#the hobbit fan fiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

middleearthpixie · 1 year ago

Note

Can you please write a fic where Thorin falls in love with a human girl, but he thinks she is disgusted by his looks? 🙏

Hi there, Nonny!! I know it took me forEVER, but here you go and i hope you like it! 💜

The Harp

Summary: You and Thorin are friends, but then you find out his feelings for you run deeper, and he’s holding back because he feels he is not good enough for you.

Pairing: Thorin x fem!Reader (post-sack of Erebor, pre-quest for Erebor)

Warning: None. Just fluffy fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 4.7k

***

He came into the dining room at the same time each evening and always sat at the same table—the one in the far corner, which was also the darkest corner of the room. He was polite, but kept to himself and you noticed how he always sat with his back to the wall and rarely did his eyes pause from scanning the room.

The other diners eyed him with just as much suspicion but then again, they all eyed each other with suspicion as well. It was second nature to this lot, as they came from all four corners of Middle Earth. No one was actually from Emyn Vanya. No, every warm body had come from somewhere else to this tiny village on the outskirts of everywhere and yet somehow in the middle of nowhere. Some came to start over. Some came to forget. Some came to do both and some were just passing through. But everyone was from somewhere else and almost no one wished to discuss where that somewhere else might be.

You couldn't help but notice him, for he was a dwarf and the Grey Gander did not see many dwarves in their dining room. And not only that, but he was a handsome dwarf, to boot, with black hair, touched here and there with hints of silver, that spilled over his shoulders in a long tangle of curls. His most striking feature was his eyes, however, for they were the most piercing shade of icy blue you’d ever seen. There was a hardness within those pale eyes, one belied by his polite demeanor and deep, if soft, voice.

Night after night, this man came in alone. He sat alone. He spoke to no one other than you when you approached to take his order, just as you did this evening. He was polite, if reserved, and spoke only when absolutely necessary, which was an interesting change from the patrons who grew louder and more opinionated as they dove further and further into their cups.

“Welcome back,” you said with a smile as you approached him. “Might I fetch you a drink to begin?”

“Thank you. A tanked of ale would suit.”

“Of course. And do you know what you’d like or are you still trying to decide?”

He looked up at you with those striking eyes. “The hunter’s stew.”

His order never varied and you were certain you could just bring him a bowl of the stew without asking, which was why you couldn't resist a bit of playing with him. “I think we should start calling that your usual. Perhaps we should change it on the menu itself.”

That earned you one of the dwarf’s rare smiles. “I am not so certain that is necessary.”

“Well, you’ve been in here eight of the last ten nights and have yet to order anything different.” You couldn’t help teasing him. You sensed a hint of sadness in him, one that might explain the hardness in his eyes. And while it was a bit of a risk, teasing this man you didn’t really know, you had to admit, his smile made the risk worthwhile.

“But,” you added, taking your teasing further than you normally did, “you would have to tell me your name first. I certainly cannot ask to rename it Dwarf Stew. That would give the wrong impression, don’t you think?”

A darkness flashed through his eyes and you knew you’d overstepped. Your mind raced as you struggled to come up with something to smooth over his obviously ruffled feathers, knowing your employer would be furious if your flippancy drove away a paying customer. “I mean… that is… I apolo—”

“No,” he interrupted softly, shaking his head, “there is no need to apologize. And you’re right, it would sound odd. So, I suppose then, it would only be fair to tell you my name, wouldn’t it?”

Your heart beat a little faster at that. Perhaps it was but your imagination, but his voice sounded lower than it normally did. Lower and bit growlier. Had he, by any chance, noticed you the way you’d noticed him?

No, that was madness talking. Very few people noticed you aside from being their serving girl. You tended to blend into the background far too easily and since so many people in Emyn Vanya were only passing through, they paid little heed to you.

Still, that didn't stop you from replying, “It would, yes.”

To your surprise, that earned you a laugh. A genuine, honest-to-goodness laugh and one that sent flutters through you as it rolled across the small table in your direction. Like his voice, it was low and silken, and those flutters made you forget your own name for a moment.

“Very well,” he nodded, his eyes meeting and holding yours, “I am Thorin.”

You offered your name in return and added, “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Thorin.”

“And yours as well.”

Heat climbed into your cheeks and you ducked your head, saying, “I will be back in a few moments with your ale,” you hesitated, then added, “Thorin.”

“I will be here.”

Thorin sat back as you darted off and couldn't believe his cheek. What had possessed him to even think to flirt with you? Your interest had to be only because he was a paying customer, because there was no way a woman as beautiful as you could possibly be interested in him.

The first time he stepped into the Grey Gander, he’d noticed you at once, noticed how easily you smiled and joked with the tavern’s patrons. Your laughter was a silvery melody that made everyone turn in your direction and smile even if they had no idea what it was that made you laugh.

He noticed everything about you—from that amazing smile and intoxicating laughter to your beautiful eyes and easy grace with which you moved about the crowded dining room. You never seemed impatience, or irritated, and even when someone gave you a hard time about something, you never lost your temper and somehow managed to defuse the most volatile of situations.

The second night he’d come in, he’d witness such a scene, almost reaching for his sword, propped against the table, when the giant of man actually grabbed you by the arm. He had no doubt he’d have intervened if you needed it, but you didn’t. You smiled at the man as you peeled his fingers from your wrist and very sweetly informed him that if he touched you again, you’d turn him from a rooster to a hen in one fell swoop.

