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littlemessyjessi · 19 days ago

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"To Woo A Warrior": A Holiday Hobbit Imagine: Dwalin Fundinson

….

A Holiday Hobbit Imagine

Dwalin Fundinson x Reader, Plus Size Reader, PS Reader, Human Reader

Warnings: Middle Earth in and of itself? This is post BOTFA . HOWEVER, we’re rewriting it in which I’ve chosen to keep the line of Durin alive because I don’t want to bawl my eyes out this holiday season. That’s the joy of fanfiction and writing it myself. I can do what I want.

Use of Y/N because we’ll all be lucky to see this if I stop to figure out a character. For those of you who are still waiting for Thorin and Fawn’s story… I’m sorry. It’s coming. I just… got stuck in world building mode. *cowers in writer’s shame*. Back to Dwalin and this fic though.

TBH… this is loosely based on a story I’ve written for Dwalin but I just haven’t had the confidence to post.

Fem Identifying Reader just cause I wanted to. If that causes gender dysphoria for you, hey, please take care of yourself. No hard feelings if you scroll on. Totally fine. I just like writing a fem Y/N a lot of the time because I love writing women because women are awesome.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the works of Tolkien or his characters. I just own my own characters, my writing and such.

Additionals: If you are under 18, listen. I love you. I wish you well. A very Happy Holidays. However, this would be the time for you to leave. My page is not for you until you reach a certain age. Sorry but it’s not. Love you but shoo. But also be kind to yourself, remember to drink water and do something nice for you today. Tootles, though.

……

The markets of Dale were bustling and busy as ever.

The morning was crisp and a certain cheer seemed to saturate the very air itself.

Winter Solstice drew closer and closer every day, urging the citizens of Erebor and Dale to leave the cozy warmth of their homes and venture to the markets.

Delightful trinkets and trades laid out just waiting to catch your eye and make you think of the perfect recipient.

This morning was no different but the buttery sweet scent of star bread cut through that crisp cool mountain air that morning and a certain Captain of the Guard was all but paralyzed in fear.

Dwalin knew that no one else made star bread that smelled like that.

Y/N.

A very talented baker who lived in the city of Dale… though she frequented the halls of Erebor so much that she might as well have lived there.

This was, in part, because of Thorin.

He sought out her services on a fairly regular basis because, frankly, Bilbo Baggins had a remarkably large appetite for such a small creature.

It had nothing to do with those little blackberry and brie swirls of bread, fruit and cheese that danced on his taste buds as if his very ancestors came to bless him.

Most certainly not.

It was just because the hobbit had an insatiable appetite and a seemingly endless cavernous void for a stomach.

Bilbo was very much aware of Thorin and his pride.

And he let him keep it because Thorin’s borderline obsession with blackberries actually served to further his matchmaking tendencies.

You see, the baker, Y/N was a lovely woman who Bilbo had spent many an afternoon tea with at this point.

A delightfully charming creature with a wonderfully surprising duality.

The woman could throw together a handful of anything and turn it into something scrumptious…. and that was high praise coming from a hobbit.

However, she also seemed to have a penchant for weapons.

He’d seen the impressive set of kitchen knives … and the endless array of weapons that seemed to produce from seemingly no where.

Bilbo swore that she and Fili would have a grand old time speaking of weapon concealment if he could ever get her out of the kitchen and Fili out of council meetings.

But back to how Y/N came to Dale.

After Smaug the slughead had been slain a relative had sent word.

Her ancestors who had lived there previously had long since passed many years ago.

However, it was a great surprise to her when she received word from her cousin, Bard.

She’d been to Dale only once before and it was directly after the passing of his wife.

Dale was struggling as were all its inhabitants.

Suddenly, Bard had lost the love of his life, his partner and was left to care for their little ones alone…. and unable to do so because he could not leave them.

Sigrid and Bain were still quite small and Tilda was just a newborn.

It was an impossible situation.

He couldn’t leave them alone to care for themselves but if he didn’t leave for work they would all starve.

He’d sent word to his nearest kin… all of which rejected him by claiming they had their own problems.

Y/N, who’d barely been out of adolescence herself at the time, wrote back and told him that she’d only just turned sixteen but that she’d had plenty of experience in caring for children, keeping house and plenty of other things.

And most importantly, she said she’d come and help.

He’d been a bit hesitant because it seemed she was still a child herself and that seemed like another mouth to feed and care for.

