#i set this after botfa! :')

[swordoaths]

@magicveiined spoke: you're gonna have to take your shirt off. ( estella for fili )

There was nothing agile and seamless to Fíli's gait. With hitchy steps and nearly every muscle flexed in anticipation for pain, he struggled to cross the floor of his chambers. He moved in stages, pain forcing his determination to yield its course after every few steps. Each time he stopped his movements, Fíli tilted his chin up to the sky, eyes squeezed shut and teeth sucking in air. Refusing to let the anguish escape in cries, Fíli suffered in relative silence, save for the labored breaths that came from such exertion.

None would say that this was the body of a warrior who had, not long ago, charged effortlessly into battle.

When the pain had reached a level he could endure, Fíli opened his eyes and lowered his head. Slowly, almost mechanically, and with arms braced about his side, he began his unrefined movements that eventually led him to his seat. Gripping the arms of the chair so much so that his knuckles turned white, Fíli lowered himself down.... slowly... slowly... the grimace on his face growing by the second. No relief came when he finally sat himself rather stiffly in place--- momentarily refusing to allow the chair to take his full weight.

Curses spilled from his lips when he finally released his grip on the arms of the chair, his body now slumped in place. He shut his eyes again, trying to find some semblance of comfort in a body that would not allow it. But after several painful breaths, Fíli's laboring slowed, and the creased that lined his brow relaxed.

He did not start at the sound of Estella's voice, despite not knowing that she had come in. In silence, Fíli wondered how long she had been there--- how long she had suffered in watching him limp like a wounded and disgraced lion.

"I could not bear to see the pain it might bring you," came his words in a half-whisper, lest the sound rattle his bones too much. Fíli knew his bandages needed to be changed, but he also knew what lie beneath--- the raw gnarled marks too fresh a vision of the battle--- and near death. These past few weeks had worried her enough. He could not contribute to it. "Come, would you not sit by me a moment?"

[iamthemain-character]

Hi, I saw that you were taking request so I was wondering if you were were open too writing Fili husband/father headcanons as I loved the one you wrote about Thorin and am curious as to what your view is on the crown prince. <3

AHHHHHH okay so 1) thank you for the request sorry i literally have been nonexistent the last year and 2) I LOVE FILI he is actually my favorite dwarf so i was very thrilled to do these

Husband/Father Fili Durinson

fili durinson x reader

gender neutral pronouns (reader is pregnant in the second half)

TW: pregnancy, a child lol

also set in a much happier post BotFA AU

hobbit/lotr masterlist

Husband Fili

After settling in at Erebor and being crown prince, Fili decided that he was ready to lock in and settle down

He’s already known it’s you he wants

And even though it’s kind of obvious to everyone that you feel the same way he is a little delusional and thinks he has to like make a grand gesture

So he has you come move visit your future home him and erebor

He gives you little tours and is constantly showering you with gifts and compliments

He doesn’t really care about being a crown prince but for you he will use his rank to get what you want

It’s not until you’ve been there for a while that he finally opens up and tells you how he’s feeling and asking if you could be happy in erebor, if you could love him, etc.

He’s dumbfounded when you are like “of course” because he genuinely was not expecting you to be so willing

"But...I had a whole speech..."

Of course you let him profess his love, and he presents the wedding bead he has had crafted for you

You can see the amount of detail he put into it for you, the intricate carvings reminiscent of your favorite plants

You two are married soon after, though not quite as soon as Fili would have liked

He would have married you in a totally private moment with just the two of you and Balin, but Kili the other dwarves insisted on a proper celebration

The two of you manage to keep it to a minimum, though the ceremony is still beautiful

Fili cannot stop looking at you, openly crying as he says his vows to you, promise his heart and his love

Kili is ecstatic to have another sibling, and Dis welcomes you with a warmth that rivals the forges of Erebor. Even the stoic Thorin gives the two of you a kind word, though his approval is seen in the celebration he throws

After the wedding, Fili takes you away for a very long honeymoon, keeping you all to himself to love and adore in every possible way

Your actual marriage continues to be as beautiful and sweet

Fili cares for you, and he makes sure to show it through both words and actions

He's actually great at communication, encouraging you to be open and honest about your feelings

His feelings never fade, every day he is just as madly in love with you as before

He loves bringing you into court, showing you off as a princess/prince

Isn't crass, but also isn't afraid to be affectionate in public

Always needs to be touching you in someway, whether that be hand holding, his hand on your back, etc.

Unashamed to kiss you whenever the opportunity arises, and he prides himself on his ability to give innocent kisses that convey a warmth and a depth that leave you wanting more

In private...... whoa boy

That man is on you

Whether that be sexy time or cuddling, it doesn't matter, he needs you as physically close as possible

Loves holding you against his chest, murmuring sweet things in your ear

Always wants you to be as special and as loved as a spouse should be

Father Fili

Considering that Fili is a very passionate man, its no surprise when you become pregnant

Its something you both had been open about wanting, and when a healer confirms your symptoms, Fili is overjoyed

He keeps careful track of the pregnancy with you, loving to know how large the baby is, what kind of development is occurring, etc.

Trusts you to know your limits, though he's never too far to give a helping hand or to offer a gentle reminder to take it easy

Spends hours pouring over baby names with you, setting up the baby's room, discussing every little detail he can think of

He thought he couldn't be any happier, already being married to you, but when the baby arrives, he realizes just how much more room he has in his heart

He struggles making sure you get enough time with the baby, because he just never wants to put them down

After helping raise Kili, Fili feels like the father role is very natural for him.

Lots of soft Fili, gently rocking the baby as he walks around the room, his voice low as he sings to them

Loves watching your child grow up, making sure he's as active in the child's life as you are

Celebrates every milestone, loves talking about you and the child (he would be the kind of dad to show everyone the hundred photos he takes every day)

This man truly never tires of just being married and a father, making it clear that his role as prince comes after his family

[mithrilhearts]

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭-𝐌𝐞-𝐍𝐨𝐭

I had the absolute pleasure of working with @kerkusa this year for @fellowshipofthefics's THAUC event!! This story was so much fun to write, and the artwork is immaculate! Be sure to give Kerkusa some love!

bagginshield | post-botfa, amnesia au | 14k

After the Battle of the Five Armies, Thorin remains out of consciousness until his outbursts of pain become too much for Bilbo to witness. Bilbo - the hobbit whom Thorin married in Lake-town - begs Gandalf for assistance. Magic may have pulled the pain away and brought Thorin to a lucid state, but it also took his memories of the quest, Bilbo, and their marriage, away from him. Now, with a fair warning from Gandalf that rushing Thorin's memories too quickly may cause him to relapse, Bilbo must tread carefully around his feelings, while Thorin is dead-set on courting the hobbit he can't remember he married.

↳ NOW ON AO3

[labyrinth-runner]

A Shire Yuletide

Summary: Reader accompanied the dwarves on the quest to retake their home and now its their first Yuletide after being home and they invited Thorin and his family for the holiday. Non-canon compliant in the sense that none of them died in BotFA. Happy Holidays folks

Pairing: Thorin x Gender Neutral reader.

Word Count:

It had been a long shot when you asked Gandalf to help you send Thorin your letter, and yet he'd came and the rest of his family were coming, too. Thorin had been the first to arrive, much to your delight, and the two of you had caught up on your friendship, picking up where you'd left off. The truth was that you missed Thorin, much more than a mere friend, but you couldn't tell him that. He didn't see you like that. No, you were just friends, trauma bonded over a fight for their mountain kingdom that'd left many of them wounded. He was missing this morning, a short note saying he was going to take a walk was resting on your nightstand along with a hot cup of cinnamon spice tea. He'd remembered. You had a laundry list of things to do to set up for the holiday festivities since you had both dwarves and hobbits to house and feed, so you quickly washed up and got to it.

You couldn't imagine what was going through his head as he came in to the kitchen. You knew you were a sight, your arms elbow deep in the mixing bowl, flour handprints down the front of your apron and even the side of your pants because honestly, you forgot you were wearing an apron 90 percent of the time. Your hair was in your eyes and falling out of the quick hairstyle you'd tossed it into to keep it out of the dough.

"What's all this?" Thorin asked from where he leaned against the doorway, gesturing to your general being.

"It's Yuletide baking," you said as if it should be obvious. "I have chocolate crinkles in the oven, gingerbread cooling on the rack, molasses dough in the fridge chilling--and no that is not the same thing as gingerbread even though they are VERY similar in ingredients-"

"And what are you currently making?" he asked, peeking over your shoulder into the bowl. His breath was hot on your neck and you shivered. When had he moved over here?

"Th-this is the experimental cookie," you said, your voice wavering from his proximity.

He chuckled, the sound low and deep in his throat. "And what is so experimental about it if you're following a recipe?"

"Well, the experiment isn't the cookie itself, you see, it's whether the family will like it. I've never made them before, and I've already botched it up by putting everything in the mixing bowl because I was tired and not quite paying attention to where it said mix the egg whites separately to form stiff peaks, like a meringue I'd guess, but..." you trailed off, realizing that you were rambling. "I'm sorry, I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

His brows furrowed. "Stop apologizing." He reached out to swipe some flour off your cheek, following through to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The pad of his thumb was rough against your skin and you held your breath as his gaze roamed over your face. "Your hair will never stay back like that."

"I just needed it out of my face," you murmured.

"May I?" he asked.

You tilted your head at him. "May you...?"

"Take care of it for you."

You shrugged. "I'm fine with how it is, but if it bothers you that much, then sure."

He had a small smile that you saw out of the corner of your eye as he moved behind you. You felt a gentle tug before your hair was cascading down around your shoulders. His motions were so incredibly gentle, nothing at all like when your mother used to do your hair as a child. He was silent, focusing on your hair. A shiver went down your spine as his fingers grazed the back of your neck.

"Are you nervous?" you asked, trying to fill the silence. It weighed heavily, and you weren't quite sure why. Silence between you two had been mostly comfortable these days, but this silence was intense.

"About our families meeting? Should I be?"

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "Aunt Tilda is very... let's just say she doesn't always take to other's opinions. Cousin Mathilde will try to steal the cutlery. I'm more worried about how they'll be to your family. It's..." you trailed off, trying to pick up the thread again. "We're not very conventional."

"Perhaps hobbits and dwarves should mix more often. We're not that much different," he said, tying your braid with a ribbon. "There."

Your hand came up to stroke the tail of the braid hanging over your shoulder. "It's better than I could have done."

"Is there anything you need help with?" he asked, suddenly sounding unsure of himself. It was cute. "I may not be good at it, but my hands are yours."

"Can you put the kettle on? I'll finish this up and we can break for tea."

You could see the relief flood through him. "Cinnamon spice?"

"As much as that is my favorite tea, I think we should take the holiday blend out to make sure it's still good for tomorrow's breakfast. What time are your nephews getting here?"

Almost as if on cue, the door to your hobbit hole swung open nearly hitting the wall.

"Uncle Thorin! Your favorite nephew has arrived!" Kili called from the front hall.

"Yes, and thank you for the introduction, brother," Fili said.

Thorin sighed, but you caught the smile tugging at his lips as he went out to greet them. "You two better not be destroying the house. We are guests here."

You bit your lip. You knew he'd have to return to Erebor. That was his home, but still, part of you wondered if maybe, just maybe, he might find his home with you. You weren't fit to be anything resembling a ruler of the dwarves, that much you knew. You'd tried life under the mountain for a week after the battle had subsided and you waited for Thorin to recover. It was cold and not at all cozy. There was very little sunlight in most places, and everything echoed in the cavernous halls. You heard every groan of pain he made from down the hall, and you got little sleep worrying about whether he'd recover. But he had. He was almost completely himself, aside from the slight limp he had, but even that seemed to be getting better. You'd returned home fairly soon after his fever broke. There hadn't been a place for you in his court, and you knew it.

Peeking around the corner, you spied on the three of them hugging each other, a clap on the back and a good natured laugh as they caught up. You wondered if Thorin felt as out of place here in your home as you did in his.

Kill saw you first, coming over and hugging you so hard your feet left the ground. "Madtubirzul! It's been too long."

"Thank you for inviting us," Fili added, presenting you with a bouquet of flowers that looked an awful lot like the flowers from your neighbor's winter garden.

"Please, you are all doing me the favor of taking the attention off of me," you replied, taking the proffered flowers. "They won't stop asking me about my time under the mountain and I just want a relaxing holiday."

You pulled out a vase for the flowers, setting them on the table in the dining room. "You can put your things in the second bedroom on the left. Dwarves on the left, hobbits on the right."

"And where's Uncle Thorin sleeping?" Kill asked, elbowing his Uncle.

"On the left with the rest of you sorry lot," he said, smacking Kili's hand away.

"Well, I'll let you boys settle in," you murmured, returning to your baking.

