#princess dís

[mrkida-art]

The children of Thráin II; Thorin, Frerin and Dís.

[novanillacake]

Dís serving cunt, as she should🔥

[dyingroses]

Dís, at Thorin and Bilbo's wedding: To my new brother-in-law, I say this: You have released me, this monster is yours now!

[lathalea]

THAUC23: Scattered Through Time

This is a story written by @joyfullynervouscreator and yours truly for this years' THAUC event organized by @fellowshipofthefics. Enjoy!

Moodboard by Lathalea

Scattered Through Time

Relationships: Dís/Dís's Wife Rating: G Warnings: bring tissues Author's notes: Time is merciless. It devours every single thing it meets on its way… almost. Somehow, a handful of memories remained. Once, they formed a kaleidoscope of life, full of shapes and colours. Now, they resemble a handful of stained glass pieces scattered on the bleak fabric of the past.

These are the letters between Dís, daughter of Thràin, and her beloved wife, Víli.

Link to the whole story:

My gleam of golden treasure,

I found your gift; snuck into my pocket during our final soft goodbye? You have a skilled hand with the chisel, even if you claim it not so, and I can only hope to match the swell of love I felt when I pulled the stone from my pocket with one that my words may pull from you. 

I miss you, I love you.

I will return to you.

I swear it.

D.

***

My Princess,

My betrothed,

It is such an honour to address you with these words. I am touching my betrothal braid and can feel the pattern you plaited as if it was today and not six days ago!

And now we are apart and I will not see you for three more days… It feels like an eternity. And to think we are to be wedded in seven months! If you were here with me, in the deep mines, you would laugh and call me “too impatient for my own good”. Yes, yes, good things are worth waiting for — but you are the best one, a true treasure, and I simply cannot wait until the day we become One before Mahal the Creator.

I still cannot believe my happiness. Or... do I dare to write “our happiness”, my Princess? Our. You and me. A daughter of kings from a legendary kingdom, a descendant of Durin himself, and a simple Broadbeam lass from the mines. A story I would not believe from the greatest of bards, and yet… Sometimes I wake up in the morning and wonder if I am dreaming a beautiful dream… I am dreaming of the way you smile when you look at me, so tenderly… 

… of the afternoons we spend together, when I listen to you speaking of yet another problem with that latest contract and your clever solution… 

… of the way your hair shines in the firelight, or the way your eyes light up when I show you a new block of carving stone… 

… of the softness of your lips and the way your hand feels in mine as we walk through the newly constructed corridors of your city… our city. 

And of the way you whisper my name.

I love, adore, and worship every single thing about you, Dís. My perfect princess.

If it is indeed a dream, I refuse to open my eyes! The only thing I wish to do is to take you in my arms and hold you close until the end of days, my beloved. My wife-to-be.

Forever yours,

Víli

Read the whole story on AO3.

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[sylveongender]

love to headcanon dís as being taller than thorin, she may be the baby but, i think she deserves to be the tall one

[milesasinmorales]

Lady Dís on her throne

Click on the photo for better quality!

[yell0ws0ul]

Dís Durin probably didn't get to be at Thorin's, Fili's and Kili's funeral...

I'M NOT OKAY😭😭😭

WHY WOULD THEY DO THIS WITHOUT HER😭 LIKE I GET THAT SHE WAS ALL THE WAY BACK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS BUT C'MON NOW😡😔 THAT'S HER FAMILY WUAAAAAAH😭

[deadthingposting]

Me everytime lady Dís princess of Erebor appears in a fic:

✨💖THERE 💖SHE💖 IS 💖MY 💖FAVORITE 💖MILF💖 ✨

[mrkida-art]

Young Dís

[yell0ws0ul]

MY QUEEN😻😻😻

today is dís appreciation day

every day is dís appreciation day

[rynneer]

Misty Memories Cold

When you wake in Fíli’s bed with no recollection of anything after an accident in Mirkwood, he’s ready to risk anything, even his uncle’s wrath, to bring back what you had together.

<< Beginning | < Previous | Next>

Chapter Three

The gown fits like a glove, hugging your figure up top and flaring out into a long skirt past your waist. Long, dark blue sleeves hang loosely from your arms, the velvet fluttering with every movement.

“It looks good on you,” Fíli remarks as he does your hair in front of the mirror. His fingers dance past your fresh stitches and he lays the elegant braid down to hide them. His bead glitters at the end of your marriage braid. “There. That should keep them out of sight.”

Meanwhile, you awkwardly fumble with the corset laces on your back. Too tight, squeezing your sides painfully, but then too loose, your chest threatening to spill out. “Can’t I just wear my own bra?!” you snap in frustration.

Fíli’s hands cover yours. “Breathe in, not too deep.” You do, and he tightens the laces and tucks them beneath a silver ribbon around your waist, tying it into a neat bow. He moves next to your shoulders, kneading at them in an attempt to relieve your tension. His thumb rubs over your necklace, an intricate, twisting chain Fíli explained was a gift from Thorin.

“One last thing,” he says quietly, leaving you in front of the mirror as he fetches something from the wardrobe. He returns with a silver circlet and places it gently on your brow. The delicate web wraps around your head, a star-shaped sapphire mounted in the center. It matches his own crown, nestled in his thick hair.

“You look beautiful,” Fíli murmurs with a tender smile, resting his chin on your head. Half-closed eyes sweep up and down your reflection, and his smile brings out the dimples hidden beneath his beard. Pure adoration. “I’m the luckiest dwarf in the world.”

Your eyes drop to your feet. Dwarves are not particularly fond of heels, so instead you wear sensible yet elegant flats. “Do I have to go?” you whisper. The idea of being on display for a kingdom you don’t know makes you want to crawl into a hole and die.

Fíli’s smile falters. “It is expected. You are my wife, you are Erebor’s princess—the people love you.”

“Can’t you just say I’m sick or something?”

“There will only be more questions, and I am not a good liar,” he points out. “You cannot hide in here forever.” His voice is gentle, but tinged with a warning.

Wary of what awaits you on the other side of the doors, you haven’t left the royal suite at all—not even for meals. Fíli or Dís would bring you a plate, and Kíli would slip you extra desserts with a wink. Every time someone remarked that they hadn’t seen you in a few days, the others would merely agree, comment on how dedicated you are to your duties as princess, and steer the conversation in a different direction. You duck your head in shame and turn away.

“Y/N, please…” Fíli follows you over to his desk in the corner of the room.

