#in khuzdul mind you

[rincewinds-hat]

HOLY FUCK GUYS I JUST REALISED I HAVE THE HOBBIT BOOK ON MY KINDLE (FOR LIKE 4 YEARS ALREADY BUT WE'RE IGNORING THAT)

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Accidental Confession- Thorin x Reader

Summary: Thorin overhears you confess your feelings about him to his nephews

Word count: 1, 478

Mixing yourself, two dwarf princes and a full barrel of mead was bound to create some chaos. Honestly after an hour of drinking with them you’re surprised that the worst thing you’d done was a failed handstand and a terrible improvised song. Unfortunately however things were going too smooth for too long, and your luck of only slightly embarrassing yourself was running out.

You and the princes were sat in the woods outside of Erebor, all three of you needing an escape from castle that could sometimes feel suffocating. Though you were only visiting your friends, you could tell they needed a break from their uncle, especially Fili as he was next in line and his list of duties were piling up every day. Needing the biggest break out of all three of you, it was no wonder that the embarrassing question came from him.

“Y/N, I have a question.” The blonde dwarf asked, sat upon a rock with a cheeky smile on his face.

“Well fortunately for you, Fili dear, I might just have the answer.” You reply with a cheeky smile of your own as Kili refills your cup.

“Why do you dislike our uncle?” Came Filis oddly sobering question.

This question caused even Kilis face to become serious as both princes stared at you. Although their faces were filled with worry, you couldn’t help the girlish grin that came to your face. At seeing your grin, both princes grew matching grins of their own.

“I don’t dislike your uncle.” You answer, trying hard and failing to hide your smirk.

“Oh really? When he speaks you seem to always walk away and just last night he asked you to dance and you denied him.” Kili now interrogates, a quizzical smile growing on his face.

“It’s not because I don’t like him.” You try to defend yourself sheepishly.

“Is it because you do like him then?” Fili asked you smirking.

“No! Maybe… Look it’s not fair! When he talks that dwarf language…”

“Khuzdul.” Kili quickly corrects.

“Yeh! It’s just really hot… I know he’s your uncle but it’s so hot! And and! The dancing! If I dance with your uncle my tits would be in his face! Which if that happened I’d get so turned on I’d die.” You confessed to your friends, babbling foolishly.

Fili and Kili exchange a look at hearing your confession, before promptly bursting out in laughter. Their laughter so loud that you’re sure people in Erebor could hear it.

“It’s not funny!” You half-laugh and half-shout, trying hard to stay serious and defend yourself, but unfortunately failing.

It wasn’t long until you too joined their laughter, all three of your laughs sounding loudly through the forest.

If any of you had been sober, you might have realised that such laughter had drawn the king under the mountain himself to find your little hiding spot. Seeing you all so intoxicated and in the forest he had half a mind to storm over and tell you all off, but was abruptly stopped at the conversation at hand.

“You should tell uncle how you feel!” Kili announced excitedly.

“No!” You shout.

“Why not?!” Both of your friends seemed to yell in unison.

“Oh yeh what would I say? ‘Hey Thorin, I know you’re the super duper important and serious king, but I think your voice is really sexy and the reason I don’t dance with you is because if your face was in my tits I’d get so horny I’d die! Also you’re really sweet to me and I’d like to hold your hand and bake you nice things and maybe kiss you a little’…” Your confession suddenly turning more sweet and serious.

Realising just how you felt about Thorin, your head fell as you played with your fingers, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and embarrassed.

“Maybe we should head back. It’s getting cold and I think it’s time we all went to bed. We’ll get you something nice to eat and some nice warm furs.” Fili suggests as he takes your hand, knowing your confession was a lot more than just a silly girl being attracted to their uncle.

As both boys held your hand to help you walk, Thorin hid himself behind a tree, not wanting to be noticed. Though he hid, he couldn’t help but stare at you as you left with his nephews. Knowing his feelings were reciprocated suddenly filled him with both relief and fear.

*****

You were surprised to wake up the next morning with only a mild hangover after your night of drinking with your friends. Getting dressed you decided it was a day for comfortable clothes, topped with a big warm cardigan knitted for you by Ori.

As you went to leave your room in search of food you literally ran into the last person you expected.

“Oh! Hello Thorin.” You sheepishly greeted him, slightly stepping back into your room.

“Good morning, y/n. How did you sleep?”

“Fine, thank you. Is there something I can help you with, Thorin?” You nervously ask him, trying hard to keep eye contact with him as you wrap the cardigan around yourself.

“Yes, um- may- may I come in? I’d like to speak with you in private.” He asked as his voice suddenly became more serious.

“Ye-yes, sorry, um, come in.” You anxiously step aside and quickly pull out a chair from your vanity for him to sit on while you sit on the edge of your bed.

Thorin manoeuvres the chair to sit directly in front of you, your knees barely grazing each other. Looking from your hands, to your barely touching knees and into his beautiful blue eyes, your gaze quickly falls back to your hands.

“I-I need to speak with you about last night.” Thorin stutters out.

Looking back into his eyes, you meet him with a quizzical look. The king under the mountain is never nervous and you had not spoken with him at all last night.

“I-I heard what you said to Kili and Fili last night.” He confesses.

Suddenly your eyes go wide as realisation hits you. At hearing this, your blood turns cold, both fear and embarrassment filling both your body and your face.

“Oh no.” You quietly mumble as you anxiously hide your face in your hands.

You were mortified and scrabbling your brain to think of anything to get him away, so you could wallow in shame and embarrassment alone. However before you could think of the words to save you, you felt large warm hands around yours, as Thorin pulled them away from your face.

“Please do not hide from me.” He gently soothes you, as his thumb runs across your fingers.

Your head shoots up at his comforting touch and words. Your eyes filled with panic, dart between your now joined hands and his kind eyes. Trying to look for pity in them but you did not find it.

“This was not how I had imagined telling you this but I suppose after last night I could not ignore my feelings anymore. Y/N, I care for you so deeply and think you are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen in my many years. I feared you would not feel the same as I am not of the race of man and am quite older than you, but from what I heard last night I’m guessing the feeling is some what mutual.” He smiles as he gazes lovingly into your eyes.

You were stuck, too many emotions holding you in place. Confusion, fear, embarrassment and maybe a little bit of love forcing you still and your eyes to never leave Thorins.

“Amrâlimê?” Thorin speaks, worry now in his eyes as he places his large warm hand on your cheek.

You can’t help but close your eyes and hum at the feel of his skin finally against yours. Placing your hand over his, you rub your face further into his hand.

“I suppose you were right about your reaction to me speaking in my native tongue.” Thorin teases you as his face comes closer to yours.

Your eyes fling open as you realise he truly did hear everything you said. Letting out a defiant chuckle, you decide to show him just how much you meant the words you said last night. Grabbing a hold of his coat with both hands, you forcefully pull him into you, as you press your lips passionately against his own.

Thorin moaned into your mouth as your hands desperately pulled at his hair and his squeezed at your hips. You couldn’t get enough of each others touch as you both pulled the other closer.

Finally breaking away, your foreheads rested against each other as you stared into each others eyes.

“Maybe we should try the dancing next.” Thorin teased you with a smirk and a wink.

[fili-urzudel]

Hello!! Could you do 14, 15 and 31 with Fili? Romantic or platonic, up to you. Thank you 💜

13. Sitting together

14. Handholding

15. Sharing a blanket (potentially violent)

31. Stargazing

This combination is classic and oh-so-fluffy, and with my favorite Dwarf to boot! I went ahead and added another prompt as well.

Everyone lives AU, because there is no other ending in my mind.

BTW I'm sick :( but I'm going to try to get at least one other prompt request out this week

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.8k

Moonrise - Fíli Durin x Reader

The Durin's Day festival was always fun, but it was all the more spectacular in the newly reclaimed Erebor.

"The first autumn equinox since the mountain was reclaimed, can you believe it?" Fíli said with a bright smile, looking with pride at the crisscrossing bridges and vaulted ceilings of the entrance to the mountain. There was still plenty of work to be done, to be sure, but its improvement was impressive regardless.

"And in a couple days, the anniversary of when it was reclaimed," you nodded in agreement. "A few months after that, the anniversary of the first time you walked around by yourself."

"Hush, I'm trying to enjoy this," Fíli gave you a fake scowl, unconsciously probing the scar hidden beneath his tunic.

You changed directions. "Of course, my Prince," you teased. "You look very nice today."

You meant it. His hair was freshly washed, the slightly damp strands frizzing out in the cool morning air. Each bead was carefully placed, a few decorative gold ones added in place of a crown. His tunic was a smooth yet understated silk underneath his leather vest and wool coat. Every detail was precisely placed, the burnt oranges and browns blending seamlessly. He had clearly been seen to with the utmost care. He looked like royalty, even without the royal garb. Most importantly, he was healthy.

His smile softened, his cheeks turning a bit pink under his mustache. "Thank you," he glanced to the ground before looking back up at you. "And you're beautiful as ever."

You blushed deeper than him, unused to compliments. You plucked at the placket of your own wool coat, dyed a deep woad blue. It was your favorite. "Thank you," you said, choosing for once to believe him. "What duties do you have today?"

"None, surprisingly," Fíli breathed. "Thorin's let me have a break, so I can enjoy the first festival in our new home right alongside you." Something about that little word, our, set your heart ablaze. "You want to stick with me?"

"If you'll have me," he smiled again. That smile was impossible to resist.

"Of course I will."

Erebor had been steadily growing over the past year, but that day, it seemed more alive than ever. The market squares were full, overflowing into the wide side streets. Jewelry, blades, shields, ceramics, sculptures--anything made out of earth or in forges were certainly found somewhere in the expansive space. The Ereborian dwarves' tentative friendship with the Men of Dale caused new, less traditional stands to pop up as well: flower stalls, street food vendors featuring fish dishes, and clothing and homeware shops full of bolts of linen. The mountain had only dwarves—and Bilbo—in its halls, a presently rare occurrence, and so you were all free to speak Khuzdul, the sharp sounds ringing pleasantly in your ears.

The two of you strolled as quickly as possible through all the markets had to offer, determined not to miss the afternoon's performances. You exercised exemplary self-restraint, only stopping at one of every five stalls that caught your eye.

"No," became a very popular word as well, what with resisting Fíli's unceasing offers to purchase anything you liked.

"Well, if you will not spend any of your share of the treasure, I must spend some of mine and relieve what must be the terrible, stifling boredom of your living quarters, my friend," he teased, mustache beads swinging from side to side.

"I will have no prince wasting his money on me."

"Oh, it's never a waste if it's you," Fíli told you surely.

There he went again, saying things that made your palms sweat and your cheeks flush. "You're too kind."

Fíli smirked at the way you diverted your gaze. "Well, if I cannot buy you a rug, at least allow me to buy you lunch," he gestured to a permanent restaurant on the corner that was swarmed with dwarrow.

You couldn't help a smile at that. "Hot stew?" You asked, referring to the almost overpoweringly spicy meat-and-potato stew that was a dwarven classic. Benron's was your favorite.

"As hot as you like, of course," He agreed, guiding you forward with a gentle hand on your back.

The stew made your eyes stream in the best way, and you pulled Fíli out of the restaurant scarcely once he was finished eating. "We have to find good seats!" You reasoned as he raised an eyebrow, still wiping his mouth.

"You do realize that Thorin has the best seats, and by extension, we do as well?"

"Right," you said. You had forgotten. Somehow, none of the Durins were royalty in your mind. They were still your traveling companions, dirt poor and looked at as crazy.

"Still, it is sort of nice to take a seat before everyone starts filtering in and it gets too loud," Fíli reassured you. "After you."

The grand presentation began with a song to the mountain. In the ancient tradition, singing was a way to ask the mountain to reveal its secrets, a careful gathering of tones that would uncover its nature.

This song, however, was made more to please the ears of the listener. It was a song of thanks, of hardly believing that this mountain was once again the shelter for her people. You tried your best to control the tears that rose to your eyes.

Fíli leaned over, bumping your shoulder with his. You gave a small smile that he returned, and you could see in his eyes that he was thinking of all that it took to get there.

"We did it," you whispered.

"Yeah, we did."

The opening songs were followed by traditional dances, a speed-forging competition, and a few spars. You cheered on the brothers as they fought each other, with a healthy dose of brotherly teasing. Fíli let his little brother win, or so he told you. The look on Kíli's face was more than worth it. You congratulated him and let them both clean up as you headed to the gates.

The gates were still open, cool air pouring into the mountain as the sun dropped in the sky.

Dale was dimmer than usual—the city was empty. The men were lining the edge of the water with candles. This equinox now also marked the anniversary of the fall of Laketown and many of their loved ones. The dwarves tried their best to be respectful of their vigil.

You leaned against the wall and watched. You hoped they found peace and remembered to enjoy their new lives. Bard, standing at the back of the group, turned around. He caught your eye and nodded.