The sound of the kettle pulled you out of your baking trance, You wiped your brow with your sleeve. Thorin pulled the kettle off the stove and began to prepare the teapot as you put your last tray of cookies on the cooling rack.

He handed you a cup, expecting you to sit with the rest of them at the table, but instead you walked outside, choosing to sit down in the grass. It was cool, and you needed the break from the heat of the oven. You rested the teacup on your knee as you laid back into the grass and shut your eyes just for a moment.

"Lanselê," Thorin murmured, taking the cup of tea off your knee.

You opened your eyes, realizing with a start that you'd fallen asleep. "Butter and biscuits!" you cursed. "How long was I out for?"

"An hour," he replied.

You dug the heels of your hands into your eyes. "Well now my schedule is all out the window. I won't get anything done in time."

"You have three able-bodied dwarves in your home. Put us to work."

"Thorin, you are my guests, I cannot ask you to do things," you groaned.

"I'm more than just a guest," he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"You're right, you're a King. I really can't ask you to do domestic chores," you replied, standing up and brushing off your pants.

"That's not what I meant."

Your brow furrowed. "Thorin, I don't really have time in my already ruined schedule to argue semantics." You marched back into your kitchen and began to pull out the goose and start to brine it so that you could cook it the next morning.

Kili was the first to pop into the war zone that was the kitchen. "Can I help with anything?"

"Want to peel some potatoes?" you asked, pushing the bucket of potatoes and peeling knife towards him.

He nodded and got to work, his eyes flicking to you every couple of seconds.

"What?" you snapped.

"Your braid," he said.

"Thorin did it for me earlier."

"And the bead on the ribbon?"

"What be-" you looked down to see a small wooden bead that the ribbon had been strung through. It had a wide, ornate, almost X shape carved into it.

Kill laughed from where he sat on a stool peeling. "You have no idea what that means, do you?"

"Should I?" you raised a brow at him.

Kili shrugged. "If I were going to braid your hair I'd at least would have told you the importance of it first. That's what I did with Tauriel."

You narrowed your eyes at him, pulling your arm out of the goose's carcass. You washed your hands, wiping them on your apron to dry them. Thinking better of it, you removed your apron and left it on the kitchen table before stomping off to find a dwarf.

He was in your library, sitting at your desk. Reading YOUR book manuscript.

"Do you normally read other people's things? I don't know how you do things in Erebor, but you aren't under the mountain anymore," you snapped.

His eyes flicked up to you. He held the book up, waving it towards you. "Is this how you see me?"

"What are you talking about?"

He opened the book to the page he was on and began to read, "There were a gaggle of dwarves in my home, but then one arrived unlike any I had ever seen before. He was incredibly handsome, but his eyes were ice."

"Well, you didn't make a very good first impression," you grumbled.

Thorin began to get up.

"Thorin," you pleaded.

With a sigh, he sat back down.

You took a tentative step towards him. "What does this bead mean?"

He blushed and looked out your window. "It's just a bead."

"Kill doesn't seem to think so."

He muttered something under his breath.

"Thorin," you said, sitting on your desk. "Why did you come?"

"Because you invited me." He looked up at you, his eyes tired. You hadn't noticed it since he'd gotten there, or maybe you had but you'd just explained it away with the fact that you just hadn't seen him in a while and people change. "Why did you invite me?"

"Because I missed you," you admitted.

"We wrote all the time, but its not the same, is it?" he said, placing a hand on your knee.

You placed your hand on top of his. "Stay."

"What?" he asked.

"Are you happy as King Under the Mountain?" you asked. "Because... I think that you've seen too much of the world to be content to hide away in a cave again. I think that it's nice to know that you have a home to go back to..." you took a deep breath to choose your next words very carefully. You stroked your thumb along the side of his hand. "But I don't think home has ever been a place for you, has it?"

"It can be a very lonely mountain," he murmured, squeezing your knee.

"So stay," you begged.

"I can't. I have to take care of my people."

"But who will take care of you?" you turned a critical eye on him, taking in everything about his appearance. "You look exhausted. You've lost weight. You didn't reply to me for months. I'm worried about you."

"You don't have to worry about me," he said, a slight edge to his voice.

"But I do!" You grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Listen, you stubborn dwarf, you need to take care of yourself, and sometimes what you think you wanted isn't what you actually want once you get it."

"What could you possibly know about that?"

"Everything!" You stood, exasperated. You were crying tears of frustration at this point. "All I wanted to do was get home and now that I'm home, all I want is to be with you."

Thorin stood and cupped your cheeks in his hands, brushing the tears off them.

"Stop comforting me when I'm cross with you," you sniffed.

He rested his forehead against yours. "Dwarves braid the hair of their consort."

You rested your hands on his chest. "By hobbit standards, we've been courting since you all asked me to go on the longest walk of my life."

Leaning forward, you kissed him. It was soft at first, as if he was afraid that you'd pull back and regret it. When you didn't, he slanted his mouth against yours and sunk his fingers into the base of the braid at your neck, wrapping his arm around your back and pulling you flush against him. He had lost weight, but he was still so strong under your hands. You kissed him back, running your tongue over his bottom lip. He grunted against your mouth.

Incessant knocks sounded at the front door and you reluctantly pulled back, a slight grimace on your face. "That would be the hobbits."

"Well, I guess I should meet my future family," Thorin said with a grin.

"I never said yes," you replied.

He deflated a bit.

"But you also never asked," you said pointedly. You paused in the doorway. "Tomorrow, after dinner, let's go for a walk."

Thorin smiled. "A walk would be great."

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Ready to rec some awesome fics that I read this month!! Feel free to add on with some of your own Bagginshield recs. 😁

April 2024 Rec List

G Rated:

A Dwarven Beauty by bebel_bee (Complete, 4K, 1ch.)- You have to love cultural differences where it comes to the dwarven and hobbit concepts of beauty. Bilbo is getting a bunch of odd comments on his looks that he thinks are derogatory. This is such a fun, quick read with fun misunderstandings and a lovely getting together scene.

Green-Handed by lotus0kid (Complete, 41K, 20ch.)- This was a really fun magical hobbits fic. Under certain conditions, hobbits go "green-handed" which means they can grow anything through touch and that's how Bilbo finds himself one morning. The ending of this fic just gets me with how absolutely enamored Thorin is with Bilbo and his gift.

Ive found Frodo...and he found you? by Lucigoo89 (Complete, 2K, 1ch.)- I need to preface this by saying my house had an entire den of fifteen skunks living under it that we tried to relocate...I absolutely despise skunks. But I gave this a chance for Lucigoo and it was as predicted, completely adorable. Little skunk Frodo wanders off and when Bilbo goes after him, he finds him in a den of badgers, one of whom he knows rather intimately.

T Rated:

Burning Crowns by Morg47 (Complete, 9K, 2ch.)- I read the first chapter when this was just a one-shot craving more and the author didn't disappoint! Infamous thief Bilbo helps the rightful king of Erebor in his assassination attempt of Smaug. I love seeing a confident BAMF Bilbo, and apparently Thorin does too.

Frozen Heart by snowmissus (soul_of_blaze) (WIP, 14K, 5ch.)- This is such a unique AU with a compelling set up. Bilbo has been tasked by Yavanna to try to help Erebor out of its frozen state, and by extension its king. Very fairytale-esque with some great characterizations and interactions, I can't wait for more!

Imbalance by northerntrash (Complete, 10K, 1ch.)- This story genuinely shocked me! In this Hades/Persephone AU, it is Bilbo who is Lord of the Underworld and Thorin who is a plant life god. As cracky as that sounds, it actually legitimately works in this AU as Bilbo and Thorin rely on each other to make themselves better.

There and Not Back Again (or, The Saving of Erebor) by femmbingley (WIP, 178K, 52ch.)- There’s so much to say about this fic. Post-BOTFA dwarven politics where Bilbo has assumed the duties of the consort which makes things more difficult for Dain. I really love the characterizations and I just can’t get enough of this fic!

to feel you like a knife by queerofthedagger (Complete, 23K, 2ch.)- Thorin's POV absolutely shook me at the beginning as he describes seeing his three loved one laid up in cots. After Bilbo saves Thorin's life, he wakes up to find his memories prior to Laketown are gone. It was so well paced and absolutely delicious in angst with a happy ending.

M Rated:

Backs to the Wall by Conkers (WIP, 124K, 24ch.)- I held off on this fic for a long time, not because I was worried I wasn’t going to enjoy it, but because I knew how much it would have me foaming at the mouth. Missing the deadline, the Company splits up at Laketown with Thorin, Dwalin, Nori, and Bilbo remaining to earn some coin. I’m beside myself with the gentle, sweet moments of pre-Bagginshield that have me screaming.

E Rated:

The Burden of Choice by Fantasyinallforms (Complete, 56K, 12ch.)- I went absolutely feral over this fic! Bilbo and Thorin are arranged to marry each other, neither knowing who the other is, and they escape in the night and begin to travel together. There were just so many emotions throughout this fic, it was so well written!

The Riven Crown by BeautifulFiction (Complete, 254K, 31ch.)- It was time for another read of this wonderful story. Bilbo stays in Erebor to see them through the winter only to find himself in a courtship with the king and a plot to see Thorin off the throne. This is just the ultimate Bilbo remains in Erebor fic and definitely worth the read if you haven't already.

Theft by Erinye (Complete, 124K, 40ch.)- Another epic that I had to reread this month. For his part in the alliance, Thorin demands Bilbo be returned to the mountain to be tried for his crimes in stealing the Arkenstone. Although the deaths of Fili and Kili break my heart in this fic, the rediscovery of Bilbo and Thorin's relationship through sex and comfort makes this a great read.

[sotwk]

The Task of Living (Thorin x unnamed OC)

Love Confession feat. Thorin Oakenshield 

Valentine 2023 Event by @sotwk

Summary: Two years after his triumphant reclamation of Erebor, Thorin returns to his former village in Dunland, seeking the woman he has loved since long ago.

Prompt: “You have to come back to me. Because I cannot do this without you.”

Requested by and Dedicated to: @the-fragile-heart-of-a-lady. Thank you for the request, the follow, and for letting me do a little something to help you feel better! This definitely turned out longer and more detailed than I had planned, so I hope it brings you some joy and comfort! <3

Word count: 2.4 k

Content: Romance, angst, drama, fierce dwarf-maiden, Everybody Lives AU, post-BotFA, King Thorin

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Some sensuality

To Read on AO3: Link

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics

The Task of Living

Third Age 2943

Dunland

“Is she… is she yours?” 

You smoothed a hand over the unbraided chestnut curls of the dwarf-child on your lap and shook your head. "My sister's. You probably don’t remember her."

His coal-black eyebrows knitted together, but only for a second. "Rith," he spoke her name with a triumphant little smirk that made you itch with a desire to smack it off his face. He set down his tankard of mulled ale on the table and leaned forward, the rickety old chair creaking underneath this small movement. “And how is she?”

“She is dead,” you said flatly, enjoying the flinch that wrinkled his perfect features. “Killed in an orc raid on the village six years ago, she and her husband both.” You gave your niece a quick hug and set her down, patting her lightly on the back. “Why don’t you go and help your Grandmother with the stew?”

“She needn’t have bothered, truly.” His keen blue eyes scanned the single-room cottage that presently housed three women across three generations. Although his gaze seemed mostly curious, his interest suddenly made you feel embarrassed about the dwelling’s small size and worn-out shabbiness.

“Of course she had to,” you hissed, rising abruptly from your chair. “What else are we expected to do when a king shows up at our doorstep, with no forewarning, but to scramble to pay respects and offer up what little provisions we have?” 

Thorin rose to his feet, slowly, as though a dreadful weight burdened his stooped shoulders. Still, he towered over you, his regal demeanor undeniable despite his obvious attempts to dress in simple garb, with no raiment upon him other than the ancestral crown on his head. 

“A caravan is on its way here,” he said. “Two dozen wagons loaded with enough food and supplies for a year. Enough for this whole village and its neighbors. It should arrive in a few days. The cargoes are heavy and the roads are troublesome. I decided to ride ahead with my guard because…” He faltered, but took a breath and pressed on. “...because I could not wait to see you.”

Oh no. You backed up a step, subconsciously resisting the allure of his presence, the implication of his words. Before you could turn away, he spoke again, “Perhaps we might move this conversation outside. There is still light out; we can take a short walk.”

Perhaps it would be easier to breathe and keep a clear head outdoors with all the fresh air. As you exited the cottage, you felt Thorin’s hand cup lightly around your elbow, in a courteous gesture to help you down the steps. You jerked your arm away, irritated by the silly nicety reserved for soft, high-society ladies who likely kept his company now.

In the corner of your eye, you spotted several armored soldiers by the sheep pen, tending to their ponies. You marched on in the direction of the little brook that bordered your property, determinedly and defiantly, leaving Thorin to hasten his steps to keep up.

