#dwarven wedding

[asexuallucanisdellamorte]

if bioware do make a dlc for veilguard i will only accept a mass effect citadel style one. Rook and co can't go back into the fade so the inquisitor gifts them skyhold and the entire dlc is just inviting every single one of dragon age's previous characters to a massive party

[bluebellhairpin]

NEMO THANK YOU FOR SEEING THE LAIOS x PHON VISION.

Pls consider this our RSVP to your nuptials with Senshi. Our wedding gift is this hand stitched rendition of your dwarven beau’s very first pantyshot 😌 Sweet Laios carved the frame himself from some ent’s thumb he tried to eat

had to google what a nuptials was sorry omg what a thoughtful gift 🥺 I'm hanging it right infron of the door so everyone who walks into our home can see it 💕

[blujayonthewing]

getting to actually play dnd in person turns me completely insane I'll have one(1) session and be like 'oh okay gotta make elaborate themed snacks and go through my perfumes to work on the custom blend to evoke my character and change the ink color in my fountain pens but also they have to be aesthetically coordinated pens also I really ought to make some kind of holster for my panpipes so I can wear them on a belt oooh I bet I could make a mini for my sprite familiar by sticking some wings on an LED--'

[tathrin]

The next story I am Definitely Not Writing: a fic where Legolas and Gimli make it all the way to the Undying Lands before they realize that in addition to loving each other more than anything else in all of Arda, they are also in love with one another (this is less a realization on their part and more an assumption that just about everyone else in Aman makes on sight, and eventually they hear about it and go oh...dang...maybe...? and Legolas's mom facepalms forever) and hey what if they got married, then...?

Only the thing is, while an elvish marriage is very simple and requires literally nothing but the folks involved deciding to do it (and no, Thranduil is not allowed to demand that Gimli fetch some priceless jewel from the Fëanorian section of Tirion in order to prove himself worthy of Legolas's hand, although he tried very very hard to convince everyone that it was a great idea) a dwarven marriage is an elaborate ceremony, requiring the participation of both a dwarven officiant and several members of one's kin to perform the various elements of the ceremony.

...all of which are in short supply in this land of elves and valar.

Except. well. there aren't any other dwarves in Aman...but what there is, is the guy who made the dwarves. And he is VERY fond of Gimli. So when he learns that Gimli is kind of moping about the fact that he can't marry Legolas in dwarven-fashion, Aulë ENTHUSIASTICALLY volunteers to be the officiant and to set everything up and arrange just the BEST DWARVEN WEDDING EVER...

Because, you know. he's never actually been to one?

Gimli is stricken with horrified shock to realize just how much his own Maker has missed out on interactions with his beloved dwarves over the years, and immediately agrees to this plan (even though he knows it won't be a real dwarven wedding without his family there; but he'll swim back to Middle-earth before he says one word about that anywhere that Mahal can hear! he is going to do everything in his power to make this the best wedding ever for the sake of his Maker, dammit!).

So he gets to work crafting all the necessary accoutrements (with enthusiastic help from Celebrimbor and all his other elf-smith friends that Gimli has acquired since coming to these shores which is, let's be honest, quite a few) and carefully teaching Legolas all the necessary Khuzdul phrases and ceremonial steps that they can do to mimic as much of a proper wedding as they can without anyone else to help...

And when the big day comes, Aulë is vibrating so hard he's on the verge of setting off seventeen different earthquakes across the island, and not even Yavanna can get him to relax. Gimli and Legolas arrive to the appointed place, and find that they aren't alone: Aulë has invited Celebrimbor, too, seeing as he's the only elf in Aman who has actually participated in a dwarven wedding before with makes him the local expert as well as the closest thing to "kin" that Gimli is going to find on these shores...except.

Well, Mandos might be in charge of elvish souls, but dwarves? They belong to their Maker. And if Mahal decides he wants to...well, who is going to stop him from waking some of them up early, before the breaking of the world? Especially if he doesn't ask permission first. So when Gimli and Legolas hesitantly walk into this foreboding stone chamber, eerily close to the Halls of Mandos, wondering wtf is going on and have they offended the valar somehow and are they in trouble and if so how bad is it...?

Well, turns out Gimli will have kin at his wedding after all.

Mahal can't bring any of them back to life, not without the intervention and permission of Eru and probably Mandos too; but as long as they're in his halls, he can wake anybody he wants. So soon there is a great crowd of bewildered but enthusiastic dwarves gathered around Gimli, as he tries to explain what the heck is going on to a whole passel of relatives and friends, some of whom died even before the Lonely Mountain was reclaimed and don't even know how the Battle of Five Armies ended, let alone the whole thing with the Ring and the Fellowship...

And Legolas and Celebrimbor are standing near the entrance watching fondly, Legolas weeping around a great big smile and Celebrimbor torn between joy for Gimli and his own ever-bitter sorrows and then...

"Khelebrrimbor?" calls a deep dwarven voice, in a thick Khuzdul accent, and Celebrimbor stiffens like he's just been shot.

Suddenly there's a ruckus as a very burly dwarf is shouldering through the crowd, and Celebrimbor stumbles forward and throws himself at Narvi with a wail, and it's at least ten minutes before anyone can get a coherent word out of either of them (although it takes considerably less time to catch the gist of Narvi's lecture about how dare you and lucky he's already dead, or I'd have a gift for him he wouldn't forget in a hurry and what were you thinking???).

Legolas gives Aulë a very pointed raise of his eyebrows, and Aulë shrugs around an unabashed grin. "Who in all the ages of the world is more of an expert on marriages between elves and dwarves than the two of them? I am a craftsman, Greenleaf; of course I would want to make use of their skills and experience in this endeavor. Nothing more to it than that."

Legolas hums noncommittally, but his eyes are dancing.

Mahal ignores him and steps forward to start the wedding. It takes even him three tries before he can shout loud enough to be heard over the tumult and get everyone's attention, but eventually he gets them all to quiet down enough for the ceremony to begin. Not everyone in attendance is entirely thrilled by the prospect of Gimli marrying an elf (that elf) but no one is so cross that they walk back into their dreams of stone to avoid it, which Gimli chalks up as a victory.

(Legolas's terrible Khuzdul pronunciation doesn't help, but the very enthusiastic way he praises Gimli when the ceremony reaches that point makes up for a lot. By the time he finally runs out of words, a few of the more recalcitrant attendees have changed their tune about him. The fact that he's so good at weaving the required braids doesn't hurt, either.)

There aren't nearly enough refreshments for a crowd that size afterwards, of course, since Gimli and Legolas weren't expecting anyone but themselves and Aulë to be there; but that doesn't much matter, because 90% of those in attendance don't have the sort of corporealness that would allow them to eat the dwarven delicacies that Gimli spent all morning fussing over anyway. (That doesn't stop some of his more elderly relatives from scolding him for not following their recipes better.) They're solid enough that you can hug them or kiss them, in the case of a certain former smithlord of Eregion or get half-knocked off your feet by their congratulatory backslaps, but they aren't alive. They're still the dreaming dead...it's just that for the moment, they're dreaming in a bit more wakefulness than usual.

In the end it's not what one would call an orthodox dwarven wedding, no; but it's a lot closer than Gimli thought he would get, and since he's hardly an orthodox dwarf, the small tweaks and oddities of their strange situation don't bother him in the slightest.

As for Aulë, he's never been happier.

And if it takes a long, long time for Celebrimbor to finally leave (and if he tries to devise a way to prop the door open on his way out)...well, Aulë is enjoying himself far too much to do anything but pretend not to notice. Even when Námo clears his throat at him very pointedly.

Twice.

And then again. And again.

"Aulë...!"

[faeriichaii]

There's just inches in between us ~ Thorin x Fem!Reader

A/N: Ok so I just am really obsessed with that one juicy part from the song shameless (I actually don't like the song I just literally listen to that one part on loop) and I immediately thought about Thorin so I guess that's his song now :p Also I literally never have written any kind of smut in my life before so this is totally new 😔😔 I really hope you guys like it!! And have fun 🥰

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Warnings: Smut with plot (MDNI), Unprotected sex, Fingering Kinda enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, kinda fluff?? ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Words: 4.1k (oops lmao) ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Request: No :) ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Amrâlimé ~ My Love ࿐ྂ

Summary: You were the princess of another kingdom, meant to marry none other than the dwarven King Thorin from the lonely mountain. You rarely get the chance to talk to him and decide to visit him the night before the wedding, asking him to give you some attention.

The carriage, you were sitting in was rocking from side to side as you slowly approached your destination. Your hands holding tightly onto the dark green dress you were wearing. Gold details were stitched delicately on the upper half of the garment, making up swirls, as well as flowers. You tried to pretend to be listening to your father, who still was talking about your upcoming marriage. Arranged marriage. Your father set up an arranged marriage between your kingdom and Erebor. The thought of being wed to an unknown man made your stomach churn. “(Y/N) are you listening? This is very important for you to know and accept.” “My king, I apologize for my rudeness but I do not wish to hear anymore about this matter.” You were beyond upset and hurt about the decision your father, the king of Thuiniel, took without even your consent. It’s not like he needed consent. A warning would have been nice. Any kind of sign so you would have known that you will move away from home. So you would have known that you will no longer be a free woman and instead be the wife of another king. So you would have known that you will become a queen to an unknown kingdom.

Your fathers’ eyes mustered you sadly, understanding your attitude towards him. “(Y/N), I know you are hurt and I know you are mad at me, however you yourself know that it will be the best for the kingdom.” The kingdom. During the years, Thuiniel has seen and faced a major number of wars. Most of them went well for you, however nowadays the kingdom is in need of support from anyone they can get. Your two older sisters have been married for years to different parts of Middle-Earth, which resulted in an alliance between these three kingdoms. But even they can’t constantly send support towards Thuiniel. So your father decided to search for another alliance that can give him the resources he needs. And this resulted in you receiving the news just a week prior to the wedding.

A sigh left your lips as you looked out of the small window in the carriage. Trees were lining the path you were traveling on. Your gaze settled on the palace that was built deep into the mountain. “Do you know any important information about Erebor?” You asked your father, eyes still locked on your destination. Normally you would have looked into various books and scrolls in your library before travelling to another kingdom, but the news of your marriage shocked you so immensely, that you already despised everything that had anything to do with it. “Erebor is known for their massive mine, as well as the various jewels and gold they keep deep inside of the mountain.” A hum left your lips as you tried to remember the words you father continued to spill about your future kingdom.

A sudden jolt of the carriage made you realize that you just arrived at your destination. The wooden door opened as a hand was held inside. Your father stood up, took the hand and left you alone in the carriage. You took a deep breath before following your father out of the small compartment. Once outside, you looked around at the trees and the nature surrounding the palace, before focusing on your future home. Home. The thought left a bitter taste on your tongue. “King Thorin Oakenshield, it is very nice to make your acquaintance.” Your father said, before bowing down in front of a dwarf. “Let me introduce you to my lovely daughter, princess (Y/N). Your soon-to-be-wife.” Thorin looked at you before giving you a short nod. You bit your tongue, in order to not snap at his attitude towards you. Taking the material of your dress in your hand, you curtsied and whispered a soft ‘It is nice to make your acquaintance’ towards the king.

After the short introduction, you were shown around the castle as well as parts of the mine underground. The king however was not in attendance. Night approached quickly and you excused yourself after dinner to finally get some alone time in your chambers. On your way you stumbled upon the library of Erebor. Deciding to take a peek, you opened the door. Books and scrolls were lining the shelves of the room. A dwarf was in front of one of the shelves, his attention now on you instead of the book in his hands. “You must be our future queen. Welcome to the palace’s library.” He bowed down in front of you. “My name is Balin, how can I help you?” “Please just call me (Y/N). You smiled softly at the nice man. “I was wondering if you have any good books about Erebor? I should have informed myself about the kingdom before my arrival but I had… difficulties.” “Of course (Y/N). Let’s see…” He was walking around the room, taking the ladder attached to the shelf with him. “Ah this should be a good start.” His hands grabbed a thick leather-bound book that has the words ‘History of the lonely Mountain’ in gold etched into it. Taking it in your own hand you thanked him, before leaving and trying to find your chambers once more.

A yawn left your lips as you quietly ate your breakfast. You have read a little more than you would like to admit and totally forgot the time yesterday night. The history written down in the book completely captivating you. Your gaze fell from your father to the other few people who were chatting happily with each other, until your eyes stopped at the man who sat on your right. Your soon-to-be-husband. His hair was braided on each side of his face. You remember reading about some of the customs of dwarven culture and how important their hair (beard included) is to them. You take a sip of the tea that was specifically prepared for you, trying to stifle another yawn.

