly, Still not good at tags, Some burn faster than others, I don't know what I'm doing Summary:

Two near lifelong friends find themselves torn from our world and dropped into the reality of Middle Earth. To partake in the Quest for Erebor in ways they'd only talked about drunk and watching the movies. They're given the chance to change what others had written in stone, but what is the cost of changing what has yet to come?

[ao3feed-tolkien]

Solidarity of Service

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2pHRNTZ

by featheredstag

Two near lifelong friends find themselves torn from our world and dropped into the reality of Middle Earth. To partake in the Quest for Erebor in ways they'd only talked about drunk and watching the movies. They're given the chance to change what others had written in stone, but what is the cost of changing what has yet to come?

Words: 3839, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Hobbit - All Media Types

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M

Characters: The Hobbit Cast

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield/Original Female Character(s), Dwalin Fundinul /Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags: Modern Girls in Middle Earth, Seer Trope, Viking Heritage, 15th and 16th Member of the Company, I'm Not Ashamed, I'm also not very good with tags, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Because they should live dammit, I DON'T OWN ANYTHING, clearly, Still not good at tags, Some burn faster than others, I don't know what I'm doing

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2pHRNTZ

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Silver Secret

Silver Secret

imagine having broken up with Fíli a long time ago and then he catches you wearing something with special significance to both of you.

@life-is-righteous​

Post barrels

“Where is it?!” you cried, searching for the chain that had lived around your neck since the day you’d received the small present. Looking over the river, Kíli groaning something behind you while Fíli argued with Thorin, you wished for a small glitter of silver. Spotting the barrel you had used for your escape, you splashed back into the river, making the rest of the Company shout out in surprise.

“Thinking of sailing back to the Elves, Mjoll?” Nori asked, laughing when you threw a rude gesture at him over your shoulder, searching the barrel frantically.

The chain wasn’t there! You stared at the water, calm here but the current still swift. Staring back towards the rapids you had barely survived, you could feel tears pressing, as you once more clutched at your bare neck. It was silly, perhaps, caring so much about a small trinket, but it wasn’t so much the small silver and jade pendant as it was the sentiment attached to the gift. Fíli had given it to you, years ago, for your Nameday, back when you’d still believed he was as in love with you as he said. After the break-up, you hadn’t wanted him to know you still cared, and you’d lengthened the chain he had made, hiding the small pendant under your clothes, a constant presence nestled between your breasts. It was silly, you knew, but you had kept the gift anyway, as a reminder to your traitorously longing heart that the dwarf you loved did not want you.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Ori said, touching your shoulder and startling you out of contemplating the waters before you. You turned, brushing away the single tear that had escaped your eye. Ori was holding your chain, the small silver disc catching the sunlight as it spun slowly.

“Yes!” you cried, reaching for it. Ori smiled, clasping the chain back around your neck. “Thank you, Ori,” you gushed, leaning in to peck his cheek as your fingers wrapped around the familiar shape. Ori blushed fiercely.

“Err... you’re welcome, miss Mjoll.” He stuttered, fleeing. You followed him, splashing your way back to the bank, only to find yourself staring at the pointy end of an arrow. Your hand released your necklace, grasping for anything to use as a weapon. Someone gasped.

 Fíli had seen it, as Mjoll stood defiantly before the bargeman. He recognised his own work instantly, the small silver disc, a motif of an eagle in flight above a mountain on one face and the other spelling her name. Mjoll. She had kept it? All this time? The memory of kissing her assaulted his mind; clasping the small gift around her neck as he stole a kiss from her lips on her Nameday. Obviously, she had, or she wouldn’t have had it now, Fíli thought, unable to keep from staring at her chest, as though his eyes could penetrate her shift and see the small trinket once more, making sure it was really that necklace. But why had she kept it? It wasn’t like she’d ever loved him, why keep a token of their affair? As always, the word tasted sour on his tongue, trying to stop his heart from believing that maybe – just maybe – she had, in fact, loved him as she said she did. The romantic part of his mind wanted it to be true, while the ruthlessly logical part was quick to remind him that she certainly hadn’t cared for him as more than a sweet little fling, throwing the image of her in the arms of some stranger against the part of him that wanted to soften. Fíli winced. He’d never discovered who the dwarf was that had stolen Mjoll’s heart, and in the five years that had passed since, he had not seen her walking out with anyone special on the few days where he bumped into her accidentally – nor on the slightly larger amount of days where he had been actively following her. He still remembered…

“I’ll be back for you, raklûna[1],” the dwarf had said, whispered against Mjoll’s pale hair, and Fíli could only hear him because they were standing two metres from the corner of the house, arms around each other as his heart broke.

“I’ll miss you every day,” Mjoll swore. “Be safe, please. I love you.”

The dwarf had kissed her forehead. “I love you, too, Mjoll.” with that, he had left, and Fíli had stood frozen to the ground for a long time, watching her stare after the diminishing figure.

It had taken him three days to stop feeling sick at the thought of speaking with her. On the fourth day, he’d gone to her house and broken off their entanglement.

 ...Fíli had no interest in being some sordid little affair, he told himself viciously, every time he had caught sight of her smiling at one of the Company and wished that she would smile so sweetly at him. Mjoll tended to ignore his presence, which had suited him quite well so far, speaking to him only of inconsequential things like ‘Did you water the ponies?’ or ‘Would you get some firewood?’.