“If I may say so, you look well--” 

You stopped and spun around without warning. "Why are you here, Thorin?” You grimaced and corrected yourself. “Pardon me. Why are you here, your Majesty?”

“Thorin,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “You need not be so formal with me, not after so many years of friendship between us.”

Friendship. That word could not have burned you worse than a glowing hot iron straight out of the furnace. And suddenly it was thirty-five years ago, when you stood before each other in similar surroundings all the way in the shadows of the Blue Mountains, and Thorin told you with utmost conviction, that he could not accept your marriage proposal. 

And you exploded. All the grief and pain and anger that you had shored up behind a wall inside your heart flowed like fiery lava on the slopes of an awakened volcano. 

“Are you trying to hurt me?!” you cried. “Is that why you have come? Now that you have accomplished your great destiny to regain your throne, you thought it might amuse you to return to your former haunts and toy with the commoners you used to dwell amongst? Are you already so weary and bored of counting all the gold in the great Kingdom Under the Mountain?”

Thorin squared his shoulders and set his jaw against the accusations, incorrigibly stubborn as you had always known him to be. “I came to help. Both you and your kin.” He gestured at the house behind them, and the others beyond. “This land was also my home once.”

“It has not been your home for a very long time, Thorin.” You wrapped your arms across your chest, whether to shield yourself from the winter chill or from the dwarf who had shattered you irreparably, you weren’t certain. “Allow me to refresh the King’s memory since it has been so long: you abandoned it for the Blue Mountains. I was there. I left my own family and moved across Eriador to follow yours. But a humble life at the Lune would not satisfy you either, and you refused to settle and put down roots.”

At least not with me. You swiped at the corners of your eyes, furious at the tears that wouldn’t stop their descent. "You should not have come back here. We will manage well enough without Erebor's charity."

The old Thorin might have exchanged your rejection with biting words of his own; such was the pride that ran through the Durins' veins. But the face of the dwarf-lord before you softened as he continued.

"I came for you. To tell you I have not forgotten everything we shared together." The tone of his voice had changed; it cracked with desperation, pleading with you to accept his declarations. And then he uttered your name, and hearing it on his lips roused an ache inside you that was too much to bear. 

You started walking again, stomping over the thick snow, following the line of naked trees along the frozen brook. He kept up with you in determined strides, raising his voice to a near shout as his passion grew.

"I have thought of you every day since we parted. Every memory I had of you, I kept close, even though it burned me as often as it kept me warm, because I refused to surrender hope that this day would come for us."

You shook your head wildly and pressed your hands over your ears, as though these gestures would be enough to make him stop. 

“Amrâlimê, please...”

"Do. NOT. Call me that!"

You whirled around and punched him, slamming your fist into his chest, stopped by a wall of thick leather and muscle. While you considered yourself strong for your race, your strength fell short against a Durin. Thorin did not budge an inch, or even wince. Perhaps your predictable temper was the part of you least easily forgotten. So you hit him again. And again. Until you were pounding both fists repeatedly against his torso, his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you thought you could get him to feel just a small fraction of the agony he had put you through for over thirty years. Still Thorin refused to move or throw up any kind of self-defense. 

How dare he! How dare he address you as such, in the tender manner that haunted you for decades even after you left the Blue Mountains to escape the unbearable sight of him. The precious endearment he would whisper into your ear on occasions of stolen intimacy, sigh into your hair in moments of peaceful contentment, moan against your skin whenever he made love to you.

Through your rage, you sensed the guards approaching to rescue their lord, and instinct prepared you to turn around and fight back like a cornered animal. But Thorin raised his hand at them in a signal to halt, and he finally reached out to catch your flailing wrists, easily ending your assault.

"I love you. As Mahal is my witness, my heart has ever belonged to you alone." He encased your hands tightly within his and held them against his chest, tugging you to him. "And you love me still, I can see it, however wretchedly undeserving I am."

You could not even think of struggling. It was too late. He was too close now, close enough for you to feel how real he was--his piercing eyes, his strong, calloused hands, the scent of smoke and steel that clung to the very hairs of his warm skin. These were not just a fantasy conjured by delirious longing, or a dream from the nights you cried in your sleep. Thorin was here. Alive and well, and here. 

“I am truly sorry for all the pain I have caused you. Forgive me, Amrâlimê,” he murmured hoarsely, tracing the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb, sweeping down the softness of your jaw. “If I can have nothing else from you, I beg you to grant me that last kindness.”

That single moment of exposed vulnerability, of breathtaking sorrow and regret that radiated from him, reached you more than any of his expressions of passion. How much have the years changed him? The Thorin you knew could never bear to admit he was wrong about anything. Was it possible that rising to his kingship finally taught him humility? 

“You have my forgiveness.” As you spoke this pardon, the remaining flames of your anger blew out to nothingness.

And Thorin smiled, his sweet, gentle smile, rare as the most precious gem but many times as beautiful. Your own smile felt like it would break your cheeks. He pulled you into his embrace and you sobbed into his neck, wondering if it was possible to die of happiness. 

Drawing back, Thorin cradled your face between his hands, smoothing your tear-streaked cheeks, and rested his forehead on yours. “May I…?” Your breaths mingled in the soft whisper, and his eager lips already brushed yours even as he waited for permission.

"I may only ever kiss My One, whom they call Oakenshield," you said softly. "Where can I find him under the fine trappings of this great King?"

In response, Thorin gripped the heavy golden crown on his head and lifted it off. It slipped carelessly from his fingers and fell to the snow-covered ground with a dull thud. 

"Let me show you," he said, and waited no more. He kissed you with the hunger of years of longing, deeply and greedily, pausing only when you whimpered for breath you could not catch. He backed you up underneath a tree, which you leaned against to aid your weakening balance as Thorin pressed on, his mouth leaving your swollen lips only to descend your neck, worshiping every inch of skin he could access.

"Durin help me," he growled into the curve of your shoulder, exposed where he had nearly torn your sleeve off. His chest still heaved from exertion and barely restrained lust. "I must have you again." He raised his eyes to meet yours, and the look in them made you swallow hard, conscious of your own depraved desire for him. "But it should be in the proper way you deserve."

"You are the only one I would ever have," you said, combing your fingers through a section of his thick black hair, now beautifully mixed with silver stands. 

He took your hand to his lips, kissing your palm repeatedly before saying, "So would you return to Erebor with me?"

Your hesitation made him wrap both arms tightly around you, his entire body tense with the lingering fear of being separated from you again.

"You have to come back to me. Because I cannot do this without you."

"Do what?" you asked, caressing his beard to calm the anxiety you regretted causing him. "What task is it that the great hero of Erebor needs a humble peasant's help in accomplishing?"

"The task of living." Thorin cupped his hand underneath your chin and gazed at you with soft, earnest affection. "A life with you was the only treasure I ever desired, but duty forced me to deprive myself of it. But no longer. I have avenged my family and restored our honor and our house. I have led our people back home. The time has come for me to pursue my own joys and pleasures, and those exist only in you."

"But my lord. My love," you whispered, once again moved to tears by the gladness his words roused in you. "Am I still a suitable match for you now that you require a consort to rule a kingdom by your side? I am not fit for the legendary grandeur of Erebor." You gestured at your attire, from your unadorned hair, your plain brown wool dress with a patched up skirt and worn, dirt-caked boots. "Just look at me."

"Indeed. I look at you with great pleasure," Thorin said, with a smirk that immediately made you blush. "When I look at you, I see my dreams fulfilled. I cannot imagine providing Erebor with a braver, kinder, wiser, or more radiant Queen."

"If you would still have me, that is." He held out his open palm to you, revealing an item he produced from the folds of his robe. Fading sunlight bounced off the high polish of the small, silvery-grey stone. You gasped when you recognized the betrothal bead you had offered him so many years ago. He must have rescued it after you had flung it away in your heartbroken grief, and kept it safe with him all this time. 

"I fought through dragonfire and armies of orcs so I may live to see this day, so I may get a second chance to accept and wear this." Hope and fear battled in his intense stare, which bore down on you with heavy anticipation. "But now the course of my fate rests entirely upon you. Will you have me?"

He held his breath in the brief silence before you closed his fist around the bead and smiled. "I will have you for the rest of my life and whatever else lies beyond, Thorin Oakenshield." You placed a tender kiss on his knuckles. "So let us go home and see to this task of living… my King."

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[mikathemonster]

“kisses and fireworks”

author’s note: happy new year everyone! I'm so excited to go into 2023, I feel like things can only go up from here :D and while I'm feeling very hopeful and optimistic, I figured I'd write a little treat to commemorate the new year with the classic tradition of a new year’s kiss! I hope you all enjoy :)

Pairing: Kíli / Gender-neutral Human Reader

Word Count: 5,165

summary: Finally being able to witness the majesty of Erebor on the anniversary of Durin’s Day was already enough for your hungry heart, but maybe there was more to these mountain halls than just architecture...

content warnings: Post-BOTFA, Everyone Lives! AU, knives, fireworks

DO NOT REPOST OR COPY. MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

Five years. That’s how long it had taken to rebuild Erebor from the aftermath of Smaug’s conquest, to rebuild Dale into the prosperous city it once was, and for the rich trade of Laketown to return. Five whole years. And in those five years, news of Thorin Oakenshield had spread like wildfire; people gathered to tell stories of his great journey and monumental accomplishments. He was like a dwarven god, a figment of heroism built upon a true and very real legacy. Portraits were made of him, and the great city of Dale had even erected a statue in his honor. He was the picture of dwarven royalty; a hard-worn and steely gaze followed by an aura of immense power and dignity. You had come to know his face well, catching tales of the stories all the way in The Angle. In fact, it was for that reason you had journeyed east of your home, hoping to see the majesty of Erebor for yourself. Your journey took place on the fifth anniversary of Erebor’s reclamation.

Now, it had been ten years since Smaug’s demise, and five years since your own journey. When you had originally traveled east, you had come to find out through merchants in Laketown that the dwarven kingdom of Erebor prohibited outsiders from entering, save for the few dignitaries of Men and Elves that had aided Erebor in their time of need. Despite being let down by this, your determination hadn’t been swayed. Onward, you pressed on, eventually settling down in Dale for the better half of the last few years. Keeping a trade, you had gotten into smithing, setting up a small shop for yourself where you crafted decorated chains and knives of silver steel. You were known for your highly-detailed decorative work, especially when it came to hilts of blades. And for a while, you were satisfied with your new life you had made for yourself. But as days went on, you often wondered if there was any chance to see more than simple daydreams of the proud dwarven kingdom.

And just your luck, there was! News spread fast throughout Dale of a banquet to be held in the massive halls of Erebor, and the invitation had been extended to anyone who wished to come. You all but jumped in delight at the thought that after all this time, you’d finally see the great city-kingdom. More news of the banquet came to pass, and you wasted no time in finding a suitable outfit. It would be held on Durin’s Day, the anniversary of Thorin’s company reclaiming Erebor with the death of Smaug, and would commemorate the tenth year of Erebor’s reclamation. Another new and prosperous year was to be celebrated, and you had even heard word that Gandalf the Grey would be conjuring up fireworks for the spectacle. How excited you were to see a wizard! How excited you were to see Erebor! You were so wildly excited for this, wondering what could possibly lie beyond those bedrock gates. Perhaps you would even meet a jeweler who would be willing to supply you gems for your craft! Oh, it felt like the possibilities were truly endless.

The next few days, as Durin’s Day was merely a week away, seemed to whizz by rather quickly. Within two days, you had already found your outfit: a billowing cream-white tunic tucked into a long brown skirt, which was embellished with silver embroidery along the seams and edges. Bringing everything in together was a quilted green vest, also embroidered with silver thread resembling leaves. You decided this would be a fine opportunity to showcase your handiwork, and so all your jewelry was your own: a thin bronze band engraved with feathers on your right hand, a delicate silver chain adorning your neck with a blue pendant, and a chain belt of shining bronze wrapped around your waist, with the metal peppered in decorative carvings. It was modest, surely, but you felt regal enough to grin every time you caught yourself admiring your silhouette in a mirror.

Two more days passed, and you had found yourself busy with your latest order: three knives, all sisters, and all to be made with your finest work. The customer, a young dwarrowdam named Bralva, had insisted the knives be prepared and finished before the banquet. You would’ve refused the order for the lack of time if she hadn’t promised to reward you handsomely. Fueled by the notion that you would need to buy new tools soon, you had taken her on.

“But what for, if I may ask?” You were perplexed by her need to rush. “For Durin’s Day? I thought weapons wouldn’t be allowed at such a banquet.”

“Oh Mahal, no!” Bralva chided. “They’re not for me, dear. Ten years I’ve waited to see my homeland again, and I won’t risk the chance to not marry well into Durin’s line while I’m at it! I plan on offering them to the king and princes, in hopes I marry off.”

“Marriage?” You scoffed. “At a celebration of a new year?”