“Have you not slept enough?” Thorin asks from beside you his voice a slight hint of irritation. Your eyebrow twitched in annoyance at his question. “My apologies my king, I lost track of the time yesterday.” “What have you been reading?” Cutting into the eggs that were served in front of you, you took a big bite. “I have been reading about the History of Erebor. As a future Queen I would like to learn as much about my kingdom as I can.” “How come you did not study about the kingdom before your arrival?” Setting down your cutlery, you looked at him with annoyance. One of his eyebrows was raised as he waited for your answer. Was he mocking you? “I did not have enough time to remember all the details from Erebor. Especially because a certain someone wished for the marriage to happen as soon as possible.” Your father had told you that normally you would have a few months in advance to get to know your husband and roughly around a year for the marriage. However, Thorin apparently requested that the marriage happens as soon as possible, which resulted in the date being set in a month from now on. After hearing the news, you didn’t just simply dislike your husband but despised him. You still were mad at your father after he told you this new information yesterday, however your hate now mostly lay on Thorins shoulders.

The entire table was quiet as the air went heavy around the two of you. “The reason behind the date being set in a month is to ensure the safety of Thuiniel. Another war could be right around the corner and I would not wish to risk another empire be taken over by Orcs while I am getting married.” Anger flickered in his gaze. You continue eating your breakfast, not wanting to fuel the fire by arguing against the king. A sigh escaped your lips as you finally left the dinner room behind you, followed by your father. “(Y/N) we urgently need to talk.” He takes your arm and pulls you into his chambers. “Have you lost your mind?!” He angrily exclaims, flailing his arms around while walking up and down. “Father, I apologize but he just-“ “No! (Y/N) take a moment to think about your actions! Erebor was the best candidate for an alliance with our kingdom. This alliance can ensure the safety for several decades! You, arguing with the king, could result in him not being interested in the marriage anymore and Thuiniel falling into the hands of Orcs!” You bit down on your lip, as your head was lowered in shame. Your eyes focused on your shoes as you listened to your father’s rant.

He takes a deep breath, before walking towards you and taking your arms gently in his hands. “I know you are hurt and scared, but please please think about the wellbeing of Thuiniel.” A sigh left your lips. “I will father.” With that you left his chambers. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you searched the library, in order to take a good book with you and get your mind off of things. Upon entering the room, you could see Thorins back facing the door. Oh no. “Have you already found the scrolls Balin?” He asked, not looking up from the papers in his hands. You shifted from one foot to another as you decided if you should leave or stay. “I apologize my king, but I am not Balin. Listening to your voice, his eyes snapped up from the papers towards you. “How can I help you princess?” Biting down on your lip you thought a moment about what you should say in order to save the little chemistry you should have as the future royal couple. “I wanted to apologize for my behaviour earlier.” At that, Thorin lay his papers down, intently listening on what else you had to say. “I shouldn’t have reacted this way but neither did I expect a wedding announcement last week. I couldn’t prepare myself, neither did I get a proper chance on finding out who I am about to marry. It is a lot that suddenly falls on top of me and so many more things are piling up without a chance to properly think about anything to be honest.” You looked at the dwarf, who started to approach you. His gaze was locked on your eyes. His beautiful blue eyes. “One month will be enough time to get your head sorted through and get used to living in Erebor. We will get to know each other on the way there and you will learn how to be a queen.” He said, trying to reassure you. Gently, he takes your hand in his. Turning your palm upwards, he places something on top, before closing your fingers around it. “I also took the liberty of reading into your kingdom, Thuiniel, and the few customs you have. This is also the reason as to why I wanted the wedding to happen in a month. Your kingdom is in dire need of a strong alliance due to the wars that happened one after another and I can be of help. I never want to witness other kingdoms defeat due to an army of Orcs.” You blinked at the man in front of you, not exactly knowing how to respond to him. A smile stretched over your lips. “Thank you so much Thorin.” You left afterwards, heading towards your chambers. Opening your palm, you saw a small golden ring in your hand. Taking it between your fingers, you took a careful look of it. A green gem was present in the middle. Gold flowers were etched into each side of the gem, while a small diamond sat atop of the green one. The ring almost looked like a golden crown. Putting it on your ring finger you smiled softly. Maybe there was some hope.

The weeks passed in a storm and you got quite accustomed to living in Erebor. During your stay, you also got to know Thorins’ nephews Fili and Kili. Most of your time was spent with them, while they tell you all about how they got to win Erebor back with their uncle and several other dwarves. Balin also gave you some lessons on important things and events to know about Erebor as well as the dwarven culture. He emphasized on the fact that you have to offer Thorin a bead and braid a strand of his hair. “It will signify that he is a married dwarf and found his One.” He once said. One. It has been stuck in your mind for the past week. You wouldn’t call yourself his One. You haven’t even really gotten the chance to get to know him like he told you, so even if you were his One, you wouldn’t know. You did meet him more often than before however; the conversation was always kept to a minimum. The fact that he still is a mysterious man to you makes your heart twist painfully. You even knew Kilis and Filis entire live story by heart after just a week and can barely remember that he is also called Thorin Oakenshield? Unacceptable. And this is the sole reason as to why you are approaching his chambers after another uneventful day of you two only communicating for roughly ten minutes. Sitting on a chair by his desk, he raised an eyebrow at your intrusion.

“I thought I told you that if you needed anything, you can always ask Balin.” A sigh left your lips, as you made yourself comfortable on his bed. “Well Balin is not you now, is he?” Your arms were folded in front of you, gaze never leaving the king. “Listen Thorin, I have had enough. We barely talk with each other and I still only know your name. I don’t know anything about you and it annoys me. We are supposed to get married tomorrow and the only conversations we held was about sleep and our schedule of the day.” An exasperated sigh left his lips. “(Y/N) I really can’t deal with this or with you right now.” “Excuse me?” One of your eyebrows was raised as the words Thorin just muttered reverberate in your head. Anger slowly started to build up inside of you at his uncalled attitude.

“I think one month should have been enough time to get your head sorted through.” You spat at him. His eyes squint together, ready to say more but you cut him off. “You can’t constantly keep pushing me away. We have to share a lifetime together, if you want to or not. Just because you constantly find excuses to leave me behind and continue to do whatever else doesn’t mean-“ “Whatever else? I am trying to safe your kingdom! Your home!” “This is my home!” You yelled at him, face slightly tinted red. Even if you only have been in Erebor for roughly a month, you already accepted and loved it like it was your home. Which it was. “I love Thuiniel, but it is no longer my home. My father sent me here to marry you and get used to living in Erebor. Thuiniel is not as helpless as you make it out to be. My brother is the one in charge while my father is still here, waiting for the marriage to be fulfilled. My brother is capable of taking care of it and even if he needs help, we have other alliances and not just Erebor.” You take a breath to calm yourself down. “As a king you should not just take care of the kingdom but also of the people surrounding you. And for the time being I must admit, you are a bad king to me.” Thorin approaches you with a few quick strides. His hands lowered on each side of your thighs as he leaned into your personal space. “You dare to call me a bad king? Just because I don’t give you the attention you so desperately need?” His hot breath made your cheeks warm up. Eyes wide you stare into his blue ones, that shine with an unknown fire. You were about to say something, however the lump in your throat prevented you from muttering anything.

“You want attention princess? You shall get it.” His hand moved towards your face, pulling you towards his lips. Shocked at the sudden movement you gasped softly. Thorin took this as an invitation and deepened the kiss. You slowly started to relax into his arms, as you wrapped your hands around his neck. Your mind still was a jumbled mess, however your body was in dire need of his touch as well as his warmth.

Untangling your arms from his neck, you moved up the bed, towards the headboard. Thorin followed you, never once breaking the kiss. His warm hand travelling toward your neck, while his other hand grasped onto your thigh. He somehow managed to position himself between your legs. Breaking apart from the kiss, the both of you had to catch your breath, red cheeks and eyes glazed over with a burning passion. “How much of my attention do you want?” Thorin asked, voice slightly deeper than normal. “I wish to have all of it.” Your hand gently held the side of his face, thumb stroking his rosy cheek. Eyes flitting from his eyes to his lips, you leaned towards him, pulling him into another passionate kiss. Tongues were entangling into each other while your fingers played with the strands of his hair. He moved from your lips across your face, towards your neck. A gasp escaped your lips as you felt his teeth sink into the skin beneath your jaw, marking you. His big hands travelled from your waist to your dressed boobs. Moving his head from your neck, he looked at your dress. “Turn around Amrâlimé. So I can undo your dress.” He quickly moved aside, as you turned around and let him unravel the corset. His fingers brushed against your back as you wished they would continue to travel along your body. “Stand up.” He ordered and you willingly complied. The sleeves of the dress travelled down, as the bodice slowly also moved to the floor, until you were only left in your panties.

“My beautiful queen.” He stood up from the bed and pulled you in by your waist. Your hands desperately grasping onto his neck, as he sat down on the plush mattress, making you straddle him. You felt his hard cock rub against the inside of your thigh. A soft moan escaped your lips. You wanted him. You needed him. Thorins hands slowly moved towards your breasts. Taking your nipples between his fingers he rolled them around. You leaned into his touch as you held onto his shoulders for some stability. Pants left your lips as you decided to grind on his cock, desperate for any kind of friction. Thorin let out a grunt, focussing on your left nipple with his left hand, while his lips rapped around the right one. A moan leaving your lips as his tongue flicked over it. After a few seconds he switched sides. The fingers of his right hand left a ghostly trail behind as they moved towards your awaiting core. Pushing your panties aside, his fingers moved through your wet folds.

A chuckle left his lips. “You really love my attention, don’t you?” The only thing you could do was nod, as he drew soft circles on your clit, making you immediately stop your grinding on his clothed dick. “I need a verbal response my queen.” He stopped moving his fingers around, making you whine at the loss. “Yes. Please.” A smirk was present on his lips as he left gentle kisses on your jaw. “Please what?” He teased as he continued to rub small circles. “Thorin I want you. I want your attention please.” As soon as these words left your lips you were thrown on the bed. Your legs were parted as Thorin began to undress himself. You watched his fingers work to undo the buttons of his shirt before pulling it over his head. Sitting up you let your hands travel from his broad shoulders, over his hairy chest and down his abs until they arrived at the happy trail that led to his hard cock. You slowly undid the button on his pants, before pulling them down together with his underwear. His dick sprung free. He was thick and hard, some precum already leaking from his tip. You carefully wrapped your hand around him, making him sigh contentedly at your touch. He felt warm and heavy around your fingers. You couldn’t even close your hand properly at his thickness. Moving your hand up and down slowly you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

“My king, do you crave my attention as much as I crave yours?” You asked him, sweetly tilting your head to the side still holding onto him. “Yes. Yes I do Amrâlimé.” His hands grasped your shoulders, as he pushed you down on the matress. He spread your legs further apart, before taking off your panties and stepping between your legs. Goosebumps spread across your arms as your wet cunt was hit by the cold air. Thorins fingers immediately worked towards your core. You moaned as he let one of his fingers enter you. He pumped his digit inside you a few times before adding another finger. Your hands held onto his biceps as you felt his fingers curl up inside of you. His lips were on yours as he swallowed your desperate and high-pitched moans. The heat in your lower stomach made your toes curl as you slowly felt the familiar sensation approach. Suddenly it all was gone as Thorin pulled his fingers from you. You pouted at him sadly. “I want you to cum on my dick, not on my fingers.” He said, taking his dick in his hands and moving the tip between your folds. “Thorin.” You gasped as he made contact with your swollen clit. “Please.” You begged him. “What do you want my queen?”

His hands were holding you down by the waist, stopping you from moving around anymore. “I want you inside of me please. I want to feel you.” With that, Thorin lined the tip of his cock up with your entrance. Slowly he pushed inside. Your walls tightened around him making him groan out. A gasp escaped your lips at the slight burning sensation of the stretch inside you. He was big and you really felt it. Your hands held him close by his back, as he started to move inside you. Your spongey walls welcoming him in with every thrust he does. Your moans, mixed with his own grunts, echoed from the walls of his chambers. Each thrust made you feel closer to him and closer to heaven. His lips were on yours again, swallowing each sound you make. Warmth spread through your whole body as you felt the knot tighten in your lower regions. Thorin grabbed your thighs and bend them towards your shoulders. Loud moans escaped your lips at the new angle. His cock throbbing inside of you while your walls tightened around him. You knew you were close and so did he. Hence his finger moved toward your swollen clit. “Cum for me my queen. Cum on my dick.” You gasped at his words. The knot in your lower region came undone as you felt the bliss of your orgasm wash over you. Your nails still digging into Thorins back as he increased the speed of his thrusts until you felt his dick twitch before his warm cum filled you up.