Pushing aside parchment and empty inkwells, you brace yourself against the desk. You lean forward and let your head drop with a sigh.

Arms wrap around your waist. Fíli leans down to whisper in your ear. “Please, Y/N,” he repeats. “I want you there with me.” His warm breath fans over your neck and you suppress a shiver. It takes everything in you not to stiffen as his chest rests against your back.

You’re slowly getting accustomed to Fíli’s… touchiness. His need to feel your body, if only to reassure him that you are real. At least he’s warm compared to the chill that lingers in the halls.

You let out a shuddering sigh. “Okay.”

Your breath catches in your chest as you, Fíli, and Kíli approach the enormous, stone doors. They are open already, revealing hundreds of dwarves milling around inside. Your pulse quickens. This is what you had feared, what kept you hiding for over a week. The kingdom all watching you while you try to pretend nothing is wrong.

The long tables have been moved to the side to create a more spacious area for dancing. You spot Bofur straddling a large barrel near the doors while Dori gives him directions. He brightens up and raises a hand in greeting as you enter the hall.

“Hi Bofur.” You squint up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get this cursed thing open,” Bofur puffs. He pauses and looks down at you. “Something wrong? You look a bit pale.”

You give Bofur a strained smile. “Just… just a bit of a stomachache, that’s all.”

He raises an eyebrow, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “Stomachache, eh? I don’t suppose there’s anything else going on in there?”

You stare at him blankly. Then it hits you. “Oh! No, absolutely not!”

Bofur seems taken aback at your reaction, but Dori gives you a friendly nudge. “No need to be upset, lass. These things can take some time. Just keep at it, eh?”

“What was that about?” you hiss under your breath to Fíli as the dwarves’ attention returns to the barrel of ale.

Fili links your arms as you approach the high table. “It’s, ah, a bit of an open secret that we are—or were—trying for a baby. Thanks to a certain younger brother.” He gives Kíli a pointed look over his shoulder.

Kíli feigns innocence, but he can’t hide his mischievous smirk. “What? All I did was warn them in case you started making too much noise!”

“You have no shame,” Fíli snorts. He glances back to you. “I did tell you they’d ask questions if you claimed you felt ill.”

Thorin and Dís give you guarded looks as Fíli pulls out your chair. You try to smile, but it comes off more as a tight-lipped grimace.

“Relax, natha,” Dís whispers. “Just breathe and smile. The rest will come naturally.”

Naturally. Sure.

To avoid thinking about… anything, really, you look out over the gathering. You raise an eyebrow when you spy a small group of noticeably taller guests. There’s a familiar redhead among them. Kíli, bless his heart, is trying his best not to stare. If Thorin’s scowl is anything to go by, he’s not doing a very good job.

“Hell of a birthday party,” you mutter to Fíli. “Elves? Thorin really let Dís invite elves?”

“She talked him into it,” he says with a shrug. “Said it’s good for diplomacy, a show of good-will. They were supposed to be here for trade negotiations anyway.”

“Including her?”

“That was most likely Amad’s doing as well. She doesn’t have quite the vendetta against elves that Thorin does.” His voice drops into an even lower whisper. “She likes her, thinks she’d be good for Kíli. Keep him grounded, perhaps. All she has to do is convince Thorin.”

“She’s got her work cut out for her there,” you snort.

Fíli hums in agreement, but he too scans the crowd. “Glóin’s missing,” he comments. “Shame, I would have liked to see Gimli. It’s been quite a while.”

“Did Glóin not stay in Erebor?” It’s hard for you to fathom, the idea of breaking the Company, of anyone being absent.

“An agonizing decision. He didn’t want to relocate his entire family.” Fíli pauses and chuckles. “Gimli practically begged to come on the quest—we took bets on whether or not he’d follow–”

But his words are drowned out by music starting from the band in the far corner of the room. Excited couples move to the center of the hall.

Dís reaches across the table to shake Fíli’s arm. “It is your celebration,” she murmurs. “Go have fun.”

“I believe that is your cue, Y/N,” Kíli adds with a wink.

Fíli kicks his brother underneath the table, but stands and offers you a hand. “May I have this dance?”

“Do I know how to dance?” you whisper frantically as you take his hand. You lift your skirt as he leads you down the steps to the dance floor. “I’m pretty sure I don’t know how to dance!”

“I taught you,” he whispers back. “Just don’t think about it. Let your body do the work.” He places one hand on the small of your back, the other holding yours. A violin comes to life, and suddenly the world fades. It’s just you and Fíli. He starts off gently, slowly, picking up speed. “Don’t look at your feet, look at me. Trust yourself.”

You nod stiffly, still feeling clumsier than a newborn giraffe compared to the surprising grace with which Fíli moves. Though perhaps it shouldn’t be such a surprise, given how skillfully he maneuvers with his swords during a fight. You begin to relax into the rhythm and let him guide you through the steps until muscle memory takes over.

“Get ready,” he murmurs, releasing your hand and gripping your waist firmly. He lifts you up and spins so your skirt flows out around you. Then in one smooth motion, he dips you low. The music fades, and he straightens up, eyes locked with yours. He leans in until his mustache beads hit your face and his nose brushes yours. But then he stops, eyes worried, questioning.

There’s hundreds of curious eyes on you both, burning like dragon fire, waiting to see what their prince and princess will do next.

Conscious of your audience, you stand on your toes and carefully press your lips to his. Instantly, his arm around your waist tightens. Fíli lifts you off your feet, hugging you against his body and pulling your head closer with his free hand. Your kiss was soft, chaste. His is rough, desperate. You aren’t quite ready for it, and decline his tongue’s request to explore your mouth. You squirm in his grip.

Fíli releases you and your lips. There’s scattered applause from the room as Fíli sets you back on your feet. “I told you I taught you how to dance.” But there’s no teasing lilt to his voice, no cheeky wink to signal amusement. He won’t make eye contact.

For the rest of the night, it’s like pulling teeth to get a word out of him. Dís and Thorin exchange looks of concern when he quickly excuses himself from his own party after dessert. Then their eyes turn to you.

“He, uh… I think I’m ready to turn in as well,” you mumble. “G’night.”

In your chambers, you carefully remove your dress and slip into your nightgown, very aware of Fíli’s gaze on you. But when you try to meet his eyes, he always seems to be looking elsewhere. You sigh as you pull pins out, letting the braid fall from your hair. Silence hangs heavily, neither of you speaking a word for what seems like hours.