It was at that moment, Thorin lost his heart.

A foolish notion at best, as you would never feel about him the way he did you. Why would you? He was a dwarf. He had no home. He had been in line for a throne, but now supported himself by moving from place to place, taking work where he could find it.

That was what brought him to Emyn Vanya. His trade was blacksmithing and the village needed one. So, there he was, in the dining room of the Grey Gander, admiring you from afar and wishing he stood a chance at winning your hand.

It was just as well, for what did he have to offer you? A king with no kingdom was no better than a pauper, really. Not to mention, he certainly couldn’t compete with the men of Emyn Vanya, who were all taller, slimmer, and far more attractive than he certainly was. You would be a fool to even consider him.

But, he watched you from afar, watched as you moved from table to table, how you brought a beaming smile to the face of an old crone, how you soothed angry children bickering over a toy, how you made a crying infant smile by making silly faces until they could do nothing else.

How you focused on him as if he was the most interesting man in the room and not, for lack of a better phrase, a homely, homeless refugee.

If only…

He sighed as you approached with a tankard in one hand. His heart beat so much faster when you met his gaze. His mouth went as dry as the plains between his lost kingdom of Erebor and the city of Dale after the dragon Smaug torched it from one end to the other.

You set the tankard before him. “Your supper will be ready in but a few minutes, Mr. Thorin.”

Mr. Thorin. He smiled, shaking his head. “No Mister. Thorin is just fine.”

“Oh, well that wouldn’t be proper now, would it?” Your eyes almost sparkled as your easy smile curved your lips. “After all, we only just met.”

“This is true,” he nodded, reaching for the tankard. Then, on impulse, he added, “Perhaps you might join me one evening?”

You looked taken aback and he immediately berated himself silently. You fool! What is wrong with you?

But then you smiled. “I think I would like that. I have an off night tomorrow. Would that work for you?”

He was stunned, not only by your agreement, but by your suggestion. No woman ever approached him that way. He’d always been the one to ask. You were bold and he admired that. So, he nodded. “That would work just fine for me.”

“Wonderful. What time?”

“Half seven?”

“Half seven it is,” you told him. “And I’ll be back in but a moment with your supper.”

****

What were you thinking? How could you just blurt out an invitation to him that way? He must think you a harlot, or a wanton woman for doing so.

But at the same time, as you smoothed a hand along your skirts, you had to admit, you looked so forward to seeing him without having to wait upon him. It was a nice change of pace for you. A break in the monotony of your life that was work, sleep, and more work.

You’d told him where you lived, a rundown little flat above the florist’s shop, and at half eight, when the knock came at the door, you nearly jumped clear out of your skin. Then, laughing at your foolishness, you hurried to the door, before he thought you’d changed your mind and left.

You smiled as you pulled open the door. “You are early.”

“I allowed myself extra time in case I found myself lost. I’m still new to these parts and this town takes a bit of getting used to.”

“If you remember the streets run east and west, and the avenues run north and south, you might fare better.”

He bobbed his head. “I would, but there are three florists on this street alone.”

“It is a very competitive business in Emyn Vanya.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

You hesitated a moment and then stepped aside. “Come in.”

As he stepped over the threshold, you tried not to dwell on how shabby your flat was, with its scratched and scuffed hand-me-down furnishings. After you paid your rent and made certain there was food on the table, there was not much money left for luxuries such as nice furniture. Normally, it didn't trouble you. This was your home and you thought it cozy, if a bit rundown. But, when you tried to see it through Thorin’s eyes?

You saw exactly how awful it must have looked to him. Threadbare sofa. The armchair had a hole in the cushion thanks to a broken spring, which meant that not only was stuffing peeping up from the hole, one received a nasty poke in the backside, should they think to sit there.

And of course, there was that awful water stain in the far corner. You had no idea from where it had come, only that no matter how much you tried to paint over it, it bled through. You’d given up trying when paint fell into the luxury category.

But, he reached up for the frogs at his throat and then whisked his cloak off to drape over his arm. “This is lovely.”

Lovely? You looked about, wondering exactly what he found so lovely about it. “It’s a bit… ah… worn, don't you think?”

“Lived in, is how I would describe it.” He smiled at you. “Homes should be lived in. That is how they become such. Otherwise, they are but houses, flats, nothing more than buildings.”

You looked back at him. “Lived in?”

He nodded. “Lived in.”

Then he looked back at you and for a moment, you were rendered speechless. Did he have any idea whatsoever as to how handsome he truly was? Because if he did, he certainly did not act as if he did.

Of course, you kept that to yourself, especially when that night, a deep friendship was born. You had dinner together on the nights when you weren’t working. You spent off days together, sometimes running errands with each other, sometimes just doing nothing. He had a knack for the acrostics printed in the village newspaper and the two of you spent your share of days or nights looking up which answers you thought would work. It didn't matter. He had quickly become your dearest friend and while you loved that, you’d also begun thinking that perhaps there was a bit more to your relationship than only friendship.

It was too bad he’d never given any indication at all that he saw you as anything more than a friend.

So you stayed quiet. Autumn gave way to winter and the Yule holiday was only a few days off when you made your way to Thorin’s forge at the northern end of town. A bitter cold wind whipped down the narrow alleyway where his shop was located and you didn't have to look to know you were near it. The carved wooden sign identifying the forge creaked on its hooks as it swung in the wind. Through the swirling snow, you could still make out the word etched into the wood.