"Come with me, I think we should see something," Fíli's low whisper startled you from your reverie, and his hand wrapping around yours even more so.

"Where are we going?" You asked, not that it mattered. With his hand in yours, you'd probably follow him anywhere.

He led you on a trek around the front of the mountain, the setting sun turning everything orange and making his hair appear as flames as you went.

Caught in the daze of bliss, it took you a while to notice what was draped over his other arm. "Wait, is that—I told you not to buy that!"

It was the woven blanket you had noticed earlier, the tapestry depicting sunrays falling through a thick forest of firs. "And what if I bought this for myself? I have uses for it."

"Then it's alright, I suppose."

"You can keep it once I'm done with it, though."

"Sly fox."

"Coin pincher."

"Seriously, though, where are we going?" You asked.

Fíli smiled at you. "A certain very large staircase."

You gasped. "Leading to a secret doorway?"

"The very same. I figured, since we were both trying to help Kili, erm, not die, we missed the excitement, and now we can see it for ourselves."

"That's extraordinarily thoughtful of you."

"Eh, I'd say averagely thoughtful at best," Fíli shrugged.

"Perfectly suitable for me," you told him.

"Good."

The achingly long trip up the staircase was rewarded with a very nice sight: another, less decorative blanket spread across the stone, a couple flat pillows, and three lanterns, already lit and ready to face the darkness.

"When did you find time to do this?" You asked Fíli, grinning from ear to ear.

"I have my ways," he said mysteriously. "And help."

"That's where Bofur, Bilbo, and Dori disappeared to," you observed. "I see. Well, it's very sweet of all of you."

"I'm glad you think so," Fíli said, still holding your hand as he guided you to sit on the blanket with him.

The stairs had taken longer than anticipated, so the sun was already almost gone. You quieted as you realized how close the time was. The two of you watched in quiet admiration as the moon rose, bright and perfect, into the sky, before you turned, hoping to catch a glimpse of the door.

You gasped. "There it is!" The moonrise revealed the shape of a perfectly hidden keyhole. "That is very neat, indeed."

"Mmhm," Fíli agreed. "Beautiful." The keyhole was not what he thought was beautiful. He wasn't actually looking at the door at all, but rather you, and the way the moonlight reflected off every spectacular detail of your face.

He had never known quite when he started to feel this way, only that he didn't in the Blue Mountains, when he barely knew you, and he did now.

You turned your gaze from the keyhole once the wonder had made a comfortable space in your heart, and looked to the stars, all too aware of how close Fíli was.

You read out the constellations to yourself in the comfortable silence, assuming the prince was doing the same. You then heard him shift.

"Lay with me," Fíli offered, and you turned around in record time, cheeks blazing and eyes wide.

"What?"

He was already lying down with his head on one of the pillows. "To watch the stars more comfortably."

"Alright," you said, voice quiet. You scooted down until you could lay your head on the other pillow, before changing your mind. You decided to take a risk and settle your head on his chest instead.

"Is this alright?" You asked immediately. The last thing you wanted was for him to be uncomfortable in this situation.

"Of course it is," he said softly, his arm raising to hold your waist. "I enjoy being close to you."

It wasn't quite a grand confession, but it was good enough for your heart to begin hammering in your chest. "I enjoy being close to you, too."

[lathalea]

Entangled 5/10

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit)

Rating: G (subject to change)

Warnings: ANGST

Summary: Arranged marriages are common among the dwarven nobility. After reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, the Kingdom Under the Mountain needs to be rebuilt. Thorin agrees to marry a lady from the Blue Mountains, securing a mutually beneficial alliance with the Broadbeam Dwarves. Lady Mista is said to be a practical and hard-working dwarf-woman, willing to give him an heir who would secure the line of succession. A decent queen material, his advisors say. If only Thorin could let go of his past…

You can find this fic on AO3 (search for lathalea).

A/N: It’s been a while but I’ve managed to finish this chapter so I can finally share it with you! Let’s see how the new Queen Under the Mountain is doing…

Special thanks to the most wonderful friend in the world @legolasbadass for your amazing support, encouragement and betaing this chapter 💙💙💙

-*-*-*-

KHUZDUL:

Azsâlul'abad - the dwarven kingdom of the Lonely Mountain

Khagal'abbad - Blue Mountains

‘Urdêk - [ereborean] Kingdom Under the Mountain

Zabdûna undu ‘Urd - Queen Under the Mountain

Aklah'ân - “Source River”, the Dwarvish name for the River Running

Malasul'abbad - Misty Mountains

Khazad-dûm - Dwarrowdelf, known among the Elves as Moria

Thorinuldûm - Thorin’s Halls, the settlement of the refugees from the Lonely Mountain in the Blue Mountains

-*-*-*-

✨ Chapter list: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5...

✨ Entangled Masterlist

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The feast hall echoed with the sounds of music, and dozens and dozens of candles flickered as Mista twirled around in his arms. She wore her pale blue gown adorned with sweetwater pearls — he was attired in the royal dark blue garments of the House of Durin. Strength slumbered in the way he held her — and yet his touch was gentle as he led her through the chamber, navigating between all the other couples. They danced without end, his warm gaze meeting hers, his smile unwavering. It was like soaring through the sky on a cloud. She felt everyone’s eyes on them and heard their whispers.

“They look so perfect together.”

“Simply stunning.”

“He has eyes only for her.”

“Look at them dance! It’s as if they were made for each other…”

“Oh, but they are…”

When the music came to an end, Mista saw that they were the only couple left dancing. He still held her in his arms, not ready to let her go. Something flickered in his cornflower blue eyes, and then his beard brushed against her cheek, and she heard his murmured words like a distant rumble of a summer storm:

“My Queen, shall we make a little spectacle of ourselves?”

“Always, My King,” she chuckled.

His arms tightened around her as he pulled her closer, her body pressed against his, and then she felt his lips brushing against hers lightly, then giving her a little peck or two, making her whole body tingle with anticipation. The guests around them cheered, but she paid no heed to the surroundings — and neither did he.

Mista sensed the impatience in his every caress, the impatience that finally exploded when he pressed his lips against hers, so hot, so hungry, making her breathless. And when he teased open her lips and claimed them completely, she quite forgot about the rules of propriety. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she deepened their kiss even further, giving in to her own hunger.

When their lips parted, she heard his low chuckle.

“Oh, Mista…” He gave her a peck on the corner of her lips. “Your kisses are sweet like honey, my love.”

My love…

Those words echoed in Mista’s ears when she opened her eyes.

It was only a dream. So perfect. But only a dream.

Chasing away the mocking afterimages from her mind, she found herself staring at the beautifully embroidered silks of the bed canopy above her. It took her a moment to recognize where she was — not at home in Tumunzahar, but half a world away from the cosy old room she had left behind. This place was her new bedchamber in the royal wing of Azsâlul'abad. It was one of the private rooms of the Queen Under the Mountain.

Mista, Zabdûna undu ‘Urd. She wondered if she would ever get used to the title that felt much too large for her. Like a pair of travelling boots inherited from a much bigger family member.

Her gaze rested on the crown and the ceremonial key on a chain she received at her coronation — the symbols of her stature — and yet she did not feel like a queen in the slightest. She wondered how many generations of queens before her wore them. Were they all wise and sensible rulers? Were they all beautiful? Were they happy in their marriages? Were they loved by their… people?

The ancient royal insignia lay in silence on a velvet pillow, unwilling to divulge their secrets, as if urging Mista to resume her new duties.

Before the wedding night, Katla had explained to her that those exquisite pieces were usually to be put away every evening, but it was customary not to disturb the newly wedded couple during their first night together. Mista still remembered how she turned away so that Katla would not notice her blush, which only intensified when the maid gave her best wishes for conception on the wedding night. Such openness was shocking to Mista at first, but then she recalled hearing similar wishes during the wedding feast even from the most respectable Longbeard matrons of Azsâlul'abad. Different clan, different customs, she thought. From what Katla let slip before she left, a new babe born in the line of Durin was exactly what the inhabitants of the restored Kingdom Under the Mountain were looking forward to.

The possibility of bringing a child into the world one day was anything but unpleasant to Mista. Perhaps another Dwarf-woman in her position would have felt the pressure of the people’s expectations on her shoulders, but not her. At home, in Tumunzahar, one of the tasks she had gladly devoted her time to was helping to raise her siblings’ children. Besides her sister Adla, she had two brothers, and all three of them were blessed with multiple offspring. Deep down, she was certain that her father used their family’s well-documented fertility as a bargaining chip when hammering out the marriage contract with King Thorin II.

Clauses pertaining to producing children were nothing out of the ordinary when it came to arranged marriages, especially among noble families. Dwarven children did not come to the world as often as many couples would have wished for, and too many of the ancient bloodlines had already perished. This could not happen with the most important one — the line of Durin — and Mista understood her duty well. What was more, she did not mind it at all; she had often dreamed about having children of her own. With no luck in the marriage market, for many years she had thought she would be deprived of this particular Mahal’s blessing. And then Mista’s world was turned upside down when she was informed that she was about to marry none other than Thorin Oakenshield, the Dwarf she had secretly dreamed of for years. Since then, an image of holding a tiny blue-eyed pebble in her arms warmed her heart as she counted down the days until her wedding.

Now, she was the royal consort of Thorin Oakenshield — the Queen Under the Mountain. It felt surreal. As a second daughter of a Broadbeam Lord, she was neither a Longbeard, nor a princess. The life she had always envisioned for herself was supposed to be simple and uneventful. Until the day her father informed Mista that she would become the Queen Under the Mountain, her days had mostly been filled with administrative work and family obligations. From time to time, she had allowed herself a moment or two to daydream about Thorin Oakenshield, the Dwarf she carried a torch for so long.

Despite being his newly wedded wife, their marriage had still not been consummated. It was not easy to chase away the memory of Thorin’s hasty retreat into his chambers two nights ago. The dream that still lingered in her mind made it sting even more than the morning before. Mista bit the inside of her cheek to stop tears from forming in her eyes. She had to remember that she was a queen now. Queens always behaved with decorum and never let their emotions show, at least not in public. It was time for her to put all the teachings she had received into practice and focus on positive things. Still slightly groggy, she sat up in the bed, yawned and stretched.

Even though Mista’s dream was now gone, it made another memory surface in her mind. The events of the previous evening. Her fingers travelled to her tender lips.

Thorin Oakenshield kissed her yesterday.

That had to be a dream, too. Was it not? No. That was most definitely not a dream. That kiss truly happened — it only felt like a dream. Recalling the events at the celebratory dinner, she felt a slight tingling on her lips. She still remembered how the king, her husband, whispered into her ear, his voice low like a distant rumble of a storm, and she remembered the heat of his breath against her earlobe. Mista closed her eyes. She did not know how she managed to keep her composure last night when Thorin towered over her, so very tall and handsome and overwhelmingly majestic with his crown gracing his temples.

When he moved into the kiss, her heart was beating so fast, and she was so giddy and so terrified, and all the guests were staring, and she closed her eyes and… First, his beard grazed against her cheek, then her lungs filled with the scent of pines and precious oils, and then something brushed against her lips, and it felt nice, and after that, she shifted on her feet, and then — then it happened. His lips touched hers. Softly, gently, demurely. Any other kiss in those circumstances would have been unseemly. Yet, it felt more than enough; more than she had ever imagined. He truly kissed her. And Mista kissed him back — not only for the sake of appearances, but no one had to know that. What mattered was that the kiss — that wonderful kiss — although very chaste, was now etched in her memory forever. Her fluttering heart, the warmth of his skin, the coarse softness of his beard, her hand in his, the echoes of people chanting in her ears, and the sudden dizziness she felt just after their lips parted. But he held her still, steadying her until she sat down in her chair again.

Thorin Oakenshield, her lord husband, kissed her.

Even if this kiss for him might have been only a formal gesture forced upon them both, for Mista it was a dream come true. No. It was better than a dream. He kissed her. And he was careful and considerate, so very much different from any of the mere handful of kisses she experienced in the past. This was the best kiss she had ever had. Perfect. Just like him .

“Good morning, Your Majesty, have you slept well?” Katla entered the chamber with a breakfast tray, making Mista snap out of her reverie. Her daydreaming had to wait.

As her new maid placed the tray on her lap and began preparing the room for the day, Mista put on her glasses and mumbled a few platitudes to Katla. The coal-haired Dwarf-woman was of similar age as herself, yet she seemed to possess ten times more wit and confidence than Mista. It was apparent that she knew her duties well, and she was skilled, while Mista was groping in the dark.

Sighing, the new queen stared at the abundance of food in front of her. Eggs, cheese, a bowl of porridge, some strange fruit, and honey, and…

“Will my…” Mista searched for the right words. Act like a queen. “Is His Majesty already awake? I would like to break my fast with him.”