 You woke feeling someone’s hands pulling at the chain that disappeared under your borrowed dress. Bard had been scandalized to find that you were a woman – the binder for your breasts had been entirely waterlogged, and there was no hiding your bosom in nothing but a shift – but he had managed to find a dress that fit reasonably among his late wife’s, even if it was a foot and a half too long. In a couple of quick moves, you had the attacker beneath you, an eating knife pressed against his jugular. A braid whispered across the back of your hand.

“Fíli!?” you shrieked, incredulous, as Nori – the lightest sleeper, by far – lit a candle in response to the ruckus. Pinned beneath you was the furiously red-faced Heir of Thorin Oakenshield. “What in the name of Mahal and the seven Fathers did you think you were doing?” you hissed, stung by this unprovoked attack. “I’m not some camp-follower or something!”

“No, no!” Fíli tried, but you were in no mood to listen to excuses.

“Nori, would you go wake the King for me, please?” you asked sweetly. “I’d like to lodge a complaint against Fíli, son of Víli, for assaulting me in my sleep.” By now, half the Company was awake to hear your words, and Fíli’s blush was intensifying.

“What in the name of Durin is going on here?!” Thorin hollered, seeing his heir pinned beneath your furious form.

“I woke to find Fíli, son of Víli with his hands on their way into my dress,” you replied evenly, gesturing to the undone laces that did very little to conceal your ample chest. “Needless to say, it was not a welcomed advance in any way.” Getting up, you moved over to stand beside Dwalin, who wrapped his arm around your shoulder. The warrior had found you as an orphaned dwarfling and raised you like a daughter; Dwalin had taught you everything you knew about fighting. Balin wrapped an arm around your shoulder, squeezing you between the two Fundinuls, as Dori moved in to put your dress to rights, clucking his tongue. Thorin stood frozen, as Fíli stared up at him from the floor. No one spoke.

“I believed we raised you better than this,” Thorin said, his voice so cold it made you shiver. “I believed you were worthy of trust, believed that we had taught you to care for those under your command and protection.” You winced, as Fíli did on the floor beneath his Uncle’s gaze. Your fury was waning slightly as you watched Thorin tear every possible strip from Fíli’s hide.

“I swear, Uncle, I didn’t mean to-” Fíli tried again, getting to his feet.

“Didn’t mean to assault a dam as she slept, as she was under MY protection?!” Thorin roared. “Or perhaps you simply didn’t mean to get caught, thinking your status as my heir would let you get away with whatever you wanted?”

“Why did you do it, Fíli?” you asked, feeling so small. This, this was the final piece of evidence that he had spoken truly when he claimed not to have loved you, you thought, wishing that you could simply disappear. “Why?” you repeated, when he turned to face you, his usually bright eyes shadowed.

“I needed…” he trailed off, looking physically hurt by the way you flinched away from him. “I needed to see.”

“Disgusting,” Thorin spat.

“No!” Fíli shouted. “Not, not that! I needed to see if I saw what I saw earlier,” he continued, which made about as much sense as a comb without teeth, you thought. Once again, he reached towards you, uncaring that Dwalin was growling low in his throat. “Why did you… keep it?” he asked, looking like you were the one torturing him. Suddenly, your fury returned tenfold. Wrapping your hand around the pendant that hung down, the chain revealed by your undone neckline, you tugged sharply, breaking the thin chain.

“This is what you wanted?” you asked, incredulous. “You piece of scum!” you seethed, throwing the broken piece of jewellery at him. Fíli caught it deftly, staring at the small token. “Take it then,” you cried, “take it and never speak to me ever again!” Furiously, you whirled, leaving Balin’s protective hold and making your way out of the house.

 “Do you wish to explain that little display?” Thorin asked, his voice still as frosty as midwinter.

“I made this,” Fíli replied woodenly, staring in the direction Mjoll had vanished, his fingers wrapped tightly around the silver necklace she had thrown at him. “I gave it to her, years ago. I thought she threw it away, but she… she kept it? I just... I wanted to know why.” Thorin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You assaulted a dam – committed a crime – to find out why a girl kept a silly piece of silver?!” he roared. “I can’t even –” Thorin shook his head. “I’ll deal with you in the morning. I’m tempted to send you back to your amad in a fish barrel right now!” Fíli nodded meekly. He could admit that he should have gone about finding answers in a different way. He didn’t even try to avoid the punch Dwalin aimed at his stomach, knowing he deserved worse. Under their laws, he ought to face a harder punishment than a punch from an enraged father-figure.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Will you tell Mjoll… I’m sorry, for all of it.” Dwalin just snorted, turning on his heel to march out of the house, probably following the wayward dam.

 “Want to tell me what happened?” Dwalin asked quietly, sitting down on the cold boards of the walkway beside you and wrapping a warm arm around your shoulders, turning your face into his chest when you began to weep quietly.

“Fíli gave it to me for my Nameday, just before Jofur left,” you whispered. “along with a kiss. It wasn’t a promise, he said, even if he’d like it to be.” You hiccupped a slight sob. “He broke it off with me a week later, just after Jofur left Thorinuldûm.” You sighed, “I don’t even know why I kept it, clearly he never felt anything for me.” Dwalin rumbled a soothing growly sound – he wasn’t good with words of comfort, but he managed to convey his sympathy anyway. “I thought… for a long time I thought he loved me as I loved him, Adad, really loved him.” Dwalin didn’t say anything, letting you make up your mind. “I feel stupid.”

 “I always loved her,” Fíli admitted, when Kíli took up where Uncle had left off as soon as the two brothers entered the room they’d been given to share by the Master.

“WHAT?” the dark-haired prince said. Fíli laughed – a sound that was almost sobs.