After a few moments of still moving inside you he pulled out, making his cum drip out of your hole. He used his thumb to push his cum back into you. You moved your body properly on the bed, before hiding under the covers. Blush still visible. A chuckle left Thorins lips as he joined you under the covers. “This isn’t exactly what I meant earlier.” You mumbled, face still hidden partly by the blanket. He softly put a strand behind your ear, letting his hand stroke your cheek gently. “I promise you, we will have plenty of time to get to know each other. We will learn to love each other and I certainly will learn to give you the attention you need and deserve Amrâlimé.” He planted a soft kiss on your forehead. Maybe the both of you really have the potential to be the missing puzzle pieces for each other. The Ones you need.

[brainrotbabe24]

Can you write something about Reader x Fili when Readers human friend braids their hair in a platonic way but the dwarves, due to their traditions, assume its romantic and Fili is like really sad cause he wanted to ask reader to court?? ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hi! Thank you for your request! Fili is one of my favorites, so I had a lot of fun writing this one. 💖🎉

The Misread Braid: Part 1

Rating:fluff/angst/ sfw

Relationship: filixreader

Author note: For some reason, I keep getting errors when I try to post the whole thing, so I will have to split it into two posts

It had been a year since Erebor was reclaimed. The dwarves were slowly returning, the city was being rebuilt, and everyone's spirits were high—especially Fili's. He had fallen head over heels for you. The flirting, the lingering glances, and the late-night strolls made it clear to everyone that a royal wedding might be on the horizon. The feelings between you two were undeniable, and everyone, including you, could see it.

You even wrote to your friend from home, inviting them to visit for a month. You had a feeling Fili might soon ask to court you, and you wanted your friend's help to look your best. Erebor didn't have the amenities you were used to, so you asked your friend to bring as much as possible. You even asked them to bring a lovespoon, a courting tradition for your hometown. You weren't familiar with Dwarven courting rituals but were excited to see what Fili would do.

—------------

One day, Fili was out handling his daily duties when he spotted you standing on the ramparts overlooking Dale.

"Y/N?" he called out, a smile spreading across his face.

You turned and saw him. "Fili!" you exclaimed, running over to hug him.

You stayed in each other's embrace for a while. "What are you doing out here?" he asked, his arms lingering on yours. "It's freezing."

"I was just too excited," you replied. "My friend is coming to visit."

"That's right, they're coming today, aren't they?" he asked 

"Yes!" you squealed with excitement. "Oh, I'm so excited for you to meet them!

Fili chuckled. "I'm excited to meet them, too! I have a meeting with Thorin today, but find me later, and we can all have dinner together."

"Sounds perfect!" you agreed.

Fili smiled and waved goodbye, his heart light and his smile wide. He was planning to court you later that week and was on his way to talk to Thorin about it. Everything was going to be perfect! 

—------------

Later that evening, everyone gathered to meet your friend at the tavern. The air was filled with laughter and lively conversation as Fili walked in, eager to make a good impression.

"Fili, over here!" you called, waving him over.

Fili walked over and hugged you. "This is my friend," you said, introducing them.

"Nice to meet you," Fili said, shaking their hand. 

"So this is Fili," your friend said, elbowing you playfully. "What a dream boat, Y/N?"

"Stop it!" you giggled, playfully hitting their arm.

Fili was confused. "Dreamboat?" he thought.

"Come on, let's get some beer," you said, leaning on Fili's arm. You walked to the table, where everyone was still bombarding your friend with questions.

"Tell me," Dwalin asked, "how was the journey? Long?"

"Not too long, about four months—it would've been sooner, but it started to snow," your friend replied.

"Snow!" Bilbo exclaimed.

"Where are you staying?" Kili asked.

"With Y/N," your friend responded.

Fili started feeling a twinge of jealousy and confusion. He didn't know your friend was staying with you? He tried to dismiss his growing discomfort. "Calm down, Fili," he told himself. “It's just Y/N being nice to a friend, nothing more." He took a swig of his beer and forced a smile.

But as the evening went on, there were more moments when Fili could not shake the jealous feeling. Your friend bought you beer, touched your arm, and you even danced with them. Fili was all mixed up and even agreed to take you two to the Dale the next day! “How did that happen?” He thought. Maybe he was overreacting. There was no reason to be worked up; he just met them. But FIli's thoughts were interrupted.

"That dress really commands attention," your friend said. They leaned into you and touched your tunic. You wrapped your arms around them and laughed, blushing a little. 

Fili choked on his drink.  He didn't think the night could get worse. He felt horrible and wanted to just leave. Getting up, he went to the bar to close his tab. Kili and Bilbo were there getting more drinks for the table. 

"Leaving so soon?" Bilbo asked

"Yeah," Fili said shortly

"Why?" Kili asked. "It's not even that late."

Fili shrugged.

"Come on, stay a little longer. I bet y/n would want you to walk them home." Kili said.

"They have their friend, remember" Fili scoffed. 

"They're just friends; I wouldn't worry about it. Plus, Y/N told me they invited them for a special reason." Kili laughed

"Maybe y/n thinks something is going to happen… a royal courtship perhaps" Bilbo winked

Fili looked back at the table. Maybe he could stay. Fili had a feeling you knew he was going to ask. He smiled and shook his head. He was being silly. He was about to say something when he saw your friend lean down, whispering in your ear. You nodded, a blush rising to your cheeks.

"Why did Y/N nod?" Fili muttered, a mix of confusion and jealousy creeping in.

"Are you sure it was a nod?" Kili asked.

"Maybe they are agreeing to something…like another dance," Bilbo suggested, adding to Fili's anxiety.

Your friend then stood up and moved behind you, lazily undoing your bun and letting your hair fall down your back. They picked up a strand and started to braid it.

Bilbo and Kili glanced at Fili, whose face had turned a deep crimson red. Throwing down some money, Fili stammered, "I-I can't watch this anymore," and made a beeline for the door.

"Oh shit," Kili muttered under his breath, realizing the situation.

Still trying to stay positive, Bilbo leaned in and whispered, "It might not have been a braid, right? Maybe it's just a... fancy knot?"

—------------

Consumed with the company of your friends, you stayed out until the wee hours of the morning, laughing and sharing stories. It wasn't until you woke up the next day that you remembered not seeing Fili after he abruptly left the table.

Concerned, you quickly got dressed and decided to go looking for him. Making your way through the busy halls of Erebor, your eyes scanned the faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

You checked the usual spots—the training grounds, the forge, even the quiet corner of the library—but there was no sign of Fili. Growing more anxious, you asked a few dwarves if they had seen him, but they only shook their heads.

Finally, after what felt like hours of searching, you headed toward the ramparts, hoping to find him there. As you approached, you spotted a familiar figure standing alone, his back turned to you, shoulders tense. It was Fili.

"Fili," you said with a sigh of relief, "I've been looking for you everywhere."

Fili didn't look at you. 

"You left last night without saying goodbye. What was that about?"

He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't find the words—his heart ached as he noticed you still had the braid in.

"Fili," you said, concerned.

"Sorry, Y/N, I'm super busy. I can't talk right now," he said, clearing his throat.

"But we're supposed to go to Dale today."

"Plans changed," he said quickly 

"What does that mean?"

He looked up at you, his eyes red and puffy.

"Are you—?" you trailed off, unsure.

"I gotta go, Y/N," he said, brushing past you, wiping a tear from his face.

----

Part 2:

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 11

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content (parts 9 and 11), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning. This chapter also contains very light smut.

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44, @melmel-fandom, @hufflepufferine, @shadows-and-flowers, @xcrybaby555x, @bespectacledhuman

Face claim: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 (contains smut), Part 10

A/N: Well, I'm sorry everyone - I know I promised the wedding for the next chapter, but the file hit 10k and the flow was terrible, and so the first part is what you're getting now. I still plan to get the actual wedding out this week, likely Friday or Saturday! Thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy this chapter. -WTT

Part 11

The afternoon sun bathed the weaving room, painting it in shades of soft, hazy pink and gold. The fabrics on the looms shone in the light; Linnea was working a white velvet on the velvet loom, and on the regular loom, she was just beginning a new test fabric in shades of grey. The sunlight turned it brighter, almost purple; she was mixing linen and wool for a soft, easy drape. And if she was successful with the charms she had planned, it would be a pattern she would share with the weavers that helped clothe the army.  

Her eyes anxiously passed over it. Her hands, idle now, twitched to work, to let out the nervous energy that filled her.

But this day was not a day for weaving.

Adabes and the servants had done their work well. All was in readiness; a sideboard had been moved into the room, and was laid with fruit and bread and cheese and various other refreshments. Wine had been set out, as well as water flavored with mint and lemon. The weaving room itself was immaculately clean, all of the tools and supplies neatly put away, all of the scraps of fabric and ends of threads swept up. 

A book sat on the table next to her, but she barely recalled the title. She had brought it to distract herself while she waited, but she might as well not have taken the trouble. There was no distraction possible.

Fortunately, she did not have to wait for long.

A stamp on the landing alerted her to the first of the arrivals, and her ears strained for a hint as to who it might be. She heard heavy boots, grunts - 

A fist thumped on the door, and it swung inward.

“The Princess Disa, of the Dwarven realm of Khazad-dûm.”

Linnea rose, and as she did so, the princess stepped into the weaving room. 

She was dressed in light grey, a silken fabric that flowed around her figure and draped in a way that made Linnea want to examine the weaving much more closely. And there was gold upon her everywhere: a heavy gold pectoral necklace with triangular pendants dangling from it, as well as gold bracelets, gold beads upon her gown, and even gold paint staining her thick dark hair and her fingers.  

Linnea wondered if such a thing had ever happened before. Disa’s husband, Prince Durin, had met and treated with Gil-galad. But had there ever been a meeting of an Elven queen and a Dwarf princess? If there had, it had surely been hundreds of years ago.

Disa stopped after a few steps, and she curtseyed deeply as the door shut behind her. 

“Lady Linnea,” she said. “On behalf of all Khazad-dûm, I thank you for welcoming me into your halls.”

It had been a careful plan that they had made together, herself and Gil-galad, debating various strategies for how they might receive the most important of their guests. They had considered a more formal dinner for this last night before the wedding, but had eventually settled on separate, more casual affairs, Linnea with the women and Gil-galad with the men. Even now, he was likely greeting Prince Durin, as well as the Elven lords that had also arrived in the last two days.

She supposed she should be grateful that there were fewer women for her to manage. Oropher had brought his queen, and his son had come as well, but Thranduil was not yet wed. And the lord of Lórien’s wife had perished some time ago. She had extended the invitation to Commander Galadriel, and to the commander of the Eastern Armies as well, but all told, she would not be working as hard as Gil-galad.

And with that thought, part of her regretted the other decision that they had made concerning that evening.  

She would not go to him that night. They would not take their tea together; they would not discuss their days; there would be no shared pleasure. They would stay and sleep apart, this final night. They would rise separately and prepare for the wedding, and only once they were ready would they see each other again.  

She knew her bed would feel empty without him. It had been easy to grow accustomed to his warmth next to her, the sound of his soft breath as he slept. But it added weight, if any needed to be added, that this was the very last night she would sleep alone. 

And besides that, it was probably a good idea to stay apart, after what had happened the previous night. After how near she had come to be standing there, greeting the Princess Disa, as a married woman. 

It is the second time Ereinion has done this. The first had had her nearly cracking her own spine in half at the feel of his tongue between her legs. And while that first time had been pleasurable beyond belief, it is even better now; with repetition comes perfection, and she lies there moaning and incoherent as he tastes her. Her slender legs are over his broad shoulders and his hand teases, two fingers slowly slipping in and out of her in rhythm with his lips and tongue. 

And once she’s had her pleasure, he slides up her body for a deep kiss. Neither of them is wearing much at all, and he’s on top of her, and her thighs are tight around his hips, and it would be so easy. 

So easy.

He looks into her eyes, and a word from her would shatter his resolve - what is left of it. She looks back at him, and a word from him would shatter hers.

And perhaps that knowing, that unwillingness to speak it but willingness to accept it, is what stops them in the end. What has him rolling off of her, wrapping trembling arms around her trembling self, holding her until the fire ebbs a little and they both have their breath back.  

It is not much longer to wait. 