“I’m sorry, m’lady, but His Majesty left his chambers a while ago.” Katla clasped her hands. “I can ask Ranul, His Majesty’s valet, about future breakfast arrangements if you wish.”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.” Mista reached for a slice of bread, trying to hide her disappointment. She should have expected this. The King Under the Mountain had more important things to do than entertain her. He had the whole kingdom to rebuild; he could not waste his time on idle chatter with Mista.

“His Majesty is an early riser, m’lady.” She heard Katla’s voice.

“I understand.” Mista spread the honey on the bread and forced herself to take a bite. Of course, he would already be awake, she silently chided herself once more. She wondered what Katla must have been thinking at that moment.

“Is the honey to your liking, m’lady?” The maid asked cheerfully, as if oblivious to her thoughts. “A whole barrel arrived a week ago from the Vales of Anduin. A wedding gift from Lord Beorn.”

“I have never eaten anything like it before.” Mista attempted to smile. Despite the rich sweetness spilling on her tongue, the food seemed to turn to ash in her mouth.

“I’ll let the kitchens know. They’ll make sure it’s on your breakfast tray every morning. Do you have any other wishes, m’lady? Your favourite breakfast dishes, perhaps?”

“This looks perfect. Thank the cook from me.”

“I will, m’lady, thank you. He will be glad to hear it. He is already overjoyed that he can finally prepare proper breakfasts for a crowned head!”

“What do you mean?” Mista turned to her maid. “What about breakfasts for His Majesty?”

“His Majesty is… not very particular about his breakfasts. And his other meals, too. He usually eats something simple later on, while working in his study.” Katla lowered her voice somewhat. “The only time the cook was truly happy happened when His Majesty was in recovery.”

“In recovery?”

“After the Battle, m’lady. When ‘Urdek was reclaimed. He was gravely wounded and the healers were not certain if…” The maid broke off and cleared her throat. “But all is well that ends well, as they say. Lord Óin, the Head Healer, said that His Majesty had to replenish his strength and eat well, and so the cook was over the moon about all the refined dishes he was finally able to prepare. And so the King…”

Katla’s words were interrupted by the sound of the mine bell. It struck ten times. Mista covered her mouth with a hand.

“Oh no! Is it so late? I slept for too long! I have a meeting with Lord Balin in one bell! I’m going to be late!” Panicked, she threw the quilt aside in an attempt to leave the bed, almost toppling over her breakfast tray. Only Katla’s lightning-fast reflexes prevented its contents from landing on the snow-white bed linen.

“I’ll prepare your garments right away, m’lady!” The maid’s voice reached Mista’s ears as she ran to the bath chamber.

There was an old dwarven saying “silence is golden”. For Mista, at that very moment, time was golden — more precious than any treasure. As precious as the memory of the King’s lips brushing against her lips. She would not fail him. Whatever happened, she could not be late for her first official meeting!

A new day had begun for the Queen Under the Mountain.

***

The corridors of ‘Urdek were almost silent despite the late hour — eleven bells rang out in the depths of the Mountain when Mista finally left her rooms. The majority of the inhabitants of the kingdom were sleeping off the revels of the day before.

The sound of footsteps echoed against the stone walls as Mista walked the corridors, accompanied by Lord Balin — or simply Balin, as he insisted she call him. The revered King’s advisor offered to give her a quick tour of the royal wing and the adjacent areas where the most important officials worked. Despite the fact that a greater part of all those chambers, rooms, and corridors was damaged or completely destroyed by the dragon and therefore still uninhabitable, enough of them were in decent shape to make this part of the Mountain functional. The Kingdom Under the Mountain was truly vast; Mista’s home stronghold, the largest dwarven settlement in Khagal'abbad, the Blue Mountains, as the people of Men called them, was barely one-third of its size, or maybe even smaller. Tumunzahar, however, bustled with life, while the population of the spacious ‘Urdek had barely begun to grow after its re-establishment barely a year ago.

Balin introduced Mista to her own and the King’s staff, all lined up before her like warriors before battle. The royal army, Mista thought. An impressive group of scribes, Law Masters, Record Masters, and other advisors. She only wished she could feel like their general one day.

Among them stood a dwarf-woman called Embla, who — according to the King’s advisor — was supposed to be her new personal secretary, one of her closest attendants from now on. Her unruly red hair, sparkling eyes, and affinity for giggling made Mista like her from the very beginning. They chatted amicably on their way to yet another hall.

“Allow me to show you around the Queen’s Council Chamber,” Balin opened the door before them.

When they entered a spacious room, Mista looked around, taking in the surroundings: the large stone table in the centre, the chairs around it, and the heavy shelves by the walls; some of them empty, some of them filled with books, parchments, and scrolls. All this was ready for the Queen Under the Mountain — her own council chamber. It looked both promising and overwhelming at the same time.

“Am I to have a separate council?” She turned to Balin.

“Indeed, My Lady.”

“What about the King and his council? Are we not to work together?”

“It makes me glad to hear that you are willing to participate in the King’s Council, My Lady,” Balin smiled. “You will be more than welcome at its meetings. You should know, however, that traditionally, a Queen Under the Mountain has their own council to take care of the matters she chooses to focus on fully. For example, Queen Urtha, King Thrór’s wife, oversaw the housing situation and the workers’ wages, and she also worked closely with the Royal Almoner.”

“I see.” Mista clasped her hands together, feeling complete emptiness in her head. What was she supposed to do as a queen? She had not the slightest idea.

“The Queen picks the members of her council depending on the areas of her interest.” Embla added encouragingly.

“I will have to think about that for a bit.” Mista said. “First, I will have to get to know the kingdom better and see what the priorities are.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Embla consulted a small notebook she carried with her. “Which reminds me… according to your schedule, Your Majesty, you have been invited for a tour of the kingdom in the afternoon together with His Majesty King Thorin, Prince Fili, and Princess Fridvi.”

“Thank you, Embla, for reminding me. That will be helpful.” Mista admitted. She was truly looking forward to that meeting, exploring the most important places of ‘Urdek and spending a couple of hours in her lord husband’s company. Especially the latter. Perhaps, if luck allowed, there would even be an occasion for a private conversation with him? Something less formal and more similar to that conversation they had during that ball years ago? Her heart fluttered at the thought. The memory of that ball made her think of her dream and of the kiss they shared, and Mista had to turn her back to her attendants to hide her burning cheeks.

She barely noticed that she was now facing a wall fully covered by a tapestry that depicted a large group of figures — Dwarves, of course — gathered in a large rock cavern. Its walls were black with veins of green, so characteristic for the Lonely Mountain.

“Do you like this tapestry, Your Majesty?” Balin asked and continued, not waiting for her reply. “This scene depicts the foundation of ‘Urdek. Here, you can see King Thráin I, the one with the hammer, splitting a piece of rock and finding the Arkenstone. The scholars are not certain if he truly found it himself — it was almost one thousand years ago! But what we know is that these pieces of rock were used to build the throne on which our King Thorin sits during weekly audiences. Now, that light right there symbolises…”

The sound of screeching doors made Mista jump and turn towards the entrance of the chamber.

“Here you are, Mista — Your Majesty!” With the sound of heavy footsteps, her father’s brother, Lord Taran, entered the chamber, looking surprisingly refreshed as if the revelry of the previous days never happened. “It seems that we are about to have the first meeting of the Queen’s council!”

Even his opulent garments, red and copper, tailored in line with the latest Tumunzahar fashion, did little to make him appear less like a warrior and more like a courtier. With his tattoed cheeks and grey hair gathered in two braids behind his ears, he looked ready for battle. Mista felt her stomach tie itself in a knot.

“Good day, Uncle,” she forced her lips into a polite smile. “I’m afraid that you are mistaken. I have not yet chosen its members.”

“Worry not, my royal Niece,” he made a slight bow. “With me at your side, there will be no need for a large council.”

“By my side? Are you not returning to Tumunzahar with my parents?” Mista asked faintly. Please, no.

“How could I abandon my favourite Niece at such an important time? What would His Majesty and his people think if your own family abandoned you here, all alone, without any help?”

Balin cleared his throat.

”Lord Taran, rest assured that we will provide Her Majesty with expert advisors who…”

“I am certain that what you say is true,” the Broadbeam lord interrupted him, “but I believe Her Highness, my dearest Niece, would appreciate guidance in this and any other matters from a trusted family member as she adjusts to her new position, would you not, Mista?”

Mista felt her uncle’s eyes boring into her face. He called himself “a trusted family member” — trusted by her father but certainly not by her. She could not recall having even one conversation with him that did not revolve around her assisting him with new endeavours that would bring more power or riches to their family. Not once did Uncle Taran offer her a kind word — or even simply ask her how she was faring. When it came to him, she felt like a pawn, significant only when it was time for a new scheme of his and he needed some research to be done. And he never acknowledged her help. Mista often wondered how he would have acted towards her if she had been born a Dwarf-man. Would she be allowed to run her own business by now, just like her brothers? Probably. But she was a Dwarf-woman and among Broadbeams, such pursuits were frowned upon if undertaken by someone of her gender. Instead, she was expected to put her skills to use only behind closed doors, for the benefit of her family’s multiple business ventures, but never in her own name.

Family above all , the motto of her house said.

“Your silence worries me, Your Highness,” Lord Taran stepped towards her. “I am afraid that Lord Balin and your assistant may come to a wrong conclusion about my welcome here! Surely, this is not what you mean, dear Mista, is it?”

She felt Lord Balin’s gaze on herself as she spoke hastily, “Of course not, Uncle! I-I will be happy to have you in my council.”

Family above all.

Lord Taran rubbed his hands in joy.

“And I will be happy to aid you, Your Highness,” he bowed his head, but Mista noticed the glint of triumph in his eyes.

As she looked away in defeat, her gaze fell onto her long marriage braid clasped with a golden and onyx bead. It was placed there by Thorin, the King Under the Mountain. Mista was his wife now — the Queen — much more than an unremarkable Broadbeam lass.

Mustering all her courage, she replied, “I am glad to hear it. You will be the first to know about the first meeting of the council, after I have picked all the other members. And now, you will have to forgive me, dear Uncle, I have another meeting to attend to.”

On her way out of the chamber, Mista did not spare even a glance at Lord Taran. It was easy to imagine his cold stare, the one she had seen so many times when he was displeased with her. Her heart sank. Even here, hundreds of leagues away from her birthplace in Khagal'abbad, she would not be free from his influence. Instead of enjoying her independence for the first time in her life — as the queen of one of the greatest dwarven kingdoms — she would still be a pawn on the chessboard of her family’s making.

***

“I have heard so many stories about the Kingdom Under the Mountain but none of them spoke about this place!” Wide-eyed, Princess Fridvi tilted her head up, taking in the sight before her, with her husband, Prince Fili, standing beside her.

Mista followed her gaze, admiring the large underground waterfall that gracefully flowed out from the depths of the Mountain, glistening in the air, all the way to the small underground lake below the balcony they stood on. The humming sound of the cascading water made talking barely possible, but the air around them felt very fresh, like spring on the mountain slopes over Tumunzahar, and Mista enjoyed the feeling of tiny droplets of water that found their way to her face from time to time.

“The colour of the rock behind the waterfall makes it look as if the water was liquid silver, does it not?” Master Lofar, the head of the Engineering Guild, asked. He was a middle-aged Dwarf with curly copper hair gathered into one thick braid adorned with countless golden beads. With his vast knowledge of the Mountain, he seemed like the right person to manage a big part of the renovation work in the kingdom.

“Indeed, it is so beautiful!” Fridvi exclaimed in awe, shaking her head, her chestnut locks with several intricate braids among them falling softly down her shoulders.

“That colour is the reason why our King, may Mahal bless his rule, is called the lord of silver fountains by the people of Dale. Apparently, they believe that silver flows out straight from the bowels of our Mountain!” Master Lofar chuckled.

“The people of Dale have vivid imaginations,” Fili said. “If this was truly liquid silver, we would have all perished from thirst by now!”

“Indeed. This is the main spring from which the river Aklah'ân flows out and gives life to the Long Lake beyond Dale. Imagine if it was silver as well!” Master Lofar added in amusement.

“Even though only water flows here, it is much more breathtaking than our Sapphire Lake in our mountains of Khagal'abbad.” Princess Fridvi said.” Wouldn’t you agree, Fili?”

“For me, the prettiest thing here are the emerald pools of your eyes, my love,” her husband took her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, his gaze softening.

Mista quickly looked away, ignoring the tightness in her throat. For the fifth time — or perhaps sixth — she hopefully glanced at the nearest entrance to this cavern only to find it empty yet again. The King was nowhere to be seen. They were supposed to have met by this cavern more than half a bell ago, but there was no sign of him. Something must have delayed him. He could not have forgotten about this meeting, could he?

Princess Fridvi, Prince Fili, and her were supposed to be shown around the kingdom, and Mista had truly looked forward to exploring this realm together with her new husband. She wanted to see it through his eyes, perhaps hear him share some moments from his youth as he spoke of places closest to his heart. She had been looking forward to learning more about Thorin the Dwarf, not Thorin II, the King.