However, he was desperate and sixteen was old enough to be in charge and look after the others.

He’d wrote her back in thanks and acceptance.

Imagine his surprise, when she showed up by the next full moon with a wagon of supplies.

He learned that she was a highly resourceful creature and given the right equipment and ingredients… could make delicacies that brought many a man to his knees.

What had surprised him was how she managed to evade the shake down upon entering.

He learned just exactly why the next time Alfrid saw her in public.

The man had apologized profusely and ran the other way.

When Bard had asked her about it, she’d given him a vague answer involving a frying pan and a battle axe.

He hadn’t questioned her about it since.

She stayed with the family for a few years and when Tilda, who’d been a baby when she came, reached five years of age… another family member wrote to her asking for help.

A cousin of her father’s had lost a child and succumbed to the darkness of it herself.

The father had followed after her in heartbreak.

Understandable, but it had left the twins without anyone to look after them.

And they were only seven.

It had broken her heart to leave the family she’d come to know in Dale.

Bard’s as well.

She’d come to be like a younger sister to him rather than a cousin.

He hated to see her go but understood that the twins had needed her more than they did now and so she left.

It had been many, many moons since they’d seen her.

They’d received the occasional letter from their Y/N but had not seen her in years.

However, when Smaug had been slain and Erebor restored… Dale had flourished and her cousin, Bard, was now the King.

Of course, all those family members he’d reached out to before came in droves then but they mattered not.

He hadn’t been heartless about it but they hadn’t been the ones he had missed.

When his duties as King only increased, he found himself with less and less time for his children.

They understood, of course, and they were well looked after… but he knew what was missing.

So he finally wrote to his cousin, Y/N, asking for her help once again.

She was there once again by the next full moon.

Though this time, it hadn’t been needed; she arrived again with a wagon of supplies.

She had been embraced by Bard and the children once again.

Auntie Y/N had returned to them.

Upon remembering how wonderful her baking had been, he’d immediately offered her a job as the royal baker.

She’d accepted the frilly title but in reality she much preferred her old apron that had been worn soft with age.

Bard had provided her with a room and kitchen of her own and that’s where she really created her magic.

Sure, she worked in the kitchens where she was in charge of the feasts and delicacies and every other ridiculous thing one could think of when it came to food.

But where she found her joy was on the days of the market where she sat up a little stall with her wonderfully charming little treats.

They weren’t over the top in design.

Simple but pretty and the taste always felt like a warm hug.

Her prices were fair and she always gave samples.

Bard had assured her that she didn’t need to, as he’d buy her whatever she wanted.

She had thanked him but informed him that she enjoyed it and to let her be for she was far more pleasant to be around when she was happy than not.

Bard, who had been married to a woman for years, understood that that roughly translated to, “Bard, thank you but mind your own business. I need a project to keep me from overthinking everything. Either this can be my project or annoying the ever living hell out of you can be my project. Take your pick.”

He chose wisely and didn’t question her again.

Fortunate that he didn’t because it was for this very reason that led her to Dwalin Fundinson.

Or rather, led him to her.

You see, Dwalin had a sweet tooth about as big as his arm and when word spread about the new royal baker and her amazing creations… he’d been intrigued.

When Bilbo returned to the castle with two guards carrying boxes upon boxes of them… it got his attention.

When Thorin nearly had a stroke over a blackberry pastry and suddenly had to place an order from the woman every few days… Well honestly he hadn’t been surprised by that one.

His cousin had a serious problem with blackberries that he really thought he might need to see someone about.

Gold sickness looked like a jealous pouty child compared to what Thorin Oakenshield looked like when there were blackberries to be had.

However, one day Bilbo decided that he was going to the market and Dwalin, having had enough of listening to stuffy council meetings all day, volunteered to be his personal escort.

Bilbo was happy to have the company of his dear friend and they set out to the city of Dale.

Bilbo drug Dwalin all over the market looking for this vegetable or that fruit or that jam or those herbs but he didn’t mind.

The fresh air did him well.

Dwalin did not miss hardship in the slightest but occasionally he did miss the freedom of his old life.

The simplicity of it.

For example, a lot of peace can come to the mind when doing something as simple but useful as sharpening your blades.

‘Maybe a new whetstone…’ he thought to himself as he caught sight of a stall ahead.

Bilbo, having already followed his gaze in that incredibly observant way of his, simply waved him off and told him that he would be right here looking at honey for quite some time.