She drew in a breath, and made her own curtsey to Disa, whose eyes widened at the movement. 

“Princess,” Linnea murmured. “You are most welcome, and I thank you for gracing my hall with your company.”

As they took each other's measure, she found that she liked the look of this Disa. Elrond had returned late last night, with Disa and Durin accompanying him; this was the first sight Linnea had had of the Dwarf princess. She had met more Dwarves than most Elves, due to the merchants that had frequented Eregion, and their ways were not so strange to her. There was a strength about the princess that ran as deep as the mountain she called home; she could be a formidable ally, if the seeds that Linnea was planting eventually bore fruit.

Disa smiled, folding her hands in front of her. “My husband may have made his grand protests, but he understood the honor you showed us with the invitation. If he'd kept saying no, I would have dragged him here by his beard. And he would have thanked me for it in the end.”

Linnea laughed; the words conjured an image of herself doing the same with Gil-galad, only by his hair. She wasn't at all sure she'd win that fight, although it might be rather amusing to attempt it.

“Please,” she urged. “Help yourself to refreshment, if you like. I am sure you must be tired from the journey.”

Disa needed no further encouragement. She made her way to the sideboard, looking appreciatively at the array of food that was laid out. “We did keep a fast pace. No time to spare, to get here in time. And we'll be needing to head home again as soon as the wedding is over.”

Linnea nodded. She could guess the reasoning behind it, the maneuvering for the throne that they had heard whispers of even in Lindon. Gil-galad’s thought to use their wedding as a message, inviting the prince and throwing their support behind the candidate most friendly to Elves, had been a sound one. Part of her disliked that they had to consider such things, but the rest of her knew that that was the life she had chosen. Almost everything would be political now.

“Then I shall do everything I can to ensure you enjoy your time here,” she said, smiling as Disa took a plate and began heaping it full. 

“You've certainly made a good start,” the princess said, popping a piece of cheese in her mouth. “A full stomach goes a long way to ensuring a smooth road.” 

Linnea chuckled again. Now that this first greeting was over, her nervousness was beginning to settle down, and she felt confident enough to join Disa at the sideboard and pour herself a glass of wine. She watched as the princess turned, starting to glance around the room even as she ate, and her heart fluttered with pride at the look on Disa’s face. The Dwarf woman was impressed. 

Her eyes landed on the frame loom, and she let out a satisfied sound. “I knew I'd like you when Elrond said you were a weaver,” she said, beginning to walk to the loom. “Do ye know what it's going to be yet?”

Linnea nodded, walking over to join Disa at the loom. “If all goes well, it will become the pattern for a cloak for Lindon's armies. It is something my mother was very gifted at - laying protective charms on the threads. I learned much from her.”

Disa's brows lifted, and the impressed look was back on her face. “I thought I could feel something from it. There's a sort of vibration, isn't there?”

Linnea knew that other Elves could feel the art to varying degrees, depending on their sensitivity. Most would have at least a feeling of safety and protection. But to actually sense the charms at work? She could do it, especially if it was the art of someone she knew well, like her mother and father. So could other weavers. But a Dwarf? 

She groped for words, stunned almost beyond speech. “How is it you can feel it?” she managed. 

Disa smiled, satisfied to be affirmed. “We Stone Singers use our voices to resonate with the mountain that is our home. Aulë granted us the gift to sing to the rock so that we may take from it properly and know where best to leave it undisturbed. This fabric has a song of its own, for those with the ear to hear it.”

A thousand questions leapt to Linnea's mind. If she had had her way, she would have spent every moment until the wedding the next day interrogating Disa about what exactly a Stone Singer was and what resonating meant. A fancy crossed her thoughts of arranging a visit to Khazad-dûm; the logistics and politics of an Elven queen visiting the Dwarves were second to wanting to witness this stone singing for herself. 

But then Disa hummed.

Linnea felt the fabric come to life at the sound, as brief as it was. The charms she had laid so far were subtle, more experimentation than anything else. But at the sound of Disa’s voice, the intensity increased tenfold; she could feel the faint protections even without touching the fabric. The magic radiated off the cloth, rolling off it in waves. 

Disa’s eyes had gone wide. She could feel it too.

All thoughts of propriety fled from Linnea’s head. She rushed to the loom, laying her hands on the fabric, the better to feel what was happening. 

“Forgive me, my lady,” Disa was stammering. “I did not know - “

“No.” Linnea was running her hands over the cloth, only half-hearing. “No, do that again…please…”

Disa hesitated, but finally did as asked. She hummed again, louder that time, and there was more effort behind it. The hum had dimension, and the fabric responded accordingly; it was like sunlight striking a piece of crystal, scattering rainbows in all different directions. 

She couldn’t help the smile, the grin that came to her lips, as the hum faded. She turned to Disa standing next to her, and the look between them transcended any and all difference between Elf and Dwarf.

There was another strike upon the door.

“Queen Tinnaril, of the Woodland Realm.”

Linnea straightened up, trying to calm her expression. The weaver in her grumbled at the interruption, wanting to ask Disa to hum again, perhaps even sing - and the rest of her laughed at that part, that she could even think of wanting a queen to leave her alone.

But she was a queen now, too. Or would be, by this same time tomorrow.

Tinnaril came through the door, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts - not even when she saw Disa standing by Linnea’s side at the loom. The queen of the Greenwood was of a height with Linnea herself; they were Sindar kin, smaller and shorter than their Noldor brethren. Tinnaril’s hair was icy blonde, the same as both her husband and her son, and her leaf-green eyes were shuttered as they swept about the room.

She was clad plainly. Oropher had desired to live a simpler existence than the rest of the Sindar and the Noldor, and his followers had merged with the Silvan elves of the Greenwood many years ago. Tinnaril’s gown was a sage green fabric, without embroidery or jewels; the cut fit her well, and she wore a filigreed silver circlet, but otherwise there was nothing to suggest that she was royalty.

Linnea had known such, and had dressed carefully for the day so as not to make Tinnaril feel uncomfortable or annoyed. Her gown was one of the simplest she owned now, a dusky lavender with only a small amount of gold detailing around the cuffs and the neck, and she had bade Pendes forgo any jewels in her hair. The only concession she had made to ornament was the thin gold circlet tucked in her curls.

Tinnaril had stopped a few steps from the door, and she carefully folded her hands in front of her. “Forgive me for the interruption,” she said, her voice even and calm. “I was unaware you were occupied, Lady Linnea.”

“No - of course not, you do not interrupt.” Linnea moved away from the loom, extending her hands. “Be welcome, my lady. And thank you for making the journey.”

Slowly, Tinnaril took the offered greeting. Her hands were cool and smooth in Linnea’s; she squeezed for precisely the correct amount of time, and then released.

Oropher and Tinnaril had arrived two days ago, and since then, Tinnaril had kept to herself. Linnea had sent messages of welcome, invitations to meet, but all of them had gone unanswered save this one. She wondered if Tinnaril had only come now out of a feeling of obligation. She had asked Gil-galad to tell her of the queen, that she might know what to expect, but he had had as little to offer as Arondir all those months ago.

I am sorry, melethel. I have met her seldom, and she spoke but few words. She lives apart from court. 

Linnea had known that from Arondir, but had still shaken her head in amazement, wondering how such could be. She could not imagine wanting to live apart from Gil-galad, and he had smiled when she had said so.

Nor I you. May the Valar grant that it is always so between us, my love.

Tinnaril was still standing there just looking at her, and Linnea fumbled for words. “Queen Tinnaril, this is Princess Disa, of Khazad-dûm. She and her husband Prince Durin are great friends of Lord Elrond.”

“I see.” 

Disa made another curtsey - although Linnea noticed that it was much shallower than the one the princess had given to her. “Your Grace.”

Tinnaril raised one thin blonde brow, making no move to return any sort of gesture, and Linnea fought the urge to gulp. There had been conflict between Oropher’s people and the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm; Oropher had moved his rule ever northward to avoid the expansion of the Dwarf realm. Linnea had counted on the goodwill of the wedding keeping things civil - as indeed it had, with helping to mend the rift between Durin and Elrond after Eregion.

Perhaps this had been too much to ask, as she beheld the chill in Tinnaril’s eyes. But on the other hand, she wasn’t leaving. 

“Do you practice a craft, my lady?” she asked, desperately trying to find words to fill the silence. “I believe you are aware I am a weaver. Princess Disa and I were just speaking of her art as well - she is what the Dwarves call a Stone Singer. I was not familiar with such.“

Disa nodded eagerly; clearly she felt the tension in the room as much as Linnea did. For a moment, Linnea appreciated the ludicrousness of the situation; she was more allied with a Dwarf princess than a queen of her own kind. 

“It isn’t spoken of much outside of our own people,” Disa said. “The work of the Stone Singers is sacred. We safeguard the mountain, and in return, it allows us to call it our home.”

Tinnaril’s lip curled slightly. “Your work has borne fruit, it would seem. We hear the ceaseless noise of Khazad-dûm throughout the Woodland Realm.”

Linnea’s throat tightened again, and her heart sank. Gil-galad had been working so hard to forge an alliance with Oropher; the Woodland Elves were proud and distant, those ties were as fragile as the finest-spun silk. This couldn’t be helping matters at all; for all she knew, she was not just breaking those thin threads but setting them aflame.

She had been shocked before. She had spent most of the last months in a state of disbelief. But what Tinnaril did next outstripped it all.

The Woodland queen turned, and Linnea's heart sank even further; she hadn’t thought that that was possible. She could feel Disa’s worried eyes on her as Tinnaril walked back towards the door, and she tried to think of something to say, anything - 

Tinnaril swung the door open, and she leaned out to catch the attention of the guards outside.

“Send to my rooms,” she commanded. “Fetch my harp. The brown leather case, near the hearth.”

Linnea stared. Disa stared.

The door swung closed again, and Tinnaril turned back to face them.

“I have lived with Dwarven noise all my days,” she said firmly. “If I must continue to be subjected to it, I would know whether there is any pleasantry to be had. My craft is my music, Lady Linnea, and if the princess consents to it, we shall make some together.”

Linnea turned slowly to Disa, who looked as stunned as she herself felt. The princess could not manage words; she simply nodded. 

Tinnaril’s lip curled again. But this time, there was warmth to it.

“Very well.”

It was long hours later when Linnea finally sat at her dressing table, letting Pendes comb out her hair. 

They had indeed made music. She herself could sing well enough, although nothing compared to Disa, but had no skill with an instrument. And so she had been content to watch and listen, and weave a little, as the queen and the princess had passed the hours in song. Galadriel had come by, as well as a few others, and they had enjoyed the music and refreshments. But none had remained for very long. 

It had reminded her of her parents’ shop, on those occasions when they had hosted musicians. The fabrics had seemed to weave themselves of their own accord, with the distraction of the melodies. And Taucion had had a fine voice; he had often sung along as they worked. 

The memories still hurt, a little. But they also reminded her - as had the afternoon - that she had the opportunity to make new memories. She could invite singers and musicians to her rooms, to spend the afternoon with the weavers.  

Pendes finished and bowed, and Linnea turned. Lavan was just coming in from her nightly circuit of Linnea's rooms, and she shifted to be able to look at them both.

“Is all ready for the morning?”

Lavan nodded. “Yes, my lady. We will arrive at the normal hour.”

The feast was set to begin at midday; her normal rising time would be ample to prepare. Her dress was hung carefully to air out, and really, there was little enough to do that was not part of her regular routine. 

She smiled at Lavan. “Very well. Then I bid you both goodnight.”

They bowed and left, and Linnea rose from the dressing table, slowly wandering back into the main room. It would be early to retire to bed, but perhaps it was a sound notion? The following day would be long and busy.

And the following night.

Her cheeks heated, as she settled herself by the fire, lacking anything else to do. She cast a glance to the side; she had her own kettle, and could have easily prepared tea for herself, but it was not the same any more. Evening tea was no longer solitary, it was a shared time, and the idea of drinking it alone seemed sad somehow.

There was a small stack of books on the hearthside table, and she glanced over them. She had been reading the works of Pengolodh, last of the Loremasters, in an effort to learn more about the history of the Noldor. But as captivating as the words were, having enough focus to read seemed the height of fancy.

Melethel.

That candle slowly lit in her heart, the one she'd become more used to feeling now. It was always there, banked and softly burning, but it came to life each time Ereinion reached out to her. She had an easier time hearing him than he did her as of yet, but that would come in time.

She smiled at the sound of his voice in her mind, settling back in her chair and closing her eyes. Meleth nín.

Was your afternoon enjoyable?