Stealing another glance at the enamoured couple, she wondered if he would ever look at her the same way Fili looked at his wife. Perhaps one day… She would just have to work hard and try to become the best wife and queen she could be. But at that moment, she would have given much to be standing by Thorin’s side and hear his velvety voice as he spoke about the wonders of his homeland — her new home.

The sound of hurried footsteps made Mista look towards the entrance yet again. The person who was approaching them had dark hair, so very much like Thorin’s, and a similar profile, but she was not him . It was King Thorin’s sister.

Princess Dís moved gracefully towards Mista. Alone. A disappointed sigh escaped Mista’s lips but she tried to smile.

“Your Majesty,” Thorin’s sister bowed her head as the tradition demanded. “My brother sends his regards and apologies. He truly wanted to join you but two new caravans arrived in the morning and brought many more newcomers than we were prepared for. We are running out of available sleeping quarters and Thorin is currently trying to find a viable solution.”

“I see… Thank you for informing me, Your Highness,” Mista glanced at the waterfall and blinked away the moisture from her eyes. There was so much water in the air.

“Can I help? With the caravans, I mean,” she heard herself say, and then she added uncertainly. “If another pair of hands is needed.”

“Of course, Your Majesty!” Dís clasped her hands with joy. “There is plenty of work to be done, but would you not rather finish the tour of the Kingdom first?”

“It can wait, but I don’t think those people can. They have probably spent months on the road. Where do they hail from?”

“We have people from Khagal'abbad, your home mountains, and a smaller group from Malasul'abbad,” Dís replied.

“From the Misty Mountains? I was not aware that there were any Dwarven settlements left under those peaks,” Mista frowned. As far as she knew, those mountains had been crawling with Orcs since the fall of Khazad-dûm.

“There is a handful of them, scattered and secluded, mainly in the southern parts. It is not an easy life, from what I hear. Those settlements are mostly inhabited by the Longbeards of ‘Urdêk who chose to stay behind, together with Dwarves of other clans, and some outcasts as well.”

“And now some of them came here to find a new home,” Mista spoke her thoughts aloud. “Just like me. All the more reason to help them!”

“If Thorin could hear you now, he would be proud of you,” Dís offered her a warm smile.

Mista opened her mouth to speak when Prince Fili approached them.

“Uncle is not coming, is he?” he asked.

When his mother quickly relayed the news to him, he furrowed his brow.

“What a shame. I was hoping to spend some time with Uncle,” he addressed his mother. “There are matters I need to discuss with him before we leave tomorrow.”

“Are you returning to Khagal'abbad so soon?” Mista asked in surprise. When she arrived at the Lonely Mountain shortly before the wedding, she got to know Fili and Fridvi a little better and began to grow fond of the young couple.

“I am afraid so. We were to stay in ‘Urdêk for a month, as you know, but…” Fili’s voice trailed off as he glanced at his wife.

“We can leave in a few days; there is no rush,” Fridvi protested.

“There is, my dearest,” speaking softly, Fili took her wife’s hands in his. “We are going to bring you safely back home.”

“I am not made of glass,” Fridvi rolled her eyes and lowered her voice. “There is still plenty of time.”

“You found yourself an impatient husband, my love,” Fili placed her hands over his heart and gently covered her hand with his, the features of her face softening.

Mista found herself staring at the waterfall yet again.

“I am certain that Thorin will find time for you today, Fili. After dinner, perhaps,” she heard Dís’ voice.

Fili nodded, his brow furrowed, “Very well. I just wish he had more time. Who knows when I’m going to see him again?”

“His Majesty… Thorin… He would have been here if he could. I know he wished to spend this time with you — with all of us here,” Mista said, hoping that the King would forgive her this white lie. “But he has to put his duties first. Have you heard this saying, Prince Fili? A righteous king puts his Kingdom above all else. ”

“That’s Dagur Sture, is it not? Uncle Thorin used to read his work to me and Kili years ago.” Mista recognized a hint of melancholy — or maybe nostalgia — in his words. Then he added, “This is one of the hardest lessons for a king.”

“You will make a wonderful ruler of Gabilgathol one day,” Fridvi said and pecked him on his cheek. Fili’s face brightened instantly and he whispered something to his wife that caused her to smile yet again.

When Mista stole a glance at Dís, their eyes met, and the Princess made an almost imperceptible nod towards her.

Master Lofar clasped his hands behind his back and addressed the group, “Shall we move on to see the oldest part of the main aqueduct?”

“You will have to forgive me and Her Highness, Master Lofar, but we need to leave due to an urgent matter,” Dís informed him, placing her hand on Mista’s forearm, signalling her to wait. They said their farewells, and Fili and Fridvi followed their guide.

“They are such a charming couple,” Mista said, casting one last glance at the young Dwarves as they walked away. “You must be very proud of Fili, Your Highness.”

“I most certainly am. May I have a request, Your Majesty?” the King’s sister asked.

“By all means.”

“‘Dís’ will do nicely. All those titles give me a headache. Do you know that we barely ever used them in Thorinuldûm? That decorum is needed here obviously,” she made a vague gesture with her hand at the stone walls around them, “but are they that necessary in private?”

“I believe not,” Mista agreed, hoping her next words would not be interpreted as overly bold. “I would very much like it if you called me ‘Mista’.”

“That would be a pleasure!” Dís beamed, giving her forearm a gentle squeeze. “We are family now, after all.”

“Indeed,” Mista nodded timidly, feeling some kind of indefinable warmth inside.

The Princess’ lip curled up, a half-smile Mista had already seen once or twice on her lord husband’s face.

“I must share my greatest secret with you,” Dís whispered into her ear as an elderly Dwarf passed them in the corridor. “I have always wanted to have a sister!”

“Truly?” Mista stared at her. “But you have such a great brother!”

“All the more reason to wish for a sister,” Dís chuckled. “When it comes to newest fashions and gowns, Thorin is completely useless!”

“Well, in that case, you have me now,” Mista smiled, a wave of surprise and relief washing over her when Dís suddenly embraced her.

“I hope for us to know each other better, Mista,” Dís admitted as they walked ahead with their arms looped together. “You are such an insightful person — I admire the way you reminded my son of what is important. He has his heart in the right place and I love him dearly, but he sometimes forgets we cannot have all that we want.”

Mista swallowed.

“I simply did not want him to feel bad. He seemed quite agitated today,” she explained, looking away.

“He has just learned that Fridvi is expecting,” Dís whispered as they took yet another turn towards the royal wing, with more Dwarves giving them customary bows as they passed them by.

“Is she?” Mista’s eyes widened in surprise. “That is splendid news!”

Many couples had to wait long years for Mahal to bless their union and she could imagine what joy Fili and Fridvi must be feeling. A babe to cherish and nurture. A child born of love. She took a deep breath to get rid of the sinking feeling in her chest.

“I could not be more happy, but with Fili’s constant pampering, I wonder how long it will take Fridvi to snap,” Dís chuckled. “His father was exactly the same. Most of the expectant fathers are. Something tells me that Thorin will not be very different once we hear the blessed news.”

Mista felt warmth crawling up her cheeks.

“I… I hope so…“ she said quietly, her throat constricted.

“All of the ‘Urdêk is hoping with you,” Dís squeezed her forearm again. “Come, there is nothing to be shy about. Imagine how adorable your and Thorin’s children will be!”

Mista found herself at a loss for words. How was she to tell the King’s sister that for the children to come the husband would have to be interested in the bride first? It was not his fault that her own looks were far from alluring.

“I know how it feels in the beginning,” Dís continued. “I barely knew my husband when I married him. Sometimes, those things need a bit of time.”

“How did you—,” Mista searched for the right words, “What did you do to break the ice?”

“Please do not laugh when I tell you: we talked. Our union had to work if we wanted for our people to remain in the Blue Mountains. We were not the best matched couple, but we tried to spend as much time together as we could to get to know each other better. Dinners, official events and trips… and so much more,” Mista clearly heard a hint of sadness in her sister-in-law’s voice.

“May I ask… did you find happiness together?”

“We did. And not only because we made two wonderful sons together,” Dís winked at her, and Mista blinked in surprise. Did the King’s sister truly hint at such an intimate matter? Perhaps it was like her mother said, the Longbeards were indeed much more frivolous than the Broadbeams.

“After meeting Fili, I cannot disagree with your words! I just wish both of your sons were present at the wedding ceremony,” one glance at Dís’ face made Mista scold herself inwardly. She completely forgot that Lord Balin — Balin — suggested that Kili was not the best conversation topic under the Mountain at that time.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to…” she began.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Dís shook her head adamantly. “This was my wish as well. We can only hope that he returns home one day. Oh, and here we are!”

They stopped before a pair of massive oak doors. Without delay, Dís pushed it open, as if the leaves were made out of parchment. The chamber behind them was large and filled with multiple tables, chairs, desks, scroll stands, and similar pieces of furniture, most of them covered with heaps of documents, maps, and various objects Mista did not recognize at first. The whole place looked more like a battlefield than a council chamber. Several scribes sat by their desks, hastily filling pages of parchment with countless lines of text. A handful of other Dwarves — Engineers? Stone Masters? Advisors? — moved nimbly between the desks, some of them seemingly searching for something, others gathered around the largest table in the room, their eyes set on a large piece of vellum that covered most of its surface. At the top of the table stood a tall Dwarf in a partially unbuttoned black and gold doublet that accentuated his broad shoulders, his hair falling in soft waves down his shoulders, one of his large hands resting heavily over the schematics on the table.

The King Under the Mountain.

Her husband.

Mista allowed herself a little sigh. Was it possible that he had become even more alluring since the last time she saw him?

“No, that sector is closed off for good,” he spoke in a low voice, a deep frown on his handsome face. “Cursed dragon! Any other ideas? We cannot have them living in the corridors like cave rats!”

“Reinforcements have arrived!” Dís exclaimed as they stepped over the threshold.

Most of the Dwarves present made hasty bows and returned to their work.

“Ah, Dís,” Thorin hummed, his eyes set on the map before him. “My Lady Mista. What brings you here?”

Mista mustered all of her courage and said, “We came to help.”

He nodded absentmindedly and gave out another hum.

“What about that part?” The King pointed at another place on the map.

“Weakened structural integrity, Your Majesty,” a Dwarf beside him shook his head. “But with enough resources and manpower, it could be made habitable within a half year.”

“Too long.”

Dís stepped towards the table, pulling Mista behind her.

“Thorin, Mista and I are going to help. Are the newcomers still in the Entrance Hall?”

With visible difficulty, her brother tore his eyes off the table.

“I believe so,” he said. “Dróri?”

“Aye, Your Majesty, all of them,” a chestnut-haired Dwarf on his right said.

“Who is taking care of them at the moment?” Dís asked him.

“Forgive me, Your Highness, I do not know.”

“Thorin?”

“Óri and the other healers are with them,” he gave her a curt reply.

Mista took a deep breath.

“Have… Have they been fed?” she asked.

Thorin’s brow flew up as his eyes rested on her face. She clasped her hands nervously.

“Dróri?” Her lord husband addressed his advisor but his gaze did not leave her face.

“I don’t believe so, Your Highness,” Dróri replied.

“We have sent to Dale for any food they can spare,” the King spoke.

“Good,” Mista nodded almost imperceptibly, schooling her lips in a small smile. It was not reciprocated, making her lower her gaze.

“Mista and I are going to see to their comfort,” Dís declared.

“Yes. We will,” Mista tilted her head upwards, her gaze resting on her lord husband’s unreadable face with difficulty. “Could we… It is almost evening. We may need to prepare temporary sleeping solutions.”

“Do whatever feels necessary, My Lady,” the King offered. “Dís, you know what to do. Dróri, you will go with Her Majesty and assist her in any way you can.”

“At your service, Your Majesty,” Dróri offered her a deep bow.

“Thank you, My Lord,” Mista made an effort not to grin at her lord husband. She could not believe that she had been entrusted with a task — a task she would be more than happy to fulfil.

He gave her another slight nod.

“Will I see you for dinner in our rooms?” she added hopefully.

Thorin looked around the chamber.

“I am not certain. We still have much to do here.” He glanced at the table.

“A late supper, perhaps?” Dís chimed in, her eyes meeting his.

“Perhaps,” he agreed after an almost imperceptible pause.

“Very well, I will make all the necessary arrangements, My Lord,” Mista added quickly before they left the chamber.

***

After sending Dróri to check the inventory of the textile stores — the newcomers were in need of new blankets and bedding, among other things — Mista and Dís turned their steps towards the Entrance Hall.

“Be patient with him,” the King’s sister said.

“Pardon me?” Mista stopped in her tracks.

“My brother. He is not the easiest Dwarf to be around. He—” Dís sighed. “He has been through a lot. But I promise you that he warms up to people once he knows them better.”