Dwalin had laughed for he knew just how long the hobbit could spend deciding on honey.

He’d nearly watched Kili explode out of impatience once when Thorin set the young dwarrowman to be Bilbo’s guard as a punishment for falling asleep during a council meeting.

Bilbo, the mischievous little creature that he was, actually took the opportunity to ask about every. single. honey infusion available.

It had taken hours and Kili nearly lost his mind.

So he felt assured that the hobbit would be just fine for him to peruse the stall and check out the new wares.

Dwalin spent some time looking at the stones as well as a bit of time eyeing some new polishing cloths.

However, his mind was clouded in a haze as the scent of buttery, sugary sweetness filled his nose.

“Hello, Mr. Kaznia. How are you today?”

“Quite well, Miss Y/N. And yourself?”

“Lovely actually. I love it when the air is a bit crisp like this.” “Oh aye. It’s coming strong off the mountain today. Probably a fair bit of wind coming.”

“I hope so.” she giggled.

“You hope for wind?” the dwarrowman asked with a laugh.

“Oh definitely!” she said. “I sleep best with a bit of cool air. I’m no fun when I’m too warm. A bit too stuffy and I become right unpleasant.”

“Oh, Miss Y/N. I’ve never seen you be unpleasant a day in your life.”

“Well, Mr. Kaznia, you haven’t known me my whole life either… nor have you been round when I’ve just woken in the morning.” she said. “Let me tell you. Perhaps, the lot of you should have loosed me into the mountain on the great slug when I’ve just woken and there’s no tea to be had. According to Bard, I am quite the fire breathing beast when there’s no tea.”

Dwalin couldn’t help it and he laughed a bit.

However, he’d gotten a first hand account of Smaug and was well aware of Bard and his … Bardness.

“You must be tha’ cousin then.” Dwalin said. “The wee fancy baker that's the cause o’ me cousin’s blackberry addiction.”

She turned to face him fully and his breath caught in his chest as he looked at her.

She was a beauty absolutely ridden with a soft fullness that had him absolutely enchanted.

“You must be a cousin of King Thorin then.” she smiled.

“Aye. Dwalin.” he said with a bow. “At your service.”

She gave him a kind smile, “Y/N. At yours. Charmed to meet you, Master Dwalin.”

It was there that began the very long and drawn out game of cat and mouse between Dwalin and Y/N.

And subsequently the testing of every last nerve that Bilbo Baggins had in his possession.

For months, the two of them did this song and dance.

Sometimes they met at the market at the stall where they first met.

Sometimes Dwalin hand delivered Thorin’s latest order.

Sometimes she slipped a tiny star bread into his hands as she passed him while she hand delivered the order to Erebor.

Over time the both of them just kept making excuses to see one another … and yet neither would make a move.

Bilbo was about to lose his patience.

But that day, on yet another cool crisp market day… with Winter Solstice drawing near… the pair of them set out to find one another again.

Bilbo had had just about enough and he was about ready to take matters into his own hands.

It had been months, nearly a year, and no progress had been made.

He knew and if neither one of them would make a move… he was going to make it for him.

He was so sick of dwarvish courting customs and human wooing.

Hobbits had their own ways of course but this was simply ridiculous.

He set off to grab Dwalin by that mangled ear of his and drag him to Y/N if he had to.

However, upon nearing that little stall… the hobbit halted in place.

There they were strolling through the market.

Dwalin happily munching away on a massive star bread in his hand.

Y/N gleefully clutching a shiny new axe in hers.

And their free hands entwined together swinging between them.

The hobbit tilted his head, a funny little smile on his face.

It seemed that Miss Y/N knew exactly the way to woo a warrior.

It wasn’t how he thought this would go but he was happy nonetheless.

He nodded to himself, thumbs tucked under his suspenders in contentment until…

“Miss Y/N!”

Bilbo nearly jumped out of his skin when Thorin lumbered past him towards the pair of them.

“I heard you had blackberry bread today at your stall. How many more do you have? I will buy them all.”

Bilbo sighed and turned his face to the heavens.

“Yavanna, help me.” he said in exasperation, “Thorin, come back here!”

Thorin did not, in fact, come back there.

Bilbo did have to chase him down.

Dwalin never stopped eating his star bread and Y/N simply laughed at scene before here.

This blackberry obsessed dwarf being chased by a tiny meddlesome hobbit.