“Was it real?” Fíli asks abruptly.

“Was what real?”

“You know what I mean. When we danced, when we were finished… was it real?” Or was it just what was expected of you?” His voice is clipped, bitter.

You turn to look at him on the edge of the bed, shaking your head in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”

Fíli stares at the floor. “I am trying so hard,” he mutters at last, running a hand down his face. He looks up at you, eyes dull. “I miss my wife.”

Your heart sinks. “Fíli, I’m right here.”

“But you’re not,” he replies sharply. “You are somewhere, and I cannot reach you.” He stands from the bed, taking your face into his hands. “How often do I tell you that I love you?”

“Every day.”

“And how many times have you said it back?”

You open your mouth, but the words won’t follow. It’s been a week, but you can’t recall ever saying it. Tears well up in your eyes.

As if your silence confirmed something in his mind, Fíli’s hands drop from your face. “Right, then.” He nods slowly and turns away. “I… I need to think.”

Though he hasn’t asked you to leave, he would never, you make for the door. “Happy birthday,” you whisper before heading down the hallway.

Kíli’s room? No, he probably snuck Tauriel in there. Dís? She would want to talk about it, and you’re not in the mood for solutions. What you need is quiet companionship.

So your feet carry you past the living room, down the hall, to a wooden door rimmed with gold.

“Thorin?” Your voice is small, your knock soft. For a moment, you worry he won’t hear you on the other side.

Heavy footsteps precede the door opening. Thorin looks down at you, book in hand, mildly irritated at being interrupted. He softens when he sees your expression, wide-eyed and hurt. Heaving a sigh, Thorin opens his door further. “Come in.”

You follow him inside, curling up on a plush chair by the dying fire.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Do not insult my intelligence. You are a worse liar than Fíli.”

“Nothing,” you insist. “He just… wants to be alone for a bit. That’s all.”

Thorin snorts and shakes his head, but there’s pity on his face as well. How can the girl curled up and shivering in the chair be the same brave woman from their quest?

Your vision is almost completely obscured by tears, but you refuse to let yourself cry in front of the king. Your king. And your uncle, now, you suppose. He drapes a blanket over your shoulders.

That’ll do it. That simple, kind gesture is all it takes for you to break down.

Thorin stares at you in alarm as you sob into the blanket. He hasn’t had to deal with something like this since the boys were children. After waffling back and forth on what to do, he settles on patting your shoulder awkwardly. “Stay, if you’d like,” he mumbles. He extinguishes the candles he had been reading by and crosses back over to the enormous bed in the corner of the room.

You’re swallowed in darkness, the gloom broken only by faint moonlight and dying embers. Without Fíli’s furnace of a body next to you, the mountain’s chill creeps in beneath your blanket.

It will be a long night.

“Oh come on, every lady must know how to dance!” Kíli rolled his eyes in exasperation.

You shook your head and crossed your arms, sinking further against the mossy log by the fire. “I’m not a lady.” you grumbled. The bark dug into your back, and you missed the warmth and proper beds you had in Lake-town.

“Well then, we must teach you!” Fíli jumped up and offered his hand with a cheeky smile and exaggerated bow. “Oh, most fair and lovely maiden, may I have this dance?”

You looked over to Thorin, hoping he would scold his nephews for their teasing. But he merely raised an eyebrow at you, sucking on his pipe. It was the same guarded, skeptical look he’d given you and Fíli after the escape from Mirkwood.

Fíli hardly left your side ever since—usually dragging Kíli along. He would wrap his arm around your waist, or duck his head to nuzzle your ear and whisper things that made you snicker as you half-heartedly tried to push him away.

Even Thorin, not exactly known for being perceptive, could see what was happening. He’d seen the look before on his sister’s face, many years ago. Fíli was in love, smitten, even. There was no other way to describe it.

He had found his One.

And if the glow in your eyes and blush on your cheeks whenever you met Fíli’s gaze were anything to go by, so had you.

When your silent plea to Thorin went unanswered, you sighed and accepted Fíli’s hand. “Fine. Just don’t crush my feet or anything.” Not for the first time, you marveled at how easily Fíli could pull you up.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be the one stepping on anyone’s toes tonight,” he chuckled. With one arm around your waist, he took your hand. “Just mirror what I’m doing,” he instructed. You gave your audience a nervous glance, but Fili squeezed your hand, beckoning you to look back up at him. “Just the two of us.”

As he stepped backwards, you stepped forward. When he stepped to the side, you followed.

Fíli smiled. “There you go, you’re getting it!” But he moved a bit too quickly, and your momentum sent you stumbling over a tree root rising from your makeshift dance floor. His arm shot out to catch you, his large hand splayed across your chest. You both turned scarlet when you realized what his palm was cupping. Immediately, he moved his hand lower, but that did nothing but bring his fingers dangerously close to the forbidden zone.

“Careful,” you hissed under your breath, sneaking a peek at the Company. Everyone was watching. “You’re a bit too far south.”

He turned even redder and released you. “Maybe we can practice when we have a more… suitable venue?”

“You can’t be finished yet, Fíli,” Bofur scolded with a grin. “You haven’t shown her the best part!”

“It’s not nearly as fun while she’s wearing trousers,” Fíli grumbled. “She needs a dress for it to work properly.”

Indignation stirred in your chest, and crossed your arms, glaring up at the blonde prince. Your face was still flushed red from the almost intimate moment between the pair of you. “I’m terribly sorry I’m not lady-like enough for your tastes,” you huffed.

“It’s not that!” he sputtered with wide eyes. “It’s…” You could almost see the gears in his head turning, weighing his options to salvage the moment. “It’s like this.”

Suddenly, his hands gripped your waist, and he raised you up in the air. With practiced ease, Fíli spun both of you around. Your hair fanned out around you like a halo. Just as you finished the turn, he dipped you down low, so low you were surprised he didn’t fall over himself.

Everything went still. You held your breath while he started breathing harder. You spared another look at the Company.

they’re staring they’re staring oh god have we kissed in front of thorin before i don’t think we’ve kissed in front of thorin oh no what’s he going to–

Fíli quickly reclaimed your attention as he rubbed his nose against yours, his mustache beads cool against your heated skin. And then his lips were on yours, warm and soft, driving any thoughts of self-consciousness from your mind. He ran his fingers through your hair, and you reached up to fist your hands in his own locks, both of you pulling each other closer.

“I suppose this is official now?” you whispered when he finally broke away for air.