“I made her that necklace because I loved her.”

“YOU were the one who broke up with her, Fíli!” Kíli cried, aghast. Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Kíli sank down onto his musty bed.

“Because she had someone else!” Fíli cried, just as hotly.

“Are you daft, nadad?” Kíli asked, poleaxed. “Mjoll only ever looked at you… just as you only looked at her. Amad has been planning your wedding for the last 20 years almost!”

“That’s not true, Kíli” Fíli replied tiredly, “I heard her tell him she loved him with my own ears.”

“Wait, tell who?”

“I don’t know!” Fíli cried, exasperated. “I couldn’t really walk up in the middle of ‘I’ll miss you every day’ and ‘I love you, too, Mjoll’ and ask who the dwarf was, could I?!” Slumping onto his own dusty mattress, Fíli continued, “I saved up the silver all through my summer guarding caravans for Glóin, giving it to her as soon as I returned home in autumn. It wasn’t even a week later I overheard her promising her love to this stranger!”

“I’d wondered why you never told me you’d broken up, actually,” Kíli said. “Wait, this was five years ago, no?” Fíli nodded, falling back onto his pillow. “But… Fíli that was the summer her older brother found Mjoll in Thorinuldûm… you know, Jofur? The brother who’d gotten separated from her, when she was little more than a pebble and Jofur got arrested for stealing food for her…” As Kíli spoke, Fíli’s face grew paler. “Jofur left in the autumn, going on a caravan job to the south; Harad or something… none of them were ever heard from again,” Kíli finished quietly.

“Oh, Mahal,” Fíli groaned. “I am an idiot.”

“Yes,” Kíli agreed evenly, “I think you’d be hard-pressed to find someone to disagree with that tonight, and even harder if you tell them you broke up with the dam of your dreams because she loves her brother. And then you assaulted her trying to find an old gift… yes, brother, you are an idiot.”

“Thank you,” Fíli replied drily. “Now help me come up with a way to fix it!”

“No idea. Repair her necklace, maybe. Oh, and grovel. Amad would say that you should grovel. Like on-your-belly grovel.” Kíli said, far too gleefully for Fíli’s taste. Covering his eyes with a groan, the older dwarf fell back on his musty pillow, nearly suffocating in the resultant cloud of dust. When he was done coughing, eyes red and streaming, Fíli picked up the small necklace he had so carefully shaped. The clasp – probably weakened from the strain of their river-journey, he thought, scrutinizing the break Mjoll had made when she yanked on the chain. If there were some pliers somewhere in this dump, he could fix it easily, wishing he could fix his other blunders just as swiftly.

 [1] Precious one

Chapter 2

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Guard-Recruit pt2

Chapter 1

word count 3.7k

Because it would have been your day off even if you hadn’t quit the Guard – the thought still made you scowl at Dwalin’s memory – Kíli showed up bright and early next morning as usual, eager to get some target practice in. He might be almost thirty years your junior and a mischief-maker to boot, but you’d found a fondness for each other as the only ones in Ered Luin who used a bow as your main weapon.

“Impressive,” Kíli whistled when you opened the door. You looked at him, not comprehending his meaning. With a sigh, the young prince gestured at the drying warg skins left on racks beside your house. You smiled.

“I’m making stock with the meat,” you said. Warg did not make good eating, the meat was stringy and oddly textured, but you could make surprisingly flavourful stock from the meat and bones with just a few herbs. It’d keep for ages in wax-sealed jars, too, so you’d have a ready supply for making stews and soups come winter.

“Really?” Kíli frowned, “Amadel tried that once, but it was horrid.”

“My adad had a trick for it,” you shrugged. Living in the middle of nowhere, you learned to get by, after all, and it had been a desperate winter the first time you tried warg-soup.

“Invite me over when you make food with it!” Kíli said, suddenly excited. You laughed fondly.

“Sure,” you promised, making him beam at you before he pulled you off towards the archery range where Álfífa would be waiting to teach her class. Neither of you really needed the class, but it was a tradition by now that you went and had a friendly competition. You almost wished that Álfífa had been your instructor in the Guard – she was Dwalin’s second in command and they traded training duties – perhaps then you’d still want to be in the Guard? You might have quit in a rage – how dare he call you not good enough, you were more than good enough! – but it didn’t make your desire to never see or speak to Dwalin again any less fervent. You firmly told yourself that had nothing to do with the disrupted kiss whatsoever.

 “I heard there was a small fracas yesterday, Arnfrith,” Álfífa said calmly. You envied her serenity; nothing ever seemed to fluster Álfífa or shake her calm.

“Arnfrith killed two wargs with Dwalin’s war-hammer,” Kíli piped up, proudly. You elbowed him, blushing redder than Álfífa’s hair. “They destroyed a pack of wandering orcs!”

“Shut up, Kíli!” you hissed, but Álfífa just smiled and waved you over to take your place in the line of archers. You breathed deeply, letting go of everything beside the bow and the target, feeling the longed-for serenity fill you. No matter if you were shooting targets or hunting, having the bow in your hand reminded you of quiet hunts with adad, of sitting by the fire and fletching arrows while amad knitted you a pair of new winter mittens. This was your peace.

  That night, you set about implementing the plan you’d concocted during the day on the archery range. Feeling a little bad about not saying goodbye to Kíli in person, you agonized for an hour about what to write him, sure that Kíli would be the only one to come looking for you. When you were finished with the letter, adding the recipe for warg-stock soup on a whim, you packed in silence. You didn’t own much you’d have to leave behind, but you had asked your friend to keep safe what was left in your small house, not knowing if or when you’d return.