“You think of me as a joke, but I know what I’m doing,” she insisted. “All three royals of Erebor sit unmarried as it stands. With gifts such as these, I’m bound to make my presence known well!”

You simply laughed her off, not wanting to risk insulting her and therefore lose a customer. “Alright, alright, then I wish you well, Miss. But how can you be so willing to marry a stranger?”

“It’s a new year, dear. How can you be so unaccepting of wishful thinking? Besides, banquets like these are such romantic places to find love. Or lust…” She muttered the last bit, her cheeks glowing as rosy as her magnificent beard from thinking such thoughts.

That was the last you had seen her in all her glory, and since then you had been set to work on making the most exquisite knives you had crafted yet. Now, on whether or not they’d be worthy of a royal marriage, you weren’t sure. But you would damn well try your hardest! You had immediately gotten to work on the blades once she left, and spent the next two days working on the hilts with such a ferocious intensity and tenacity that by the time she came to collect them on the morning of Durin’s Day, you were exhausted. Sleep tugged at your undereyes and you were in desperate need of a shower.

“My, the skill! I dare say you have almost the talent of a dwarf! ” Bralva cheered, holding one of the delicate blades up to her face for a better look. And, just as promised, you had indeed been rewarded quite handsomely, with a pouch full of gold pieces in your hands. Unfortunately, in your exhaustion, you had missed her compliment and only picked up on her muttering about dwarven princes and marriage.

“Hm? Oh, yes, of course,” you mused in your sleepy stupor.

“My dear, I hope you intend to bathe before tonight,” she chuckled, waving a hand at your disheveled appearance. “Luck will not be on your side if this is to be your attire!”

You sighed, casting a quick glance in the mirror. By the gods, she was right. You shrugged her off, letting out a tired groan. “I’ll be fine, there’s still a whole rest of the day before the banquet tonight. Besides, luck should favor you more if you plan to be wed so soon.”

She blushed at your words, giggling to herself. “But still! You are young, and you won’t get any younger! Take it from an old dwarrow, my dear.”

“Old?” You scoffed, running a hand through your hair to get it out of your face as you got a better look at her. “Look at you! You’re so beautiful and young, yourself! How old can you possibly be?”

“A woman never tells her age,” she chuckled, leaning in. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But if you must know, I’m to be 183 soon.”

You bit your tongue from cursing in shock. It seemed you had forgotten the differences in life spans between man and dwarf. “What? Surely you jest!”

Again, you were graced with a blushing and smiling Bralva. “Still, my dear, don’t refuse love to come to you! Who knows, with three single royals, maybe we’ll both end up with one!” She winked, and you silently hoped she’d buy your wares again in the future. She was cheekily amusing, and good gossip and entertainment was hard to come by when you were always holed up to work on your chains and knives.

“Well how am I to know if I’m in the presence of a prince?” You leaned in, humoring her despite the slight ache in your back. Once you wrapped up with her, you were intent on taking a nap after a vigorous bath. “I hardly think they’d be impressed by me, after all.”

“Well, your looks are certainly considered more… unorthodox to most dwarves, and considering you’re not a dwarf yourself…” She trailed off, realizing that maybe she hadn’t fully meant it when she jested about you both marrying off. “But nevermind that! The princes are as strong as they are young! Too young for me, I'm sure, but I’ll certainly still try!” She gave another wink, and you chuckled, realizing she still hadn’t answered your question.

“Yes, but I’ve only seen portraits of King Thorin. How will I know which ones are the princes?” You smiled, enjoying the conversation. It was nice to talk to someone after working for three days straight.

“Well, they both have the same powerful looks as they’re uncle, that’s for sure. I myself haven’t seen them, but I’ve heard tales that the oldest one carries beautiful metal beads in his mustache braids, and he’s skilled with swords and knives! He’s a natural warrior, he is!”

“And the other?”

“I’ve heard less of him, only that he once took a Morgul shaft and survived, and that he cannot grow a beard,” She sighed, muttering. “Poor thing.”

“Surely you know more about these two than their beards, or lack thereof?” You scoffed.

“I know enough to gift them your beautiful work! That’s all I need!” She grinned, boasting. “And speaking of which, I’ve got to go get ready! Time moves quickly when corsets and gowns are involved, my dear. Take care!”

You waved as she left, saying your own goodbyes, and soon as she was out of your eyesight, you immediately closed up shop. If she was already getting ready and it was still morning, it seemed you’d need to hurry yourself as well.

Hours passed, and after bathing yourself and falling asleep in the bath, you deemed yourself hygienically appropriate for a banquet. The dirt and grease from your trade had been scrubbed off, your hair now brushed and freshly cleaned, and you smelled more like a normal person and less like a furnace. A job well done, I’d say! Now, all that was left was to get ready for the night.

Now, while you hadn’t planned on arriving particularly early, you were mildly annoyed with yourself and how late you had become. Bralva was right to mention getting ready takes time; you had spent a whole hour trying to do something with you hair! Eventually, you settled with wearing it down and peppering it with small braids hidden within the tresses.

The trek from Dale to Erebor wasn’t terribly long, and it was more of a hike than a trek, as the path was already lit with torches that beckoned visitors into the night mountain fortress. You couldn’t help the excitement you felt, which pressured your feet to walk faster as you tried not to practically run to the mountain. Oh, Erebor! Finally, you would see if all the legends of its majesty you had heard were true!

As you stepped into the halls of the mountain, you couldn’t help but gawk in awe of the architecture. Hell, you had thought Dale to be lovely and beautiful, but even the glorious city not too far away now paled in comparison to the extravagance of Erebor. Glittering gold accented every wall, every pillar, every carving into the darkened stone of the mountain. Each shadow in the halls cast a green glow about the place, luring you in like a moth drawn to flame. It was enchanting, alluring, and breathtaking. And despite finding yourself taller than almost all of the folk around you, you looked up at the terrifically high-vaulted ceilings of the mountain and found yourself feeling small. The ceilings themselves were beautiful as well, gems glittering in the mountain-rock that even underground, it felt like you were stargazing.  

After minutes passed by of you taking in the scenery, you found yourself being led deeper into the mountain halls where the true festivities began. In one of Erebor’s many great halls, it seemed the banquet had been going for quite some time already (which made sense, after all you hadn’t exactly been on time). Tables filled with sweet meats and good drink with an endless amount of laughter and drunken shenanigans, and the back of the hall served as a ballroom, where many regal-looking dwarrowdams were seeking the attention of any young dwarrow who they deemed fit to dance with. A part of you wondered where Bralva might have wandered off to. At the very head of this hall lay a large stone table littered with delicacies and fine wines, fit with four grand thrones behind it. You only recognized one of the two seated at the table: Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. Next to him sat a dwarrowdam of immense beauty, her beard beautifully braided down her dress. She shared the same steely gaze as the king, and you wondered if they were related. The two thrones on each side of them sat empty, and you assumed that meant that the princes were off somewhere.

Eager to dip your toes into the culture and wonder of Erebor, you quickly made your way down to the tables to fetch yourself a bottle of ale, finding the taste as delicious as it was potent. You wandered around the outskirts of the hall, snacking on foods here and there and occasionally being dragged in to dance with random strangers that beckoned you onto the dance floor. And how could you not? It was the celebration of a new year! And what a mighty celebration it was, as your night quickly began getting filled by being whisked onto the dance floor by men and women alike. Amidst the dancing bodies and jigs being played, you spotted Bralva merrily along, and eagerly returned an exciting wave. She was bladeless, which meant she had successfully completed part of her mission: gifting the royalty your best works. It was an honor, really, and you wish you could have seen their reactions. Better yet, you wondered how much more of Erebor you could see before the night ended, considering you weren’t sure whether the kingdom would remain open to all after tonight’s feasting. If you snuck off of the ballroom floor right now, there was still a chance you could sneak into the kingdom’s halls scot-free with none the wiser.

And so, armed with your second bottle of ale (not that you needed more, you were already starting to feel tipsy), you snuck out of the great banquet’s hall and found yourself meandering through the dark stone corridors, lit only by torches. It began to seem to you that a place like this would be impossible to live in. Hardly anything was marked, every hallway looked the same, and no matter how grand the architecture was, you found yourself incredibly and hopelessly lost. Leaning against a wall, you slumped down onto the floor, legs sprawled out in front of you as you quietly drank your ale. What were you to do? You’d rather be caught by a guard and thrown out of the party than risk trying to find your way back and only getting more lost! At least for now, you could live in your dream that had up until now been simply that. A dream.

Time passed slowly, and your only measure of it was your ale reaching the halfway point in its bottle. You were starting to get bored of sitting around, and desperately craved something to do. Perhaps you should try and explore some more? Maybe try to find the rumored treasure halls of Thráin? Or perhaps you could try to steal a peek of the forges, if you were even that lucky?

Unfortunately, time waits for no man, least of all one stuck in a decision. For in your pondering, you hadn’t realized that a certain dwarrow was running right towards you, seeming to try and escape someone or something else with a cheeky glint in his eye. But right when you noticed him, it was all too late; in his haste, he hadn’t seen your extended legs, and tripped over them like a blithering fool. You quickly got onto your knees, horror creeping on your face as you’d realize what you accidentally did.

“Oh. Oh my gosh! Oh my, I’m so sorry! I really didn’t mean to, truly!” You pleaded, extending a hand on his back for reassurance. “Are you okay? I didn’t even see you, I’m so sorry!”

The dwarf sat up, propped up on his elbow while the other hand went to his nose to check for blood. Nothing. It seemed he was about to scold you until his eyes met yours, and suddenly he was looking at you with such wonder that you thought maybe he really had hit his head.

“Are you alright? Is anything bleeding?” Your eyes scanned his features, looking for any sort of bruise he could have suffered, and trying to stay focused all at once. My, he was handsome. Tousled brown hair that fell down in waves upon his shoulders, wondrous brown eyes that seemed to glimmer in the dark, and rough stubble growing out of his face in a sort of ruggish beauty.

Finally, his speech returned to him. “I’m fine, really. I’m so clumsy, it seems we both didn’t see each other.” He smiled, and for some reason you were so enamored by it. You had only just met this man, and yet you already couldn’t get enough of that charming smile.

“Well, that’s a relief!” You sighed, sitting back on the floor, distancing yourself lest you find yourself flustered in front of this beautiful dwarf. “You had me worried there, you could’ve really hurt something.”

“Well, it’s not every day I find myself tripping over people in the hallways,” he mused. “What are you doing in here? You’re not from here, are you?”

You offered him your bottle of ale, and he obliged. “I live in Dale, I have a smithing shop there. I moved here years ago to see Erebor, and the one night I’m let in, I get myself lost!” You groaned, frustrated but still seeing the humor in your misfortune as you chuckled dryly. “I mean, a grand kingdom such as this, and I’m lost! Nothing is marked, there’s no signs anywhere! How do you even get from here to there in a place like this?”

The dwarf laughed at your plight, and despite the embarrassment you were enduring, you couldn’t help but smile at him. “The halls are marked, they’ve always been!”

“What?” You were awestruck, mostly out of ignorance. “Where?!”

“Look at the floors, they’re marked,” he said, moving closer to show you as he pointed his finger at a corner of the floor. As you leaned in to get a better look, you found he was right. Each hall was color-coded by the gem embedded in the stone flooring. Your jaw dropped, but you were quick to pick it back up.

“Wait, but how is any of that supposed to help me? I don’t know which means what!” You leaned back, exasperated, much to the dwarf’s amusement.

“That’s the point. Each gem holds a meaning in our culture, which makes it easy for us to navigate these halls and even easier for trespassers to get lost. It worked for everything except a dragon,” he smiled, looking at your annoyed expression. Suddenly feeling all too noticed as you caught him staring, your face felt hot and flushed, and you were sure it wasn’t just the ale this time.

“Alright, fine,” you lamented. “You caught me. Next time I sneak around these halls, I’ll just bring you along to make it easier.”

“Well,” he spoke, getting up from the floor and offering a hand to help you stand back up, his other hand holding your bottle of ale. “I can’t say I would mind, you already seem like such great company.”

You politely took his hand, standing up yourself to find the dwarf only coming up to your chest. You felt your face heat up again at the sight, taking in how… cute he looked. “I’m sorry,” you took a step back, shaking your head. “I don’t think I even got your name? I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N…” He whispered it to himself, almost like a secret, and found himself smiling after. “It’s beautiful.”

You chuckled nervously, not sure how to handle all the sweet attention. “And yours is?”

He thought for a moment, seeming to ponder whether or not he should tell you, which seemed a little absurd after how friendly you two had been so far. The least you were owed was a name.

“Kíli,” he said with a bow. “At your service.”

“Oh my, it seems your tripping has caused me to trip over my words,” you joked, returning the bow. “However will I repay you?”

He immediately sprung back up, an idea already in his mind. “Your company, perhaps?”