“I remember how very kind he was to me in Tumunzahar,” Mista could not stop herself from smiling at her cherished memories. She understood that he had changed since that time; a brush with death like the one Katla told her about would leave scars even on the greatest of warriors. As Dís suggested, she needed to be patient.

“I wish we had more time before the wedding to reacquaint ourselves with each other,” she added.

“I wish it had been possible,” the King’s sister admitted. “If only time was not of the essence. There are less than four years until Thorin's 200th birthday.”

“I am not sure I understand.” Mista corrected her spectacles on her nose. “What happens on His Majesty’s 200th birthday?”

“Our law says that if he does not produce an heir to the throne by then, the kingdom falls into the hands of his cousin, Dain Ironfoot. If this were to happen, we might have a rebellion on our hands. There is bad blood between our families.”

“Oh. I did not know that,” the cogwheels in Mista’s brain began to turn rapidly. She knew her family well. If Thorin II Oakenshield lost his crown and there was a possibility of an armed conflict, they would immediately withdraw their support, terminate their trade agreements, annul their marriage, and take Mista back to Tumunzahar. Away from him .

“I suspected as much. Everyone knows that Dwarf-women should not trouble their pretty heads with laws and other serious matters, isn’t that right? ”

Mista laughed in response, “You hit the nail on the head. They did not give me a chance to read the whole marriage contract, and I have been taking care of some of my family’s business matters and agreements for years now.”

“That's preposterous! We need to remedy this! Tomorrow, we are going to the Hall of Records so you can read it in peace. Being the Queen has its perks,” Dís gives her a conspiratorial wink.

“I would love to! I only know that,” she paused, “that providing His Majesty with an heir is one of my main duties, but I was not aware that it had to happen so quickly. Four years! My parents had my oldest brother after eleven years of marriage!”

“And Thorin was born around twenty years after our parents wed.”

“I will— I will try to do my best,” Mista offered without thinking, thoughts swirling chaotically in her head.

Dís took her hand in hers.

“Give yourself and Thorin some time, Mista,” she spoke softly. “As a mother, I can say that a child comes when the time is right. Some things cannot be hurried.”

“But it may not be enough time and besides, I know the people are expecting it,” Mista tugged at one of her braids nervously.

“A child would indeed be a welcome symbol of fortunate beginnings and rebirth of our kingdom,” Dís patted her hand. “But remember that this matter is in Mahal’s hands, not yours. Don’t burden yourself with it now, Mista. There is still time. In the meantime, rest well, and eat well, so your body is prepared.”

Finding no words, Mista simply nodded, covering Dis' hand with hers. She understood that the King’s sister meant well, but she recalled a popular saying among the Broadbeams: Mahal helps those who help themselves .

“We have one thing we need to hurry with, though," Dís gestured towards a nearby corridor. “Let us go to the kitchens and see if we can find some food for our new people.”

A Queen is the Mother of her people , a quote from Dagur Sture’s treaty surfaced in Mista’s mind.

“Lead the way, Dís,” she simply said. At least this was something she was able to do.

***

When Mista returned to her rooms around midnight, she was exhausted. There were many Mothers, children, and elderly Dwarves among the newcomers who required her attention, and despite the scarce resources, she and Dís did their best to see to their comfort. They were not alone — some of the other inhabitants helped as much as they could as well. A group of local weavers offered wool blankets, a textile merchant opened his stores to those in need, some of the younglings went outside of the Mountain to gather late grass and moss for fresh bedticks, others shared their spare food with the newcomers, Dale promised to send more food on the next day, and when Mista finished her work, she felt like the situation was under control at least for a few days.

As she entered the royal couple’s private parlour, she noticed a table filled with food and recalled that she was to meet her lord husband for supper. There were no sounds coming from his rooms. A pang of shame filled her. He had probably been waiting for her and when she did not come, he must have gone to sleep, angry, no doubt. She disappointed him yet again.

“Has His Majesty returned yet?” she asked Katla.

The maid shook her head, “I have not seen His Majesty since the morning. Ranul says that His Majesty sent for his old clothes and went with the Stone Masters to the Amphitheater some hours ago.”

“The Amphitheater?”

“Yes, m’lady. From what I understand, they were to clear out the rubble so that the newcomers can stay there for a while.”

“It will be better than the Entrance Hall,” Mista nodded, and then a thought appeared in her tired mind. “Here, Katla, give this food to Ranul so he can take it to His Majesty. He must be starving as much as I am now.”

As soon as Katla left, Mista quickly ate a bit of bread and cheese and sat by the fireplace, promising herself to wait until her lord husband returned.

She did not know when sleep took over her weary mind. She did not wake when Thorin returned to his bedchamber in the early hours of the morning. He did not notice her small figure huddled in the armchair by the dying fire.

No dreams came to Mista that night.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

✨ Chapter list: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5...

✨ Entangled Masterlist

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[shirefantasies]

can i request thorins company with a reader with really long hair?and maybe they have a really long hair care routine or something

also i luv your work!!Hope ur doing well💓

Doin’ better these days 🤞🏻 we love hair imagines for the company hehe

Thorin’s Company When You Have Really Long Hair

Absolutely worships it: Thorin, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bombur, Dori

Teases you a little: Dwalin, Nori, Fili

Just happy to have you: Balin, Bofur, Ori, Kili, Bilbo

Whether you wear it down, up, braids, locs, one big braid, your hair one of your favorite features of theirs and they all have a different way of showing it. Thorin, for example, loves to gently comb his fingers through your tresses if he can and is always holding it out of the way for you. Especially if you are not a dwarf, he deconstructs a lot of gatekeeping he would have done in the past and devotes himself to performing dwarven hair care practices and styles on you. Oin cares not for how long your routine is, he will learn it. Add to it or alter it a bit, even, with some of his own products, and you can’t really be too frustrated because dwarves do have the best hair products in Middle Earth. He has the gentlest hands as he caresses, treats, and styles your hair, never causing you a moment’s pain. Gloin glows with pride, practically insisting on handling your hair so long as you trust him. He’ll brag to anyone that you have the most gorgeous hair he’s ever seen even if you aren’t a dwarf. Let him do it up in braids, it’ll make him happier than anything! It can be hard to connect sometimes if you don’t speak Khuzdul, at least for Bifur, so he throws himself into acts of service. One of these is taking up the trouble of your long care routine. Silently he beckons you to sit between his legs, his hands working through your flowing hair. Gives you braids that match his and kisses them when he finishes. Bombur’s beard is very long, so he understands elaborate care routines. You two take up a trade of sorts where you re-braid his beard and he treats your hair, perhaps even trying a new style if you like! It may take a long time, but Bombur is in no hurry. Especially if your special routine gives him time to have his hands on you and in the hair he can't stop complimenting. Ever the aficionado of beauty, Dori adores the great flow of your locks and all their potential. If he has his way, he'll try many a different style and even decoration, weaving the prettiest beads and baubles and flowers in your hair. Always reminding you to take care of yours, he'll half-jokingly sigh and concede that alright, he'll simply do it himself. But of course that is simply his excuse to touch your beautiful hair, of course!

Dwalin loves your hair, adores the way you've let your tresses grow in a fashion any dwarf would be proud of, but he can't deny the irony. Your hair is long, flowing, tumbling far past your shoulders, and yet he has none. By a choice as proud as yours, but still. How could he help teasingly asking you, "Ya sure you don't wanna look like me? Lotta weight off those pretty shoulders." Similarly, Nori teases you, dramatically sweeping it off of your shoulder, that it gets in the way when he’s trying to enjoy you. He loves being able to move it off your face or off your shoulder for a kiss, though, he just can’t help joking around at all the time you take with it and simply how much there is. Of course Fili is going to tease you, it’s part of how he shows he cares. Jokes about if you’ll trip on your hair someday or playfully taking it in his hands to use as a blanket are interspersed with compliments about your beauty and Fili jumping constantly between you and danger. He’s always offering to braid it away from your eyes or tie it up to shorten it if it swings near your feet.

Balin cares about the heart more than the body, so while he cannot deny that your hair is beautiful he would not mind one bit if you lost it all. He brushes or detangles it so gently, but his eyes are on you the whole time and his favorite part of your elaborate care is simply the conversations you share, idle or deep. As someone who doesn’t exactly align with the beauty standards of his people, Bofur acknowledges he’d be quite the hypocrite if he imposed them on you, especially if you aren’t even a dwarf! What he wants most is someone who can make him smile, and as he’s told you you could do that even if you were bald as Dwalin! He lives to reassure you and also enjoys hearing that you’d love him no matter what, too, as you do each other’s braids. Ori is not focused on appearances, either, practically not noticing your hair until he makes to sketch it out and realizes how impressively long it really is. Then he’ll talk to you about it, curiosity overtaking him as he asks questions like how long it took to get it like that, if it gets in the way, what you do for it… Flushes the first time you invite him to touch it, but from then on he’s addicted! Plays with it idly a lot of the time. Kili finds a little bit of beauty in everyone, so long hair or short you can catch his heart. He can’t help swooning over the way your long tresses, braids, however you keep it glisten in the sun. Teasingly reaches out to touch it, but never actually does until he has permission. When he does, though, expect a few playful tugs! Bilbo has even less expectations about your hair as hobbits don’t typically keep theirs so long. It comes as a bit if a surprise to him to see yours, but it reminds him of the beauty of the elves. It’s unfamiliar and he loves the unfamiliar if he lets himself admit it. He does, and from there he insists upon relieving you of that long routine of yours “now that I’m here”.

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[conkers-thecosy]

So, I was today years old when I found out that "Erebor" is the elvish name for the Lonely Mountain!

I fell down a rabbit hole by accident and found out that the name “Erebor” is only used in the films - in the book The Hobbit everyone calls it The Lonely Mountain. I guess they use it in the films because it sounds somehow more magical?

Just between you, me, and the gatepost, it’s a fun headcanon to think there's no frikkin way that Thorin elf-hater Oakenshield would refer to his kingdom in elvish… opens a lot of possibilities for fic!

The khuzdul word is apparently Azsâlul'abad - I know the dwarrow wouldn’t call it that amongst outsiders, but it’s still interesting to know, especially if you’re writing from Thorin’s POV!

Anyway, this blew my mind, so I wanted to share it for anyone else who might not know!

[porphyriosao3]

Day 22 - Gender

"It's obvious enough," Dis said with a raised eyebrow. "Though I'm not sure why you care."

"I..." Bilbo sat back, nonplussed. "Well, I don't want to offend anyone, surely that's clear enough. In the Shire..." Dis' bark of laughter cut him off.

"You aren't in the Shire, my soon-to-be Lord Consort," she snorted. "And you'll annoy far more people trying to figure out what's in their pants than not in a dwarven kingdom, not that it's any big secret. Look," she sighed, "if you use 'he' for everyone, it's fine; Khuzdul doesn't have all that nonsense that Sindarin and the Southron tongues do where words shift around, so that's how we use Westron as well. There's two 'genders' here, as you call it; dwarf and non-dwarf." She grinned. "Though you yourself are a bit of a crossed category on the last one, mind."

[foggynelsonslucioushair2]

Bagginshield 2024: Khuzdûl

It was a typical evening in Bag End.

Young Frodo had run off to the pub, leaving Bilbo and Thorin to “totter around the house like a pair of ancient wizards,” as Bilbo was fond of putting it. He was currently at his writing desk, quill in hand and fingertips stained in ink as he scribbled on his latest project, a Sindarin to Westron dictionary that would be useful for Shire-folk. From the fireside seat where he sat idly plucking at his harp, Thorin could see the ink smudges on his dear hobbit’s lips and cheek, sure signs that Bilbo was deep in thought.

Thorin’s fingers froze on the harp strings when Bilbo suddenly turned to him and, with a bright smile, called out “Thîr vain chîn darn thulen!”

“What… What was that, my love?” said Thorin, sitting back from the harp and turning towards Bilbo.

“Thîr vain chîn darn thulen,” said Bilbo a bit slower, although it still meant less than a bit of rock in a miner’s hand to Thorin. “It’s a Sindarin phrase meaning ‘you are so lovely you stop my breath,’ or perhaps ‘you are a breathtaking beauty.’ But that translation still doesn’t perfectly convey the awe in the original Sindarin…”

Bilbo began muttering, once again turning back to his writing, and Thorin watched him for a moment, bemusement warring with affection in his heart. He supposed Bilbo’s love for words was similar to his own love for jewels and skillful craftsmanship, but flowery language wasn’t anything he himself understood. Words should be practical, solid, and useful, like those in Khuzdûl: Ibinê, my gem. Bunnel, Treasure above all treasures. Âzyungal, my One. How lovely and straightforward these words were, and so fitting for one as precious to him as Bilbo.

Thorin was startled from his thoughts as Bilbo whirled around in his chair again. “I’ll bet in Khuzdûl, you call those you love something like ‘precious gems.’”

Thorin tensed, wondering for a brief moment if Bilbo had somehow acquired the ability to read his mind somewhere along their travels.