 “Arnfrith’s gone!” Kíli shouted, running into their house and brandishing a letter at Dwalin. “She writes that she doesn’t want to stay in a place where surface-born Dwarrow are discriminated against,” he said, wincing at the thunderous rage that contorted Dwalin’s face.

“What?!” Dwalin roared. His fist slammed down on the thick oak table hard enough Kíli worried there’d be a dent. The noise brought Dís and Thorin running from other parts of the building, as Kíli sheepishly repeated his news.

“Guess you waited too long, Dwalin,” Thorin sighed, putting a hand on the warrior’s shoulder. Dwalin shook it off furiously.

“I’m going after her, bringing her home,” he growled. Kíli blocked the doorway.

“You shouldn’t, Dwalin,” he mumbled, adding something in an unintelligible whisper no one heard.

“Out of my way, lad,” Dwalin snarled, anger and fear sparking his temper. She might have died no more than two days ago, how could he let her go without at least making sure she was properly armed – preferably escorted by himself, of course.

“She doesn’t want you!” Kíli cried out, making Dwalin freeze in place. “She writes that she’s tired of you and others constantly telling her she’s not good enough… THAT’S why she left!”

“But..” Dwalin was flummoxed. He didn’t feel Dís’ hand guiding him back to his chair, falling heavily into the seat.

“I’m sorry,” Kíli whispered, feeling terrible. He had only been half-joking about marrying Arnfrith, but he’d miss her friendship deeply either way.

  “So, you trained under Dwalin Fundinul Shumrozbid, aye?” the burly Dwarf with the bushy beard asked. You nodded. You half wondered what had possessed you to think that joining Dáin’s army was a good plan, but you had tried sparring with the guard and it had quickly become clear to the Training Master that you were skilled enough to be a proper soldier. The ‘Uzkhas smiled broadly. “Well, that explains a lot,” he laughed, making a note on a piece of paper. “I know Dwalin from way back, of course, and his recruits are among our best soldiers and officers. You’ll do well with us, lass, wait and see.” You just nodded, vindictively pleased that you could use the name of the Dwarf who’d spent the most time belittling your skill to further your advancement in an area he’d obviously considered you unsuited for. “I’m Thekk, ‘Uzkhas for the third maznakkâ of Dáin Uzbad’s personal gangbuh. Welcome to the army of the Iron Hills, Arnfrith.”

  Watching from the back of your ram, your bow tied to the saddle like the other 6 mounted archers in your group, the Elven army looked like they outnumbered you three to one if not more. Lord Dáin, who’d been far kinder to a nameless orphan than you’d expected, called for the charge. A lot of this part was showing off, you knew, making the pointy-ears understand that you wouldn’t back off without a fight. Erebor was your people’s legacy and you’d defend it from any invaders. Bellowing war cries, you gave Gulla his head, raising your bow high.

The ground trembled.

Staring in horror at the far slopes, watching the Orcs break through the earth like an eruption of darkness, you tightened your grip on the reins, the Elven army forgotten as you faced the new foe. Controlling Gulla with your legs, you pulled your bow, in sync with the 6 other archers in the third maznakkâ and let loose a volley in tandem with the archers in the other 9 maznakkâ. The vanguard was forming a shield wall in front of you, while the battlefield engineers were scrambling to aim the spear whirlers and the portable ballistae in the direction of this new enemy. Half a war-cry drifted through the air from the mountain; turning your head, you could barely make out dark hair that could only be Kíli’s. You chuckled grimly. This wasn’t the way you’d wanted to meet your friend again after five years absence. Firing again and again, suddenly with aid from the Elven archers, you plucked off Orc after Orc, not even caring to watch your shot land before firing the next.

 A roar sounded, a horn being blown with power that could only come from a Dwarf’s lungs. A bell tolled, which was a bit peculiar, but you had little time to care about it, letting your mount have its head as it charged the orcs now in range of his deadly horns.

“DU BEKAR! BARUK KHAZÂD!” you heard, and for a brief moment you were back in a clearing in a mountain forest five years ago, hearing that same voice and calling it safety. You scowled, stabbing your long sword into the throat of a nearby orc. Now was not the time to be thinking about Dwalin… or that blasted kiss that still haunted your dreams from time to time. Whirling around, perfectly in tune with Gulla as you worked together to defend each other, you dealt death to any enemy daft enough to get in range. “KHAZÂD AI-MENU!!”

“Retreat!!” Thekk shouted, but you had no time to follow him back to the line, the Orcs coming at you thick and fast. For the first time in five years, you were afraid that you were staring at oncoming death. With a snarl, you threw yourself into the struggle to live, not willing to give the Orcs the satisfaction and hoping you might buy young Hrefn time to get back to the line while you held them off. He shouldn’t have been in your maznakkâ, really, he was not even of age, but you’d needed a 7th archer and Hrefn was the best among the younger recruits. “ARNFRITH, GET YOUR BONY ARSE BACK HERE!” You wanted to laugh. Thekk had taken you under his wing, almost a pseudo-parent ever since you’d arrived in the Iron Hills and you knew he wouldn’t forgive you for dying here.

“Arnfrith!!” Another voice screamed. Your swing faltered in surprise, hearing a voice you’d not heard in so long, his voice. And then Dwalin was there, having apparently stolen one of the ballistic wagons and shooting as though he’d been born to do so. His aim was shoddy at best, you thought, slightly smug, but the constant rate of fire meant accuracy only mattered in the Trials. You’d won in a wagon just like it for the last four years. Gulla headbutted another orc and finally you had time to draw a proper breath, once more aware of more than your immediate surroundings. You’d taken a hit to the head, you realised, feeling your helmet pressing uncomfortably against your skull. Taking it off, you inspected the damage. A sizable dent met your eyes, but you simply tossed the armour away, launching yourself from Gulla’s saddle and pushing Dwalin away from the Double Curve Bolter.