You seemed playfully shocked, putting a hand across your chest. “Who, me? Well who would I be if I declined?”

He smiled at your answer, taking your hand into his as he led you down the halls of Erebor with a swift tenacity just like he had entered with. “This way, I want to show you something!”

You let yourself be dragged across the mountain kingdom with Kíli leading the way, a giddy but nervous smile plastered on your face from holding hands like this. Perhaps it was the alcohol or the excitement of the night, but you were having a grand time being lost, so long as it was with Kíli.

After three minutes of twists and turns within the mountain rock later, suddenly you found yourself on a balcony high above the great hall of the banquet, so high up that the ceiling no longer felt so big. In fact, you yourself felt much bigger now that you had the view of the whole banquet, where everyone else seemed like little partying ants. You were speechless, there simply weren't any words left to describe how amazing this secret spot was. You quickly turned to Kíli, smiling wide like a cat.

“This.. This is amazing!” You shouted, but quickly hushed yourself amidst Kíli’s own shushes, which were accompanied by the most precious smile you’d seen. God, that smile of his shone brighter than any of the precious gems you had seen tonight, brighter than even the stars themselves. You so desperately wanted more of that shining light, especially for yourself.

“Isn’t it?” He smiled, inviting you back down to the floor to sit down. “It’s my secret little spot, I come here whenever I want to be alone, or away from the throngs of people. Not even my own brother knows how to get up here.”

“Well neither do I, so consider your secret kept safe,” you laughed, taking in a moment to look back down at the party scene below. With squinting eyes you could make out Thorin Oakenshield, who now was in deep conversation with a younger, blonde dwarf. Despite the distance, you could make out metal beads in his braids. “That must be one of the princes, look!” You pointed, scooting closer to Kíli so he could see it from your eye line better.

“Really?” He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, but you were too excited to notice. “How do you know?”

“A customer of mine bought some knives from me — beautifully decorated, may I add — in the hopes to present them to the princes and king and maybe even marry them!” You giggled at the last bit, the alcohol making Bralva’s boasts even sillier in your head. Quickly, you searched for Bralva’s beard amidst the sea of dancing ants. “Look! There she is!”

Kíli leaned even closer now to see, his cheek grazing yours, and it made you turn your head to look at him. Reading his expression, you could tell the exact moment his eyes found Bralva, his eyes glimmering once again with that devilish smile of his. You don’t know what led you to be so bold in this next moment, but by some small amount of courage, you leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek.

He was quick to turn and look at you, his face shocked at your gesture, before his shock melted into a giddy smile of joy. A small laugh left his lips, and he raised a hand to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “Mahal…” he whispered to himself, smiling softly. “Even the stars cannot compare to how radiant you are tonight…”

Your eyes widened at his words, unsure of what to say. You’d never been told such sweet things before. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t,” he chuckled, leaning in closer. Ever so slowly, he leaned in, his lips drawing ever nearer but not quite touching as if to ask for a silent confirmation of what was about to happen. Happy to give it, you leaned into him, your lips finally joining together in a kiss that was soft and slow. Your hand took its time to reach into his hair, and you felt him smile into the kiss as you did so, his own hands coming to rest at the nape of your neck and caress your jawline. You felt like you could keep kissing him like this forever, but all too soon, you pulled away, nervous.

“I’m sorry,” you sputtered. You weren’t ashamed, just a little anxious. “I’ve.. Well I'm not... I’ve never-“

“It’s alright, Y/N,” he smiled, petting your head reassuringly as he placed a kiss on your forehead, lingering for just a sweet moment. “There’s no need to explain. We could go somewhere quieter, if you’d like.”

You thought for a moment, catching your breath. You very much wanted to keep kissing him: there was something so addictingly sweet about kissing him. But it seems you definitely needed a moment to collect your thoughts first. “Yes, please. I’d appreciate that.”

“Of course,” he spoke softly, his voice so kind and gentle. He was kind and gentle. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

You nodded with a smile, standing up in tandem with him, when all of a sudden…

BOOM!

Up in the air, the fireworks show had begun, startling you and causing you to jump, knocking you and Kíli back down as you stared at the sparkling fireworks that lingered in the air, resembling butterflies. A sigh of relief washed over you, and you laughed to yourself before looking back to Kíli, who seemed to be in pain. “Oh my gosh!” You quickly got back up, not wanting to crush the poor dwarf. “I’m so sorry, I just got startled, and-“

“No, no, don’t be! It’s not you, it’s-“ he winced, pulling something from under his vest. He must have landed on it, but what he pulled out surprised you more than anything about tonight. There it was, shimmering in the light of the fireworks. Your own handiwork on full display as he held one of the knives you had crafted for Bralva.

“You… You’re…” You pointed a finger at the blade, still so overwhelmed and shocked by the nature of it all. Could it be? There was no way! What were the chances?

“What?” He feigned innocence, getting up. “Charming? Rugged? A sight to behold?”

“You’re the other prince!” You exclaimed, still in shock.

“Ah, right,” he nodded sarcastically. “You know, I always seem to forget that one.” He chuckled to himself, looking away for a moment before turning back to look at you, holding the blade out to you. “It truly is a wonderful gift, Y/N. I'm honored to have met the craftsman behind it.”

You scoffed, now coming back to your senses. “I think you’ve done a little more than ‘meeting’ the craftsman, Kíli. Or am I supposed to call you Your Highness?”

“Just Kíli will do, I can assure you, love.” He smiled, amused at your aloofness towards his title. “And as for doing ‘more than meeting’,” he took a step closer to you, offering his hand. “If you still feel the same, I’d love to continue ‘meeting’ you…”

Love. He had called you love. Gods…

You furrowed your brow, contemplating for a moment, all too worried of what this would implicate for both you and him. He was a dwarven prince, a direct descendant of Durin himself! And you? You were just a smith from Dale, with nothing to your name other than your skill. Could it even work?

Just as you tried desperately to reach a decision, another round of fireworks went off, the sparklers erupting into silvery leaves that fell onto the crowd. And suddenly, you knew. There was nothing else to wonder, to ponder, to overthink.

You turned back to him, leaning in as you dove for another kiss, this one slightly more fervent and desperate, just in case you’d risk never seeing him again. He was a stranger, but he was starlight. He was the sun, and you weren’t sure if you’d bloom again if it wasn’t by his rays. Your hands reached into his hair, tugging slightly, and he eagerly smiled into it, his own hands snaking up your body to rest on your waist, pulling you closer despite the height difference. He laughed between the dance of your lips, pulling away for a moment.

“So I take it that’s a yes?” His child-like eyes seemed to lure you in and drown you in their murky waters, and you wanted nothing more.

You smiled, looking down at him. “My prince, I believe you’d be correct.” And before the shorter one could get another word in, you took his hand, leading him away to somewhere quieter where you two could escape.

And while you may continue to get lost in the halls of Erebor, it was beginning to seem as though having Kíli as your compass, your guiding light, wouldn’t be too bad.

[littlegreengoose]

I have another bagginshield fic I need help with finding. This one is set after BOTFA, and Bilbo is still in Erebor, helping tend to Thorin, Fili, and Kili. I don't have a ton of details to remember, but the ones I do remember is the boys have a snowball fight and get in trouble, Thorin walks a distance while injured to get Bilbo a vase full of flowers, and the boys write to their mother begging for help since both Bilbo and Thorin are oblivious. This is a single work that is most likely buried in my bookmarks, but any help is good help. Thank you to anyone that can lend a hand!!!

[xanthusasaka]

My version of thilbo arclight

Thorin:

People are naturally jealous/want to have what they can't get, and Thorin also almost naturally, without realizing it, longs for things that Bilbo has - a warm home, a peaceful town, enough to make him proudly say that "I miss my home." Maybe it was envy? Maybe it was jealousy, which made him remember the warmth and all kinds of comfortable facilities in Bag-end a few months after he visited it, so he firmly believed that Bilbo - a flower in this kind of greenhouse, could not be like himself, a wandering warrior without a home.

In fact, Thorin's "self" has no home, the lonely mountain is a responsibility, it is destroyed, he has no right to call it home, he feels that he has no choice but to reclaim Erebor, and because of this heavy responsibility, he can't proudly cal the Blue Mountains home.

When Bilbo finally sympathized with the dwarves and confessed that you don’t have a home and I will help you get one, that kind of envy and jealousy and suspicion all turned into an extreme form of longing. Not only does Thorin longing to have a home but he also longing to become like Bilbo, who can say out loud that home is comfortable and I miss home, and even (in a queer lens) longing to find nostalgia in Bilbo’s body. It was a dangerous yet soul-touching transference. What he lost in childhood, he found them in the hobbit. If his homeland had not been destroyed, he would have lived a life like Bilbo, so he also realized that courage lies in In everyone's heart, Bilbo could also empathize with his experience and Bilbo is also brave and strong.

Bilbo

When Bilbo faced Gollum, he didn't realize that he was a Hobbit, but this didn't affect Bilbo thinking of Gandalf's teachings and not killing him. Yet, when Bilbo was protecting Thorin, he made the determination to kill. ↘️(he is literally aiming for heart

(Bilbo in Thorin’s eyes are probably like:↙️

In fact, Bilbo also has a dark and greedy side in his heart. He wanted to kill Gollum. Before Thorin told Gandalf that he must have run away, he did hesitate and wanted to leave secretly. He concealed the ring from Gandalf, and then wanted to kill the orcs again. He's been in an inner struggle, and knows quite well what the bright side looks like in opposition to those dark sides—he wants to be an adventurer, to see the world, and he is moved by Thorin’s heroic past.

Unlike Thorin, who may not even know about Bilbo’s upbringing when he dies, Beebo knows very well that he also has noble blood; he just doesn’t have the sense of aristocratic hierarchy like dwarves and humans, but he is actually a person who value’s his upbringing: he often attributed his boldness to Took's blood, and in the end of BOTFA he told Thorin that as a Baggins (perhaps representing his cautious side), he did not deserve to be with Thorin. Maybe after he set off on the journey, he also secretly thought about whether he could do what Thorin did if he were a dwarf, whether he could be a hero and do the right thing.

Unlike Kee and Fee, who proactively wants to be Thorin, and wants to be recognized by their uncle; Bilbo only subconsciously wants to be Thorin, wants to be recognized by him. Bilbo cannot bear to see a heroic story with a sad end, so he jumped out to save Thorin from Borg. This complex desire and motivation has shaped his growth, from hating Thorin, wanting to leave; to actively protecting a person who had doubted Bilbo ten minutes ago, to taking the initiative to climb up trees and find direction, to rescuing the whole squad several times. Interpretation of movie Bilbo without a queer lens always believes that spare Gollum from death and not attracted by the Arkenstone shaped Bilbo growth. While in fact, Bilbo has a lot of desires. In addition to the Ring, he also wants Thorin’s affirmation. (And maybe love😂)

[kaye6140]

Writing prompts #1

OK I think it’s time for me to have some contribution in Bagginshield tag after I read hundreds lovely and fantastic fanfic and fanarts on both AO3 and tumblr these years!

So I’m going to share some writing prompts for Bagginshield from now on.

Just a little warning that please be ware that English is not my first language so typo or grammar mistake will happen and all my knowledge of dwarves is based on internet and PJ’s films.

Here is the first one:

We all know that Dwarves love singing. And we know one of the reasons Bilbo decide to join the quest is his Thorin Dwarves singing Misty Mountains Cold that night.

So

What if Thorin sang after his coronation just like Aragorn did in RotK?

What if he sang on Durin＇s Day ceremony? (C'mon, Durin’s Day is the best time to sing Son of Durin. You can’t change my mind Thank you very much.)

What if he sang on Remembrance Day of BotFA or Memorial Day for Reclamation of Erebor?

What if he sang in the Court opening ceremony (or sth like this) which is held annually? (In my headcanon, Durin’s Day is just like Christmas and New year. There will be one week-long celebration. Shops closed, Royal Court closed… I know the forges must be kept working so there will be few dwarves need to work in forges just to check the fire but not forge anything. but can the miners take a rest or short holiday be with their friends and family? Anyway. After the holiday ends, the Court the mines the shops reopen, and therefore we need a opening ceremony for the court.)

Of coz, he would sing or hum whatever he likes when he's in the mood! And oh yeah, don’t you forget the Harp!

No doubt that Bilbo would love his dwarf more and more and more every time he hears Thorin’s singing.

If anyone would love to use this prompt just feel free to take it like Frodo asked Gandalf to take the ring!

And please tell me when you finish because I’d love to read it!!!

P.S.: It is actually a re-post post coz I have changed some privacy setting months ago so my previous post cannot be searched or viewed by tag and I deleted it. Hope this time is viewable and searchable, please?

[whispering-about-bagginshield]

Current List of My Bagginshield Fics

There will be more in the future, but this is what I have for the time being!