Bilbo evidently took his tension another way, chuckling as he said “I suspect I’m right, but don’t worry, my dear. I won’t let this knowledge slip to anyone. I swear it on the fullness of my pantry and the hairiness of my toes. And that’s a promise that means something to a Hobbit, just so you know.”

Thorin’s shoulders untensed slightly. “Of course I trust you, Bilbo, and it’s not as if you actually know the Khuzdul word. I just hope you can understand that this is the one thing I cannot share with you, even though everything else is freely yours.”

“Oh, hush, Thorin. Of course I understand. I wouldn’t want you to speak your secret language to me any more than I’d expect you to ask me to freely give away my mother’s spoons. I may be your husband but I’m not a dwarf, and it just won’t do.”

“Well, I may not be able to speak Khuzdul with you, but may I sometimes call you ‘Treasure of my treasure’?”

Bilbo’s teasing grin turned soft. “That will do very well, my dear.”

I'm late!!! Oh, well. Here's the first of a series of mini-fics I've been working on, trying to get motivated to write something again. Since dwarves keep their language a secret from anyone who's not dwarvish, I wondered how Bilbo would deal with that. And of course, domestic fic because I want these two to be happy!

[starsofarda]

And we are now going on with my "Mae joins the Fellowship" series.

We are now moving on from Lothlorien :D Also, IDK if I am correct or not, but I am fairly sure that Galadriel got a lot of inheritance from the Elven kingdoms, at least the items that were not destroyed/seized by Morgoth and Sauron.

I will be followinga bit of a heartcanon here, for Mae's gifts.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

AO3 link

Also, tiny legendarium:

ᴛʏᴘᴇᴅ: ʟᴇɢᴏʟᴀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪꜱ ꜱʏʟᴠᴀɴ ᴅɪᴀʟᴇᴄᴛ

Italic: Sindarin

Bold: Khuzdul

Bold red: Ancient Khuzdul

𝒞𝓊𝓇𝓈𝒾𝓋𝑒: 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝓃𝓎𝒶

And time passed by in Lothlorien, until the Fellowship, with the loss of Gandalf and the acquisition of Maedhros Feanorion, had to leave Lothlorien and continue the Quest.

A lot had happened in that realm, and a lot more still had to come, but at the moment they all would be having a little bit of peace. When Galadriel gathered the Fellowship and the entire Court for goodbyes, everyone was wondering what would happen next.

Maedhros in particular, whilst he and Galadriel were not on forgiving terms, seemed to wonder.

And Galadriel had gifts with her, at that point, and she had already started speaking in the tongue he had learned was called "Westron" - he could catch a couple of words here and there, if anthing staying with the halflings and hearing their constant chattering had had the benefit of carving at least some basic words into his brain.

He did have to stop at Gimli's gift - the Dwarf seemed quite enamoured of the Lady of the Galadhrim, something he had changed mind over during his permanence in Lothlorien. A good thing, maybe this would be a starting point to stop any nonsensical issue between Elves and Dwarves.

Galadriel spoke to Gimli gently. "And what gift would a Dwarf ask of the Elves?"

He saw Gimli hesitate and then speak - he would have to ask Aragorn to translate it later.

"There is nothing, Lady Galadriel', said Gimli, bowing low and stammering. 'Nothing, unless it might be - unless it is permitted to ask, nay, to name a single strand of your hair, which surpasses the gold of the earth as the stars surpass the gems of the mine. I do not ask for such a gift. But you commanded me to name my desire."

Maedhros heard the shocked gasps, however he did not know Westron to say what was going on.

And then he saw Galadriel unbraiding her hair and give Gimli three strands of her hair.

Oh, if Feanor had been there.

Maedhros left out a stifled laughter - yeah, that he was understanding very well. Everyone turned towards him, trying to see if everything was alright - but it appeared to be something only he and Galadriel understood, hence no one pressed further, waiting instead for things to be explained at a later time.

"Maedhros Feanorion." He heard Galadriel call him. Her tone was calm, devoid of any contempt or resentment.

"Galadriel, Lady of the Galadhrim." He replied in the same tone - solemn, void of any resentment or contempt.

Somehow she felt different, as if she had diminished. He gave her a look, trying to see what was the deal, and she caught on that. She made a vague gesture. "Let us leave this at a quick 'I passed the test'."

Maedhros nodded. There would be time to enquire.

Galadriel kept speaking. "I have clothed you and gave you knowledge of the times that have gone by since your death. However, that is not all."

Her attendants brought forward her gifts.

"To you I give you a mighty sword - you should know the previous owner. It was salvaged and I kept it, no more than a relic of a past I would rather not mention here."

And as Maedhros unveiled the sword, he knew.

He absolutely knew.

That had been Fingon's sword, exactly as he remembered it. If he focused, he could almost feel again Fingon's presence, he almost could smell again the eagle feathers and feel the gentle touch on his aching body - he looked at Galadriel with all emotions he could feel in that moment, anger, sadness, relief, confusion.

Galadriel nodded. "May this sword be a guide to you, as he had been in life."

Maedhros just nodded. That was not the moment, he told himself, this all could wait, as he compartmentalized his feelings. He was also given a crossbow that would fit on the arm where he had not a hand anymore, light and practical, and a dagger for extreme situations.

Then Galadriel spoke to him once again. "This Quest is meant to rid the world of the Enemy. It appears you have still a role to play and this time may no Oath or Doom be with you. Instead, may you bring with you Hope and Companionship."

Easier said than done. Maedhros just said: "Thank you."

And with that the Fellowship left, Maedhros in the boat with Merry and Pippin.

As they made the first stop, Merry and Pippin immediately went to ask him. "Sir Maedhros Elf, we clearly saw you laugh, what was so funny?"

And as Aragorn wearily translated the uestion, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "𝒜𝓇𝒶𝑔𝑜𝓇𝓃, 𝒾𝒻 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽, 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒶𝑔𝑒?"

And once Aragorn had agreed, Maedhros explained how his father had also asked for a strand of Galadriel's hair, three times. And how funny and ironic was the whole ordeal.

He quickly added, to Gimli: "Worry not, Master Dwarf. I know you deserve them. There shall be no hatred here."

"No offence taken. I know you were a very upright lad."

"No one would refer to me as upright, but I appreciate your words."

And then the Hobbits got curious about the sword. "We thought Elves only used bows and arrows."

Once again Aragorn translated. Maedhros replied. "𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓂𝓎… 𝑀𝓎 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒾𝓃'𝓈 𝓈𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹."

"Oh, you miss him."

"𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉. 𝒲𝑒… 𝒲𝑒 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒."

The conversation was cut short as both Maedhros and Legolas turned towards the forest.

"ᴏʀᴄꜱ. ᴡᴇ'ᴅ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ɢᴏ." Legolas said and Maedhros nodded.

And the Fellowship went back on the boats, trying to lose the Orcs for the time being.

The journey was still quite long and full of danger, but this time it felt slightly different, as if hope, the tiny fragment everyone had been holding on, had started shining brighter - yes, even brighter than a Silmaril, Maedhros surprised himself in thinking.

It would be fine.

This time no one would die, no one would fail.

[morganandmolly]

Request: How about a fluffy little one-shot were Fili introduces the girl he has been courting (in secret) to his family at a family dinner...

@putm I hope you like it!!! I had so much fun writing this!!! 💖

An Unexpected Dinner

You had no idea what to do with your hands. You wrung them-un wrung them. Twisted and turned the rings on your fingers, and at this point, had resorted to biting your nails.

Who would blame you, though? Meeting the family of your love would result in anyone having a near nervous breakdown.

But Fili, oh sweet, sweet Fili had reassured you time and time again that it was ok, constantly kissing your brow, the braids handing from his beard always tickling your face.

It was one thing to meet their family, but another thing when you had been courting in secret.

Fili had not wanted to be so secretive about your relationship, as was the nature of Dwarves, always furiously proud of their One, but it had been you who had wanted to initially.

You were so scared they would not approve of you, so absolutely terrified that they would break you and Fili apart. He was heir to the newly reclaimed Erebor and you were just you. Nothing special, just a girl he had happened to fall in love with.

So this is where you were standing in the cavernous halls of Erebor, still wringing, twisting and biting the nails of your now sweaty hands. You didn’t want to wait any longer. Fili had promised to retrieve you for dinner but your mind kept spinning, and once that happened, there was no turning it off.

You were so deep in your thoughts, you hardly noticed a thick arm wrapping around your waist. The braids tickled your ear, and suddenly, all was right in the world.

“My love, what are you doing here? I told you I would come get you.”

A rich warm musk enveloped your senses. Just the scent of him made you feel safer and more calm.

You turned, keeping his arm tucked firmly around your waist, and looked up at him.

“I was nervous, I couldn’t….well, I couldn’t wait any longer.” You cast your eyes down, now feeling sheepish.

He put your chin beneath his thumb and forefinger, his gaze softening infinitely.

“There is nothing to be worried about. I’ve wanted you to meet them for as long as I’ve known you. I already know they’ll love you, just as I do Amralime.”

That was all it took for your heart to melt. He crushed you against him, his lips meeting yours. You found yourself twirling the bead at the base of one of his braids.

You broke apart and took a deep breath.

He held out his hand,

“Come, my love..”

*****

The door leading to the Kings dining hall was larger than expected. Dwarven iron, detailed with Khuzdul and engravings stared right back at you.

Fili knocked once, then twice. Your heart skipped, suddenly finding its home in your throat.

The next few seconds would undoubtedly determine your future.

“Enter,” a commanding voice spoke. Thorin. King under the Mountain and uncle to Fili.

With reaffirming squeeze, Fili opened the door.

“Hey Fi, about time, I was thinking you got lo-“

Kili stopped, the smile on his face dropping for three seconds, before he took you in, firmly grasping Fili’s hand, and broke out into the widest, goofiest grin you’ve ever seen.

“Well hello, there,” Kili’s voice dropped an octave, and he winked at her.

“Leave her be, Ki.” Fili chastised his younger brother, a dusting of pink coloring his cheeks, but she wasn’t as interested in them as she was in the raven haired king sitting at the head of the table.

“Uncle, this is-“

“I know who this is.”

She had never quite grown accustomed to the deep baritone of the kings voice. It was a reminder of his power; his commanding authority.

Fili stiffened beside her. Oh no. This. This was what she was afraid of.

Thorin sat, hands steepled and gaze hardened, looking directly at her. Her heart had lodged itself further in her throat, threatening to explode at any given second.

An assortment of food lay on the oak table. Meads, ales, breads and meats but her stomach was filled with nerves and only nerves.

“King Under the Mountain. That is my title, Fili. Do you really think my heir can go sneaking around the castle, courting a woman, without my knowledge?”

The question was rhetorical.

Kili answered anyway.

“No, uncle he can’t,” despite the words, Kili’s face and demeanor remained bright, eyes gleaming mischievously.

Fili, ever the older brother, reached out and smacked Kili up top the head.

“Ow!”

She hadn’t even realized she had brought her other hand over, and clasped it tightly to the one she was holding with Fili’s.

“Uncle, I-“

She stopped him before Fili could finish.

It was now or never to be brave, and she had put this off for too long.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your grace.” She curtsied to the best of your ability, although it was probably not near as good as what the king had seen in court.

She took a deep breath. “I want to apologize. I never meant to keep anything from you. Fili didn’t either. It was my idea to keep it a secret. I was just….well…” you trailed, and took looked at Fili, your sweet prince.

Fili, who had always supported you, encouraged you, loved you like no other. Fili, who would have gone to ends of the earth if it meant your happiness. Your Fili.

His gaze softened and his eyes told her to keep going.

Your resolve hardened and you looked back at Thorin.

It was time to be brave.

“I was afraid, your grace. You see, I love Fili something terrible, and I was concerned as I am not of noble birth that you would forbid me from seeing him. That’s why we kept it secret. But I love your nephew. If there is one thing I want you to know, it is that. ” And there it was. A weight you hadn’t even known you’ve been carrying, dissipated from your shoulders.

Something flickered in Thorin’s eyes.

Fili turned your head, replacing the same movement with his fingers on your chin like earlier.

“That would never happen. You are my love, my light, the air in which I breath and all that surrounds me.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You squeezed his hand.

“As you are mine.”

Kili sighed from the table and clutched a hand over his chest, “Don’t you just love love, uncle?”

Thorin stood, apparently deciding to ignore Kili and walk over to where they stood.

He stopped three paces from where they stood.

He looked at her, once up and once down, and steadied his gaze. His face revealed nothing.

Then, something happened that defied whatever she could have expected to happen, to happen.

Thorin smiled.

He clasped a hand on her shoulder.

“Well, I certainly can’t disagree with that. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. “

*****

Kili’s smile was even brighter somehow , and could barely hold still, already calling you ‘sister’ and telling you how you need to meet Tauriel, as he believed the two of you would have gotten along wonderfully.

“Come now, Fi! My One is an elf and uncle approved of us. Well, not at first, but eventually!This is a piece of cake compared to that!”