“I’ll do that, you fire!” you snapped, amazed that Dwalin actually listened. “Kíli!” you exclaimed next, finally recognizing his dark hair.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he replied, a cheeky smile on his face.

“Gulla, Gulla, Innikh!” you cried, watching as your ram turned with a snort, galloping back towards the Mountain, kicking a few Orcs on his way for good measure. You didn’t know the names of the rams that pulled the B-Wag, but they’d know the general commands. “Ihkirruki!” you barked, and the rams obeyed, putting on a burst of speed as you skilfully aimed the Bolter at the oncoming foes. “Where are we going?” you asked, your voice tight.

“Ravenhill!” Someone shouted, trying to be heard over the noise of the hooves on the frozen river. You nodded.

“Naibnisi!” you commanded. In the front of the B-Wag, you recognized the white hair of Balin, whose hands were tight on the reins though he seemed relieved to give command of the beasts over to your voice. The rams turned, dragging you up a small incline. “I’khizi!” you shouted, making the wagon come to a halt as you swivelled the Bolter around. “Ravenhill is behind us. I’ll keep them from following you,” you bit out between clenched teeth. Fíli was the first to jump from the wagon. Kíli followed him, a fond squeeze to your shoulder that you returned with a smile.

“Arnfrith,” Dwalin said, plaintive. Surprise made you look at him questioningly. “Please don’t hate me for trying to keep you safe,” he whispered, and suddenly you found yourself in the exact same position you’d been in five years ago. Only this time, the kiss had a hard edge of desperation, and ended far too quickly for your taste, staring up at blue eyes once again. You growled.

“We WILL talk about this, later,” you snarled, pulling him back to your lips for one more kiss, your hand fisted in the harness that crossed his chest. When you let him go this time, he grinned boyishly at you before jumping from the wagon and following the princes up the path. Balin took his place.

“You’d better not hurt him again,” he said placidly, before he began winding the crank that fired the arrows once more. You gaped silently. Dwalin wasn’t the one who’d been hurt the last time! With a scowl, you returned your attention to your task, taking out your rage and frustration on the Orcs that seemed almost innumerable.

  You woke up with no memory of having gone to bed. The room was dark, only a single candle burning. You blinked sleepily. Feeling surprisingly well, if a bit stiff, you slowly got to your feet. Your armour was gone, and you were dressed in a shift, but the lack of proper hurts told you that you hadn’t been wounded. Even the bump to the head you’d taken seemed to have healed. A chair creaked.

“Dwalin?” you asked, recognizing the shiny dome of his head. “What are you doing here?” You wrapped the fur blanket closer around yourself, moving toward the chair that held your dwarf – yes, yours, you weren’t about to let those kisses be forgotten too.

“Arnfrith?” Dwalin mumbled sleepily. You smiled, reaching out to cup his face.

“Hey, you,” you whispered. Before you’d realised he was reaching for you, you found yourself seated on his lap, straddling his strong thighs as he crushed you against his chest. Dwalin’s low sobs echoed in the darkness. You hummed soothingly, pressing kisses against his bearded jaw as you wrapped your arms around shoulders that were just as wide as you remembered. His lips found yours, in the softest of kisses as his large hands rubbed your back, making you moan and arch against him. Dwalin chuckled. You swallowed the sound as the kiss grew more passionate. You hadn’t remembered it being this good, but you couldn’t hold back a moan when his thick fingers squeezed your arse firmly.

“Arnfrith,” Dwalin nipped at your lips. Your eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness, making you able to see the whirl of emotion in his eyes. Pulling away slightly, you pressed a kiss to his nose.

“Yes?” You didn’t think he was entirely aware of the way he was moving your hips, but it felt so good to be pressed tight against him that you hoped he’d continue forever.

“Marry me.” You froze. Dwalin bit his lip, staring down at your face as that sadness began to seep into his eyes once more with your silence.

“But…” you tried to object, but he simply shook his head.

“Marry me,” he said, the words nearly a demand.

“You don’t want me,” you protested sadly, sighing as you prepared to move off him. Dwalin made a strangled sound of incredulity.

“I want you!” he nearly shouted. “Mahal wept, lass, I just asked you to be my Lady-wife!” You shook your head dumbly; he couldn’t mean it, didn’t mean it? “I want you now, just as I wanted you five years ago when you broke my heart running away, as I wanted you six years ago when you joined my class! I WANT you!” he almost roared the last part, claiming your mouth again as he pressed you hard against the evidence of his truth. For a long moment you lost yourself in his kiss; slowly beginning to believe. Those feelings your been denying for long years burst free in your chest, melting your resistance from the inside. Dwalin kissed you again.

“Dwaliiiiin,” you moaned, a needy sound you’d never uttered before. Biting his lip and snaking your tongue into his mouth when he gasped in surprise, you tightened your grip on his tunic. Pressing yourself harder against him, you rubbed yourself against the hard proof of his arousal. “Ask me,” you begged, feeling desperate to hear him again; convince yourself it wasn’t a dream. One of his hands found its way beneath your shift, the other tearing the loose fabric off your shoulder and baring your breast to his gaze.