Blacksmith

Beneath that word, Thorin had carved symbols as well, and when you’d asked, he’d smiled and explained that they were a language called khuzdul, which was his native language, actually. He’d attempted to teach you some of it, and showed nothing but patience as you fumbled over seemingly simple words. Little by little, though, it became easier and left you wishing you had something like that to share with him.

But then you found something. One night, over several goblets of wine, he confessed that he once played the harp, but had lost his when he’d lost his home, but that was all he would say about either the harp or what happened to his home. So, you’d saved a bit of your pay each week and put it aside and then went to the music shop at the far end of town and found what you’d hoped would be a suitable replacement harp. It wasn't a big, grand instrument, as those were far beyond what you could ever hope to afford, but you hoped he’d like it the same. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so excited and impatient to give someone a gift as you were this one, which was why you braved the worsening weather.

So there you were, at the far end of a gray-shingled building with a roof in need of repair, listening to the almost melodic sound of metal striking metal. The closer you drew to his workshop, the warmer the air grew and as you rounded the corner, a blast of heat hit you square in the face. It was a welcome sensation as your cheeks felt quite numb from the cold.

He had his back to you and heat shot through you at the sight of him, shirtless in deference to that blasted heat, the muscles in his back and along his shoulders bulging as he held a piece of iron in one hand, a hammer in the other. The clang rang through you when he brought the hammer slamming against the iron, again and again and you couldn't help but just stare.

Your eyes roamed over his naked back, heavy with obviously well-earned muscle, and inked with black lines of varying sizes that covered his entire shoulder, stretched across his back, and into the opposite shoulder as well. You had no idea what the symbols and lines meant, but they looked very similar to the ones carved into the forge’s sign, so your guess was they were dwarfish runes or words.

The heat in the forge was brutal regardless of how cold it was beyond the walls. Sweat prickled along your back as you stepped closer. You didn't want to startle him. The iron with which he worked began with an orange glow, but slowly, as he pounded it flat, the glow faded and when he set down the hammer and used a pair of tongs to pick up the flattened piece and thrust it into a tub of water, steam actually rose from the tub.

“Thorin?”

He jumped, letting go of the tongs as he spun around and now heat shot up into your cheeks at the naked chest you found yourself staring at. Like his back, his chest was just as broad, with black hair swirled from one nipple to the other and down across his belly. More symbols had been inked across it, meeting with the design on his left shoulder.

“I am so sorry,” you stammered, tearing your eyes from that impressive sight to meet his startled blue eyes, “I was trying not to startle you.”

“What are you doing here?”

You hugged the package close. “I had to go and pick something up and thought while I was out, I’d stop by.” You peered around him, at the iron still resting in the water. “What are you making?”

“A sword.” He reached for the towel draped over the workbench and swept it across his forehead. “You should not be in here. It’s far too dangerous.”

“I will come no closer then. But tell me, who commissioned the sword?”

“No one. It is mine. I work on it when I’ve a bit of free time.”

“Might I see?”

“It’s not even close to being finished.” He came around the bench and stood before you. His black hair was damp at the temples.

“You don't have to stop on my account, you know.” You took a step closer to him, the urge to reach out and touch him so powerful, it nearly overwhelmed you. You wish you had the courage to tell him how you’d come to feel about him, as you’d had when you’d left your flat. You’d left there full of fire and determined to confess your feelings for him, but unfortunately, by the time you reached his forge, that courage evaporated like the water in the tub had.

“It would be rude of me to continue.”

“Not at all. I think it would be fascinating, watching you work.”

His gaze shifted slightly to his left and you followed it to see what he looked at—a heavy dark gray henley lay draped over a chair by his desk. Without thinking, you shifted the package to one arm and reached out to catch him by the upper arm as he stretched for his shirt.

“Wait, don’t,” you said, shaking your head.

“Don’t?”

You nodded. “I—what is this?” You traced your fingertips along the thick black lines curving his shoulder, unable to believe your own brazenness but unable to halt your touch as well.

“It’s my… my… it’s a raven,” he managed, his voice deep and huskier than usual. He cleared his throat. “The symbol of my clan, and my family crest.”

You could not keep yourself from tracing along those lines as little by little, the image of a raven wearing a crown slowly showed itself to you. You’d held back from telling him how you felt for so long, now that the opportunity to perhaps go beyond friendship had presented itself and you were not about to let it slip by. But… you had to be careful. It was a delicate matter and that called for delicate handling. The last thing you wished to do was destroy your friendship with him.

With that, you lowered your hand “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“This is for you, by the by.” You pressed the package toward him. “I know Yule isn’t for several more days, but when I went to pick this up, I grew far too impatient to wait.”

He stared down at it. “What is it?”

“Well, you have to open it to find out.”

He took the package and slowly unwrapped it and then just stared, his blue eyes growing shiny as he murmured, “How did you know?”

“You told me, silly.” You nudged him with your shoulder. “Remember? We were talking about how my neighbor plays the harpsichord and how awful it sounds and you told me you once played the harp. So, I asked Mr. Trumble if he could find me a harp for you and he did me one better. He made this.”

“He—” those blue eyes met yours, wide and incredulous—“made this?”

You nodded. “He did, indeed.”

He gazed down at the harp, and then back at you. “I—this—this is beautiful. I thank you.”