You had laughed at that. Kili did make a good point.

Fili never stopped touching you. If his hand wasn’t in yours, it was on your leg. His fingers would deftly brush a piece of hair behind your ears, or his shoulder would bump into your own. I’m right here, he is saying. I love you.

“So, sister,” Kili grinned, propping up his head on his hand, “When’s the wedding? Fili she does know about courtship rituals, right? As well as braiding and the eventual wedding night consumma-” Thorin placed a thick hand over Kili’s mouth, stifling the rest of his words.

Your cheeks flushed tomato red and you looked to your lap. You would not be the one to answer. Sure, you were courting and naturally the discussion of marriage was something to be brought up, but you and Fili hadn’t talked about that yet.

Of course you wanted to marry him. How could you not?

“Brother, I think my love has had enough interrogation for one day,” Fili squeezed your hand and you were grateful for the reprieve. But the question still prodded at the back of her mind. Fili did want to marry her….didn’t he?

******

The rest of the dinner was a splendid affair, Thorin beaming, listening to the tale of you and Fili met. You could see pride in the kings eyes. He obviously held his heir and nephew in the highest regard. Fili praised you, recounting tales of your beauty, bravery and how more deeply in love he became with you day by day.

Mahal, how could she have gotten so lucky.

The dinner did eventually end, with Thorin inviting you to the next one, “With Mother, this time!” Kili made sure to add.

Two down, one to go. Although, you had never been too concerned about Kili. But you had seemingly one over the King under the Mountain, and today, that would be enough. She would deal with meeting his mother another day.

******

A breeze blew softly on the rampart. She had always loved coming here with Fili. It had been an escape for them. Somewhere for just the two of them.

A few tendrils of hair blew and you tucked them behind your ear and breathed deeply.

“So, was it as bad as you were expecting?”

You smiled, turning to the voice behind you.

You put on a fake stern look. “Worse, in fact. I fear, I may have to never return.”

Fili feigned pain, clutching at his chest, “You wound me, my lady. I fear I may never recover at your absence.”

A laugh bubbled out of you and he walked closer. His arm running the length of your arm, a comforting gesture.

He looked at you then, the way he always looked at you. Blue eyes softening and a smile peaking out from his lips. His golden hair was illuminated by the moonlight, giving him an ethereal glow. He could have been one of the Valar in this light.

“I love you….you know that, right?”

“You better, especially after all I put up with tonight.” You meant for the remark to come off as lighthearted, but the smile he gave didn’t reach his eyes.

He fidgeted with his hands, and looked down. She couldn’t help but think about the exact same thing she had been doing just hours ago.

“Fili…” she said softly. He looked up at her and then her chest tightened in the sweetest way.

Tears glistened at the corner of his blue eyes and suddenly worried she had done something wrong. Had Thorin changed his mind and said something to the effect of them not being together?

She cupped his face, gently wiping a tear with the pad of her thumb. He closed his eyes, relishing in her hand and leaned his face into it.

“Everything I said earlier was true, you know…” his voice was husky, but barely above a whisper.

“I knew I loved you the moment I set my eyes on you. Not only are you beautiful, but…you’re brave. Braver than I. And strong. And you love….well….you love fiercely, otherwise I probably wouldn’t be crying.”

A choked laugh escaped her, and she realized her eyes felt watery too.

He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.

“What I’m trying to say is…” he trailed off, and reached for something in his deep blue velvet tunic.

A breath hitched in her throat, and she could have swore the whole of Arda stopped.

Fili knelt-not on one, but both knees in front of her. Not just a pledge, but a worship.

“I had these made the day after we met.” He opened his palm.

Her lip trembled.

A ring and a bead.

They hadn’t even been together yet, and he had them made. He had had so much faith from their first encounter that he knew- he knew-he would marry her.

The Golden Prince looked up at her with so much love. So much tenderness and raw hope. A stray tear escaped again.

“There is nothing in this world I want more than to be your husband. I knew it from the moment I looked at you. I knew there was no way I would let you go without eternally pledging my life, my soul and my heart to you. All of which you have become. You are my One.”

A sob escaped her, and she found herself down on her own two knees as well, cupping his face with her hands.

“Yes. There is nothing I want more.”

Fili’s smile rivaled the sun and moon together. His shining blue eyes, his tear streaked face. He was undoubtedly the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

He took her hand gently, his thicker fingers encasing her own, and slid the ring on. A sturdy piece of Dwarven craft, engraved with intricacies she would most definitely ask about later rested coolly now on her fourth finger.

“And this,” he said handing out the bead. She took it, also cool and heavy in her palm.

They stood, and before she could even reorient herself on her feet, he was pulling her into him, arms wrapping around her waist and lips pressed together in a fiery kiss.

“You have made me the happiest Dwarf alive.” His voice was still raw with emotion.

She laughed and kissed him again. He pulled her tight and twirled her around.

“And you have made me the happiest woman. Now…”

She held up the bead in the moonlight, and thanked her old self that she had worn her hair down for the evening.

“Put a braid in my hair.”

[fantasyinallforms]

Fanfic Author Interview Game

Thank you to the few people that tagged me that I can't find anymore because I wanted too long to do that. So sorry, I've been ridiculously busy!

How many works do you have on AO3?

Currently 37

What's your total AO3 word count?

356,687 words

Top 5 stories by kudos:

You Should Be Safe With Me The Proper Way To Call You Mine Not Yours To Touch The Heart Remembers What The Mind Forgets Not All That Glitters Is Gold 

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I try to respond to every single one. I want to show you how much I appreciate them!

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Remembrance, no contest. It's set 30 years after the events of The Hobbit when Bilbo visits Thorin's grave.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

With the exception of the above, all my fics have happy endings. I would say The Burden Of Choice or A Most Unlikely Dance Partner have the happiest endings.

Do you write crossovers?

I've never written one, and I have no plans for one.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Oh yes. I have fairly famously received hate on some of my heavier kinktober stuff. I mean, you put Thorin in a maid outfit one time.... Seriously, though, it happens from time to time, especially the longer you're in one fandom.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, and ALL kinds. Over half my fics are E-rated, and my first Bagginshield fic was E-rated.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Several attempted unfortunately. A few fic concepts shameless ripped as well.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, I have! Happy Accidents was translated into Russian. Счастливые Случайности by when_you_top

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Recently yes! Until Our Next Encounter, co-written with the amazing @sunnyrosewritesstuff

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Bagginshield, forever and always.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I always meant to write more of Reputation be Damned, and I got halfway, but it's been so long that I don't know if I'll go back to that. I have so many other projects that take priority.

What are your writing strengths?

I've been told I have good characterization and story pacing.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm dyslexic, so it's always going to be my grammar.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I love to see it! Just please give me a translation in the notes or something. I actually write in Khuzdul in my fics frequently. A few times I've written in elvish as well.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I want to write more Jayvik for SURE. Other than that, any other writing I'm focusing on at the moment is original fiction.

What's your favorite fic you've written?

The Burden Of Choice 56K {E}. I basically wrote a book in less than 3 months, and it turned out better than I dreamed. It was a labour of love and will always be dear to me. That said, choosing a favourite of my fics is like choosing a favourite child. I love them all, and each one is a piece of me.

[beetheyapper]

introducing my silly little The Hobbit oc

I may be hyperfixating too close to the sun, but I do not care. As a Middle Earth lover and also a d&d player, I wanted to make my own little character to fit into the Tolkein universe. I have created far too much lore in my head for her, so this post is kind of ridiculously long, and I have therefore kept it under the cut. you're welcome <3

Without further ado, allow me to infodump about introduce my half-elf, Ena Riddon

Some basic info: Ena is half-elven, born of a Silvan elf father and a human mother in autumn of 1421 TA. She chose to live an immortal life after her mother's death, and resides in the Elvenking's Halls in the Greenwood with her father. When she isn't busy being a captain of the guard (before Tauriel was born and made her co-captain, that is), she spends her time studying various languages, and is fluent in Sindarin (obviously), Westron (also obviously), Khuzdul, and Quenya. She also studies Eldarin, but is not even close to being fluent in it. I would like it to be known that though she is fluent in Khuzdul, she practically never gets the opportunity to coverse in it, so her pronunciation is strongly affected by her native Sindarin accent.

here’s a little drawing of her bc she is my shayla 💜

The drawing kind of means I don't have to explain what she looks like to you, but I'm going to do so anyway. Ena has brown hair that falls to her waist, and has poliosis that gives her a patch of pale hair in the front of her head and in her eyebrow. She has a few scattered freckles on her skin, most of which are the result of her spending too much time in one of the Greenwood's few clearings. Her skin is fair with an olive undertone and hazel eyes. She stands at 5 feet and 5 inches tall (about 165 cm for my friends abroad).

"But Bee, how does she fit into the plot? What do other characters think of her?"

I'm so glad you asked. buckle up.

Ena was one of the elves to take the Company of Thorin Oakenshield into captivity and lead them into the dungeons of the Elvenking's Halls. Mind you, this happens in 2941 TA, so she's 1520 years old. She's been best friends with Tauriel for the past 500 years, which is essentially all of Tauriel's mature life. She's been close with Legolas, or at least as close as a half-elf can be with the prince of her kingdom, for twice as long. He was once her mentor, but he was reassigned to Tauriel when she joined the guard. Thranduil doesn't particularly like her. Perhaps it's because he sees her as below him, or perhaps its because she's simply too loud. Who's to say? All Ena knows is that she gets a kick out of getting on his nerves. Her linguistic knowledge has made her useful though, especially in the education of the elflings and in translating old documents so the King doesn't have to.

The Company is imprisoned on Mereth Nuin Giliath, the Feast of Starlight, so while the dwarves are downstairs letting the annoyance marinate, Ena and the other elves are upstairs living it up. Our lovely half-elf is a bit more easily affected by liquor than the typical elf, and with the warm confidence of too much wine in her blood, she stumbles her way downstairs to flirt with Fili because she remembers thinking the blonde one was cute as she stripped him of the 25 different knives he carried. She might've been a bit ashamed had Tauriel not also been down there chatting it up with Kili. So she starts speaking to this dwarf in awfully pronounced Khuzdul, her words slurring ever so slightly, and he's like Oh What In Mahal's Name.

I'll spare you the details, dear reader, but you'd like to know that Ena eventually accompanies... the company... much to Thorin's dismay. It took Fili putting in a good word and nearly an hour of Bilbo begging him to have some sense for him to finally agree, and he only agreed because they were without weapons to defend themselves from another orc attack and she happened to weild both bow and sword. Thorin almost kicks her out when he falls to dragon sickness, though, and Fili and Bilbo have to fight tooth and nail to convince him to let her stay.

I have a few different ideas of how things ended for her based on whether we're going with the canon ending, the ending where they all live, etc.

One thing that is not dependant on the dwarves' ending is that her father dies in the Battle of the Five Armies, so it's a very sad day for her regardless. Perhaps I derive too much satisfaction from making my ocs sad...

I've written the exchange between drunken Ena and imprisoned Fili and could possibly be persuaded to share that on here if someone were to suggest such a thing. just saying.

I'm sure there are things about her I've failed to share, but I have homework to do for university so those details will simply have to be remembered and shared at a later date. I hope you enjoyed my rambling, and thank you for reading this far! <3

tagging the lovely people who encouraged me to post this: @whiskeyreverie @lathalea

[lamemaster]

Beloved Patchwork

Request: I had a question about your fall event, is it a request thing? If not then feel free to just use this as inspiration. If so I think it would be hella cool to have glorfindel x female reader in a Frankenstein au seeing as he was reborn! Like the original Frankenstein where the 'creature' was abandoned(more like betrayed,poor thing) by his creator and he meets a kind stranger who takes him in, gradually discovering the horror of what he is yet caring for him anyways. Protecting him from terrified villagers, teaching him how the world works again, the 'creature' in this version being able to live a normal life with the one he loves instead of what went down in the og story.

Pairing: Glorfindel x Reader (Platonic)

Genre: Frankenstein au

AN: Thanks for requesting! And the OG creature deserved so much more. Poor Pookie since 1818.

Warning: Gore, descriptions of blood, necromancy. Canon was optional

Fuck. 

You stare at the mass of twitching flesh. Your creation- now entering the world of living. 

Shit. 

You bit your nails as the golden hair lit up with an unexplained glimmer. Your clumsy sutures disappear into seamless unmarred flesh. From an amalgamation of flesh emerges a creature. The elf. 

Reborn in the land of his death. You stare back at the Balrog Slayer, who blinks with the first echoes of consciousness. 

Necromancy was not your usual forte. You mostly preferred to stick to much more acceptable forms of medicine. Yet, as if led by an invisible hand, this creation had come to be. 

Stuck in the trance of passion your hands rebuilt him piece by piece. His heart that lay cold, still for ages, fluttered under your fingers as they pressed life back into it. It had been long since you had felt any such command from your creator. A tug so strong that you were certain of his desire.