“Marry me,” he begged, hoarsely, making you cry out in frustration when he simply breathed across your heated flesh.

“Yes, yes, Dwalin,” you moaned, one hand moving to grip the hair at the back of his head and guide his mouth where you wanted it. The soft beard on his chin stroked your sensitive flesh as he bent his head to draw your nipple into his mouth, his hands kneading your arse. “Yes!” you cried, only to moan it over and over as he systematically began to undo you.

“Say my name,” he demanded in a growl that reverberated through your bones as he increased the pressure against your core, rubbing rhythmically against him. You moaned. As your head fell forward, you turned slightly, catching his ear with your mouth.

“Dwaaaliin,” you moaned breathily, running your tongue along the shell and tugging on the cuffs with your lips. Your fingers travelled down his broad chest, undoing the laces at his throat. “Off!” you demanded, slightly petulant. With a screech of tortured fabric, Dwalin ripped off his tunic, letting your fingers dance across his naked skin, tracing the patterns of his tattoos. Trailing your fingers down to tug innefectually at his waistband, you smiled against his neck, suckling at his pulse to make him jump when you wrapped your hand around him.

“Mahal, lass,” he groaned, tilting his head to give you more room. Patience worn thin, he ripped your shift apart too, leaving the linen to float gently to the ground beside the chair. You shuddered, the warmth of his hands on your arse almost sensory overload. Keening into his skin, you panted harshly, chasing that peak you could feel coming with the force of an avalanche. Dwalin caught your mouth once more, a breathless kiss filled with tongue and teeth, and suddenly you exploded in pleasure.

 When you returned to your body, Dwalin was stroking along your back, still hard and throbbing beneath you. Pressing kisses against your tangled hair, his low chuckle rumbled through his chest when you sighed happily, leaning against his solid bulk.

“Bed, Dwalin,” you demanded, still floating blissfully. With little apparent effort, he picked you up, and once again you wrapped your legs around his waist. Sliding your arms around his neck, you pulled him down for another kiss, playfully duelling his tongue with your own. Dwalin groaned, thrusting lightly against you with each step.

“I want to have you like this, my Arnfrith,” he whispered, an admission, “just like this, against a pine tree with the thrill of battle setting my blood afire.” You could only moan in reply as you tightened your legs, rubbing shamelessly against him.

“I would have had you,” you admitted, hiding a blush against his bare shoulder. Your tongue darted out to taste his skin, “five years ago, I would have had you in that forest.” You nipped his shoulder, hard enough to be felt, though not to bruise. Dwalin moaned, his arms firmly around you.

“Please, amrâlimê, don’t say things like that if you want this to last,” he begged. You smirked, running one hand lightly down his chest until you could toy with the laces on his breeches.

“Did you want that, Dwalin?” you whispered, teasing, “want to lay me down next to our slain enemies and have your wicked way with me?” He shuddered in response and suddenly you found yourself bouncing on the mattress where he’d thrown you. Dwalin grinned darkly down at you, the sight making you shiver. Slowly, he untied his breeches, kicking off his boots and drawing the fabric down his powerful legs. Your mouth watered, staring at the corded muscles and the very obvious picture of arousal he presented.

“You’re a wee minx,” he claimed, his accent notably thicker. It did funny things to your insides, listening to his voice that low and husky. “Like tha’, is it, my wee lassie,” he crooned, moving to hover just above you on the bed. “Give me your pleasure, lass,” he commanded. You nodded fervently, moaning lightly when you felt him press against you, hard and wanting. Curling your hands around strong shoulders, you pulled him down on top of you for another kiss, sighing deeply into his mouth. Dwalin pulled your unresisting leg up, hitching it over his hip as he pressed against you, drawing back and pressing forth again without actually going where you needed him. You growled.

“Dwalin!” you pouted, trying to move him with the leg wrapped around his hip. “Come to me,” you whispered, enjoying the sound of his deep moan in your ear.

“Give me your heart,” he said, but you just nodded at the demand. One of his arms was holding his weight slightly off you, giving him space to stare down at your face. You smiled wickedly.

“Give me yours,” you demanded in return, making him laugh. Your chuckle turned into a broken moan when he surged forwards, trapping you against the mattress with his bulk in the best way. Bucking up to meet his every thrust was bliss. You weren’t aware of the way you moaned his name, the way he cursed you for being so tight he was ready to lose it already. Instead, you simply claimed his mouth in a kiss of pure passion, scoring your nails down his back at a particularly pleasurable move. Dwalin groaned. You distantly realised that he liked a lick of pain and did it again. Dwalin shuddered above you, but regained his iron self-control with a smirk you didn’t see.

“You’re mine,” he growled, nipping at your ear.

“Yours,” you agreed, nodding breathlessly as his clever hands roamed your responsive flesh, “all yours, my Dwalin, oh, Maker, yes!” you screeched, thrashing beneath his touch. “Please, amrâlimê,” you begged, “my Dwalin…” the rest of your words were lost in bliss. Dwalin smirked, feeling you shatter around him.

“Mine!” he roared, finding his own completion.

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Strength

Strength: Imagine being the odd couple with Dwalin where he is a big bad biker guy and you’re the sweet little school teacher. @hiccuplovver

Word count 1300

You drew stares, you knew, walking beside your husband. Of course, Dwalin being a proud member of the local – most people called it a biker-gang – motorcycle-club, The Company¸ drew stares even when he walked alone, with his shaved and tattooed head, his large beard and the dark lines that snaked their way around his knuckles, shaping runes that continued in stark lines up broad forearms, usually revealed by a short-sleeved shirt or rolled-up sleeves. The leather vest was another dead give-away, emblazoned with The Company in archaic lettering above the club’s logo, with Dwalin’s tag, The Warrior, in bold white below that. The black motorcycle boots and the dark jeans only added to his menacing presence. His broad shoulders and powerful frame drew stares of a different kind, you thought, smugly, possessively pleased that you alone were allowed to touch and enjoy his brawny physique.