Fíli’s only response was a lopsided smile.

Someone let out a whistle—Kíli, of course. Fíli rolled his eyes and straightened up, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind you. You tensed, afraid to turn around in fear of what you might find on Thorin’s face. Fíli rubbed his hand up and down your back. Searching his face and not finding any anger or defiance as he looked at his uncle, you spared a look over your shoulder.

It wasn’t what you expected. Thorin looked tired, stern, yes, but almost relieved. As if he had carried a heavy burden for miles, and finally laid it down.

“Thorin, I–” you began.

He cut you off with a small shake of his head. “Just… be good to each other.” He put a strong hand on Fíli’s shoulder and said something in Khuzdûl. You didn’t understand the words, but Fíli’s face brightened. Other members of the Company began whispering among themselves.

“What?” You exchanged a confused look with Bilbo, the only other person not fluent in the dwarves’ native tongue. “What did he say?”

Fíli just smiled. “Nothing important,” he assured you. He sat down and pulled you into his lap, pausing to press his nose into your hair to inhale your scent. You hardly imagined you smelled good, but he let his nose linger. Then he carded his fingers through your hair, ridding it of tangles and knots until he had a soft, neat canvas for his artistry. Taking the strands into his hands, he wove an intricate braid, humming as he did so.

Fíli looked again to Thorin, then Kíli. His brother nodded, a genuine, non-teasing smile on his face.

Reassured by his family’s approval, he removed one of his own beads and fixed it at the end of your new courting braid.

As soon as he secured it, cheers rose from the rest of the Company. Small bags and pieces of gold flew across camp—were they betting on you and Fíli? Kíli wiggled his eyebrows at you as his pile of coins grew.

But as the gold stopped flying and the losers stopped grumbling, you realized that Thorin had the biggest pile of them all.

He caught your eye, face perfectly impassive, and winked.

[dyingroses]

A moodboard for Princess Dís

[milesasinmorales]

Lady Dís in a ceremonial gown.

The patterns on the gown are like totally still sketches so pls be nice😭😭

Click for better quality

[lathalea]

Thank you so very much, Mistress @i-did-not-mean-to 💖💖💖 I’m glad the story amused you!

Lolll 🤣🤣🤣 I love your take! As always nothing escapes you, of course they wouldn’t bother with laundry especially when there were sugar horses and toffees to munch on! Although one thing bothers me… how on earth Thorin knew how a washing barrel works? 🤣🤣🤣

The Shrieking Monster

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨ This is a gift for @babe-bombadil as part of the @whiteoliphaunt 2023 exchange. ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨ Happy New Year everyone! 🥳

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield & Dis & little Fili & Kili Rating: G Warnings: family fluff Author's notes: A story set in the Blue Mountains about Thorin trying to be both a ruler and a good uncle at once. Young Fili and Kili are making it a tad difficult in their own cute way. Special thanks to @naryaflame for your linguistic help with a name :) If you prefer, you can read this fic on AO3.

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

1. 

It was a perfect morning. Thorin stretched and yawned, settling himself on his favourite chair in the kitchen. The air that whiffed into the dwarven stronghold from the outside felt warm on his cheeks and smelled like spring. As he sipped his morning tea, that strong, aromatic blend Dori bought in Bree, his sister appeared at the threshold. She gave Thorin a bright smile and, seeing her steaming mug on the table, she sat next to him. The lazy silence of the early hours of the day was soon broken by the appearance of two dishevelled pebbles, one with a thatch of golden hair, the other – with his hair as brown as a bear’s fur in winter. After the mandatory morning hugs, Thorin readied breakfast while Dís prepared her sons for the day, humming to herself. Thorin could not stop himself from smiling. His sister was probably already thinking of her visit to the market. She adored going there in the morning, especially on the days when the merchants arrived with new goods – and today was one of those days. Thorin sighed. As much as he wanted her to have a very much needed moment of respite – his sister-sons were quite a handful, to put it mildly – he was painfully aware of what it was going to mean to him. Half a day of having his eyes around his head and his ears pricked up for any unusual noises they may create… or worse – the ominous silence. In the past, there was only a handful of moments when he and Dís realised that the boys went completely silent. It never bode well. 

This day, however, started with the pitter-patter of the boys’ bare feet, chatter and laughter, and the clatter of their bowls as they ate their oatmeal. Dís reminded them to behave while she was gone, and left for the market. Fíli seemed very content about this state of things, knowing well by now that staying with his mother’s brother meant visiting various places in these halls, like forges, or assisting Thorin in other exciting ways. It was different with Kíli – his loud wails of protest at being so cruelly abandoned reverberated against the walls of their home. Thorin imagined they must have followed their mother through the corridors of Thorinuldûm for a long while. Her Little Bear, as Dís called him, was still too young to understand the connection between Mommy leaving, and the sudden appearance of candied rhubarb or his favourite cream toffees.

Distracting Kíli from his misery was not easy, but Thorin managed it by offering to take the boys for a new adventure. Their big blue eyes shone as he told them they would be going to the lower levels of the city together. It was a real treat – Kíli had never been there before and Fíli visited them only a handful of times.

Thorin had a mind to visit the Engineers’ Quarter and show the lads around while discussing some technical issues with one of the water engineers. And so they began their adventure. As they descended down the wide stone stairs Kíli stumbled and yawned, so Thorin decided to carry him the rest of the way. Soon Little Bear began snoring in his arms, and Thorin attempted to ignore the fact that his own tunic was becoming gradually soaked through with his nephew’s saliva. He also started suspecting that the moniker “Little Bear” must have surely come from the fact that Kíli seemed to weigh more and more with every step, like a true bear.

“At least he is not crying,” Thorin muttered to himself, and kept on walking. Thank Mahal for silver linings.

As they arrived at their destination, however, the situation got worse. The Engineers’ Quarter was a crowded place that smelled like tar, coal, and burned leather. Not minding the much larger adult dwarves in their soot-stained clothes who carried – or carted – their wares from one place to another, curious Fíli began rushing between them, oblivious of the chaos he was creating. He took a look at the wheelwright’s workshop here, and then he had to see the toolmaker’s booth there; he then insisted on seeing how parchment was being made, and attempted to find the place where they manufactured those shiny cogwheels. If not for his golden mane, Thorin would have lost his nephew at least a couple of times. Brór, the water engineer he had a meeting with, joined Thorin in the chase for the high-spirited boy. Instead of looking at the water supply pipeline blueprints and trying to fix a problem with water pressure, they ended up unwillingly playing a hide-and-run game to the delight of the onlookers. Seeing your own king running back and forth through the great cavern with one giggling pebble strapped to his chest while chasing after the other one must have been very amusing��� for anyone but him, Thorin thought with resignation. His resignation grew even more when he noticed Fíli climbing onto a tall work table… and jumping down onto a heap of coal.