She turned her gaze to her own dwarf, “Dwalin, love?”

“Hmm?” he asked, licking his fingers along with the last of his treat.

“On a scale of one to ten-”

“Ten.”

“What?”

“Tha’ was a ten, lass. Best one yet.”

“Well, thank you, sweetheart but that wasn’t what I was going to ask you.”

“Ok, ten again.”

“What this time?” she giggled.

“Yer definitely a ten in mah book, love.” he said with a bit of a smirk.

“Smooth.” she said, hand reaching to smooth over the top of his head. “But not that either.”

“Alright. What is it then?”

“On a scale of one to ten, what would I have to do to get you to help me make a certain dwarf king and a certain hobbit to admit their very obvious feelings to one another?” she said.

“Ah, lass. Let them be in their own time.” he groaned.

“I will make you a yule log cake, cranberry creme puffs and star bread.” she said. “As well as kisses and canoodling.”

Dwalin chuckled, “Ye had me at cake, lass, but I’ll definitely be taking everything from cake to canoodling.”

“Good.” she said with a nod before pulling him into the bushes. “Let’s have dessert first then.”

His eyes lit up, “Oh? Ye got more treats you been keeping from me, lass? Where are these secret treasures?”

She gave him a smirk of her own, “The cakes come later, love. They’ll take time to make. However, I can make good on my offer of kisses and canoodling right now.”

The two of them shared a massive grin before the sweetest of kisses... a lots of canoodling.

Miss Y/N certainly knew how to woo a warrior.

……

…….

Hello, loves! I hope you enjoy this holiday content!

Hope ya’ll are having a great day!

Love you.

—

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K, Love you, Bye!

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sotwk · 2 months ago

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Nothing matters mlre to me than Mirion and Legolas relationship I love them so much. do you have any more cute headcanons about them?

I love that you love them, Anon! Thank you so much for asking me these questions! <3 Mirion and Legolas's relationship means a lot to me too, and I hope I've been able to convey that in the few fics I have written. I hope you've been able to check these out!

Greenleaf's Day Out - Chapter 5, A Royal Welcome

Greenleaf's Tree

Yuletide in the Elvenking's Realm - Chapter 4, Four Calling Birds

A Stab to the Heart

I hope to continue writing more, and your support encourages me to do so! Here are some additional Mirion & Legolas headcanons, just because you asked! :)

Mirion & Legolas Brotherly Headcanons: Thranduil's Eldest and Youngest Sons

SotWK Fancast: Henry Cavill as Mirion Thranduilion

Although all of his older brothers were kind to Legolas and cared for him in their own ways, Mirion was the most patient and tolerant of Legolas's hyperactive nature. He was rarely bothered by Legolas’s tendency to be underfoot, which meant endless nosy questions and constant requests of “can i come??”. Indeed, when Legolas was in his elfling stage, Mirion was the family member he succeeded at tagging along with most, even more than his parents, who could not always permit his presence due to the formal and serious nature of their work. (Which had grown more demanding since their earlier days of parenthood.)

It was through Mirion that Legolas learned much about their realm and their duties as a prince. Legolas has a very good memory, especially with names and faces, and he liked to impress Mirion by showing off how well he remembered the names of people he was introduced to, and places they visited together. Adult Legolas modeled Mirion’s example of humility, the belief that a prince is a servant of his King and therefore of the King’s people. That is why Legolas never flashed his royal title around, and was always willing to contribute and get his hands dirty.

Legolas’s devotion and loyalty to Aragorn was likely also influenced by Mirion. At the dawn of the Third Age, Mirion developed a strong friendship with Valandil, King of Arnor, whom he had met in his youth--the two shared a birth year! This led to an alliance between Arnor and Eryn Galen that lasted all the way to Eärendur's reign. Unfortunately, after the splitting of Arnor, relations gradually weakened. Upon meeting Aragorn, Legolas was happy to see the line of Isildur restored in him, remembering how much Valandil’s friendship meant to his brother.

Little Legolas liked to spend hours watching Mirion work in the forge, making weapons and armour. Although Legolas did not quite have a knack for metalsmithing, he had a very creative and artistic mind, and as a child he was enthusiastic about sketching up designs and presenting them to his brother. Occasionally, Mirion would take some of the elfling’s best sketches and implement them into his work. And as Legolas grew older, the two began to genuinely collaborate on weaponry for real use. Legolas's expertise in Elvish blades (remember how he was able to identify Orcrist on sight?) came from Mirion.