The majority of the stares – Dwalin’s dark glare usually had mostly people hastily averting their eyes – were due to you, however. Next to Dwalin, you could only be described as dainty; soft brown locks framing a fair face, dark blue eyes and what one artistically inclined ex-boyfriend had called a rosebud mouth. You stood – in heels – slightly below Dwalin’s shoulder – getting him to stop resting his chin on your head to annoy you had been an uphill battle – and to most passersby it probably looked like Dwalin could snap you in half. You had overheard more than one person speculating as to your importance to the club – surely you must be that Oakenshield’s lady, for him to have assigned the fiercest-looking biker to you? The speculations made you smile, though they made Dwalin frown at times, looking to you for reassurance that you wouldn’t rather have been with Thorin. Who, while dear to you as all the boys were, bored you to tears with his long rants – particularly about mayor Thranduil – and, while he wasn’t bad-looking – anyone would admit that – he was also entirely uninterested in anything approaching romantic relationships, having lost his first love in a terrible house-fire many years ago. He lived for Dís, his sister, and her two small boys, Fíli and Kíli, and the club, fighting to keep a hold of his grandfather’s ancient estate, Erebor. Out there, he ran a very successful mechanics shop, where Dwalin worked too, fixing up old bikes and making car repairs and whatnot. You honestly had no idea what the boys filled their days with, and as long as Dwalin managed to get your small car running like a purring cat, you were happy to leave the technical stuff to him, while you attempted to teach English to a bunch of primary school students. Yes. You were the quintessential schoolteacher, who had married the ultimate bad boy. Sometimes, you wondered who’d written the script for your life, feeling caught up in an ironically amusing cliché, though you loved your husband every bit as fiercely as he did you.

Shuddering against a sudden bite of autumn chill, you pulled your green blazer more firmly closed, nodding a quiet smile in the direction of Mrs. Harrow, one of the parents in your newest class, who was staring wildly at the man next to you, while her daughter Michelle was smiling widely. It was Dwalin’s secret super-power, you’d always thought; instantly making any child love him. It always made you smile, seeing your big gruff biker turn into nothing but a large growling teddy-bear, putty in the hands of a child.

“Morning, Mrs. F!” the young girl called, waving enthusiastically. All the children called you Mrs. F, ever since your first year of teaching here – you hadn’t started until after you’d moved here and married Dwalin – when the children felt Fundinul was both odd and long to remember.

“Good morning, Michelle, Mrs. Harrow,” you returned her wave, your other hand warmly ensconced in Dwalin’s large palm. The big brute never felt cold, you thought, with a sting of envy. “This is my husband, Dwalin,” you nodded up at him, while Mrs. Harrow and Michelle were both staring at the tattooed skull and the half-missing ear – the ear had been lost to frostbite, many years ago, when Dwalin went mountain-climbing with Thorin and they got caught in a blizzard – the adult with barely concealed revulsion and the child with deeply fascinated awe.

“Morning,” Dwalin grumbled. Mrs. Harrow didn’t flinch at his tone, but it was a near thing, you thought, a glimmer of amusement lighting your heart. Wrapping your free hand around Dwalin’s forearm, you leaned closer into his side, his big bulk automatically shifting to accommodate you. You could tell that Mrs. Harrow wanted to brush quickly past you, but when she tried, Michelle caught the edge of your skirt, tugging in that way that meant she wanted to ask a private question. Bending down, you looked at her expectantly.

“Is Mr. F really strong?” she asked, hiding the not-so-whispered question behind her hand.

“Yes, I think Mr. F is the strongest man I know,” you nodded, winking conspiratorially. Above you, Dwalin’s rumbling chuckles sounded. Kneeling down beside you, uncaring about the state of his jeans on the dirty asphalt pathway, Dwalin smiled at the little girl.

“I could probably lift all three of you ladies at once,” he offered, the amused look in his eyes only growing with the sound of the scandalous squeak from Mrs. Harrow’s direction. Michelle looked awed. Then her eyes narrowed.

“Do it!” she challenged, smiling brightly. Mrs. Harrow squeaked again when Dwalin perched Michelle on his broad shoulders, uncaring that she was clutching his head for balance. “It’s so tall!” she shrieked. You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound becoming a bit breathless when Dwalin picked you up, settling your weight on one arm as you clutched his shoulders, hissing a fervent curse into his ear, which only made him laugh too. You wrapped one leg around his waist, letting his hips carry more of your weight. “Mama now, mama now,” Michelle pleaded, excited. You thought that Mrs. Harrow looked a little petrified, but she rallied at the look on her daughter’s face, stepping up and allowing Dwalin to put his strong arm around her, lifting her into the air. Michelle crowed happily. Mrs. Harrow was blushing redder than a tomato and you could feel Dwalin’s laughs rumble through his chest. Setting Mrs. Harrow back on her feet, a little flustered – having seen Mr. Harrow, you rather doubted anyone had lifted her since the day they were married… if he’d even managed that – Dwalin let you down next, swinging Michelle down from her perch as you tried to fix your skirt. “That… was… AWESOME!” the girl shouted, running in circles around the three adults. Mrs. Harrow cleared her throat, still blushing brightly.