“There is one condition to it, however.” You nudged him once more. “You must play it for me.”

“Oh, I couldn't now. I’d be far too rusty.”

“Well, once you flake off all the rust.”

“Fair enough.” He offered up a smile brighter than any you’d ever seen from him. “You shouldn’t have done this, though. Save your wages, don’t spend them on me.”

“I didn't mind.” You shrugged as if you spent that kind of money all the time. “And it’s Yule, so it was but a small sacrifice.”

He stepped closer. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, you know. I will treasure it. And you.”

And with that, he leaned in and to your surprise, pressed his lips to yours. You froze at first, caught by utter surprise, as this was the last thing you’d expected him to do. For one maddening moment, you wondered if perhaps you were just imagining it.

But then, his lips moved softly against yours and your toes actually curled in your sensible boots when he brought his hands up to cup your face, and you knew that this was, in fact, actually happening. And how wonderful it was! The sensations that rippled through you were soft and sweet, the crisp, coarse hair around his mouth tickling at first, but then you found you didn't mind it so much as it was a caress of its own.

Your head did a slow spin, his kiss leaving you lightheaded and when your hands came to rest on those massive upper arms of his, your fingers pressed into muscle that greatly resembled stone of their own accord. You were afraid your weak knees might buckle on you at any moment.

His kiss was slow and sweet, teasing and gentle and when his lips parted and his tongue swept gently along yours, your head spun even faster. A rush of heat swept through you. Your lips tingled. Your heart beat harder and faster and it took every bit of will you had to not melt right into his arms.

When he drew back, his eyes were soft, swirling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place and he seemed as breathless as you were as he murmured, “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time now.”

“What?”

He nodded. “I do and I did and now I just want to do it again.” Then he paused, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his smile, into his eyes, “Unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t.”

“No, I’d not rather that at all,” you told him, smiling as you curved a hand against his cheek. “In fact, I’d like it very much if you would do it again. And again. And I think you should keep doing, no matter where we might be.”

A low chuckle rumbled up from the depths of his chest. “So, I am not about to send you screaming into the snow?”

“Hardly.”

“Are you certain? I mean,” he rubbed his bearded jaw ruefully, a sheepish smile coming to his lips, “I know people whisper about me and poke fun at me behind my back.”

“They whisper about you because they are fascinated by you. And no one pokes fun at you. I know they think you’re quite an excellent smithy, judging by what I’ve heard. And I won’t even tell you what the women say about you.”

To your surprise, his sheepish smile faded and a darkness came to his eyes. “I can only imagine.”

“Have I said something wrong? I thought I was complimenting you. Do dwarves not like to hear how handsome they are thought to be?”

“Handsome?” He snorted as he shook his head. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve seen my own face and that is not how I’d describe it.”

“Well, perhaps you should but have Mr. Sinclair examine your eyes, for you are not only handsome, but very handsome.”

He stared at you, clearly not believing a word you said. “Thank you, but you are just being kind, as you’ve been since we met.”

“Thorin,” you caught his hands in yours, “I’ve been wishing you’d notice me as more than simply your friend, that you’d kiss me, and perhaps I’ve been too brazen in taking the first step. If you wish me to leave you alone, I will.”

“Leave me alone?” His eyes went wide and he shook his head once more. “No, no, I don’t wish that at all. In fact, I—”

A scarlet flush swept up into his cheeks and he went quiet. You waited for him to continue, your heart hammering away at your ribs. All you wanted was for him to pull you into his arms, to tug you flush against that massive chest, and kiss you until you forgot your name.

“You what?” you asked softly.

“I lied. About the sword.” He smiled then. “It’s for you, actually. For Yule. I meant it to be a surprise.”

“For me? But I don't even know who to wield one.”

“Worry not, for I will teach you. When the weather breaks.”

“You did this for me? You would do that for me?”

He nodded. “I would do anything for you, you know.” His eyes softened then as he smiled. “I love you.”

This was the last thing you ever expected him to say and you could only stare at him for a long moment, as your stupid brain forgot how to process words. The best you could muster was a whispered, “What?”

“I love you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time now, but how could I when I thought you would be embarrassed to be courted by me. So, I relegated myself to knowing we would only ever be friends, but now…”

“Embarrassed to be courted by you? Are you mad, Thorin? Are you absolutely and completely mad? Because you would have to be to think any woman alive would be embarrassed to be courted by you.” You shifted to wind your arms about his neck. “And no one has ever made something for me. At least, not something as beautiful as a sword. So, if I didn't already love you in return, I would have most definitely fallen at this moment.”

He smiled. “So, all this time, it would’ve only taken a sword to win your hand?”

“I’m a very simple woman, Thorin. You should know that by now.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he eased his arms about your waist, pulling you flush against him. He leaned closer, his lips just brushing yours as he murmured, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

You tried to think of something witty to reply with, but then his lips met yours once more and rendered words unnecessary.

***

Like it? Love it? Reblog it! Comments are also welcomed!

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketchy-loo6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @buckybarnes-thorin @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Richard Armitage #Thorin x reader #Thorin x you #nonny asks #pixie answers

720 notes · View notes

welikeimagines-andfandoms · 7 months ago

Text

It’s the one bed trope but instead of waking up in a sexual position, waking up with a leg in the back and an arm on their face 😂

24 notes · View notes

gwen-ever · 24 days ago

Text

Deathless (2/3)

Deathless

Fic for the @tolkienrsb event 2021.