When Thorin finally caught the runaway, they were both out of breath. Although it was rather Fíli who caught his uncle – the boy ran into him and clung to his left leg as if a throng of orcs chased him.

Fíli raised his teary-eyed face to Thorin and sobbed out, “A monster wanted to eat meeee…”

“A monster? Here?” Thorin’s brow furrowed.

It took him a while to reassure Fíli that no monster was going to eat him. In turn, Thorin promised to get rid of the said monster that apparently lurked in a nearby chamber, and shrieked at him. He left his nephews in the care of Brór who tried to look solemn, but his twitching lips betrayed him. Thorin grunted and entered the chamber, carefully looking around, adjusting his eyes to the dark surroundings. And then he saw two glowing points of red. And heard the shrieking.

2.

When Thorin returned to Brór, Kíli was fast asleep once again. Leaving Little Bear in the engineer’s care once again, he took Fíli’s hand and led him to the entrance of the dark chamber. When they opened the door, they both heard the continuous shrieking now. His nephew stopped and refused to walk inside, covering his ears and closing his eyes.

“There are no monsters here, Fíli.” Thorin reassured the boy. “See for yourself.”

“Nnoooo…” muttered Fíli, hiding behind his uncle.

“Do not be afraid,” Thorin added. “Nothing will hurt you here. I promise.”

On the bench by the door stood a lantern. It took him a moment to light it. With the lantern in hand, Thorin crossed the threshold and approached the nearest lantern that hung on the wall, and then another, and another. Soon, the whole chamber was bright as day, each lantern giving off a pleasant yellow glow.

“You can come in now,” Thorin smiled encouragingly.

With his ears covered and his eyes set on the shrieking, wobbling entity in the middle of the chamber, Fíli shook his head.

“This is not a monster.” Thorin stepped towards the huge bulbous shape that made so much noise. He placed his hand on the top of the strange shaking thing and added, “This is a washing barrel.”

Fíli blinked and took a good look at it. The two red glowing points did not look like a pair of evil eyes any longer. Those were two ball-shaped lanterns standing on top of the… thing. That shrieking noise now seemed to sound like a couple of cogwheels that needed a bit of oil, and not like a monster’s screech. And the arm that seemed to reach out to grab him before, turned out to be a cast iron lever.

“A… barrel?” Fíli looked at his uncle and took one uncertain step towards him and the strange contraption.

“Correct. A barrel that washes your clothes,” Thorin explained in an even voice and at the same moment the shrieking stopped. “Look, it has just finished the washing cycle. Let me show you how it works. First, you open this hatch, like so… Watch out for the water! These clothes are clean, they only need to be wrung out and dried.”

As he spoke, Fíli slowly started closing the distance between them, his eyes becoming wider and wider.

“... but if you want to wash your clothes,” Thorin continued, “you need to put them inside, here, and add some soap suds. Then you close the hatch, pour some water here, crank this lever a few times, do this, like so, and wait for the washing barrel to finish its work!”

Thorin kept on talking until Fíli seemed to be completely in awe of this new piece of machinery, his fear completely forgotten. He peppered his uncle with tons of questions: how many cogwheels were there, how many times one should crank the lever, what the barrel was made of… and so on, and so forth. When they left the chamber, there was a big smile on the boy’s lips instead of tears. 

On their way back home Fíli exclaimed, “This was the bestest adventure ever!”

Thorin thought that sometimes being an uncle happened to be quite rewarding. Even if his tunic was still wet from Kíli’s sleepy drooling.

***

His attitude completely changed less than half an hour later, when his nephews disappeared. Both of them. At once.

Stumbling over several painfully angular wooden toys, Thorin searched the boys’ bedroom. Nothing. He even looked under their beds (twice!), but there was no sign of the boys anywhere. They weren't sitting in the common kitchen nor searching for snacks in the pantry. Nor in Dwalin’s rooms where Kíli liked to play hide-and-scare with the big warrior. There were nowhere to be found – not in the rocking chair by the fireplace, nor even in Balin’s study by that large desk where Fíli liked to play so often. Thorin closed his eyes. If he did not find his nephews before Dís returned from the market, his sister would have Thorin’s own head on a spike. The wrath of dwarf-women was ten times fiercer than the one of dwarf-men. In the case of his little sister, the number was much higher, at least a hundred times. And Thorin would do everything he could to avoid being on the receiving end of it.

There was no time to lose. He recruited Dwalin, Óin, and Halkatla, Balin’s wife, to the task of finding the boys, but they returned empty-handed. No one had seen the boys since their early lunch. Then, they were supposed to take a nap, and Thorin remembered their yawning as they closed the door to their bedroom behind him.

And now they were gone. Kidnapped? — No, impossible, Thorin thought. Dwarves cherished their children like the greatest treasures they were, and no one else was allowed into Thorinuldûm. There were no goblins nor other dangers here either. It felt as if the boys magically disappeared in a puff of smoke. Thorin looked around the wide corridor he stood in, but he found no traces of the missing boys.

“Have you checked all of their favourite places?” Halkatla asked, her red-and-silver braids clinking as she turned her head towards Óin.

“Aye, we did,” he nodded. “Not a sign of them.”

“Those wee rascals! I bet they are up to somethin’.” Dwalin said. “They remind me of us. Remember that time, Thorin, when we were around their age or so, and half of Erebor was lookin’ for us all day long?”

“It would be difficult to forget it,” Thorin admitted. “We wanted to avoid another boring lesson with our tutor…”

“...and instead we went to explore the mines! What a shame we lost our way,” Dwalin grinned and nudged him. “It was fun!”

“Aye, fun on an empty belly. If only you had not forgotten our food,” Thorin replied, relieved that his nephews had a proper meal at least.

“If only ye had not forgotten that map ye were supposed to borrow from your father’s desk,” Dwalin chuckled.

Before Thorin could form an adequate riposte, a mousy-haired dwarf approached him.

“M’lord, Master Brór says that the pipeline is fully functional again,” the messenger bowed.