“Yes, well,” she began, flustered, “say thank you to Mr. F, and then we really have to get back home for lunch, daddy’s waiting.”

“Thank you Mr F!” Michelle called, turning around to wave at the two of you, you waved back. “Bye Mrs  F!”

“See you in school on Monday,” you called, turning to smile at Dwalin.

“I thought that lady was going to faint,” he guffawed, as the two turned a corner. Finally, you couldn’t contain yourself either, falling against him nearly crying with mirth.

“I do love you, Dwalin Fundinul,” you smiled, pulling on his beard to bring him down for a kiss, unsurprised when he picked you up again, deepening the kiss passionately.

“Well, Mrs F,” his grey eyes sparkled down at you, when your feet once more found solid ground, “How about we go home too, so I can show you just how strong I am?” he winked. Smacking his chest half-heartedly, you chuckled, your mind already imagining scenarios involving Dwalin’s strong arms, talented mouth and a sturdy wall in your bedroom perfect for the purpose.

The rest of the series on Ao3: Smut, fluff, some angst, all the feels... enjoy! :)

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Adjân

A short story for @sweeticedtea​ who requested a Dwalin fic... this turned out more sad than I’d expected, sorry :/

word count 816

He was tired, but they were all tired these days, and Dwalin had never been one to complain about his lot. No, he left that to the King, to Thraín whose complaining had dragged their whole race into a war Dwalin wasn’t sure would ever end.

Of course, he told himself, trying to stay positive, he had seen more of the world than his dwarfling self had ever expected. Gladden fields, for example; apparently the site of an old battle, an ambush that killed a King of Men and his three sons all at once. There was little to see now, of course, it having happened more than 2500 years earlier – it was amazing the facts that people remembered, even with the Library in Erebor lost to the rule of a fire-breathing dragon – and Dwalin wondered if he was about to join this long-ago King in spilling his life’s blood across this stretch of land by a narrow river.

“No, you’re not,” came the wry reply, making Dwalin realise that he’d spoken the miserable thoughts out loud. He looked up sharply, a smile appearing on his face without his notice. “I’ll not allow it, Dwalin Fundinul, hear? You’re much too skilled to get killed – hey, that rhymed!” Cracking up with exhausted laughter at her own joke, the dwarrowdam collapsed on the grass beside him.

“Adjân!” he cried, surprised to see his mud-covered friend. “You’re back!” The young Blacklock smiled, flicking the silver cuff in his ear with a light chuckle. The nimble dwarrowdam was part of the scouting team for Dwalin’s regiment, and she had left with her patrol group several days before, trying to figure out where the Orcs were hiding.

“Aye,” she sighed, yawning, “and parched. Got any water in that skin of yours?” Wordlessly, Dwalin removed the water-skin tied to his belt, handing it to her and feeling his mouth go a little dry when she swallowed its contents, leaning back onto one elbow with a sigh.

“I was worried about you, knucklehead,” he chided gruffly, covering up his genuine concern – the trackers had been meant to return after a day, and had been more or less expected lost after the end of the second.

“Aww, shucks,” she smiled, tossing the skin back and moving around to find a comfortable spot in the tall grass. “You can stop worrying now, though,” Adjân continued, flicking a piece of grass at him, “well, maybe worry about yourself; think we’ll be in combat soon,” she added, frowning at him. Dwalin snorted lightly, making the sun glint off the sharp edge of his axe. Adjân shook her head lightly, the golden beads in her dark hair making a slight tinkle when she moved. “The Orcs we were tracking seem to have holed up in some old mineshafts, but they should be easily routed. The Fabarâl is designing strategy as we speak.” Closing her eyes, Adjân said no more, and Dwalin noted the dark circles beneath her eyes, realising that she had fallen asleep from exhaustion a few moments later when a light snore issued from his friend. Shaking his head, Dwalin returned to the business of sharpening his axe. This moment of peace would be over before he knew it, he suspected, even if Fabarâl Herna’s runner took longer than an experienced scout to track him down for the upcoming strategy sessions.

 Later, as he fell down onto his bedroll with a groan of tortured muscles, Dwalin would remember her teasing voice. ‘I’ll not allow it, Dwalin Fundinul, hear?’ the words delivered in her soft accent ringing in his head as he mechanically cleaned his weapons. He should have told her that, rather than the other way around. Perhaps she might not be lying on the pyre they would light in the morning if he had told her not to die. As foolish as the idea was, for a moment he wondered if speaking those words had been akin to a prayer, one that had been answered by the Valar. His ear would never be the same again – though he had killed the Orc who’d taken a bite of it – missing almost a third of its flesh, but he would have given far more than part of an ear if it had meant her smaller body had avoided the crushing blow that stole her from the world.

She was not the first friend he had lost in war; eventually, she wouldn’t even be the closest, but she was the first who had died in his arms, crumpled before him even as his axe cut off the head of her killer.

Her brown eyes, so lively and joyous in life, filled with the memory of sunlight and the pleasures of home, had turned dull and flat as she lay in his arms, staring at the iron-grey sky above them without seeing.

Her eyes would haunt his dreams for years, the fleeting smile on her lips always out of reach for a young Dwarf who was growing up too quickly.

When the pyre had burned down, they collected the ashes, preparing to send them back to those who would be looking for their loved ones in vain.

Dwalin looked down at the box he held. The runes were shaky, charred into the wood with a heated spear-tip, but clearly legible.

 Imnudiya Adjân, ra mahkajamai dê adjân.

 Her name was Adjân, and she gave me Hope.