All She Has Done

Rating: G

Genre: AU, drama, genderbend

Chapters: 1/1 (complete)

Word count: ~5,900

Warnings: None

Notes: Fem!Baginshield, in which it has been known amongst the Company from the beginning that Bilbo is a woman, but it is known to only a few that Thorin is, as well

Thorin did not fear that her companions would reject her as a leader if they knew the truth; what she feared was that they would be too quick to sacrifice themselves for her sake, as all Dwarf men seemed to do when a woman was in danger. That was how they had treated Bilbo since she had joined the Company; but while the Hobbit lass seemed to have no problem with being protected, Thorin could not abide by such a thing for her own self.

Bagginshield Drabble Collection

Rating: G

Genre: Various

Chapters: 5/?

Word count: ~500 (so far)

Warnings: None

Notes: Just a collection of 100-word Bagginshield Drabbles!

Collapse

Rating: G

Genre: Hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort

Chapters: 11/13

Word count: ~67,700 (so far)

Warnings: Mentions of character death, peril, see tags for more

Notes: Everyone survived BOTFA; Bagginshield-in-the-shire; been working on this one for a long time and am currently writing the last two chapters

Thorin was closed and quiet, bent low under the weight of Fíli and Kíli's memory. For his two weeks in the Shire, he had never spoken of them, never mentioned their names, never told Bilbo how they had died—but the evening before the Dwarves were set to leave, the walls that Thorin had set up around himself began to crumble.

Fleetwood

Rating: G

Genre: Family, humor

Chapters: 50/50 (complete)

Word count: ~25,600

Warnings: None

Notes: Modern AU; epistolary (journal-form); based on actual events!

A Personal Travelogue Of The Baggins-Oakenshield Family's Summer Vacation In A 35-Foot 1995 Fleetwood Mallard Travel Trailer

Midwinter Reflections

Rating: G

Genre: Holiday fluff

Chapters: 1/1 (complete)

Word count: ~5,400

Warnings: None

Notes: Everyone survived BOTFA; Bagginshield-in-Erebor

The Company all sit down to celebrate the last day of Yuletide in Erebor by sharing their favorite memories from the year before.

Not So Bad

Rating: G

Genre: Family, humor

Chapters: 1/1 (complete)

Word count: ~650

Warnings: None

Notes: Parentshield; Frodo is just a little sprout

When your kid decides to do something quite out of the ordinary, it helps to have an open mind.

The Barber Of Bag End

Rating: G

Genre: Humor

Chapters: 1/1 (complete)

Word count: ~3,600

Warnings: None

Notes: AU in which Bilbo is a barber; epistolary (letter-form); not strictly Bagginshield... but it could be!

Dear Mr. Baggins, I am writing in regards to the job for which you advertised your services, and as was relayed to me by a certain wizard by the name of Gandalf the Grey: "Barber wants a good job, plenty of Excitement and reasonable Reward."

The Sweethearts Dance

Rating: G

Genre: Fluff, romance

Chapters: 1/1 (complete)

Word count: ~1,760

Warnings: None

Notes: Everyone-lives; Bagginshield is there, but so too is Barduil, Kiliel, and Figrid; inspired by the song Sweethearts Dance by Pam Tillis

In Dale of old, Men used to celebrate the mid-February holiday of Sweethearts Day with a dancing competition; and seven years after the refounding of the city, the tradition is being revived.

[mithrilhearts]

Thank you for the tag @lucigoo! This looks like fun and is very interesting!

What are 3 AUs you'd love to write/draw/etc & 3 you'd love to read? And with which ships?

We're going with BAGGINSHIELD for all of my answers, since that's what my life revolves around! 💖

To Write:

I'm putting these down based on what I've been toggling in my brain lately, which are all on my wip list, and will gain some attention from me sooner rather than later, I hope! I tried to pick ones that I don't talk about a lot!

Soulmate AU: I have one in the development stage, if some of you recall Heartstones! With Bilbo and Thorin thinking they've been cursed with not having a soulmate.)

Time Travel AU: I have one of these in development too! Thorin gets to jump around in the timeline, but it's not the 'redo' that I tend to see more of, though it will eventually have some of those elements! Mahal gets a laugh.

Goldsick Fic: Another one in development from my 2022 plot bunnies, in which Thorin never beat the dragon sickness in BOTFA, but it's an everyone lives/nobody dies all the same. All I can say is R. Armitage's interview of "becoming signularly obsessed with Bilbo Baggins" is HEAVY here.

To Read:

Fairytale AU: I am such a sucker for "happily ever after" stories anyway, and putting Bagginshield into a classic fairytale setting just makes me happy. Taking recs if you guys have them!

Meet Cute: Give me some fluffy meet cutes, in any situation, I really just live for fluff.

Bed Sharing: We love the "there was only one bed" trope, and I can never get enough of it.

I am very easy to please when it comes to reading. Give me something fluffy (mild angst is okay, but I need happy endings). I need to do some looking and find more things to add to my read list. Feel free to send me any recs you guys like!

I'm not tagging anyone specific in this, my brain hurts too much to try and think of people - so consider this an open tag if you want to play!

[middleearthpixie]

Brilliant Disguise ~ Chapter Seven

Summary: Speech therapist Josephine Asharm has been brought into Erebor to work with Bifur, but trying to find her place among people who eye her suspiciously would be difficult enough under normal circumstances, but when Sophie finds herself caught between the king, his most trusted lieutenant, and the dwarf she’s there to help? She’s certain no good can come of it. Being of Man, not only does she stand out in the dwarf kingdom, she’s not entirely certain she’s actually welcome there at all. 

Thorin only agreed to allow Sophie to live amongst them out of a sense of duty to Bifur, who is recovering from an odd head injury (is there any other way to describe having an axe blade lodged in one’s head, only to have it later dislodged during the Battle of the Five Armies?) Before the battle, he spoke only khuzdul. But since it? He’s regained the ability to speak Westron—if only he could but remember any of it. As for Thorin? He’s trying his damndest to ignore the speech therapist, not to mention his own growing feelings for her, even as he is also recovering from his near fatal wounding in the same battle. 

Both Sophie and Thorin are haunted by their pasts and are uncertain of their futures, but sometimes, chances must be taken…  

A/N: This is loosely tied into my Christmas fic, Yule. Post-BOTFA Where Everybody Lives

Summary: Thorin offers Sophie a tour of Erebor to prevent her from becoming lost again and later, on their way to Dale, Dwalin and Thorin discuss both Sophie and Dís 

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Josephine (Sophie) Asharm 

Characters: Sophie, Heather, Dwalin, Dís 

Warnings: None 

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,239

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Sophie closed the door softly behind her and leaned against it, head back, eyes closed, relief and idiocy mingling together with the sweat and grime covering her to make her want to cry. How could she have been so stupid to grow so lost, especially after all of her warnings to Heather about the dangers of doing so? And then to go and lose herself, only to have to be rescued by the blasted king of all people? 

With a low groan of disgust, she slid down the door and sat there, face buried in her hands. She didn't know how long she sat there for—long enough for the sweat that dampened her back to dry. 

“You fool,” she whispered, letting her hands fall away from her face. “How can you ever look him in the eye again? He had to talk you down as if you were a child, and hold you whilst you sobbed as a baby would.”

You are a baby, Josephine. Her mother’s voice was as loud and clear as if the woman herself was in the room with her. And a fool and you deserved to be left there to rot with those corpses.

She’s right, you know. Sten’s face floated before her, his smile condescending and cold. Afraid of dark and things that go bump in the night. You are as much a child as that brat you claim to be mine.

“Leave me be,” she whispered to the phantoms in her mind. She had grown so very weary of Sten’s doubt that Heather was his, of his insinuations that he knew of her many affairs, all of which existed only in his mind. Still, he berated her at every turn, as her own mother did as well. They mocked her fear of the dark, and Sten took a perverse pleasure in looking her in a dark room when he was cross with her. He would laugh at her cries to be freed, to please, please let her out, her promises to never set a foot wrong again.

“He is gone,” she whispered, rubbing her tired eyes with both hands, “and he will not trouble you again.”

Still, those phantoms haunted her. Hovered about her to eat away at her newfound confidence, her newfound peace. To remind her that the past was never really behind her as long as she let it interfere with her present.

Sophie shivered now. Not a single, rational soul would fault her for being so horrified, so upset. When she tugged open that door and stepped into the room, it was only by the weak light of the torch in the corridor that she could see the hideous sight. In her shock at seeing the dead, all strewn about like life-size dolls, she’d let go of the door. She’d spun about to try to grab it, only to have it slam shut behind her and plunge her into horrifying, thick, suffocating darkness. She had no control over that fear, which was every bit as thick as the darkness, as it wrapped about her like a heavy, winter-weight velvet. Breathing became almost impossible. Not only did the chamber reek of death and decay, but that velvet compressed her lungs, rendering her incapable of doing much more than quick, shallow breaths that did nothing but make her lightheaded and the fear even colder. 

Although she’d heard the tales of when Smaug sacked Erebor, not a one of them ever mentioned dwarves trapped deep within the kingdom. She’d always assumed they’d all gotten out.

How wrong she was.

She sat there a little longer, then pushed herself to her feet. Heather was safe. She was also safe. Safe, perhaps, but utterly spent. Exhausted. Worn out.

With a heavy sigh, Sophie padded into the bathing chamber. One of the best things about Erebor was that, unlike her flat in Dale, or even the rickety house in Esgaroth, was the heated running water. All she need do was turn one of the taps over the black stone bathing tub and within minutes, water hot enough to steam poured from the spigot. 

She let hot and cold run together and as the tub filled, she peeled her ruined dress from her back. It held the stench of the chamber, the heavy muskiness of sweat caused by utter, abject terror, and she didn't care if she ever laid eyes upon it again. So, while the tub filled, she stripped off her equally ruined chemise and hose and made her way out to the great room, to toss all offending garments in the fire. 

When she returned to the bathing chamber, the tub was almost filled, so she carefully climbed into it, sighing with relief as she sank into the relaxingly hot water. She sat there, head back against the smooth side, eyes closed, and just savored the warmth on her skin. 

With her eyes closed, she could still feel the gentle brush of Thorin’s thumb against her cheek, could still see the way his steely blue eyes (how was it possible for his eyes to be so beautifully blue?) softened as he leaned toward her.

He was going to kiss her. She knew it as certainly as she knew her own name. She’d felt the air crackle about them, heard it in the whispered caress of his voice. And if it wasn’t for some very poor timing…

Sophie would know what it was like to be kissed by The King Under the Mountain.

Disappointment mingled with relief. The last thing she wanted, or needed, was a romantic entanglement with anyone in Erebor, never mind the king himself. It mattered not how handsome he was, or how comfortable he made her feel, or even how good he was with Heather. She’d promised herself, had promised Heather when she was only an infant, that if she could get away from Sten Asharm, she would never put either one of them in that situation ever again. And no matter how charming and kind Thorin was, she simply could not take that risk. 

****

“Mama!”

Stones rattled as Heather launched herself at her mother and Sophie caught her easily to swing her up, saying, “Oh, how pretty you look this morning!”

“Lady Dís did this,” Heather explained, catching the long braid plaited into her hair just before her right ear. Stones of clear pink and blue had been woven into the plait as well, throwing off flashes of light as Heather let the braid slip through her hand. “She said I should keep it as a token of our friendship. Braids are very important to dwarves, Mama. Did you know that?”

Sophie looked over at Lady Dís, who sat with her brother and her sons at their usual table, and she remembered the sight of the braids in Thorin’s hair as well. “Are they? Why?”

“They mean trust. A dwarf only allows someone they trust to touch their hair.” Heather smiled, looping her arms about Sophie’s neck. “Lady Dís is my friend now, Mama. She said so. And…” her eyes grew serious, “I want to marry Kíli when I’m old enough.”

“Oh, love,” Sophie chuckled, giving her a gentle bounce, “I’m afraid he is far too old for you and he is spoken for besides.”

“What?”

“I’ve heard rumors there is to be a wedding soon. And he will marry a wood-elf, named Tauriel.”

Heather pouted. “Unfair.”

“Well, he’s far older than you, love. And who knows, by the time you’re old enough to even think about marrying, you will have set your sights on someone else.”

“It’s still not fair.”

“I think you’ll find a way to go on.” Sophie gave her a squeeze. “Now, why don’t we eat? Because Mama has to go and work with Mr. Bifur in a short while and Miss Oakmane is expecting you.”

Heather sighed softly and nodded. “Where did you go last night, Mama? I was waiting for you.”

Guilt twisted her insides. Guilt. Embarrassment. She felt like such a fool, having to be rescued from the bowels of Erebor, and to break down and cry the way she did… But, at the same time, she’d never seen anything as… horrifying as the sight of the mummified dwarves scattered about that dirty, cobwebbed chamber.