More than I had dared hope. She summoned a memory of Tinnaril and Disa together, experimenting with what Tinnaril had admitted was one of her own original compositions. It had been just the three of them at that point, Linnea at the loom, and it had gladdened her heart to see the differences between Elf and Dwarf put aside in the name of creating something beautiful. And she felt Ereinion’s happiness as he beheld it. And yours, aran vuin?

This time she felt him sigh; felt a touch of the weariness on him. As well as could be expected. Oropher is proud. He lost no opportunity to jab at Durin. I am grateful Elrond was there to mediate, otherwise I might have exiled them both from Lindon permanently.

Linnea laughed softly, her eyes still closed. I am sorry I was not there with you. 

You had your own work to do, my love. And by your account, you accomplished it admirably. There was a pause. I miss you. I cannot recall why we thought being apart tonight was a good idea, but I regret it now.

Do you think to tempt me to come to you? She chuckled again, letting him feel the warmth his words brought to her. We seem to have found a way around it, even so.

There was an answering chuckle, an answering warmth. I do not. I shall hold to our agreement. But perhaps…

There had been no specific images in her mind up till then, except for the memory of the prior afternoon. But a scent reached her nose, the scent of growing things and wildflowers, and there was a warmth all over her skin - as if she were outside in the sun. 

And finally, she could see it, fading in from the dark behind her eyes.

It was the field she’d taken him to, that afternoon after his training session. They were lying on the same blanket, in the same position; Ereinion’s head was in her lap, and her hand was gently stroking through his hair. 

“I think of this day so often,” he murmured. “How it was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.”

She smiled. The ósanwe had grown so strong; it was as if they were really there. She could hear the chirping of the birds and the buzz of the crickets. Ereinion's hair was like silk beneath her fingers, just as if she were really touching it.

“You had never laid in a field after a picnic before?”

She was teasing him, and he smiled up at her, reaching for her free hand and bringing it to his lips.

“I had never laid in a field with my wife,” he said softly. “I had never set my sword down after training, only to see my wife coming to me with a laden picnic basket. I had never felt so loved, melethel - until the next day, and the one after that, and the one after that. All the days since that very first, you have given me more love than the one before. I can only hope I do the same for you.”

She took their entwined hands and nestled them against his chest, right over his heart. “You need not wonder that for an instant,” she murmured. 

He sighed contentedly, closing his eyes, not speaking. She ran her fingers over the back of his hand, letting him enjoy the peace for a few moments before she spoke again.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?”

His lips curved. “More than I have ever been, for anything,” he said softly, eyes still closed. “I feel that I have prepared for this all my days. Even the night before my coronation, so long ago - I did not feel such. I had never expected to be High King. And it was a hurried affair, with war raging, and my chief concern was to have it done with.”

“I wish I could have been there,” she said, stroking her hand through his hair again.

“I do not.” His brow creased, remembering. “As much as I would have been glad of you, melethel. It was a hard time, and our people lost much. I would not have lost you as well.”

There was a catch in his voice. She had a guess as to its source, especially given the direction that their conversation had gone. His sister Finduilas, taken captive by orcs while he had still been a child during the Wars of Beleriand, and ultimately slain.

She squeezed the hand she held, and pushed out through the ósanwe, lighting her own candle in his heart to give him comfort.

“You never shall,” she whispered. “After tomorrow, we will never be parted, not truly.”

Her words brought the smile back to his lips, and he squeezed her hand back. “And you, melethel? Are you ready?”

In answer, she bent, pressing her lips to his. They might have been in a vision, in a place conjured by the ósanwe that was not real, but the kiss was no less warm nor loving for it. She felt him holding her hand tighter to his heart, returning her kiss, and nuzzling against her nose as she released his mouth.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I am.”

It was all she could say, and all that needed to be said. It drove the last of the long-ago shadows from his eyes, and he reached up, running his thumb over her cheekbone.  

“I am grateful for this time with you, but we should not remain here long,” he murmured. “It is not so taxing when we are so close. But I would not have you tire yourself tonight, not when tomorrow holds so much for us.”

She could feel it - just a slight drag inside her, a faint pull on her fëa. It was worth it, to have had even a few moments, and also worth it to know that this sort of an interlude was even possible. There might be times in the future when they would have to be apart, when this would be the only way they could be together.  

But it felt so good to be with him. This memory was precious to her too, and it was so calming, sitting here with her back against the tree. It soothed the restlessness she’d been feeling; after this, she could rest, and wake refreshed to everything that the next day would bring. 

“Let us stay a little longer,” she said softly, and was rewarded by his smile. “Just a little longer, meleth nín.”

Continue to Part 12

[tossawary]

I don't have a solid plot attached to this idea, I don't currently really have the desire to drop everything to go write "The Hobbit" fanfiction, but for a while I've had the idea of *gestures vaguely" some post-canon story (probably some form of fix-it) taking place before, during, and after a grand dwarven opera performance in Erebor.

Because I am absolutely certain that the Lonely Mountain had an absolutely stunningly beautiful Royal Opera House (and plenty of other, less grand performance halls) that, at the city's height, was putting at least one show every single day. Orchestral symphonies, operas and operettas, dramatic plays, dance performances... you name it, they had it and more. The various cultures of Middle Earth evidently ADORE music, dwarves absolutely included. The Company all bring instruments to Bag End to play and sing themselves off before their quest!

Also, beyond the music side of things, with how dwarves are named as master crafters? Smiths and toymakers and magicians? No way that they did not have some of the most gorgeous costumes, sets, and effects on the planet. Dwarves would go WILD with their articulated stage puppets, I know it.

One of my biggest issues with the film trilogy is that it failed to deeply explore the Company as people who had lost their home, beauty and culture included. Smaug not only killed countless people, entire families, and leave many of the survivors poor and desperate, the dragon went on to hoard their heirlooms and life's work and leave these priceless gold treasures UNUSED. It is an additional heartbreak to imagine Smaug tearing through Erebor neighborhood by neighborhood, house by house, so that he could tear out every gemstone in, say, mosaic made by someone's grandmother that sat above the breakfast table every morning. To think that Smaug in the aftermath tore magical lanterns off the walls, the sort that might have been decorated with animals or flowers, to make some daycare walkway just a little more cheery for the children, and in his greed left a dead city in the dark.

The live-action movies put both Smaug and the Balrog in these... absolutely enormous chambers that serve somewhat unclear purposes. The king's treasure vault and a former marketplace, I think? (Moria has been raised by goblins, I can forgive the emptiness.) It's a quick visual depiction of Thror's uncontrollable gold lust to give him a Scrooge McDuck room, sure, instead of anything with an actual organizational system (normally, I assume dwarves are big on sorting their vaults if they have one). Super big columns and hallways and staircases do somewhat effectively communicate the "lost glory" of Moria (I am very fond of these movies!!!), even if I also think it's not as interesting as it could have been. And the other obvious purpose of big, open warehouse-like spaces is 1) it's easier to animate the big creatures moving around in them generally and 2) it allows the films to show off the full-bodied visual spectacle of their big creatures.

But I think it would have also kicked ass to put Smaug in Erebor's former Royal Opera House or something, some enormous theatre decorated across generations. That could be big! The ART (statues, fountains, banners, windows, general architecture) that you could put on the exterior, which has had its face ripped open for the dragon to get inside? The ART that you could put INSIDE (mosaics, murals, and more) as Bilbo sneaks inside? Ohhh, you could include so many potential lore references with thematic relevance!

Also, Bilbo could get jump-scared by old articulated stage puppets or something. IT'S THE DRAGON-! Oh, no, it's some old opera prop. (Yes, we're talking more about an actual adaptation of "The Hobbit" rather than fanfiction concepts now.)

Sure, there's raw material treasure and coins hoarded here in this place, but there would also be musical instruments and toys and household tools and cookware and fancy dishes, wedding jewelry and anniversary gifts and family shrines and festival costumes, fountain statues and street lamps and mailboxes and business signs, and other evidence that people really LIVED here. These are all ordinary objects that Bilbo recognizes from the Shire.

We could tie these objects directly back to objects we saw featured in Bilbo's home early in this adaptation, which he was trying to "protect" from the dwarves during their "That's what Bilbo Baggins hates" song. There are half-burned portraits of people's late parents here too. Did he think that there weren't any dwarves who made doilies or handkerchiefs embroidered with flowers? Of course they made things like that too.

It's perfectly symbolic to, say, place Smaug's bed in an area like the king's throne room. The dragon is now the King Under The Mountain. But I think it would be deliciously haunting to have the throne room of Erebor be empty, the throne half-broken, the silver stripped from the walls and moved elsewhere, because Smaug doesn't care about Thror's old audience chamber. What's a dwarf king to a dragon? He burns the same as all the others. The dragon has instead made his bed in a beautiful public place of art and culture that was for the people, by the people, surrounded by the lovingly crafted belongings of the ordinary people he killed. Gold is gold to a dragon whether it's in a coin or a candlestick.

I think if you really want to sell one of the key messages of "The Hobbit", which in my opinion is: "If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world." then you ought to throw yourself behind EREBOR being a place where food and cheer and song had value, not just the Shire. Thorin isn't lost at the end because he's a dwarf and dwarves don't value such things, but because he as a specific person who makes the mistake of weighing pride and gold over people, and he comes to regret that on his deathbed.

So, back to the fanfiction idea, I think that Erebor had music again in it as soon as dwarves started living in it again. It will take decades and decades before the Royal Opera House is half as splendid as it was before, and there is a performance there with beautiful costumes and puppets and sets comparable to those that came before, some traditional historical show that is part of specific seasonal holiday for dwarves. But that very first winter, when the future still looked grim, I think the dwarves cleared out a small stage and cast the roles of this traditional musical retelling of their history among them, based on who knew the parts best, because they aren't just miners and smiths and soldiers, and there was music again in Erebor that winter despite all the damage that the dragon did.

[lathalea]

Entangled 4/10

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

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

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

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

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

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

He truly needed a drink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Balin slowly shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thorin shook his head decidedly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“These licences are vital for…”

“Thorin…” His sister rolled her eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A letter?” Thorin’s frown deepened.

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

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

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

His sister let out a long sigh.

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

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

“We were there together, you know.”

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

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

He tried once more. Still nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?” He met her eyes.

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

Thorin swallowed, “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sadly, she was right.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thorin grunted.

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

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

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

Thorin clenched his fist. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our people.

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued...

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

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[women-in-writing]

Women in Whump: Fantasy Edition 1

- Maid who's disguising herself as a squire is discovered and put in a pillory as punishment.

- Elfish woman who's captured by a corrupt ruler and forced to act as her Royal Advisor.

- Poor village woman betrothed to a wealthy merchant runs away and stows away on a ship that she has no idea where it's going.

- Farm girl collapses from exhaustion after working the field all day for her sick parents.

- Noblewoman escaping a controlling/ abusive spouse who hides on a farm, having to learn how to keep to with all the chores.

- Orc woman who's captured and forced to act as a "sparring partner" for a contingent of knights.

- Halfling rogue gets caught robbing a wealthy landowners estate.

- Cursed woman who's driven from her village by an angry mob.

- Woman cursed to turn into an animal during the day being tracked by hunters, arrows whizzing past her as she begs the sun to set faster.

Non-con under the cut!

- Newly wedded queen trying not to break down as her and the king 'comsumate' their relationship, all of his advisors and nobles watching.

- Woman posing as a knight is discovered by her fellow soldiers and is gang raped.

- Dwarven woman forced to shave all her body and facial hair for a human who 'owns' her.

- Barmaid at a tavern who's sold by her boss to a group of travelling adventurers as a 'reward' for slaying a monster that was attacking the town.

- A brothel run by a sorceress who curses women to be completely obedient.

[rottencherrypie]

R-18+; Burn For You (Thorin x Fem!Reader)

Summary - In a moment of panic the dwarven king proclaims you are his spouse and to your shock, everyone believes him due to a presumed meaningless kiss. Out of the pureness of your company's hearts, you and your 'lover' are sent off upon a honeymoon.

Warnings - Smut, language, screaming, mention of scars, female reader, female genitalia (reader), male genitalia (Thorin), nicknames (mainly reader), creampie, fluff (cheesy fluff).

Pronouns & POV - They/Them, third-person-ish

Word Count - 5,800+

A/N - I apologize in advance if this seems off at all, I had writers block whilst writing. I apologize for any grammar or anatomy mistakes.

Read on AO3 Read on Wattpad

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

The tap of your bare feet against the creaking floor echoed throughout the luxurious room, the massive cypress walls towering over you as you reached the opposite end for what felt like the hundredth time.