The Balrog Slayer’s corpse had long merged back into the Earth it was laid to rest in. So, you had to be creative. Peeling off the meticulous layers of sinew, muscle, and skin tissue, you laid it over his unyielding, surviving bones. 

Mass of men discarded in alleyways, in some cases using the flesh of swine, to sew into the delicate tip of his ear. 

The most concerning however, was the crushed skull and sludgy brain matter. A problem that your creator did not lend much help with. 

A Maia of Lorien would’ve been helpful, you grumble stitching the fine hair of his eyelashes on his eyelids. 

Why is it, whenever something happens it is Maia of Aule found in the most incriminating position. You shuddered at the thought of your Vala ever finding out your current predicament in Middle Earth- hunched over a dead elf sewing dead flesh procured from questionable sources. 

You did not wish to remind him of your brother. The great Mairon, who somehow was engaged in the same trade. The creator had some twisted humor. 

All this you whispered to the still dead elf. Rambling as your hands remained busy. 

You sit unmoving as the elf now crouches in front of you- no better than a beast, licking your hand clean. His mind was yet to awaken. 

For now, you had the pleasure of watching Balrog Slayer purr curled up in your lap. His eyes were full of infantile wonder. His throat let out small chirps intermittently.

“Glorfindel,” you call his name hoping for some form of recognition in his eyes. Perhaps a magical appearance of consciousness. 

You truly did not wish to open his skull and retry a new brain model. It was tedious at best. And soul sucking at worst. 

Cursing in Khuzdul you ponder on next steps. You beloved creator was silent. As if cutting off the puppet strings that made you bring this creature to life. This really did put you at crossroads about the new brain or working on the current brain. 

Shifting your form into an elven one, you sit comfortably, positioning Glorfindel into a remotely civil posture. With a single finger pointed at his chest you enunciate his name, “Glorfindel, Glor-Fin-Del” 

Watching the awkward stretch of his lips you encourage the Balrog slayer to repeat after you. 

Glorfindel loves you. That he knows. He likes your hair, and how sometimes you change its color to match it to his hair.

He also really likes all the names you tell him and how proudly you pat his back when he memorizes them correctly. 

Love is the newest word you have taught him. In the language of trees, birds, air, humans, elves, and dwarves. He has memorized it. Love was weird. Glorfindel had never held it. You have explained that it could not be held in hands or in pans or buckets. That love was like fragrance. It can be felt in mediums. 

Like the scent of magnolia that you bled into the oils and soaps. Love was a smile, laughter, sweet berries, or the act of a bird building a nest for its young ones. 

His hands mimic yours as you teach him the right way to pet a cat. He feels love under his fingers as the little cat mewls at him. 

So, perched beneath his favorite tree, Glorfindel tells it all about your cottage, your languages, your bizarre friends, and tales of the past long gone.

Staring at the sword that has materialized in your cottage you feel the tug of fate again. It is his destiny to return to the world of the Children of Illuvatar. Not even you can keep him away from it. 

This sword would replace delicate blooms, fragile sparrows, and purring cats, he seems to adore. Glorfindel was a hero. His return had a purpose greater than the mundane of your constructed life. 

You are to teach him the act of swordplay. Make him into the hero he died as. Yet, your days were spent ignoring the sword. 

You do not wish to see calluses on his innocent hands. For years you protected him from the dark of the world. From the shadow of your own twin who could not for the end of the world join his doomed lover in the Void. 

Why must he pay the price, you question your creator. Why must he pay for my brother? Let me be the one to pay. You grovel in moments of desperation.

Closing your eyes- wishing for the sword to disappear. Hoping that the arrival of the beautiful white stallion was not to take your ward back to the world of despair. 

That you could stay here forever oblivious to him. Let him braid Asfaloth’s mane and hum songs. Had he not paid enough for the sake of others?

Such fondness for the firstborn had been the curse of your kind. Love, that had led to the creation of Valinor. Ainur could not be stopped from loving the music of their creator.

What would the other Istari think of you? Alatar and Palando were evasive on most days, Saruman would be prompted to report it back to Aule but Olorin perhaps would understand. He too had fallen in love with the endearing children of Illuvatar.

So, you pen your friend a letter. A scheme to reintroduce the heroic Balrog Slayer to his people. To make him into the beacon of hope from the West.

[lathalea]

Entangled 4/10

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

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

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

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

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

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

He truly needed a drink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Balin slowly shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thorin shook his head decidedly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“These licences are vital for…”

“Thorin…” His sister rolled her eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A letter?” Thorin’s frown deepened.

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

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

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

His sister let out a long sigh.

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

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

“We were there together, you know.”

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

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

He tried once more. Still nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?” He met her eyes.

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

Thorin swallowed, “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sadly, she was right.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thorin grunted.

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

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

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

Thorin clenched his fist. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our people.

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued...

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

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[brainrotbabe24]

Can I request Thorins company meeting readers family? And bonus if most of the family doesnt speak Common tongue/English so reader has to be the translator (story of my life)😭😭

Hi! I love this idea...i would be so nervous to bring any of them home lol!

I would also like to thank my friend who helped me. She gave me her perspective with translating and the language barrier she has! 💖

Balin: Balin being a traditional dwarf, would want to meet your family as soon as you both decided to start seeing each other. He'd make an effort to show his intentions by inviting them to a nice dinner. I imagine he knows a little bit about your family, so every evening after work, he’d stay up to learn the language. 

Dwalin: Dwalin wouldn't meet your family until later in the relationship, specifically when you asked him to come over and help do a few chores. He’d put on his work shoes and be over in a matter of seconds. Realizing there was a language barrier, he’d ask you to translate what they needed help with. Initially, your family would be unsure, finding his tattoos and demeanor intimidating. They would say, “Why is he so quiet?” “Does he ever smile?” However, after seeing his devotion and how happy he made you, they’d slowly change their minds. He would regularly ask to come back and help, whether it was washing clothes, rebuilding a fence, or even helping put the baby to sleep. Comments about him would turn positive: “Look how strong he is,” “He is wonderful with kids,” “Does he have a brother? *wink wink*”

Óin: Oin would want to match outfits. He is such an old man! He would want to make sure you both looked presentable and would spend extra time on his braids and yours. It would honestly be so cute!!! 

Glóin: Gloin would be incredibly nervous to meet your parents. However, his nerves would get the best of him, and he might drink a little too much, rambling on about his adventures. You’d have to translate—perhaps even fib a little—to make sense of his stories. 

Gloin: “There was this dragon, and we had to kill it…” 

You: “He says he works in accounting…” 

Bifur: The first impression might not be great, with the ax in his head possibly scaring them. However, his skill in whittling, a.k.a. giving them gifts, and a potential family member knowing Khuzdul could turn things around.  The gif below is what your family will look like when they see the ax lol

Bofur: I know I always associate songs with Bofur, but it fits him so well, lol! Singing is how he won you over, so he wants to win the family over too. He would make sure to sing all the favorites and would ask for requests! I think by the end of the night the entire family would be singing! 

Bombur: Bombur would impress your family with his cooking. Once they learned he enjoyed cooking, they’d bond over shared recipes and favorite ingredient. He’d quickly become a favorite, often asked to help cook during holidays and special occasions.

Ori: Ori would be extremely nervous meeting your family, so much so that Dori and Nori might join to support him. They’d embarrass him, but it would lighten the mood. Your parents would find his family amusing and see Ori as a decent guy. By the end of the night, they’d give him a hug, and he’d be thrilled, talking about it for weeks.

Dori: The ideal boyfriend to introduce to your parents. Dependable, respectful, and family-oriented, he’d make a great impression. He’d also be impressed with your translating skills. Additionally, seeing that you were working overtime translating, he would go out of his way to help you. “Oh honey, do you need more food?" "Here I can show your grandmother to the bathroom." "Would you like extra wine, dear?”

Nori: You and Nori were new in your relationship and not ready for him to meet your family officially. However, they’d catch glimpses of him bringing you home after dates. They would think he was a "bad boy" and become suspicious. They would often ask, “What’s his job again?” because it changed so much. He’d win them over by bringing thoughtful “gifts” (definitely not stolen lol) after every date, and they'd start to appreciate his efforts.

Thorin: Thorin’s reputation would precede him, with your parents knowing about the adventure and his temporary gold/dragon sickness. They’d be skeptical, and the initial meeting would involve many questions. You’d have to translate everything, making Thorin increasingly nervous. A few of Thorin’s answers were: “No, I am not sick...yes, I go outside ... Madam, I can assure you, I shower." Despite the awkward start, they’d warm up to him, seeing his genuine intentions. He’d often host dinners and family events to show his commitment and might give you a promise ring to signify his dedication.

Kíli: Bless his heart for meaning well, but oh boy, is he a big himbo. Kili would think he was making a great first impression, but I feel like he would be making a fool of himself. First he would try to kiss your mother's hand, and it would be misinterpreted as flirting. Second, he would try impressing them with his skills, only to trip and fall. Finally, he would think your younger siblings were helping him learn the language, but they would end up teaching him dirty words. So when he gives a big speech and happens to use those words..well, let's just say you would need to do damage control. I think after a while it would become a family joke, and everyone would fondly remember his attempts to make a good first impression. I would like to imagine it’s an April and Andy situation lol 😂😂

Fíli: There must be something with the Durin boys..cause they are hot but dumb. Okay, so Fili would be super excited to meet your family; he would talk for days about how he was "preparing” and “had a surprise." Every time you ask him what that means, he will just give you a wink and say, “You’ll be so proud, babe." However, his attempts to impress might result in miscommunication. On the day of meeting your parents, he tries saying something in their native language and would slip up and pronounce something completely wrong. I imagine it’s kind of like papá and papas in Spanish—dad and potatoes. He would’ve revealed to you that he had asked Ballin and Nori for help on the language and just got horrible advice. Despite initial giggles and laughter at his mistakes, your family would appreciate his effort. 

Bilbo: Bilbo would meticulously plan a party to meet your family, aiming to overcome any awkwardness with a grand feast and festivities. He’d insist on handling everything himself, wanting to be the perfect host. Once they arrived, he’d go all out, showing them around, serving them the best food and pipe weed, and even arranging for fireworks. “What can I say? Us hobbits love a good party,” he would say, putting his arm around you and squeezing!

Gandalf: Your family would be so confused! It would be like the gif below when Bilbo first talked to Gandalf. Pure shock and suspicion. I also think Gandalf would speak in riddles and confuse everyone!

[wolfsbane-and-nettles]

To preface this, I am not trying to start drama or belittle anyone's personal tastes just trying to get others opinions. I personally do not like when people have Bilbo be called little one from a romantic partner and I was wondering if it's just me or maybe if it's authors whose first language is not English. To me it reads as a term of endearment for a child, first and only language is American English. How do you feel about that term? Is English your first language? What's your favorite term of endearment for Bilbo or do you not like any?

*Asks are sent for fun, no pressure to answer.

Okay this is such an important thing to me and I love this question! I’ve thought about it a lot on my own time before even getting this question, and I have a bunch of thoughts on it.

To preface: English is my first language, but I also have a degree in sign language studies as well as an obsession with linguistics.

Overall, I don’t like “little one” being used to refer to Bilbo romantically.

I can see it being friendly, and even familial…but not romantic.

That is from an English language perspective, though. I’ve come to the thought that perhaps in khuzdul, those kind of words aren’t exclusively children…but simply just…small things? Perhaps for Thorin and other dwarrow, translating it from Khuzdul to westeron changes the concept.

So, maybe “little one” could simply be Thorin’s way of saying “shorty”. Or even it’s just a way of saying something he finds endearing about Bilbo. Like “pretty one” or “happy one”.

I feel like if these linguistic differences are addressed, I’d be more okay with Thorin using “little one” to describe Bilbo…

My favorite terms of endearment from Thorin to Bilbo vary day by day…I think I like “bunnanunê” meaning “my tiny treasure”. I see that as a term of endearment that is…neutral. Like how you can call a romantic partner, a friend, or a child the word “honey”. I like it the most because it’s fun to say and it sounds like “bunny” in English.

My favorite romantic word is probably “kurdu” meaning “heart”…as in Bilbo is/has his heart. Again, you could probably use it for a friend or a close family member, but it is more romantic tic to me.

I don’t mind diminutive words being used for romantic partners, as my brain says small is cute, and this my partner is small (my husband is definitely not small). But I’d never call him “little one”.

There are some I’m not a big fan of in Khuzdul that are more jewel and gold related, simply because I don’t think Thorin would use them after he recovers form gold sickness…yeah, that kinda counters what I said about “my tiny treasure” but I feel like “treasure” means more than loot. It can be just something important you found…like your One.

I would love a fic where Thorin is trying to flirt and calls him “little one” only for Bilbo to think that Thorin sees him as a child…confusing him, only for Balin to break rules and explain how in Khuzdul, Thorin is simply calling him cute.

I love this question! Thanks again for asking!