She fought down a shiver as she said, “I’m afraid I got myself all turned around yesterday and His Majesty and Mr. Dwalin had to come find me. By the time I was back at Lady Dís’ apartments, you were sound asleep.”

“Her bed is really comfortable, Mama. I didn't mean to fall asleep, but I couldn’t help it.”

Sophie smiled at the contrition in her daughter’s voice and smoothed a hand over her hair. “It’s fine, love. I’m just thankful she was there for you.”

“Me, too.” Heather nodded. “And Mister Thorin found you?”

Sophie nodded, her heart skipping at beat as she once more looked over at the King Under the Mountain, deep in conversation with his oldest nephew. He was going to kiss her last night. She knew it. She knew it as well as she knew her own name. And if Dís hadn’t opened that door when she had—

It was just as well. No matter how she thought she would enjoy being kissed by Thorin, to allow herself to do so was a terrible idea. Absolutely terrible. So, thank Mahal for Dís’ not-so-wonderful timing. 

“He did, love. Now, shall we go and eat?”

“Can we go sit with Lady Dís and Mister Thorin?”

“I don’t think we should, love.” She glanced back at Thorin at the same moment he looked over her way. As her gaze met his, it was almost a physical touch for her. A jolt tore through her, one that grew stronger as he smiled. Her heart actually skipped a beat as he said something to Fíli and rose from his chair. 

Heather waved over Sophie’s shoulder. “Mister Thorin! Good morning!”

Sophie’s mouth went dry as Thorin closed the space between them. “Good morning, mimûna,” he turned his smile to Sophie, “Mrs. Asharm. How are you this morning?”

“I’m much better, thank you.”

“Mama?” Heather turned to her. “Did something happen to you?”

“I told you, I got myself lost last eve, if you can believe that,” Sophie told her with a grin. “I got myself all turned around and lost and His Majesty had to rescue me.”

“Did you really rescue my mama, Mister Thorin?” Heather’s eyes widened as she looked from Sophie to Thorin. “Really?”

Thorin chuckled softly. “She exaggerates, mimûna, for I did no such thing. I just happened upon her in one of the corridors far below.” 

To Sophie’s surprise, he winked and added, “But, she did not earn a slice of cake.”

“Mama, I can show you around and maybe next time you can have cake instead of getting lost.”

Sophie couldn’t help her laugh as she gave her daughter a squeeze. “I’m not in any hurry to explore, love. I think I’ll stick to the levels I know and leave the exploring to you and Gimli.”

Thorin smiled. “I will show you around, Mrs. Asharm. I have a bit of time to spare after supper tonight, if you’d like a tour. And perhaps then you will earn yourself a slice of cake.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, to insist she and Heather needed a quiet night in her apartments. But as she looked back at Thorin, she found herself saying, “I would love one, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” he replied. “And you, mimûna, how would you like to visit with Lady Dís again?”

“Could I?”

He nodded. “I think so. I’ll ask her.” He held out his arms to her. “We can ask her together, if you like, Miss Heather.”

“Thorin,” Sophie said, as Heather stretched toward him, “I’ve no desire to impose on your sister two nights in a row.”

“It’s no imposition,” Thorin assured her, cradling Heather against him as if she was his own child. She didn't miss how easily he held her, how comfortable he seemed to be with her when she wrapped her legs about him and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Come, and we will ask.”

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“Careful, Mrs. Asharm,” he said with a hint of laughter in his deep voice. “I’m beginning to get the feeling you’d rather not have me show you around.”

“Well,” she said softly, unable to hold back her smile, “I certainly wouldn’t want you to think that.”

“I didn't think so.” His free hand came to rest at the small of her back and he guided her through the throngs of people gathering in the Great Hall. 

Heat from his palm, from his fingertips, sank into her back, and she tried not to think about it as they crossed over to where Dís sat, deep in conversation with one of the other dwarrowdams.

She looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Miss Heather! Are you trying to kidnap my brother?”

Heather beamed as she shook her head. “No, Lady Dís, I promise I’m not. Not at all.”

“I was wondering,” Thorin said as he carefully sank into the chair to his sister’s left, “if you would, once more, be willing to keep an eye on Miss Heather here later this evening, so I might give Mrs. Asharm a tour of Erebor.”

Sophie bit the inside of her cheek as Lady Dís’ knowing eyes slid from him to her and she said, “A tour?”

“I got myself so terribly lost last eve,” Sophie said with a hint of a laugh as the dwarrowdam on the lady’s far side just stared, “that His Majesty offered to show me around so I don’t have to worry about it again.”

“I also suggested a sackful of stones for her to carry,” Thorin broke in with a grin, “just in case.”

“I’ll just bet you did.” Dis smiled as she looked back at her brother. “And of course, I would love to have Miss Asharm come visit with me this evening. Perhaps I could take her to the stables and let her ride one of the ponies in the paddock?”

Sophie hesitated, but then nodded. “I don’t see the harm,” she said, ruffling Heather’s hair. “Would you like that, sweetling?”

Heather nodded. “I would, Mama, yes!”

“Then it’s settled,” Dís said. “What time were you thinking, Thorin?”

“After supper, so perhaps half-six?” Thorin glanced over at Sophie. “If that works for you?”

She nodded. “That would be fine.”

“Then half-six it is,” Dís smiled. “I look forward to it.”

Sophie also smiled. “As do I. Now, Miss Heather, it’s time for you to go and find Miss Oakmane so Mama can get to work.”

Heather nodded. “Yes, Mama! Bye, Mister Thorin! Lady Dís!” She darted off toward Gimli, shouting, “Wait for me!”

“She is a bundle of energy,” Thorin remarked.

Sophie nodded. “That she is. She wears me out without even trying these days.” She looked over at Thorin and his sister. “If you will excuse me, I’m supposed to be meeting Bifur in about fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Thorin said, his hand coming to rest at the small of her back, “as I’m curious as to how his therapy is coming along.”

“Enjoy your walk,” Dís said with a knowing grin. “Thorin, if you’re free this afternoon, there is something I need your help with.”

“Of course.” He turned back to Sophie. “Shall we?”

Her belly twisted, but it wasn’t an altogether uncomfortable twist. Thorin fell into step with her as he said, “So, how is he coming along?”

“It’s a bit slower than I’d expected.”

“His injury was that severe? We all thought once the blade was removed, he’d revert back to how he’d been before it happened.”

She paused at the top of the staircase, stepping back as two dwarves passed by. She really didn't wish to be overheard by anyone else, since Bifur’s condition was not their concern. It really wasn’t any of Thorin’s concern, either, but since he was the king, she couldn't quite think of a way to say it without coming across as rude. 

So, she waited for the dwarves to pass them by, then leaned against the stone wall. “That’s not exactly how it works, Your Majesty.” At his long look, she cleared her throat. “I mean, Thorin. Some of his speech has, of course, returned, but it’s been long enough that he’s almost learning to speak all over again. And I assume khuzdul is a dwarf’s first language?”

“It depends, but in his case, it was, yes.”

“So, that’s what he knows inside and out. Westron is an acquired language, so he needs to work a bit harder to re-acquire it. And… well…”

“He’s stubborn.”

She nodded. “He’s stubborn. Very much so, at times.”

Thorin leaned against the wall across from her. “Is he giving you trouble?”

She stared at him for a long moment, debating whether or not to tell him the truth. He didn't press, didn't seem at all impatient, his blue eyes tranquil as they held her gaze. A deep breath and she said, “At times, yes. He grows impatient and when that happens, he becomes anger-locked. Refuses to speak Westron. Pretends he understands only khuzdul.”

“He doesn’t lash out, does he?”

“Not exactly. But he has shown hints of temper.” She looked down the corridor, where it opened up into the walkways and staircases above the gallery. Torches and lanterns in heavy iron sconces, suspended by equally heavy iron chains, lit the cavern to show the vault of the ceiling as well as the depths of the corridors. It was immense and those walkways seemed to go on forever. It was no wonder she’d gotten so lost. The floors below the gallery were enclosed, and her palms grew damp just thinking about them. 

“Mrs. Asharm?”

“I beg your pardon.” She looked back at him. “We work out in the courtyard and that seems to help a little, but I have to admit, he’s progressing at a far slower rate than I thought he would.”

She held her breath, waiting to see if he’d suggest perhaps they needed to bring in someone who could have a bit more success with him. But, instead, he pushed away from the wall to cross to her side. “Be patient with him, Mrs. Asharm. He’s a gentle soul at heart. I can speak with him if you need me to, but I think he needs only time.”

“I’m willing to give him all the time he needs. I just do not wish you to think your money is being wasted or that I am failing at the task for which I’ve been hired.”

“Worry not,” he said, closing the space between them. She was taller than him, but only just, “for I think no such thing. I know Bifur and I have known him a very long time. I know very well how stubborn he can be, so rest assure, I’ll not be asking you to take your leave of Erebor any time soon.”

Relief surged through her, and she could only hope she managed to keep it from showing on her face. Instead, she smiled as if she expected no less, and said, “I cannot promise he will recover everything in no time, but I am willing to work with him as long as he wishes to work with me.”

“Well, as I said, neither he nor I will be asking you to leave any time soon.”

He said it softly, and once more the air around them crackled. Once more, she had that feeling he was going to kiss her.

Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. What would a kiss from the King Under the Mountain be like? She’d never kissed a man with a beard, and wondered how scratchy it would feel against her skin, how coarse would those whiskers be and would they leave a mark? 

Would the softness of his lips make up for it? Because she had the feeling his lips would be so very soft, indeed.

“Where is—”

“Thorin? Might I have a word with ye?”

She swallowed an oath and Thorin let out a soft sigh as Dwalin approached. With a nod, Thorin turned away from her. “What is it, Dwalin?”

“A courier has arrived from Dale. It seems Bard would like to sit down sometime today, if possible.”

“Very well. I have bit of free time this morning, so, let’s go pay him a call, shall we?”

Dwalin bobbed his head, then smiled at her. “Good morning, Mrs. Asharm. I’m sorry to intrude.”

“It’s no trouble, Mr. Fundinson. The king is always in demand.”

“Except for this evening,” Thorin turned back to her, “and I will see you at half-six?”

“Yes, you will, Your Majesty.”

To her surprise, he winked. “If you will excuse me, I have to go and rearrange part of my schedule to accommodate a pushy bowman.”

Dwalin chuckled. “Pushy, indeed.”

“Good luck,” she called as the two dwarves turned to make their way back toward the Great Hall. 

“We will need it!” Thorin called back, which made her chuckle as she turned to continue on her way to the infirmary.

Thorin bit back his irritation as he and Dwalin made their way along the rutted road between Dale and Erebor. “What does the bowman want now?”

“He is having trouble with some of the contractors. Apparently several have not shown up when they were supposed to and now he must find new workmen if there is any hope of having reconstruction started before winter. And since ye control the purse strings, he wants ye taking part in the hiring…”

“This is beginning to feel as if it’s more trouble than it’s worth. Perhaps we should but wait until spring.”

“Ye could, but Dale is terribly crowded.”

“I know.” Thorin sighed softly and glanced up at the clouds gathering overhead. The air had a distinct chill in it that suggested winter might be coming in early. Winter. Almost a year since that day out at Ravenhill—

A chill ran along his spine that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with things he’d much rather forget. He tried not to dwell on what happened at Ravenhill, tried very hard to put it and the dragon sickness that led up to the battle, far behind him. 

For all the good it did.

He still did not sleep peacefully. Nightmares haunted him. The scars from that battle, and from several preceding it, still pained him. During the day, he could forget what happened, could shove it back into the further recesses of his mind, but at night, when he was alone in his chambers, with only the darkness and his thoughts for company, things were different. 

“Has Mrs. Asharm recovered from her ordeal?” Dwalin asked as they began the uphill trek to Dale’s main street. 

“I think so. She was shaken up, but unharmed otherwise.” Thorin glanced at him. “We need to take care of those—of them. As soon as possible. It is unconscionable that they have been there nearly a century and that they remain there still. What if it had been Miss Heather who stumbled upon that room? Or Gimli? They would be scarred for life.”

“I will speak with Brom and Kal about removing everyone and giving them all a proper burial.”

“Good. It should be taken care of as soon as possible.”

“Aye. And it will be.” Dwalin waited a beat, then said, “So, have ye asked her about her husband yet?”

“Why would I?”

Dwalin offered up a long look. “Yer meeting up with her later this evening, aren’t ye?”

“To show her about and prevent her from finding her way into places she does not wish find herself in, yes.”

Dwalin sighed softly. “I tried to kiss her last eve. She drew back from me.”

A hint of jealousy sliced through Thorin, but he managed to keep his voice even as he asked, “Did she offer up a reason?”

“No—well, she said she needed concentrate on work so as not to irritate Narnerra or Dís. She mentioned nothing about being married.”

“I am but giving her a tour of Erebor.”