Thorin gave him a nod of thanks. At least he brought a piece of good news. Master Brór was a skilled engineer, and the way he handled Thorin’s own sister-sons…

“Either way,” Dwalin continued, “we had a real adventure on that day, hadn’t we, Thorin?”

A thought appeared in Thorin’s mind. Master Brór. An adventure.

“There was one place where we have not searched yet,” he turned to his companions.

“I am listening,” Halkatla tilted her head, reminding him of a curious raven.

“The Engineers’ Quarters.”

***

Master Brór was more than happy to receive words of thanks from Thorin in person for fixing that pipeline issue once and for all. Despite Thorin’s hopes, he had not seen Fíli or Kíli since they left the Engineers’ Quarters with their uncle earlier that day. Dwalin muttered a curse under his breath.

“Well, that’s it. I’m goin’ to check the workshops,” the warrior said.

“I’ll take the ones on the left, you take the ones on the right,” Halkatla followed him.

“Let’s go,” Dwalin replied, his voice trailing off as he walked away. “And those wee cave bats would better be there or I swear…”

Master Brór addressed Thorin, “I will spread the word as you requested, my lord. Someone must have seen them, I am certain of it. They could not have simply disappeared.”

Thorin agreed with him and began his own search. The rocks could not have swallowed them whole! Magic was out of the question as well, there had to be a logical solution to this! Thoring pulled at his short beard in frustration. Wandering through the area and looking for any signs of his nephews in places they visited earlier that day, he wondered if Óin had any luck. The healer was waiting at their home in case Fíli and Kíli returned there on their own. Perhaps the three of them were already sitting by the fire, with Óin telling the boys countless amusing stories, while Thorin and his companions were checking every nook and cranny on the lower level, going out of their minds with worry. He raised his head, listening to a peculiar sound and trying to figure out its source. It sounded like… shrieking. It was not at all difficult to recall Fíli’s eyes shining with fear, awe, and then curiosity at the sight of the washing barrel.

Without thinking, Thorin turned his steps towards the chamber that housed the “monster” Fíli had been so afraid of not so long ago.

When Thorin arrived at his destination, the door was ajar. Thorin could hear the shrieking very well, but there were other sounds too. Very familiar sounds.

He took a deep breath and shouted, “Dwalin! I found them!”

***

When Thorin stepped inside the chamber, the sounds became even clearer. One of them he identified as uncontrollable giggling, and the other one, slightly muted, sounded like: “Woooo! Woooo! Wooooo! A carousel! Woooo! Faster, Fíli! Woooo!”

Thorin breathed out a sigh of relief only to be struck by a pang of dread a moment later.

Fíli stood by the washing barrel, cranking the lever, grinning from ear to ear, and laughing. Kíli was nowhere to be seen, but his enthusiastic shouts seemed to be coming from inside of the barrel. Inside, not outside. Thorin swallowed; he considered screaming in terror, but something told him that this was most definitely an example of behaviour unworthy of a king. It took him a moment to melt the ball of ice that was forming in his stomach. He closed the distance between him and the barrel in a blink of an eye.

Thank Mahal, the hatch was open. Inside, Kíli sat with his back against a wall of the large metal container inside the machine, surrounded by various articles of laundry, with a happy grin on his face, and a stray sock on top of his head. A wave of relief washed over Thorin.

“Uncle Thorin! Uncle Thorin!” Fíli exclaimed. “We’re playing carousel! Want to jump in?”

Thorin did not.

“It is time to return home, boys,” Thorin simply said, taking Kíli out of the barrel. His clothes were damp and he smelled like those violet flowers Dís liked so much, but other than that, he looked happy, and what’s more important, he was in one piece – just like his older brother.

“But uncle...” Fíli started.

“Your amad will be home soon. Do you not want to see what she bought at the market?”

“A sugar horse? She promised!” The boy recalled his favourite treat.

Holding Kíli firmly against his chest with one arm, Thorin held out his hand to Fíli.

“Let us go and see,” he said with a smile as his nephew’s tiny hand grabbed his.

There would yet be time for scolding and for a conversation about not sneaking out anywhere alone, but for now, the only thing that Thorin wanted was to safely bring his little rascals home.

He only hoped they would manage to reach their halls before Dís returned.

***

When Dís crossed the threshold of their home later in the afternoon, she was greeted by complete silence. Her sons were nowhere to be seen, which was very suspicious. They were always the first ones to run to her and see what she brought them this time. She expected Thorin to welcome her and help her unpack her basket, as usual — but he was not there either. Was this that ominous silence she dreaded so much whenever her boys were executing another of their silly mischiefs? Not really. It seemed as if their home was empty… until she heard a familiar sound coming from a nearby chamber. Dís put the basket on the floor and tiptoed deeper into their halls.

The picture that unfolded before her eyes was the last thing she had expected. Her brother was half sitting, half lying on the sofa, his legs stretched out in front of him, his head resting on the backrest, his eyes closed. Fíli was cuddled up to his uncle’s side, his hair tousled, making her think of a skein of golden yarn. Kíli lay on the opposite side of his uncle, his head resting on Thorin’s lap and turned towards her. He had his thumb in his mouth. Dís could clearly see the darker stain of drool on her brother’s trousers and stifled a giggle. 

All three of them were asleep, of course. And all three of them were snoring in perfect unison. If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine that she had a working sawmill in front of her.

This scene was too adorable for Dís to interrupt it, so she decided that she would let her three boys sleep a little longer. There was no harm in a little nap, after all. Besides, she was tired, and there was still some space left on the sofa…As she drifted off to sleep beside them, her last conscious thought was: “Why do all three of them smell like my lavender laundry soap?”

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[middleearthpixie]

The Ties That Bind ~ Chapter Four

Summary: Although Erebor is his once more, Thorin knows there is still a great threat to the peace of Middle Earth. Azog is gone, but another has taken his place and has sworn to finish what Azog began. Erebor is back, but it’s sadly lacking in protection and as much as he hates the thought of it, Thorin knows there is one thing that will guarantee the safety and continuation of his line.

War is coming and all Eirlys of Mirkwood wishes to do is fight alongside her brother Legolas and the other elves, united with Men and Dwarves in their attempt to quell the renewed tensions between them and the orc army of the north. But, her father, Thranduíl has other plans. Unite his kingdom with the newly reestablished kingdom of Erebor and use the power of both to defeat the orcs.

An arranged marriage that neither side wants, but both sides need. But what happens when the two sides realize that maybe—just maybe—being together isn't quite as bad as they'd thought...