When he was a younger elf still learning and training to be a warrior, Legolas had in his mind that he wanted to fight using a broadsword, just like Mirion did. However, the brothers did not possess the same strengths, and Turhir (who oversaw Legolas's fight training) advised that Legolas's talents were better suited for short swords. It took a while for Legolas to overcome this disappointment, but with his older brothers' encouragement, he embraced his style of dual-sword fighting--especially after Mirion made and gifted him with a beautiful set of fighting knives, the ones he carried during the War of the Ring. Nonetheless, Legolas can still swing a pretty mean heavy sword in battle, because he learned from the best! (see BotFA)

Mirion’s son, Aranion, is similar to Legolas in personality and temperament, which made the two of them naturally close friends. After Mirion’s death, Legolas did his best to help fill the fatherly role Aranion needed in his life. Legolas’s devotion to Mirion’s children was one of the main reasons why he never left Mirkwood, even during its darkest times, until his participation in the Fellowship.

Want to learn more about Mirion? Mirion Headcanon Masterlist

OTHER USEFUL LINKS:

Introduction to SotWK

Main Headcanon Masterlist

#sotwk answers #sotwk headcanon #thranduil #mirion thranduilion #legolas #legolas fanfiction #mirkwood #eryn galen #silvan elves #mirkwood elves #tolkien #sotwk ocs #anon asks #i have the best anons

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mithrilhearts · 1 year ago

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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

#bagginshield #thilbo #thauc23 #the hobbit #thorin x bilbo #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #hobbit fic #bagginshield fic #fic: forget-me-not #maeve writes

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 8 months ago

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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.

#fic rec friday #sunny recs it #the hobbit #bagginshield #feel free to add on with your own recs #this was certainly a month for epic long fics

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labyrinth-runner · 1 year ago

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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."

#thorin oakenshield #thorin x reader #thorn oakenshield x reader

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 22 days ago

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Hiiii!

Please, Tauriel X Thranduil

Solstice Feast !!🍂❄️🎄

NSFW/Smutty

Pós BotFA if possible

rough and needy, unresolved sexual tension, submissive and dominant role switching. A little bit of dog style. They're not worried about making babies... Hahhahaha

Fluffy at the end

Galion and Feren are embarrassed

Would that be possible? You are so excited! Forgive me for any mistakes, I am a Brazilian reader. Big hug.🍂🌻

Here you go! I hope you like this!

"Solstice Feast"

Pairing: Thranduil/Tauriel

Themes: Smut

Warnings: Kissing | PIV Sex | Switch aspects | Doggy style | Hair pulling

Wordcount: 1.9K words

Summary: A drink to celebrate the winter equinox and a great victory leads to something else between the Captain of Woodland Realm Guard and her king.

Minors DNI | 18+ | This story can also be found on AO3

“You did well on the battlefield, captain,” Thranduil said. He poured a measure of fine golden wine for himself and another for Tauriel. “And I grieve for your loss. Tell me. Do you truly love the kinsman of Thorin Oakenshield?”

Tauriel accepted her cup and took a sip. “Kíli was a most steadfast and amusing companion,” she confessed, studying Thranduil keenly. The Elvenking was not pleased with the mention of the dwarf’s name. She could perceive it in the way he clenched his jaw and how his hand tightened around the cup it held. It roused her curiosity. “I grew quite fond of him.”

“Fond,” Thranduil said, draining half his cup in two deep swallows, “is not a word I would have expected you to say, certainly not after you wept over the slain dwarf’s body. Come now, captain. Speak true. Do you love the kinsman of Thorin Oakenshield?”

“I do not,” Tauriel said, her curiosity growing after relief flashed in the eyes of the king. “I mourn his death, yes, but I do not love him. Why do you ask such a thing, my king?”

“I merely wished to know, that is all,” Thranduil said. He finished the remainder of his wine. “And, I confess, I would not have approved of you aligning with one of the Naugrim. They are a doughty race and uncommonly skilled besides, but as the companion of an elven captain of your high standing? I think not.”

Tauriel finished her wine as well. Outside the tent set aside for Thranduil’s own particular use, elves, men, and dwarves ate and drank to celebrate a great victory and honor the winter solstice. Someone had already begun to sing; it would not be long before the others joined, and many sweet voices rose in song. Tauriel did not dwell on that. The king’s declaration captured her attention instead.