Author:gwen-ever (tumblr) gwen-ever (ao3)

Artist: Lathalea (tumblr)Lathalea (ao3)

Fic Rating: M

Warning: Reincarnation - Angst - References to Illness

Relationships: ThorinxOc - DurinxOc - DurinVIIxOc

Characters: Thorin Oakenshield - Original Female Character - Durin the Deathless - Durin VII - Aule - Yavanna - Balin

Word count: 24458

Artwork rating: G

Artwork Link: Khazad-dûm Reclaimed.

Durin went over in his head every single market street he had walked the day before, taking in every intersection or tunnel that seemed familiar. His sense of direction was never fooled, even though the streets in the lower levels of the mountain were so different at night than they were during the day.

The hustle and bustle of the day before had vanished, the golden light that fluttered on the grey stone replaced by a weaker light from the few lit lanterns and the light coming from the windows of the houses set in the stone.

From time to time the sound of his heavy footsteps on the marble floor was interrupted by some distant laughter that echoed over and over again to his ears. He looked around alarmed that the palace had noticed his absence, but he had to sigh with relief every time, he was never the cause of the commotion that night.

As he walked there were no bows, greetings or reverences of any kind, everyone continued on their way ignoring his presence or true identity. It certainly wasn't difficult for anyone to assume, given his soot and coal stained clothes, that he was just a blacksmith returning home after a long day's work in the forges and that was partly the truth.

The shops were almost all closed, few dwarves came out of them and many of them were the owners busily barring the doors and windows carved into the stone: he hoped Ylva was doing the same. He hoped he had left the forges too late and that she was still busy among her tools and cloth and still criticising the faded labels in her shop.

He cast a glance towards the blue armguards he wore, smiling to himself as one of the pink stones glinted under the light of a torch: he had kept his word at last, though, he was coming back, though certainly not in the way she would have thought he would.

A part of him had been begging him all day to drop everything and go down to the markets to see her, to hear her voice, to pay her back, while his more controlled part kept him seated at council meetings, then mine inspections, then forges.

By the time he had finished his duties, however, nothing had stopped him from leaving the forges and walking over there. Ylva was coming back to him like the sweetest wine he had ever tasted, and in all probability it was the wine that was now guiding his steps to reach her.

He turned his head and walked into the corridors of the market, going deeper and deeper. He turned a corner towards the artisans' area and amidst the bluish half-light, a bright light in a window caught his attention and as fate would have it, it was the only light he wanted to see lit: she was indeed still in his shop.

Durin quickened his pace as he approached the window of the small shop, already anticipating the vision of the dwarf-woman busy behind it, but as he approached it, he immediately realised that the light he was seeing was nothing more than the flame of a forgotten candle lit at the back of the shop.

He clenched his jaw, trying to overcome his sense of disappointment: perhaps she was still inside and he had not noticed her yet. He cupped his hands and peered into the shop and to his disappointment his suspicions were true: she was already gone, he had come down too late. She was not standing on a stool arranging the boxes of gems that still lay stacked on top of each other, she was not scrubbing the dirty floor with pieces of cloth, nor was she sorting out the mountain of small sketches lying on top of the counter or in the back room near the unlit forge. With a sigh, he sat down on the front step of the shop, wearily running his hands over his face: what was wrong with him? What was he planning to do? To come all the way down there, to the markets without informing anyone, without leaving a missive, to do what? Chasing a craftswoman, chasing a feeling due to his overtiredness and increasingly confused dreams.

His Father would have laughed at him, his grandFather would have taken him for a fool or would have offered him a couple of rounds of pints to remind him that impulsive actions had never been his forte.

And he would have been right.

He'd never acted like that, never had the reason, and yet the thought of her kept coming back to him. What he had felt as soon as he had seen her was nothing he had ever felt before in his life, or in his lives for that matter. He'd already seen her, he'd touched her, she'd kissed him, he'd already smelled her, and she'd already wrapped those arm guards around his arms.

What he had felt the day before was a fictitious memory, he knew, she could not have been alive back then, she could not have been part of his past, and yet she was the truest and most real memory he had ever seen unfold before his eyes.

Yet he knew her, he had seen her before, but it could not be so, it could not, it was not possible.

His temples ached and he brought two fingers to them and began to press, trying to calm his nerves, to calm those doubts and stupid riddles he was asking himself. He had to calm down, regain his senses and stop that boyish madness and return to the palace. It would have passed, just as everything had always passed him by.

He was about to stand up, but in doing so he gave a little kick to a piece of an old broken mug, making it roll straight into the middle of the street.

That simple gesture stopped him instantly, a sentence she said came back to his mind and a doubt, or more a hope, came forward in his chest. It was a ridiculous sentence, taken out of context, but it began to dig into his mind like a woodworm until his brain bled.

Perhaps he knew where to find her.

He threw his convictions to the wind, what he had been telling himself for many minutes. With a push he got up from the cold step and started walking again along the immense tunnels of the market, passing every closed shop he came across.

He turned left and right trying to cross paths with the building he was interested in, but the more he walked the more there was no sign of it: she was right on one point, he was not from there. He arrived at the central market square, now emptied of every stall he would usually find there. The huge marble statue of the Royal Battle Ram reigned supreme in the middle of it, welcoming every passer-by, including him, and it was behind it that Durin finally found what he was looking for.