The luxurious room you had been sent to out of the kindness of your company's heart, though this kindness was not one you expected nor did you deserve as this kindness was extended towards you in the illusion of a pre-existing marriage between you and the dwarven king. A falsified marriage.

A loud groan escaped your lips as you cradled your face within your soft palms, your torso hunching over allowing your fingernails to rest against the cold wooden walls. Out of all the idiotic, selfish, and outright miserable plans Thorin had to get you involved in he had to settle on this!

It was only a few days prior when the newly crowned king had come rushing over to you, the clink of covered feet meeting the cold ground echoed throughout the stone halls as he inched closer to you.

"Y/N, I do not have much time to explain, however," He began, his voice wavering slightly as the cold mountain air graced his lungs. "I need you to agree with me in a few moments. Please. "

The words were barely given a chance to process as you were approached by another dwarf, a friendly face whom you had accompanied throughout their treacherous journey.

" Thorin! There you are, lad." The elder dwarf stopped a few feet across from you, lowering his head slightly towards you as his lips curved upwards into a kind smile.

"Balin, may we discuss this matter later?" The king pleaded as he inched behind you as if you were a shield against his kind adviser. "We cannot! You have her waiting in there, Thorin...she's mortified ." Balin sighed, his calloused fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes shut for a moment.

" As am I! " The deep voice boomed throughout the busied halls, all noise within the mountain came to a halt as the words bounced from one end to another. "Thorin, I understand this is not what you had planned but it must be done for our people!"

" I cannot be wed to her! " The king continued to inch further behind you, the pressure of his muscular arm embracing your lower abdomen the only thing that proved he had not fled.

"Thorin, I understand you dislike her but you may grow to love her one day if you just-" The adviser's words came to a halt as his eyes finally opened, the sight of his king's arm wrapped upon your waist making his eyes widen further.

"I cannot marry that woman as I have already wed," Thorin announced leaving the pair of you stunned, your eyes darting between the king who peeked out from behind you towards his adviser. "Y/N is my wife. I shall not entertain such thoughts of marriage outside of my own." The words ringing throughout your ears as your lower fell open, your mouth agape like a fish freshly pulled out of water.

The grip upon your waist tightening as the king stood upon the tips of his toes, his hot breath upon your breath as the corners of his lips curved upwards into a smile. "Go with it, please." The low whisper barely caught your ear as his rough lips pressed against your cheek, a heat quickly spreading beneath the flesh of your cheeks while your eyes widened to match the size of his adviser's.

"You are?" A pale bushy brow raised in your direction as desperate ocean eyes burned into your skull, a low exhale escaping your nose before you leaned into the king's sturdy grip. " We are , we've been wed for a while now." The warm embrace of your soft palm against Thorin's cheek made him momentarily melt within your touch, a familiar touch he had forgotten how long he had truly yearned for.

"We were waiting to announce our marriage, we wished to have Erebor reclaimed before any joyous occasions took place." Thorin's explanation caused the elder dwarf's face to break out into a wide smile, his gaze upon the two of you softening as he welcomed both of you within his tight grip.

"That is wonderful, Thorin! And such a wonderful wife you have wed!" The tight squeeze around you two tightening further for a moment before he released, soft pats on the back being switched between Thorin and yourself as the wise dwarf went on about how wonderful your marriage would be for dwarves and humans.

"Though this is a joyous occasion, I am afraid I have to extend the news to our guests...and pay that bet. I guess that kiss did mean something after all... " The last bits of his sentence barely caught your ear as the wise dwarf turned away from the pair of you, both left in shock within the soft grasp of one another as the wise dwarf rushed off in the opposite direction.

The click of the heavy wooden door unlocking anchored you back from your deep thoughts, the anger within your veins momentarily replacing with hope as you approached the dwarven king. The way your desperate gem-colored eyes peered into his hopefully tugged within the strings of his heart, was he truly that awful to be around?

"Please tell me you found a loop-hole." The softness of your tone further tugged at his strained heart, the low sigh escaping his slightly chapped lips telling you everything before he could even speak.

"Y/N, I am aware this is not ideal-" "Oh, do you Thorin?!" You scoffed as you turned away from the dwarven king, your gaze fell upon the low fire. "I had plans, Thorin! Plans I intend to see through!" The fire crackled and hissed as you tossed another piece of wood into it.

"I know, Y/N. I know." The king's low sigh was shortly accompanied by your bed creaking beneath his weight, his calloused hands cradling his skull as he searched his mind for anything that may save the two of you from this embarrassment. "For now, we should rest and attempt to enjoy this honeymoon."

"So this is what you call a honeymoon?" The words coming out as a low scoff as you rested your upper arm upon the brick fireplace, the soft heat which emitted onto your arm soothing compared to the nip of the bitter air outside.

"Thorin, we have been pacing around our separate rooms trying to outrun this elaborate ruse!" Your voice rising with anger, one hand tightening around the edge of the upper fireplace whilst the other embraced your thumb tightly. "We're doomed, Thorin! We can't escape this!"

"Y/N, stop it." The warning within his deep tone merely added more fuel into the fire which roamed throughout your blood, the subtle dance of anger which swayed throughout your blood at his previous actions turned into a full-blown waltz of rage at this sudden command.

"Oh, please forgive me, your grace!" You scoffed as you turned towards him, his head still rested within his palms as if he were a dwarfling in trouble. "Your grace?" His gaze never met yours as his ocean eyes stayed glued upon the wooden floor.

"You can't even look me in the face!" "That's not true!" The blur of his brunette hair moving back catching your eyes before the deeply pained look upon his face did, the endless waves within his ocean eyes filled with guilt as they burned into you.

"And now I am forced to lie in this mess you made!" Your gaze quickly darted away from his back onto the low fire, fire you wished would overrun this room and save you from this mess.

"The mess we made, Y/N. I did not force your hand." The creak of the bed shifting at the lack of his weight echoed alongside the low crackles within the room, though he was right you did not need to play along, the statement did not aid the anger you felt.

"This was all your mistake!" "How is this my mistake? You agreed to this!" His voice rose as anger trickled into his veins, anger at himself rather than you. If he were man enough and simply confessed far before that woman stepped foot upon Erebor soil this might not have happened yet in a moment of panic, he acted upon an idiotic plan to cling onto you for one last time.

"You kissed me after the battle, Thorin! Do not act as if you have forgotten!" A familiar heat flooded beneath the flesh of your cheeks as the vivid memory of that day came back to you, a memory which always accompanied the lingering sensation of his lips upon yours.

The battle began to die down, corpses of your fellow friends and foes flooded the battlefield alongside the wounded yet you still pushed on. The clink of your covered feet against the icy ground was the only noise you could hear other than the ringing within your ear, the once brutal feeling of the freezing air nipping against your opened wounds going numb as your burning limbs pushed forwards.

Every corpse you passed upon the trail momentarily catching your gaze, each unknown corpse granted filled you with a moment of relief and further pumped adrenaline within your veins. Your sight narrowed down the path before you while you continued to sprint forwards, silently praying to the gods you would not find your friends like this. Not now nor ever.

" Y/N! " The hoarse yell stopped all movement within your body, your head whipping around towards the direction of the voice, a wave of relief washed over you as you began sprinting towards the golden-haired dwarf. " Fili! " Your hoarse voice was full of joy as you threw your arms around him ignoring the ripping pain of your wounds within your skin, one of Dis' sons had survived!

"How injured are you?" The panicked question caused laughter to slip out of the dwarf's chapped lips as you looked over his form, the smallest shake of his head making your brow furrow slightly. "Y/N, this was war. I am lucky to be standing in front of you right now." The warmth of his calloused palm against your clothed shoulder momentarily soothing away the nerves within you, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you nodded your head.

"What of Thorin and Kili? Did they-” ”They live, I promise you that." The joyous news of your friends' survival made your legs tremble beneath you, the panic which once fueled you now drained away as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. "The gods have been kind today." The whisper catching the golden-haired dwarf's ear as you brought him into another embrace, your body trembling as you clung onto his shorter form.

" Fili! " The boom of Thorin's voice interrupting the tender moment between you and the often pesky dwarf you called a friend, the corners of your lips curved upwards into a wide smile as you released the tight grip upon his nephew. " I'm over here, Uncle! I found Y/N! " Fili shouted back as you turned around, relieved laughter slipping through your lips as you waved up at the new king and his other nephew.

In what felt like a matter of mere seconds the remaining kin of Durin stood beside you, Kili was quick to throw his arms around you while Thorin lingered a few feet behind. "Any poisoned wounds I should mind?" "You get shot with one, one , poisoned arrow and that is all you are known for." The youngest dwarf scoffed as he pulled away from the embrace, the attempt to seem annoyed quickly failing as laughter bubbled out of his throat.

Laughter which had died down the moment his uncle began to approach, the crunch of his heavy boots against the ground filling the tense air as your gemstone eyes glanced over him. " Y/N ." His nephews were quick to nudge you towards him, soft giggles barely catching your ears as they attempted to shush each other.

"You're bleeding." His gaze softened as it fell upon your open wounds, worry and rage trickling within his veins as his calloused palm wrapped tightly around your upper arm. "Who did this to you?" A faint hiss escaping your lips as his thumb traced around a wound, a low sorry escaping his lips as you shook your head.

"Thorin that is not important-" The words dying upon your tongue as a calloused palm encased your cheek, the sudden sensation of his chapped lips upon yours and tickle of his beard against your soft skin froze every muscle within your body. Your eyes widening as his lips melded into yours for a few moments before he pulled away, though you had not expected it the lack of warmth against your lips left a lingering desire for more.

" It is important to me, Y/N ." Words that would keep you up from the sweet embrace of slumber, words which would fill your mind within your most peculiar of daydreams, and words you secretly dreamed of being true despite your current anger towards it happening within these moments.

"I was prepared to take my life that day!" The king's deflection snapping you out of your haze of memories, memories you still longed for despite the fear you felt within those moments. "Thorin you do not understand." You groaned, your soft palms covering your face as an annoyed exhale escaped your nostrils.

"Then help me understand, Y/N." His tone softened as he began to move towards you, the floor creaking softly with each step he took. "With that kiss, I stole your fate, Thorin!" The moment your hands slid off of your face you were greeted with his ocean eyes peering into you, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he shook his head slightly.

"Y/N, I stole your fate that day." "Repeating me, Thorin? We are not children." You scoffed moving back from the dwarven king, his eyes softening with sadness at your sudden movement. "I stole your fate-" You began to deflect his words yet the words died upon your tongue as Thorin began to move closer to you. Though his height was not mighty, the anger that had irradiated off of his body made him appear far mightier than Beorn.

"No, I stole your fate!" The boom of his voice bounced off of the cypress walls before catching within your ears, a calloused palm encasing your shoulder with a tight squeeze. "Thorin, I do not understand...you did not mean for this to happen." Your words made the king shake his head with displeasure, the waves within his ocean eyes dying down as he took a deep inhale.

"And now you may be forced to love a man you hate..." A sigh escaped his lips as he released his grip upon your arm, his gaze slowly shifting from yours onto the floor. "Thorin, I..." Any words you could think of died on your tongue as you stared down at the dwarven king, a twinge of guilt trickled within your veins.

"I know you do not feel the same, Y/N, but I burn for you." The volume of his words a mere whisper as his gaze stayed glued upon the floor, the possibility of his one denying his affection far more terrifying than any blade Azog wielded or the heat of Smaug's breath.

"You burn for me?" Your voice matching his in softness as you cradled the side of his face within your palm, his gaze shifting up towards you while he softly nodded into your hand. "I burn for you." He repeated, the waves within his ocean eyes rising with hope as he stared into your gemstone-colored ones.

"Thorin, I burn for you." The words left the dwarven king stunned for a few seconds, his eyes widened in shock as his mouth fell open. "I...say it again." The words a soft plea as he leaned further into your touch, desperate for the warming sensation to assure him that this was in fact reality and not but another dream.

"I burn for you, Thorin. I burn." The words were barely given a chance to leave your soft lips as his chapped pair encompassed them, his lips tasting faintly of ale and apples he consumed moments before his entrance into your room.

The lids of your eyes fluttered shut as the king melted within the touch of your palm, your lips parting slightly allowing his tongue to slip within your mouth. The shared thud of your heartbeats began to rise in pace as the hand which once cradled his scratchy cheek roamed throughout his silky locks as you continued to breathe each other in.

Time around you came to a halt, a wave of warmth tingling throughout your body as you felt the leaning of weight against you, his muscular arms pulled you in closer as he continued to claim your mouth with his.