“Do you believe Kíli was unworthy of me?”

“Most certainly. There are others, Tauriel. Elves who are truly worthy. You should consider setting your eyes on one of them instead.”

“Other elves?” Tauriel said, unable to help herself. There was far more to what her king was saying, and she was determined to learn it. “I see. Pray tell me, my king, who are these other elves you speak of? Is it Legolas, perhaps?”

Thranduil shook his head. He still clutched his empty cup, his fingers white at the knuckles. Presently, he said, “No, Tauriel. Not my son Legolas.”

“Oh,” Tauriel said, narrowing her eyes to thin slits. Legolas was the Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm, and a fearless warrior besides. He should have been one of the worthy elves Thranduil spoke of. “Then Galion, or Feren. Even Angon might suit, I think. He is quite fierce in battle, and I find only you can surpass him as a warrior.”

The Elvenking made no attempt to conceal his growl of displeasure. Tauriel, now beginning to latch onto the real cause of his conduct, strode to him. She took the cup out of his hand and set hers and his down on the little table in the center. At length, she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “Or perhaps there is someone else. Someone far higher than even them in rank. Is that the truth of it, my king? Is there someone other than them?”

Thranduil took a step toward her. “There is none like that,” he said, lowering his head just enough to smell her hair. The heady scent of cedar filled him with every breath he took. “But I suppose Angon would suit, should you decide to seek him out. Will you do so?”

Liar, Tauriel yearned to say after having perceived Thranduil’s falsehood. Thranduil would not have approved of her seeking Angon; it was plain in his eyes. Nevertheless, she stood still, her body enveloped by Thranduil’s taller, larger form. Then she fought back the welcomed shiver that threatened to arise after he reached out and brushed his hand against her own. She would not yield so easily. Not until he freely spoke of his own feelings.

“Perhaps,” she said with an air of forced indifference, “and perhaps not. Angon may suit me as a companion, but he does not appeal to my desires like he should.”

“Oh?” The king arched a quizzical brow. “What does appeal to your desires?”

“Boldness,” Tauriel began, her breath hitching when strong but gentle fingers laced around her own. “A dash of arrogance. The willingness to take command. Those are the things that appeal to my desires.”

“The willingness to take command, you say,” Thranduil replied, intrigued. “Does this mean you desire to surrender to your companion in every way?”

“I do not mean complete surrender,” Tauriel allowed. “But it would be liberating, would it not, to let another take the lead?”

“Indeed,” Thranduil agreed. “Tauriel,” he murmured, his lips a mere hair’s breadth over her own, “this cannot go beyond the walls of this tent.”

“I understand, my king,” Tauriel returned, her heart aflutter, “but you must tell me why. So far, you have given me no explanation as to why you comport yourself so.”

Thranduil stepped back and looked hard at her. Tauriel, returning his gaze with equal resolve, remained uncowed. Seconds slowly melted into each other as a heavy silence settled between them. Finally, the king crumbled. He sighed and said, “I desire you. I have done so for quite a while. I guarded my tongue because you were... are… too young. Then there was your position to consider and mine. This is my explanation. Are you satisfied?”

“I am,” Tauriel said, gratified that the king did not attempt to deceive her this time. She closed her eyes again when Thranduil drew near, and his presence overwhelmed her. “And, like you said, this cannot go beyond the walls of this tent. The others will not understand.”

“They will not,” Thranduil whispered. He dipped his head and let his lips glide over hers. When the captain of the Wood-elf guard tilted her chin to meet him halfway, he rewarded her with a kiss that left her skin tingling. “Are you agreeable to staying a while and sharing my featherbed before leaving for the solstice feast?”

Tauriel grinned. “I would be a fool to pass up an hour or two of sharing unbridled passion with the king. I will stay.”

Thranduil grinned as well. “That is good then. Now undress yourself and get in the bed.”

Tauriel flushed, but she did as she was commanded to do so. She fumbled with the buttons of her woolen vest, the knots of her tunic, the clasp of her belt, and the laces on her undershirt and her boots. Still, she freed herself of her garments while listening to the king disrobing himself. She could feel his eyes on her the entire time, and when she finished and turned to look at him, she found lust and hunger burning bright in his sky-blue eyes.

“In the bed,” Thranduil ordered, though not unkindly, “if you please.”