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Eirlys of Mirkwood

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.8k

Read on AO3

Sunlight streamed in through the canopy and bounced across the bed to hit Thorin square in the face, waking him far earlier than he wished to be woken. He regretted opening his eyes as soon as he did so, and brought up a hand to shade them as he rolled onto his side to offer his back to the offending light. 

His bed was soft and comfortable, he was cozy and snug beneath smooth linens and warm quilts. But despite the comfort and coziness, Thorin’s mood wasn't a good one. He’d hoped that the previous evening would have ended with him realizing what a mistake he’d made in fighting Dís about marrying Princess Eirlys. 

However, after having met her, he was convinced their union would be doomed from the start. He’d expected her to be demure and reserved, to by shy and blush when she met his gaze. 

In short, he’d expected her to be a very different person from the one she was in actuality.

Perhaps it was foolish of him to assume how she would behave. After all, her father was not the most diplomatic of men, so why should she be? He was a fool to think she was anything other than the brash, lippy woman who seemed to speak her mind without hesitation.

Going back to sleep was impossible. His mind whirled too much for him to even attempt to sleep. So, with a sigh of irritation, he kicked back the linens and sat up, then slid to the edge of the bed to rise. 

The room was chilly, biting into his bared skin as he stood, then padded to his trunk, where he pulled out fresh small clothes, trousers, and a heavy dark gray henley. He was just buttoning his trousers when there came a knock at the door.

“Who goes?”

“It’s me, Thorin.”

His henley in his hand, he padded across the room to pull open the door. “Dís? What’re you doing up at this hour?”

“Same as you, I’d imagine. The sunlight doesn’t often stream into my chambers back home.”

He smiled despite his heavy mood. “You would be correct. I don't even know what time it is.”

“Not even seven, I think. May I come in?”

He stepped aside. “Of course.”

She swept by him and as he tugged the henley over his head, she said, “Last eve did not quite go how we thought it might, did it?”

“And how did you think it would go?”

“Well, I thought the princess would come back out onto the dance floor.”

He emerged from the neck hole of his shirt, frowning as he moved to lace the front. “Why? Dís, I think you expect too much, too quickly.”

“Well, she certainly didn't look happy when she left the great hall.” She offered up a long look. “Why might that be?”

“Why are you asking me? I assure you, I had nothing to do with it.”

“Thorin.”

“What?” He shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“She seemed all too happy to let me step in.”

“As I said,” he sank onto the edge of the bed to tug on his hose, and then boots, “you expect too much, too quickly. She is no happier about this marriage than I am.”

“Well, with the way you brood, I can hardly fault her.”

He looked up. “What is that supposed to mean? Dís, I don't know this woman. And yet you think what? We should have been sneaking off to find a darkened corner?”

She gave him a long look, then rolled her eyes. “There is a happy medium, you know. Something in between mortal enemies and aroused lovers.”

“There is no happy medium, as there is nothing there at all. I’ve only just met her, remember.” He finished tugging on his first boot, then reached for the second boot. “I know her name and that she says what she thinks and not much else.”

“Oh, from your tone, I gather you do not like what she thinks?”

“I do not care for what she thinks, no.”

“And what does she think?”

He didn't answer, but finished pulling on his boot, then rose. Dís stared balefully up at him, arms folded across her chest. “Thorin? What did she say that was so unacceptable to you?”

“I’m not having this conversation.”

“Thorin.”

“No, Dís. This was a terrible idea and we should not have come here. I should never have agreed to this and I am sorry that I did.”

With that, he turned and thumped out onto the terrace, where he braced his hands upon the railing and drew in a deep lungful of crisp, wintry air. There was no way to explain to his sister what an ass he’d made of himself by allowing himself to be overheard by Eirlys. 

But Dís, being Dís, did not take the hint and followed him out, wrapping her arms tightly about herself. “Thorin, what happened?”

He ignored her, staring out at the trees and foliage, all dusted with a layer of snow. Snow sparkled across the forest floor, where a path wound away from his terrace, and into the woods. Perhaps a walk through those woods would do him good, would help clear his head some, for he rarely had a chance to be alone in Erebor and even when he did, completely getting away from everyone often proved difficult, as it meant either crossing the plains to Dale, or going up behind the mountain, where Ravenhill was, and while he didn't mind being in Dale, the latter was also to be avoided if at all possible. 

“Thorin?” Her hand came to rest on his forearm. “What happened?”

“It’s none of your concern, little sister.” He slowly turned toward her. “So, let the matter drop.”

Her brow furrowed. “Did the princess insult you? Did Thranduíl?”

His irritation bubbled over and he snapped, “I told you to let the bloody matter drop, and I meant it! Now, if you’d not mind, I think I wish to be alone.”

He didn't wait for her to reply, nor did he think twice about the hurt that swept across her face, but instead swept past her to step down from the terrace and onto the path that wound deeper into the forest.

He didn't know where the path led to, but at that moment, he didn't much care. The last thing he wanted was yet another lecture from his sister. Dís meant well. She always meant well. But she always meddled and always overstepped and rarely realized it until he pointed it out. It aggravated him each time, but today he’d had enough. 

The blanket of snow muffled his footsteps, muffled the sounds of the forest around him. Every now and again, white powder filtered down through the treetops and more than once, a snowy owl swept overhead or a deer bounded across the path. The woods were peaceful. Tranquil. Perfect for thinking.

However, the way the path wound up and down and around meant that it didn't take much or very long for him to lose his bearings. In his irritation at Dís, he’d forgotten that one simple rule in regards to Mirkwood—it could and did muddle one’s mind and toss their bearings if one failed to pay attention to their surroundings. 

In short, he was lost.

A muttered oath rose to his lips as he turned about to first his left, than his right, only to see that everything looked the same. Each tree looked identical to the other, and so did the bushes and even the path looked odd. Snow began falling once more, and it didn't take long for his tracks to be obliterated by it. Still, he turned to try to follow the path back, only it seemed to him that it no longer ran in an east/west direction but now he felt as if he moved south. Or perhaps north. Without being able to see the sun, he had no idea which way was the right one. 

Still, he plodded on. Snow fell more heavily now, the gray skies darker by the minute. The temperature dropped just as quickly, and since he wore only his clothes and no outer garments, the chill settled into his body until he shivered even as he moved. 