The warmth upon your lips suddenly departing along with the pressure of his weight against yours, the lids of your eyes fluttering open as the sensation of his lips on yours lingered behind.

"Why did you stop?" The question came out as a whine as your glazed-over eyes bore into his, the corners of his lips curving upwards into a gentle smile as a soft exhale escaped his nose.

"Because I fear if I did not I would no longer be able to restrain myself." The smooth flesh of your chin resting on top of his balled-up fingers as his calloused thumb lightly traced the shape of your plump lips for a few moments before he backed away from you.

"What if I do not want you to restrain yourself?" The floor creaked underneath your bare feet as you closed the newly created gap between you and the king. "Y/N," The bright glint within his ocean eyes dimmed at your words, his teeth sinking into the inner flesh of his cheek. "be careful of the words you speak." He warned lowly, his shorter stature inching closer towards you pushing you back towards the bed as your lips curved upwards into a mischievous smile.

"Or what, your grace?" The words were not given a full chance to escape your lips when his lips covered yours again, the harmonious way your lips melded against one another was purely hypnotic beyond all reason.

The familiar taste of his lips against yours further silenced all thoughts as a wave of warmth spread throughout your body, his toned arms pulled you in closer as they wrapped behind your neck.

The lids of your jewel-colored eyes fluttered shut as the fluttering beneath your ribs intensified, your knees growing weaker with each kiss as you could only focus on how perfectly his lips felt upon yours.

Though the lids of your eyes fluttered shut, his ocean ones stayed half-opened as he would often gaze upon you each time he pulled back for air allowing him to take in all of your perfection at your most relaxed state.

You were everything he could have dreamt of and more within a partner and now he had you for himself, part of him wondering if this was another cruel fantasy yet those thoughts faded away as he felt the sway of your body against his.

His rough hands were quick to slide out from behind your neck and onto your shoulders, pushing you back onto the bed before your knees gave out on you. The bed creaked slightly at the shift in weight as you sank into the plush mattress, your eyes opening at the sudden movement as you shifted your weight up into your elbows propping yourself up to gain a better view of the man who towered over you.

The speed at which your chest rose and fell quickened as his lust-filled eyes burned holes into your sprawled out form, the corners of his thin lips curved upwards. "I need you to tell me to leave right now if you do not want this," The hotness of his breath tickled your lips as his lips hovered over yours. "if you do not want me."

"Thorin, shut up and fuck me." The man before you wasted no time shedding his garments, his calloused hands quick to unravel yours. His hands momentarily hovering over your bare form, all words and thoughts being freed from his mind as he stood there in awe of the deity sprawled out beneath him.

To say the gods had taken their time carving you out of the most luxurious marble was truly an understatement within the king's eyes, each inch of your flesh more heavenly than he could have ever dreamt of. Gazing upon you was as if someone had gathered all of his desires and melted them down into a cast of a human's form, or rather a deity as he refused to believe someone as purely ethereal as you could belong to them.

His calloused hands began to roam your heavenly form, slowly gliding down every curve and ounce of your flesh. The tips of his rough fingers lightly kissing each scar and indent your flesh held for a moment before gliding to the next mass of flesh, though your skin held imperfections, each one only made him love and admire you more.

"You're perfect." The vibrations of his words against your neck accompanied by the faint tickle of his fingers inching closer towards your lower abdomen sent a shiver down your spine, his lips pressing against the flesh between your neck and shoulder, nipping at it slightly sending another shiver throughout your body.

His sturdy hand inching closer to the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, the tip of his thumb hovering a mere speck above it before delicately coming into contact with it. Small circles being traced upon your clit as he sucked upon the most sensitive spot on your neck, your toes beginning to curl at the sudden sensations as a soft gasp slipped through your lips.

While his thumb toyed with your sensitive bundle of nerves the tips of his opposite fingers ghosted over your glistening entrance, the faint pressure and burn of his thick fingers delving inside of you allowed yet another gasp to slip through your lips.

His fingers filling your dripping cunt to the brim, the gentle stretch deep within you making your eyes loop upwards towards the back of your skull, his fingers moving at a painfully slow pace allowed you to feel every stretch and curl of his fingers deep within you.

"Thorin, please." The desperate whine was music to his ears, his fingers coming to a complete halt inside of you despite your displeasure. "Please, what?" "Please fuck me already." Another displeased whine escaping your lips as the pressure within you subsided, his glistening fingers hovering out of your drenched entrance as he pulled himself away from you.

"Patience, my love." The king hummed lowly, his calloused hand wrapping around his enlarged cock before he aligned the tip with your entrance, rubbing the tip of his cock against it slowly allowing another displeased groan to slip through your lips.

"You're such an ass-" The attempt to speak dying upon your tongue as the tip of his throbbing cock began to push inside of you without fair warning, a mischievous grin spread upon the king's lips as your hands slid up from the bed and onto his hips.

The faint sting of being stretched out as he continued to ease his cock into you accompanied the sting he felt as your nails dug into his toned hips, the gentle sting of his cock stretching out your inner walls allowed your eyes to roll to loop up towards the back of your skull.

Though you had imagined this moment many times before yet nothing you had imagined before had lived up to this, it was as if the gods had handcrafted him meld with and within you perfectly.

"Fuck." He groaned tilting his head backward, the lids of his eyes fluttering shut at the heavenly sensation of your drenched inner walls squeezing around his throbbing cock. His length slowly slid out of out, nothing but the tip resting inside of you for a few moments before he pushed into you yet again.

A slow rhythm arising from his hips as he continued to thrust into you deeply, each inch of his aching cock carving itself deeper within your heavenly walls at each movement he made. The once silent room filled with only the small crackles of the fire quickly filled with the melody of his skin slapping against yours.

The tip of his calloused thumb coming into contact with your sensitive bundle of nerves as the speed of his hips slowly began to quicken, your nails dragging down his hips to the sides of his thighs as a familiar tingle began to rise from the tips of your toes.

"You take me so well, wife." The groan of praise coming out as a tease as his hips continued to slam into yours, each thrust striking the most sensitive spot in your core as the movements of his hips became rougher. His calloused thumb tracing small circles on your clit as he leaned his weight further into you, stretching out depths you had yet to reach before him.

The intense squeeze earned another groan from his thin lips, his eyes squeezing together tightly for a moment as the speed within his hips became faster. The near entirety of his weight in each thrust as he attempted to cling onto the sensation like the way your drenched cunt clung around his cock.

A familiar knot began to tangle within the pit of your stomach as he continuously struck that spot deep within you, your hands sliding away from his hips back to the furs beneath you. "Oh fuck! Right there, please don't stop!" You yelped out, your loud cries ringing throughout the room.

Any concerns which previously lingered within the dwarf's mind fading away at the sound of your moans as his lust consumed him while he attempted to recreate that motion, a faint burn spreading throughout his hips which he paid no mind to as he continuously struck deep within your core.

"Ah!" His hand gliding away from your sensitive bundle of nerves and onto your thighs as his thrusts quickly grew animalistic, small trembles wracking throughout your body as you clawed at the furs beneath you. A faint sheen of sweat glistening upon your forehead as you tilted your head back against the plush mattress, the fresh marks he had left upon your neck on full display.

"Fuck! Thorin, I can't hold-" The choked out words being cut off with whine as the knot within our stomach threatened to split, soft groans escaping his lips as your pussy clenched around his throbbing cock.

"Then don't." He whispered, the burn within his hips turning ablaze at the pace of his animalistic thrusts. Each thrust rammed his cock into the most sensitive spots within your core as he reached his hand back between your legs, his thumb finding its spot upon your tense bundle of nerves as he circled it perfectly.

"Let it all out, my love." He hummed through moans of his own, the knot within your stomach tightening as a familiar static spread up from the tips of your toes, each sloppy thrust nudging you closer to the endless abyss of pleasure you had yearned for.

Despite your grip tightening upon the furs beneath you, your limbs began to feel as weightless as the birds which soared throughout middle-earth.

The rough tip of his thumb gently grazing the now overly sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. "Oh!" Your body arching into his touch as your nails clawed deeper into the furs beneath you, a wave of electricity roaming throughout your body as the knot deep within you snapped. His name was an endless prayer upon your lips as you sank deeper down that heavenly abyss, small trembles wracking throughout your body as your pussy fluttered around his aching cock.

How your flesh bounced so perfectly with each thrust he made, how your hands clawed at the furs beneath you desperate to keep yourself steady, how your inner walls fluttered and tightened around his cock as you sank further down into the abyss, and how his name was the only word you could muster as he relentlessly pounded into your beaten cunt was nearing far too much for the dwarven king.

"Fuck, Y/N!" The low words lightly nudging you back into reality, everything still a haze as your cunt continued to milk around his cock, the crisp air finally greeting your lungs while you trembled beneath him. His hips relentlessly slamming into yours as the strings within him pulled tightly, the knot deep within his stomach at the verge of snapping.

A spew of ineligible moans slipping through his lips as his hips continued to roughly buck into yours, a hand gliding down from your left thigh back in between your legs. The tip of his rough thumb quickly circled on your clit as he desperately attempted to pull on more orgasm from you before he rode out his own.

"Holy fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" The pathetic cries of the king echoing throughout the room as his grip upon your thighs tightened, the skin on his knuckles turning as white as the snow outside your door as the knot within him finally unraveled.

His weight further pressing into you while his hips roughly bucked into yours, his thumb twiddled around the sensitive bundle of nerves sending another wave of electricity wracked throughout your body.

The knot within his stomach completely unraveled as white-hot ribbons painted the inside of your depths, the overwhelming sensation of being filled to the brim with him pushed you off the endless cliff of pleasure.

Your toes curling as your body trembled beneath him, the creak of the bed ringing throughout the room alongside your ragged breaths as he leaned his weight into yours. His head buried within the crook of your neck, his rough hands moving away from their previous positions as he cradled you within his toned arms.

"I've got you." The words were nothing but breathy laughter while his cock continued to pulsate deep within you, the faint tickle of his lips upon your neck accompanied his hot breath as he muttered sweet nothings in dwarvish.

Many of those sweet nothings were confessions of his undying love and admiration for you alongside his soft thanks to the gods for creating you, his better half, his one.

"Are you okay?" His brow furrowing with worry as he raised his head from the crook of your neck, the corners of your lips curving upwards at the worry within his tone. It was as if he was not slamming into you mere moments before, his rough palm cupping the side of your soft face while he looked over your bare form.

"Thorin, I am fine." The hoarse words scratching the back of your throat upon exit, your brows furrowing together as you hummed slightly in an attempt to soothe it. Had you truly been that loud? A faint heat radiating off of your cheeks as you leaned into Thorin's gentle touch.

A relieved chuckle escaped his lips as his grip upon you loosened, pulling his softened cock out of your depths before lying next to you wrapping you back in his muscular arms. A pleased sigh escaping your nose as you inched closer towards him, the weight of your head against his chest allowed his hazy smile to grow wider.

"I'm sorry that I-" His words came to a halt as your finger rested upon his chapped lips, a faint shushing escaping yours as you snuggled further into the king. "Thorin, my love, I do not have the energy for any discussions right now." The soft hum nearly masked by the low crackle of the fire not far from you, the warmth which radiated off of the dwarf beneath melting away the last bit of energy your body held.

A low chuckle vibrated against your finger as he took your soft hand into his calloused one, the faint tickle of his beard grazing upon the back of your hand as he pressed his lips against it. "Rest all you need, my heart. I will still be here when you wake." The soft embrace of the furs around your bare form was quick to lull you into a peaceful slumber, the corners of your lips curving slightly upwards into a blissful grin as you melted into the soothing embrace of your lover.

The welcoming embrace of sleep not far behind for the king yet he forced the lids of his eyes to stay open, wanting nothing more than to gaze upon the beautiful creature who rested upon his chest. The faint golden heat from the fire glowed cradled your stunning features, the faint smile upon his lips grew wider as a pleased exhale escaped his nose, how kind the gods were to bless him with such a strong, clever, and overall stunning spouse.

Within these blissful moments with you, he had finally realized that all the hardships he experienced throughout his travels and the sickness he experienced within the mountain's halls, what he was truly seeking, what truly put him under a spell, was you.

The tips of his fingers lightly traced upon the golden light that cradled your cheek causing you to stir slightly before melting further into his chest, the soft pressure of his lips upon your forehead one of the last actions he did as the soothing harmony of sleep called his name.