With great strides he approached the entrance to the central inn of the market, passing the small group of dwarves who, shakily, were coming out of it, holding each other's arms. From inside came shouts, songs, music and a bright orange light that made his eyes squint as Durin came through the doorway, cutting his breathing.

The main tavern was filled with a life and warmth that Durin thought the forges located several levels beneath their feet looked like an icy, inhospitable wasteland in comparison.

The music of the violins and flutes rang out loud, echoing throughout the tavern, barely able to overcome the high-pitched laughter or deep cackles that came from every single table. He heard footsteps on the floor, the clatter of metal cutlery banging against each other, the cheerful shrieks of a few little dwarves chasing each other around the tables, hiding under them for a few moments before being discovered. A sea of colourful fabrics moved from side to side, carrying barrels full of beer, tray after tray of every kind of food imaginable.

Around the tables dozens and dozens of dwarves clutched each other in long embraces as they sang stories, shouted ancient names and legends, while others ducked to dodge pieces of food being thrown across the room.

Cautiously, always hoping not to be recognised, Durin stepped forward in turn through the hubbub, dodging and ducking into every cove the tables or groups of warriors and smiths created to chat, searching his eyes for why he was there, scrutinising every single face.

He searched for a hank of fire-red hair, tried to hear her crystal-clear voice, even tried to inhale the air to smell her again, but the further he went between the tables, the more his hope of finding Ylva became a dream.

Suddenly, in the midst of the noise and laughter, an ethereal voice rose above all the others, attracting his attention and, if that was the case, that of a good part of the room as well. There, in the middle of the wooden tables, on top of one of them, he saw her: she was moving her feet from one side to the other in time with the music, dancing holding the arm of another dwarf who was singing a traditional song of the Blue Mountains out loud, holding a full mug of beer in his hand.

Durin watched her wide-eyed as she danced, the red dress she wore that evening moving in every crazy motion in which the dwarf next to her pushed her, as she spun around the table in pirouettes or small jumps at every high-pitched sound she had to make, the let go with her neck back singing.

The dwarves around the table clapped their hands and feet in time to the music, slammed their mugs down on the table and shouted at every higher word, watching the little scene as he did, but Durin did not join in. He watched her in silence, as if hypnotised. He couldn't take his eyes off her, and every time she returned a higher note, or laughed, or pirouetted on herself as she sang, he felt his heart stop in his chest.

His throat suddenly went dry as he watched her, as he watched how the dwarf held her waist, making her move from side to side, and unconsciously he felt a discomfort rise up to his neck.

He exhaled, letting his back go against the wooden pillar behind him, letting his blue gaze drift over her body, and the dress she wore, to the small but precious patches of white skin she showed with every movement, to the smile that marked her face, to the thick, unruly red hair that swayed from side to side making her golden beads flap in her braids: he would never have admitted it out loud, not at that moment but she was beautiful, too beautiful.

A smell of blueberries and wild flowers entered his nostrils again, invisible hands touched his face, ran their fingers along his thick beard, a pair of lips rested on his and a soft breast rested on his chest and the roar, Ylva's voice, was no longer loud, it was low, it was close to his ear, and then close to his neck and then mixed with his breath.

An immense grip on his heart forced him to let go with his head back, panting and shaken. A second one made him clench his jaw and close his fists in a spasm. His vision suddenly blurred as the sounds around him gradually became muffled until they disappeared completely, as did the taverns and the shouting, and the laughter and Ylva's voice.

Sparkling diamonds shone through the blue marble walls. Golden veins, like tree roots, dug into the stone, embracing and supporting their wide, endless relatives. A cloudless starry sky, infinite and eternal shone underground, so high and mighty are the halls in which they stand. Rain, wind, bad weather were only a vague thought in that place without time or memory, where one minute is a hundred lives and a hundred lives a minute, where day and night alternate like the flames burning in the middle of the large circular room.

Though the world grows darker every day

And hope seems all but a memory

An angelic voice rang out, lulling him to sleep, making him close his eyes and taking him back into the world that had been built for them. Sweat still covered his body, his muscles tensed under his skin, not being calmed by the gentle caresses of the pale, soft hands that caressed his skin, face, mouth, wiping away with a wet cloth every sign of the work he had dedicated himself to as he had been ordered to do hours before.

Nothing can dim or extinguish this flame

Ignited long ago deep within me

No-one can break my will, nothing can change

My path is laid before me

Her hands trembled with every caress, for every smear of soot she removed from his face her touch grew weaker, as if that simple gesture cost her all the strength she had in her body.

He would have liked to grab them, to block her, to beg her to stop, but he couldn't: she continued to take care of him, without ceasing to smile, even though Durin's breathing became heavier with every movement, as well as his voice became weaker and weaker, less and less alive.

A cough, a single cough brought him to the limit of his endurance.

He took her face in his hands and forced her to look at his face stopping her singing.

"You should rest, the dawn of the Trees is near. You need to rest and you need to let your eyes drift shut," he murmured, holding her face almost completely bare, like a withered autumn leaf, like a flower struggling through the snow to bloom.

She smiled weakly at him, laying a small hand on his larger one and leaving a sweet little kiss on his palm "Don't feel sorry for me my love, I still have the strength to take care of you."

"You didn't complete the work that was assigned to you by our Father," he told her, noticing the dark circles on her face lit by the flames beside them "I noticed your exhaustion as you worked to complete your task. Your hands were shaking, your eyes closed, I should have brought you help,"

She smiled weakly at him again, settling even more against his touch.