Tauriel obeyed, her cheeks aflame as Thranduil walked toward her, unclad and unashamed. He pushed her down when he climbed onto the featherbed, and he kissed her anew. There was no tenderness this time in his kiss, only a deep longing to ravage and take. Tauriel grew bold. She let Thranduil kiss her before she suddenly spun him around and moved on top of him. Thranduil laughed triumphantly.

“Do you wish to command me, Tauriel?” He husked, resting his hands on her sides when she straddled him, and her weight settled over his thighs.

“For a little while, my king,” Tauriel said. She took hold of his hands when they moved up in search of her breasts and brought them back to her sides. “No, my king,” she added after a moment. “You cannot touch me anywhere besides where you are touching me now. Later, you may do so, but not now.”

The Elvenking let out a sound of impatience. “I shall do as you say,” he uttered and bit back a groan when Tauriel took his erection to hand. “I will only touch you where you want me to.”

Tauriel nodded in approval. She stroked his cock until it stiffened and twitched against her touch. Then, she moved forward—bracing her hands against his torso to steady herself—and fit his tip against her core. When she slid down onto him, Thranduil forgot all sense of himself. He arched his back when he found himself locked within the welcomed heat of Tauriel’s body, and his fingers dug into her soft flesh, bruising and marring them as she started to move. He opened his eyes, filled with a desire to see, and found himself being greeted by the sight of his length disappearing into her, her chest heaving, and her limbs trembling from the exertion of their lovemaking. He dared not move his hands. He kept them by her waist instead while she brought down her hips and ground against him, again, and again, and again, and her breath turned to ragged gasps. When Tauriel brought down her hips harder and faster than she thought she would, Thranduil cried out his pleasure.

“Hush, my king,” Tauriel warned. “The others will hear you.”

“The others will not hear me,” Thranduil declared with certainty. “They are quite occupied with their singing.”

What he said was indeed true, for the singing was now louder than before, and each word carried through the camp without hindrance. Thranduil decided to take advantage of this. He grabbed Tauriel, flipped her onto her back, and then turned her onto her stomach after he pulled out of her.

“On your hands and knees, Captain,” insisted the king as he made himself comfortable on his knees. “The time has come for me to take the lead.”

Tauriel heeded him, parting her legs and moaning when he slipped inside of her. Her nails dug into the furs beneath her while he thrust steadily and drove her closer and closer to her release.

Someone called from outside the tent. “My king? Are you there?”

Tauriel dropped to her elbows. She bit her lower lip and buried her face in her forearm to try and silence herself. Thranduil, on the other hand, continued without ceasing. “Yes, Feren,” he barked, “but I am occupied. Captain Tauriel and I have much to discuss. I will summon you and Galion some other time.”

“Of course, my king,” Feren answered. He paused for a moment, and then said, “Galion and I shall await your summons in our tent.”

Tauriel lifted her head not long after. “I am certain he heard.”

“Feren will guard his tongue if he did, as will Galion,” Thranduil panted. He grabbed a fistful of Tauriel’s hair and tugged at it, though not ungently. The act gave rise to fresh sensations that were more powerful than the ones before them. They tore through Tauriel’s veins like trails of fire and brought about an orgasm that overcame her and blinded her to all else. She sobbed out the king’s name while he chased after his release, and she then heard it, him grunting in satisfaction as he withdrew and spilled his seed onto the pelts. Then she collapsed onto her side, weary from what took place, and she took a steadying breath as the world around her grew still.

The weight of the featherbed shifted. “Tauriel,” Thranduil said, brushing his hand over the tousled mess that was her hair. “Are you well?”

“I am well, my king,” Tauriel said. She turned onto her back and found Thranduil seated beside her, watching her. She smiled up at him. “I am just weary by what we did; that is all.”

Thranduil was relieved. “Just so. Stay and rest a while. Later, I will help you dress, and we can join the feast.”

#whimsy's seven days of ficsmas #thranduil #tauriel #thranduil/tauriel #thranduil/tauriel smut

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littlegreengoose · 1 year ago

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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!!!

#bagginshield #bilbo baggins #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #fili and kili #fanfic #fanfiction

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xanthusasaka · 2 years ago

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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😂)

#bagginshield

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kaye6140 · 1 year ago

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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.

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?

#bagginshield #thilbo #the hobbit #thorin x bilbo #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins

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middleearthpixie · 2 years ago

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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

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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.

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Richard Armitage

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