Dwalin arched a single brow. “May I speak openly with ye, Thorin?”

“Have I ever said no?”

“I will step aside if ye wish to pursue Mrs. Asharm.”

“I appreciate the gesture, Dwalin, but I am not pursuing anyone. In fact, Dís was trying to convince me to meet a friend of hers, in the hopes that I will make her Erebor’s queen, only to have me disabuse her of that notion in a hurry. I’ve too much to do here and no time for much else, so as I said, I appreciate the gesture, but it really is of no consequence one way or the other. However, I must confess to being a bit curious,” it was his turn to arch a brow in Dwalin’s direction, “what happened between you and Dís?”

“I’ve no wish to speak of it.”

Thorin had no wish to hear of it, truth be told, and so was more than a little relieved at Dwalin’s reticence to tell him much more. “I see. Take care and remember, she is still my sister.”

“Then ye need speak with her, not me. She ended things. I did not.”

“And yet you pursue Mrs. Asharm?” He shot Dwalin a long look. They had been friends since the beginning of time, it seemed, and there were few people he trusted as much. Still, this was not something Dwalin normally did. “Not very noble of you, I’m afraid.”

“No. I don’t suppose it was, and perhaps Mrs. Asharm picked up on that as well.” Dwalin sighed softly. “Yer sister leaves me at a bit of a loss, Thorin, as she always does. She plays no games and yet, I have no clue what she wants from me.”

“I would wager she doesn’t know herself.”

Dwalin scowled. “That does not help me, ye know.”

“I know, but it’s the best I can offer. However, if you wish me to say something to Dís, I will.”

“That is the last thing I want ye to do. The very last, actually.”

Thorin chuckled. “If you say so.”

“Tell me true, Thorin, are ye interested in Mrs. Asharm?”

They had crested the hill and now stood at the very end of Stone Street, the main avenue running the length of Dale and through its center. In the time since the Battle of the Five Armies, Dale had gone from an abandoned shell of a city to the thriving center of commerce it had been in the days before Smaug’s arrival. The tang of roasted meats—both game and farm raised—peppered the air, as did the rich sweet scents of chocolate and baked goods, the earthy perfume of nutmeg and cinnamon, and the last time Thorin heard or saw the vendors in their shops hawking their wares, he’d been a young dwarf with his future set in stone. 

Down to the bride chosen for him.

He paused. A low pale stone wall ran the length of the road and he leaned against it, arms folded, as he stared off at Erebor’s dark greenish-black façade in the distance. It was still a bit of a shell of its former self, but he had all the faith in the world that they would one day soon reclaim Erebor’s former glory once more. 

He didn't like to think of those days before Smaug any more than he did the ones following Ravenhill. And Elmaya belonged firmly in those days.

“I am, yes,” he said softly, watching Dwalin’s reaction, waiting for him to flinch or grimace or offer up some indication that he wasn't quite so willing to step aside where Sophie was concerned. 

But, Dwalin’s expression remained neutral as he nodded. “Then, ye should do something about that. And perhaps I can fix what Dís and I have muddled so badly.”

“First, you can talk her down where Kíli and Tauriel are concerned,” Thorin told him as they resumed their strides. “She is convinced the she-elf will be the ruin of him and I cannot get her to see reason.”

“And ye think I can? She willna listen to me any more than she will to ye.”

“This is true, but you can take her mind off his upcoming wedding in ways no one else can.”

Dwalin grinned. “This is true.”

“And that is all I will say and more than I wish to hear where my sister is concerned.” Thorin turned his attention down Stone Street, where it rose slightly toward the city’s center. There stood a squat, three-story building of white stone with a red gabled roof and equally red shutters. The Provincial House, seat of Dale’s Master—Bard, the bowman responsible for slaying Smaug a year before. 

Most of the city had been, or was very close to being, fully restored. Many of the pale buildings still bore the scorch marks left from the firedrake’s breath as a reminder and a memorial to those who perished. Where full structures had been destroyed, new ones stood. Roofs that had been crackled and crumbled were fully repaired. Shops that had burned to the ground or had been destroyed by the dragon’s wings or claws or breath were now rebuilt and open for business. 

In the town square, a block before the Provincial House, children played once more and Thorin smiled as he and Dwalin wove around them carefully. So many of them reminded him if Gimli, of Heather—full of life and laughter and joyful shrieks as they raced about without a care in the world. 

He was fond of children, at ease with them, and when his nephews were small, spent as much time with them as he could. Some in Erebor saw Gimli and Heather as pests, as nuisances underfoot, but to Thorin, they represented a future that he once never dared dream Erebor would see again. Yes, they could be loud and messy and underfoot, but they also looked at the world through new and innocent eyes, and when he’d found Heather sobbing in that passageway, he would have done anything in his power to make certain she never cried again. 

They made their way up the steps of the Provincial House and Thorin thrust open the door. Dust motes swirled through the pale light filtering in through the front windows. The smell of sawdust and fresh paint hung in the air, and a certain dampness surrounded them.

“Your Majesty,” Emmaline Grady greeted him as she rose from her chair, “Bard is in his office.”

She gestured toward a set of double doors to their right, where Bard’s office was located. Thorin bobbed his head as he and Dwalin did not break their strides but continued on in. He hadn’t planned on spending his morning in Dale and wasn't exactly thrilled to be doing so. The sooner this meeting was over, the sooner he could get back to Erebor and the sooner half-six would arrive. 

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

📒📒📒

Thank you kindly Anon! Sorry it took me a hot minute to answer this. 😅 Okay so 3 ideas...

Afterlife AU- So basically in this one, Bilbo finds out after he dies as an old hobbit, that he can't go to Mahal's Halls to see his friends. He makes a deal with Lorien to become the "Gardener of Dreams" if he will take away all his memories. And that's where the story begins. Bilbo is out in his garden, tending to the dreams of the living hobbits when a dwarf appears. And with each new addition, Bilbo starts to remember just a little bit more...

"Banished and Waiting"- Okay so in this modern royalty tale, Bilbo and Thorin met in uni and fell in love and Thorin brings him back to Erebor to meet his family where Bilbo learns that Thorin is the Crown Prince. Thrain doesn't approve of Bilbo and banishes him without Thorin knowing. Bilbo has waited years for Thorin to reach out or come back for him only to eventually become a lonely, grumpy bachelor. Gandalf shows up to get him because the "King of Erebor is in danger" and tries to whisk him back to Erebor. Bilbo, of course, is arrested on sight and Dwalin is doing the interrogation until the King shows up (because there is a stipulation in Bilbo's banishment that if he ever returns the King must be notified). Bilbo tries to explain his reason for being there when "BOOM! PLOT ACTION!" and Dwalin (unable to leave Bilbo unattended) ends up bringing him with him in a sort of 'buddy cop' adventure as they try to save the King who was too afraid to come and face his former lover...

Davy Jones AU- Okay so I'm calling this the Davy Jones AU but it actually has nothing to do with him, the ocean, or POTC. 😂 So you guys remember that scene with Jones, Turner, and Beckett and Will goes "I wonder after which betrayal you cut out your heart?"

So this takes place during BOTFA right after Thorin almost throws Bilbo from the ramparts and after he stumbles off on his own, his heart hurts so much from trying to kill Bilbo that he cuts it out and places it in a chest to be hidden deep within the mountain. "One Heart of the Mountain for Another".

Scene opens with Bilbo back in the Shire after the quest, trying to meld back into his old life when his friends come to him, urging him to come back to Erebor and help them. Only Thorin's heart feels when Bilbo is getting closer, so the goldmad king of Erebor sets up obstacles in his way, trying to keep him out. For Bilbo must never find out what he did, because he's the only one who would have the power to reverse it...

Send a book to hear my ideas…I do have more.

[sotwk]

My gosh this is a very wild guess, but is Anariel the maiden in Rivendell in your WIP "The Only Gold"? [main clues I used: Anariel's birth year (fic must be set after TA 496), you mentioned that it was one of your WIP fics, she lived in Rivendell, golden/blonde hair (based on your face claim), Anariel is close to Arvellas and learned a lot from him (potentially including about the dwarves) and the she-elf in the fic knows Khuzdul

My dear friend, this was not a "wild guess", but rather some Sherlock Holmes level of investigative deduction! XD You are 100% correct! I am so impressed and flattered that you took the time to gather information and piece it together to present your proof! You must be really good at finding Easter Eggs from movie franchises.

Because of the "jumping all over the place" approach I have taken to writing out the SotWK AU of Thranduil's (and Middle-earth's) history, there are clues and Easter Eggs all over my stories about plot details that haven't been revealed yet. Mysteries like: Which Son of Fëanor is Maereth's grandfather? Who are the other First Age canons related/connected to Thranduil's family?

"The Only Gold" is my "Durins Live" fix-it fic, told mostly through the eyes of Fili and, as you have guessed, Anariel. It will run through an AU version of The Hobbit/BotFA events and explore the SotWK AU history and (broken) relationship that actually existed between Mirkwood and Erebor. All 3 Sons of Durin (Thorin, Fili and Kili) will live, but the question is how, and what role will Thranduil's family play in it?

Will Fili and Anariel fall in love and end up finally uniting the two kingdoms and races? (Grandpa Thranduil and Uncle Thorin are fighting over who gets to wring my neck first right now. *nervous laugh*) Honestly, the endgame of their relationship remains very fluid my head. (aka undecided) All I know is destiny foretold by the Elvenqueen herself will push these two beautiful blondes together.

Just a few additional notes about the lovely tidbits you picked up on regarding Anariel:

Her birth year: She is actually as close in age to her Uncle Legolas as Legolas is to his brother Mirion! But yes, Anariel was born about 500 years before the Greenwood started to darken, so she enjoyed some happy centuries of peace with her family.

Her life in Rivendell: Sadly, by the events of The Hobbit, her mother had become estranged from Thranduil, which caused Itarildë and Anariel to leave Mirkwood and reside in Rivendell for a period of time. (Aranion stayed because no one is more loyal to Thranduil than he; what a darling grandson!)

Her relation to Elrond: Anariel is a cousin by blood to Elrond. Elrond's paternal great-grandmother Elenwë is the sister of Elemírë (an OC), Anariel's paternal great-great-grandmother. Thus in the story, Elrond refers to her his "kin".

Her closeness to Arvellas and knowledge of the Dwarven culture: By the Third Age, no other Elf in Middle-earth could surpass Prince Arvellas in his knowledge of the Dwarves. For many centuries, he taught his dear niece nearly everything he knew about the Dwarven race, including Khuzdul. Arvellas foresaw he was not destined to live forever on Middle-earth, so he sought to pass on his knowledge to a worthy successor.

Her golden hair: The beauty of Anariel's golden hair is one to rival Galadriel's, due to her strong Vanyarin inheritance. (I mean, her name is "Daughter of the Sun"!) In the SotWK AU, Glorfindel is 3/4 Vanya, and he married the sister of Elenwë (wife of Turgon), who is full Vanya. I made some rough calculations which reveals Itarildë as 22% Vanya, higher than any canon elf left in Middle-earth in the Third Age, save for Glorfindel himself (if you accept my HC that he's part Vanya). So yes, that's why the Dwarves were stunned and mesmerized by the golden hair of Anariel; it likely carries some "magic" in it. I have a self-indulgent HC that Gloin and Gimli would have had heated debates over whose hair was more beautiful--Galadriel's or Anariel's.

Anyway, apologies for my rambling Anon (and everyone who made it this far)! I have a thousand SotWK headcanons in my head that need to be unloaded sometimes to release the pressure. XD.

Anon, I would really love to give you a prize (as I promised) from the Tumblr Mart, any badge of your choice... but if you're not comfortable revealing yourself, I completely understand. Another option would be sending me another Ask and letting me know of a writer/artist whom you want to support, and I will buy them some KoFi on your behalf. Please let me know! :) Thank you again for participating in my little Guessing Game, and for your wonderful support!

Tagging those have historically been interested: @aduialel @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @laneynoir @achromaticerebus @auttumnsayshi @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @heilith @absentmindeduniverse @heranintomyknife23times @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @lilidurin @beekieboo @albionscastle @jezzibee @g-m-kaye

Interested in more SotWK AU content?

Introduction to SotWK

My Headcanon Masterlist 

My Fanfiction Masterlist

[lucigoo]

Bagginshield Fic request? Found

Thank oyu to the wonderful @catfury360, they found it, its this fic if anyone is interested ...A Complaint A Day... - birdkeeperklink So, ive got a fic stuck in my brain, but cant ifnd it, if anyone has read it, or knows the title please?

Hobbits complain and moan about things before they happen to love. It confuses the Company but they dont think much of it. The idea is that if you complain about it it might never happen, so they only complain about the best of things in their life (i think) the Company notice when Bibo stops complaing about them and everything, but i cant remember why. Its completed and set in Erebor after BOTFA, so if anyone knows it, please share? 💖