"Don't make me leave you," she said, smiling at him out of the side of her mouth, "I can't sleep if I don't have you by my side, my sleep is shaken by nightmares, and I don't want you to leave our Father's work unfinished," she explained gently but then another cough made her bend over and look away from his.

One, two, three, four, five times she coughed, bending over and bringing a hand in front of her mouth, which gradually turned red, a red that cost him a tear and a prayer to his Father.

He had to save her, if not him, their creator he had to do it, any way he knew how but he had to do it, he couldn't see her extinguish before his eyes before she was even born. He could not take her away from him.

As soon as she was calm he took her face in his hands and laid his forehead on hers, looking at her through a veil of unshed tears.

"I would take all your aches and pains if I could, I would go beyond time and space to make all your aches and pains vanish my sky, my sun, my treasure, my soul," he whispered leaving her a sweet kiss on her lips "I will take care of you, Frea I swear, I will take care of you."

Disoriented, Durin closed his eyes, feeling them moist again, feeling as if he had been crushed by a boulder that was impossible to lift. It had happened again, he had again had a dream about his past without it having dawned on him.

But no, that wasn't a dream, it wasn't a memory, it couldn't be, because Ylva was there.

And yet he had seen her, she looked just like that dwarf lady, whom he had just seen, whom he had just remembered. But it was not possible, what he had seen was not possible.

Frea, he had called her.

Just thinking about that name made a terrible lump in his throat and an urge to scream at the top of his lungs his frustration and pain, the pain he had felt in that memory.

"Will you ever accept my proposal of marriage, oh, shining gem from the deepest of caves in the Misty Mountains?"

A croaking voice, broken by several sobs and slurred, broke the vision that had appeared before his eyes, bringing him violently back to the reality of what was happening around him.

The dwarf with whom Ylva had been dancing just now was bending at her feet, his arms theatrically outstretched towards her, holding her hand between his.

Ylva laughed, patting him on the forehead with both fingers, "Only when you will propose it to me as you are sober, Farim," she shot back, making him and everyone around the table laugh.

It was at that moment, when a second dwarf held her hand to get her off the table, that their gazes met and the aftermath of that earlier memory disappeared from his mind, as did that anguish, that pain, that anxiety and everything seemed at peace again.

Her dark eyes widened with surprise when she saw him: surely she had never expected to meet him again in such a situation and if it had not been for his initiative this would not have happened at all.

She smiled at him in turn as she stepped down from the table and with a small gesture of her head she pointed to the counter at the end of the tavern inviting him to go in that direction.

He didn't know what what he had just seen meant: at other times he would have been worried about it, but not at this moment, he just wanted to... talk to her.

He followed her without thinking much about it, and after making his way through the small crowd in front of the bar he saw her sitting on a stool, carelessly brushing her red hair to one side of her neck and wiping the remains of dust from her bodice. From the fact that she didn't want to meet his gaze and how she had tactically left an empty seat next to her, he realised that she was deliberately ignoring him but absent-mindedly inviting him to sit by her side.

A small, amused laugh escaped him, glad that his embarrassment towards her had already vanished again. He sat down next to her, crossing both arms on the counter and watching her out of the corner of his eye as she absent-mindedly fastened the laces of her dress around her forearms again.

"Mor, I may need a lager for me and a double malt for the master blacksmith sitting next to me, would you mind?" she looked up at the long grey-bearded innkeeper behind the bar.

He nodded to her with a quick gesture of his head, stopped cleaning the jar in his hands and started to take two mugs and prepare them.

"How did you know that? The type of ale I drink?" he asked her pleasantly surprised.

He found it curious that she knew what kind of beer he drank and he wasn't even good at covering it up as he found himself staring at her in wonder and with his mouth slightly open.

"I didn't know, so call it luck if you prefer my lord," she replied to him absentmindedly, lowering again the sleeves of her dress that had been pulled up during the dance.

"You know this morning I also received a stroke of luck my lady, someone reached at my door and gave me these," he winked at her, extending his forearm towards her, showing her the blue arm guards she had made fastened over his shirt.

She absentmindedly lowered her gaze and grinned with the side of her mouth as she continued to adjust the creased sleeves of her dress. "Oh really my lord? I have no idea who it could be, I was late for work today you know, I overslept, so some dwarf lady may have snuck into my shop and may have taken them," she winked at him in turn continuing to play dumb.

He raised an amused eyebrow. "She must have been a very patient and cunning dwarf lady to have played you."

"I could almost say she's on the same level as me my lord," she retorted as she looked up slyly and darkly at him, widening the smile on her red lips.

Durin let out a soft laugh, especially as Ylva seemed more and more convinced to carry on with this charade, a charade that wasn't bothering him, on the contrary, he had missed it terribly. But when he was about to reply in kind, the innkeeper finally brought him their beers and placed them in front of them.

He reached into the pocket of his breeches looking for the few gold coins he carried with him every time he went down to the forges, but he wasn't quick enough to put them on the counter as Ylva's pale hand slammed down on the table leaving four bronze coins on it.

She noticed his disappointed look, shrugged and took a large swig from her pint, making any objections she might have had vain, just as she had the day before.

Although he didn't like the gesture at all, especially since he already knew what she had done for him, he took a swig of beer in turn, letting the golden liquid cool his palate.

"I'll pay you back, I promise," he reminded her in an ominous tone, glancing across the rim of the mug.