The once elaborate ruse had quickly become the truth making the return upon Erebor soil far less stressful than expected, the most stressful event to transpire that day was Dis tackling you onto the cold marble ground whilst screaming up and down the mountain halls that she finally had a sister.

The king's nephews, or rather your nephews, following within their mother's steps as they spun you around gifting you with the title "Auntie" before rushing to every dwarf within Erebor to give a proper introduction of you despite Thorin's complaints, complaints which died down the moment he watched you stick out your hand and proclaim yourself as part of their family.

The simple action sealing your fate within those mountain halls, a fate you welcomed with open arms and a smile similar to how you would greet every dwarfling, and later a tiny red-headed dwelfing, that ran over to you in glee with tales of their own to share.

A wide smile glued upon your lips as your previous company began to tease you upon the knowledge of your new title after an onslaught of tight squeezes, all within Erebor welcoming you as one of their own as news spread throughout middle-earth of the rise of the new heart within the misty mountain, you.

Maybe, just maybe, one of Thorin's elaborate ruses was not so awful after all.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[mooonbae]

tell me why I had a dream last night where Gil-galad and Elrond were getting married??? so he’s no longer Herald Elrond or Lord Elrond, he’s ✨ Prince Consort Elrond ✨

and Durin shows up as a guest and goes “Oi! First ye miss mah wedding! AND the birth of mah children! Then ye have the NERVE to show up and insult! mah! honor! Get yerself banned from allllll dwarven lands! Nearly bring down all of Middle Earth! And if that weren’t enough, ye had to go and steal my princely title too?!”

and Elrond smiles down at him with a twinkle in his eye and goes “Ah…but are you not now a king in your own right? Surely you no longer have use for it?”

and Durin goes, “Aye….I suppose I can let you keep it…for a bit.”

and Elrond laughs and says “Do let me know when you want it back, old friend”

??????

[eri-pl]

A crack origin for Hobbits

Warnings: high levels of crack, Elf-Dwarf relationship, mentions of Sauron.

So my husband asked me how strictly canon is "Hobbits are just Men, but short" and we talked and yes, Hobbits do have some Dwarflike traits but also some Elflike traits—

OK. so, Eregion.

I could go with Celebrimbor, but Maglor is funnier. And he is the only Elf in the Silm said to be married but not any details about it. And Silm was redacted later, I can very well see Maglor marrying someone really inaproppriate in SA and Elrond noting it down as "Maglor was wed."

So, Maglor is taking a break from beach hermiting and visiting his nephew (I don't care the book says "he never came again among the elves" — Elrond wrote the book and I imagine they were on speaking terms and more close than resentful. also, he never officially did, but I imagine it wasn't a big secret in Eregion that he's Maglor. Yes, it freaked the jewelsmiths out.)

And Celebrimbor gets a mysterious visitor and Maglor doesn't like him (and when Maglor agrees with Galadriel, it is something), and Sauron is quite terrified that his plan will go into pieces. So he decides to get rid of Maglor, Maglor's credibility and some of the meddling Dwarves.

Now, in the Legendarium love potions etc don't exist, so I would assume more like "Sauron made them get lost in some mines and confused them with magics, and Maglor falling in love with the Dwarf was a side-effect". Anyway, Maglor falls in love with a Dwarven lady, and she with him (other Dwarves are fine, maybe even survive too). And it's Sauron's fault.

Anyway they marry, and even after their minds clear, they are still in love, because they did build ahealthy-ish relationship in the meantime (let Maglor have some happiness), and, well, they have kids. Who are weird and small and less hairy than Dwarves.

Depending on your preference, it may end with Maglor running away to the beach (especially after learning what happenned to Celebrimbor), or with his wife dying peacefully of old age in his arms or whatever. Or less peacefully but at least they both fight in the war against Sauron.

Anyway the kids are there, and they have marry some Dwarves and their kids are still very similar to the strange mix, and don't look like normal Dwarves, so after a few generations they are their own tribe and leave.

And yes: they are the hobbits.

Cons of this theory:

More tragedy for Maglor and other Elves would laugh at him

Elf-Dwarf relationships.

Hobbits are descendants of a doomed kinslayer (but does that matter?)

Where do Hobbits even go for afterlife??? (New Zealand)

Pros:

More tragedy for Maglor and now we know why he doesn't want to return

Hobbits have an explanation. Also, Hobbits being musical, hard to corrupt, and having a knack for finding treasure has an explanation

Sauron's evil schemming is an important factor in the emergence of the race which later will lead to his downfall. And that's just too good. I almost can ignore the Elf-Dwarf thing for this.

It gives Námo a headache? (I like him, but I also like to make him confused and that's hard XD )

[jungle-angel]

"I Don't Need A Nurse" (Sentry x Reader)

Summary: Your husband insists that he can take care of himself, but just this once, he'll let you help him

Warnings: Light smut (ya'll know the rules), hurt, injuries etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @attapullman @withahappyrefrain @hangmanapologist

You didn't realize how long you had been asleep until you blinked your eyes open and found your copy of "The Mists Of Avalon" splayed on the floor, the pages slightly dog-eared and crumpled from the fall. You picked it up and stuck it on the coffee table, rubbing the grog from your eyes, surprised that it had already gotten dark out.

You looked at F.R.I.D.A.Y's screen in the kitchen, each one with a small, typed message from the rest of the team. A few were due to return in an hour, some were still out for the night and others had gone to help down at S.H.I.E.L.D due to an emergency. A loud meow from Goose had caught your attention, the orange tabby hopping up onto the kitchen counter and his tail swishing as you scratched his ears.

All of a sudden you felt something warm around your ring finger on your left hand. You looked down and found that your wedding ring, the one Jane and Thor had made in the dwarven forges of Asgard, was glowing bright white.

Robert.

You saw something streak across the sky followed by the sound of a quinjet approaching the landing pad outside. Relieved though you were, it was unusual that your husband and the rest of the team was home this early.

You rushed outside with Goose hot at your heels, the engines on the jet dying down and the back hatch opening. Out stepped Steve and Robert first and the rest of the team behind them, your husband looking a little worse for wear. The white hospital scrubs were torn and tattered, his hair clinging to his sweaty forehead, the paper tag bracelet still around his wrist and a pained look on his face.

You rushed right to him and he immediately caught you in his arms. "Oh baby......baby......m'so hot and tired," he panted.

"What happened?" you asked him.

"Mission took longer than we thought," he winced.

"Why don't you two go inside," Steve told you both. "We'll finish up here."

You helped Robert back into the tower, your ring having cooled down and the glow now so faint that it could hardly be seen. It took a while, but at last he was home and in your shared apartment where he could rest.

You ran a hot bath in the adjoining bathroom, not even bothering to measure the epsom salts you had dumped into the steaming water. You had tried the traditional way of getting his clothes off, but Robert was in so much pain that he could barely lift his arms.

You went straight to the First Aid kit in the medicine cabinet and pulled out the surgical scissors, cutting away the ratty scrubs that would be used for kitchen rags later on. Robert sucked in a breath as you helped him into the hot water and helped him clean the cuts, scratches and bruises that were all over him.

"Baby thank you," he croaked.

You kissed the crown of his head and put a cold soaked washcloth on the back of his neck. "You know I'd do anything for you," you whispered.

As soon as Robert was done, you helped him out and left a fresh set of clothes on the bed for him just in case he wanted them, but sleeping naked seemed to be the better option, even with the air conditioning going.

"Aw fuck!" he hissed, laying on his back. "Fuckin hurts."

"Well shit Bob where doesn't it hurt?" you chuckled.

"Here," he said, pointing to his cheek.

You rolled your eyes and pressed a gentle kiss to his soft cheek.

"Right here," he mumbled, pointing to the other.

You kissed his other cheek. You could feel the lazy smile forming on his face already.

Robert silently pointed to his lips, a yearning look in his eyes and the need and want for you burning inside him. Your lips met his, the kiss sweet and gentle but passionate and fiery all at once. You let it linger as his eyes fluttered shut and soon he was quietly snoring away in deep sleep. You crawled in next to him, your head resting on his chest and the strong beat of his heart putting you to sleep.

[faeriichaii]

Masterlist

A/N: This is my Masterlist filled with the stories I have written so far 💕 I will add other fandoms to my list soon but feel welcome to request anyone from lotr or hobbit🤭 I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them!! Also REQUESTS ARE OPEN <33

Fluff: ♡ Angst: ☂ Smut: ☆

The Fellowship:

How they realise their feelings: ♡

Aragorn:

Worthy Enough: ♡ Summary: Aragorn slowly begins to understand you and tries to find out even more about you

Legolas:

Softest Touch: ♡ Summary: After looking at the etheral elven prince, you have the urge to weave your fingers through his silken hair, leading to more than just simple hair braiding.

Music to my ears: ♡ Summary: A trip to the tavern results in you not just winning new fans over with your music, but also winning the heart of a certain elven prince.

Immunity: ♡ Summary: Being sick is not fun, especially when you see Legolas' panicked gaze at your condition, which seems to get worse as the days pass by.

Words like Poison: ☂♡ Summary: Your beloved prince is stressed and busy with his duties. So, when you approach him to try and lighten the mood, he lets his frustration out on you.

Braiding Together: ♡ Summary: You have always received compliments for your cute braids, so you decided to offer the hobbits to braid their hair. However, Legolas really doesn't understand, why you would do that.

Lily: ☂♡ Summary: Being a princess with a gruesome father as a king makes you only wish to run away. So you do and run directly into the arms of an ethereal prince

Blessing: ♡ Summary: The journey of the fellowship ended a long time ago and suddenly you receive the invitation of the prince to join him in Mirkwood, meeting his father. But how will Thranduil react to seeing his sons best friend being a dwarf and his betrothed being an Avari?

Sensitive: ♡☆ Summary: You knew that Legolas could endure quite a lot, but what you did not expect is his reaction to touching his pointy ears

Little Quirks: ♡ Summary: The elven prince for some reason couldn't stop staring at you, which in return made you confused and very curious, as to why his eyes were constantly following you around.

Stormy Patrol: ♡ Summary: Tauriel and you were out on patrol without Legolas. But a storm takes you by surprise, resulting in you getting lost in the dark forest.

Sunkissed: ♡ Summary: You have been in love with the elven prince since quite a time, but never told him about it. Your sister Arwen however, is determined to change the course of your relationship with Legolas.

Keep Quiet: ☆ Summary: You seem to have teased your husband Legolas a little too long during one important meeting, so he teaches you a lesson.

Thorin:

A Part From Home: ♡ Summary: Tagging along for an adventure with Gandalf, you didn't expect to run into people that remind you of your lost home.

Part of Your World: ♡ Summary: Little mermaid you finds various little trinkets and things in the waters around Erebor and you can't wait to share them with your s/o.

There's just Inches in between us: ☆♡ Summary: You were the princess of another kingdom, meant to marry none other than the dwarven King Thorin from the lonely mountain. You rarely get the chance to talk to him and decide to visit him the night before the wedding, asking him to give you some attention.

Symphony of Your Life: ♡ Summary: Thorin went to visit his old friend Bilbo in the Shire once more, without expecting to be enchanted by a melodic voice that fills not just his ears but also his heart.

Kili:

Hija de la Luna Series (warnings: none so far): Prologue; Chapter I

Part of Your World: ♡ Summary: Little mermaid you finds various little trinkets and things in the waters around Erebor and you can't wait to share them with your s/o.

My Treasure: ♡ Summary: You have been travelling the sea for years on your wonderful ship with your crew, so you are a bit curious, when you find a bunch of dwarves hiding away in fish barrels.

Feathers: ♡ Summary: Joining the company on their quest, you knew to expect possible danger on the way. What you did not expect are the feelings between you and the prince.

My Sweet Valentine: ♡ Summary: You spent your morning hours with the wonderful dwarf prince Kili

Braiding Lessons: ♡ Summary: You always knew dwarves had various beautiful braids, but how come Kili doesn't? So one night you decide to change that and help him out.

Fili:

Part of Your World: ♡ Summary: Little mermaid you finds various little trinkets and things in the waters around Erebor and you can't wait to share them with your s/o.

Thranduil:

Bookworm: ☆ Summary: Legolas let the secret of a restricted area in the library slip, which makes you of course very curious. So after deciding to enter the forbidden part, you get caught by none other than the elven king himself.

[fantasyinallforms]

I will be celebrating April fools by fooling myself into thinking The Hobbit ended with Bilbo Baggins ruling Erebor by his husband Thorin Oakenshield's side.

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Man, didn't you all just LOVE that wedding scene at the end of the movie? The dwarven halls looked lovely decked out in flowers 💐