How could it grow so dark when it was midmorning at the latest? He’d forgotten how Mirkwood could bend time until it meant nothing. Had forgotten how it liked to play games with one’s mind over all.

He wrapped his arms about himself as he stopped once more to look about. For all the good it did. If anything, he thought he might be even more lost now.

“Wonderful.”

Branches crackled around him. The hair along the back of his neck prickled. He whipped about to glare into the shadows. “Who goes?”

No response.

The wind picked up to whip through the treetops, sending even more snow swirling about him. He felt very much as if he’d gotten trapped inside a snow globe, only this was far more disorienting. His stomach roiled as if the ground rose and fell beneath his feet. Dizziness set it, slowly at first, but it took almost no time before the entire world seemed to spin around him.

He reached for something—anything—upon which to steady himself, but as he did, he stumbled. He swung out his hand to grasp whatever he could reach as his head spun with more force now and the terrible feeling that he was about to be sick surged through him.

The arrow came from nowhere. Whistled by the left side of his head, splitting the spindly tree  around whose trunk he’d wrapped his hand. A sharp sting rose in its wake, along his cheek, grazing the top of his ear to knock the heavy silver ear cuff he wore to the ground with a soft tink.

He staggered back, reaching for the sword that he’d actually left in his chambers, and let out a loud oath as he realized he’d foolishly stormed off unarmed. 

Another arrow split the air, only this time, he saw a flash of movement from the corner of his eye and as he turned, the flash became a person who, with a flick of a dagger blade, sent the arrow careening off to Thorin’s left.

“Are you mad or just a fool?”

He stared at Eirlys, who now stood before him, tucking a silver-bladed dagger back into its sheath. Unlike him, she was dressed for the wintry weather, in heavy-looking trousers and tunic and thick, fur-lined boots. Her white blonde hair had been drawn back into a heavy braid that fell to her hips and at the whistle of yet another arrow, she spun about with lightning-quick reflexes to knock it off its trajectory with the blade she’d just re-sheathed. Her movements were fluid and fast, as if she knew exactly where the next arrow would come from.

“Come with me.” She grabbed him by the wrist and jerked him forward, out of his stupor, dragging him behind her deeper into the forest. “We need to go. Now.”

“Where are you going?” He tried to tug his arm free, to tug her in the opposite direction, but her grip was like iron and not so easily broken. “The path is that way, isn’t it?”

“No.” She didn't look back at him, nor did she slow down. “It is this way and you were a terrific fool to go wandering off as if you know these lands. You’ve been here but twice and still haven’t learned, have you?”

That rankled him, as did her assessment of him as a fool, no matter how right she was. “I beg your pardon?”

“You are fortunate your sister knows you’re a dolt at times. One of those arrows might have found you, and then where would you be. Now, the guard has been dispatched and I am to bring you back to the palace, but if you’d rather die out here…”

Embarrassment seared him from head to toe. “Lead the way.”

“I thought I was.” 

He fell silent, his gut churning as she led him back down a path that showed itself so clearly now, he couldn't believe he’d gotten lost and wandered so far away from it. He thought about tugging free of her grasp, but then thought better of it, knowing that if he did, the path would most likely vanish on him once more. 

“You know where those arrows came from?”

“I do, I think.” The covered walkway came into view and Eirlys slowed her stride, then turned to face him. “Orcs have been testing our boundaries, coming a bit closer each time.”

He turned to look down the way they’d come. “Orcs? Here?”

“They’ve been growing bolder of late. It’s part of the reason my father is so eager to marry me off to you. He fears they’ll grow brazen enough to simply storm our borders and swarm the palace.” A hint of resignation crept into her voice. “And he will not allow me to face them, as Legolas does.”

“And you think you could do so?”

“Of course I could.” She gestured to the dagger still in her hand. “I’ve been trained with both bow and steel and am just as skilled as my brother.” 

“That’s good to know,” he replied softly, carefully drawing his wrist from her grasp, “for then I will not have to worry about you being able to defend yourself, should the need ever arise.”

“As if you would worry.” 

With that parting shot, she turned and started back toward the palace, as he called after her, “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

She stopped once more, slowly pivoting to meet his gaze again. “You would?”

“Of course I would.” He closed the distance between them. “I am not a monster, you know.”

“Well, of course you aren’t. To suggest otherwise would be silly.” She cast her gaze downward for a moment, but then brought it back to meet his. “But you don't want this marriage.”

As her eyes met his, he was temporarily lost for words, for he’d never seen eyes as blue as hers. And when he remembered was words were, he struggled to make his voice louder than a whisper, failing as he murmured, “It isn’t personal.”

“Even so…” She held his gaze. 

“I would still not want to see any harm befall you, Princess.”

“Then it must ease your mind to know I’m quite capable of defending myself, as you said.”

He didn't say anything at first, but instead just gazed down at her as the maddest urge to curve his hand against her cheek, to see if her pale, smooth skin was as soft as it looked surged through him. Mirkwood casting its spell once again, no doubt, but the air crackled around them as she held his gaze, her eyes seemingly softer with each passing moment. His heartbeat sped up, but not in the same way as it had when he’d realized he’d gotten himself lost. No, this and the heat that seemed to swell within him had everything to do with the way she looked at him and with the sudden need to lean in and kiss her. 

“There you are! Where did you find him, Princess Eirlys?”

Thorin started, but kept himself from leaping away from her as Dís came hurrying down the path toward them. A hint of color rose along Eirlys’ high cheekbones, but it was gone so quickly, he thought he must have imagined it.

“I found him on the northeastern border. Just as the orc pack found him.”

Dis’ eyes widened. “Orcs?”

Thorin sighed softly. “I was an idiot for wandering off the path as I did. I should have remained close. A mistake I’ll not repeat, I assure you.”

“I think you owe the princess a show of gratitude as well, Thorin, since she went after you.”

He nodded, turning to smile at Eirlys, whose eyes were no longer so soft. “I do thank you, Princess.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t do it again.” 

With that, she turned and hurried off, leaving him there with a puzzled-looking Dís, who peered up at him. “Did something happen out there?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Only that she saved my sorry skin.”

“Really?”An impish smile accompanied her words. “Because I almost feel as if I’d interrupted a moment.”

“Well, worry not, because you did no such thing.” he told her, brushing by her. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am nearly frozen through and wish only go indoors and warm up by the fire.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” He strode back to his chambers, fighting to keep his mind from wandering back to that moment in the woods, when all he wanted was to kiss Eirlys of Mirkwood. 

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