She did not seem intimidated, however, and shrugged her shoulders. "And I've already told you it's a gift," she retorted, wiping her lower lip with her fingertip, "so unless you want to take them off and throw them at me, it's a gift you've accepted.

"I didn't have a choice, it seems," he reminded her.

"If you had, you wouldn't have accepted them and I wanted to see them on you, so I had to take away your choice."

"I also told you that I would return for you, did I not, my lady?"

"You are not mistaken, my lord, in fact you did!" she began, pointing from head to toe with the beer glass, "You didn't tell me when though! I only speeded things up and then told you that I don't take no for an answer!" she winked, smiling at him.

Durin lowered his gaze, but this time he felt his cheeks flush, not from embarrassment but from the hilarity and simplicity of the situation. Perhaps the memory of what had happened earlier was still too vivid, perhaps he would have regretted his words and his proposal a little later, but at that moment he wanted nothing more than that.

He moved his arm lightly across the table towards Ylva's, drawing her attention. "May I also have this claim on you?" he asked, looking up at her.

She jerked slightly, looked at him in confusion, letting the cascade of fiery red curls fall to the side, "What do you mean? The one about not getting a no for an answer?"

He nodded, biting his lip nervously; he'd never been good at that sort of thing.

"I wanted to know if you'd like to have dinner with me one of these nights," he asked, trying to maintain eye contact, "I can have you picked up and escorted to the palace if you'd like," he said.

As soon as he asked her that question Ylva suddenly turned paler, her hand trembled and so did the glass she held close to her mouth: she looked at him surprised, perhaps too surprised.

She slowly lowered the cup and let it go on the table, blushing more and more and trying to mask her discomfort by smiling at him ironically, which made him feel terribly guilty even though his invitation was more than sincere.

"Y-you noticed we're in a tavern, right?" she asked, looking around as she continued to smile at him out of the side of her mouth nervously, "and it's just past dinnertime and... I don't need an escort, in that case, you know I'm already here with you." she explained, trying not to meet his eyes.

Suddenly he realised that it was not his proposal that had made her uncomfortable, but what followed and he had been a fool not to understand it: he had put her in an unpleasant situation and he was ashamed of it. He was like a king, she was an artisan. He was used to talking to women of his own rank, a little lower at most, but certainly his last words must not have been easy to understand, to swallow and to be heard.

"Are you proposing that I dine here with you Lady Ylva?" he asked her to be sure of what she was thinking.

She jolted again and smiled nervously at him, again adjusting her hair behind her ear with an impulsive gesture. "You said it, I just pointed out the current events and what they might entail," she chuckled softly.

"I made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry about that. My proposal-"

"I did not say your proposal made me uncomfortable," she interrupted him quickly, looking up at him.

Durin's eyes widened, taken aback by her answer: he had always prided himself on not being able to be taken by surprise, on always having the answer ready and always being the one to have the last word on any matter, but that dwarf-woman in two days had shattered all his certainties, every single reality he thought he was living, including his past ones.

He smiled to himself with a sneer and looked up at the tavern keeper. He forgot the lessons of etiquette he had been taught and settled into the fact that he was only Durin that night, nothing but Thrain, not a king, not Durin, just Thrain. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled so loudly that he drew the tavern keeper who had just been deep in conversation with a group of no less than five dwarves to a table and made him turn towards them.

"Prepare us two dishes of the day and don't worry about the portions or how many times you fill the mugs," he said in a deep voice and this time he was quick enough to put a single gold coin on the counter.

She looked at him in amazement, turning the mug over in her hands in satisfaction, "You are full of surprises, my lord," she grinned.

Durin rolled his eyes slightly but couldn't help but hide the fact that the statement struck him in a pleasant way.

"I always have a way to escape my life and I have enough practice doing it, whether it be in the suburbs of Erebor or in training camps or situations that put people around me under pressure," he explained and then smiled at her with the side of his mouth, becoming slightly more serious than before. "I'm a dwarf, no different than anyone else."

He didn't know if he said this to her or to himself to convince himself of what he was saying, to give himself some consolation that his role wasn't his world but either way she reached out her hand slightly towards his brushing the tips of his fingers with hers.

"Oh you are very much so actually, different, and you don't even realise it and different isn't always a bad thing."

With that single sentence Durin realised that he had made the right choice that night, that he had done well to go down to the markets to see her again that he had been risking the wrath of his brother, because in that moment he felt as he had felt in that memory moments before: adored.

He did not know how much time passed, perhaps even hours, and as far as he could know. It could have been dawn and he would not have noticed. They talked for so long, about everything and nothing at all, that Durin found himself immersed in a world he had touched with his own hands, a world where he was alone, where no one was forcing him to make choices or be someone else. In which a dwarf lady in front of him spoke first of the various types of weapons she had tried and failed to forge in her life, then of how she used to sew winter jackets for her goats when she was still in the Iron Hills, and then of how she had run away one night to see a blood moon from the hills.

He felt as if he had known her all his life, though he had only met her the day before, and he too had come to tell of his misadventures, how he was a terrible miner, how he nearly set fire to the throne room in Erebor when he was a child, or how once, after his brother's wedding, he had woken up asleep on top of the throne.

He was so engrossed in that moment that he hardly noticed that the tavern had emptied, leaving only silence and a few nearly consumed candles around them. A few dwarves were asleep on the benches, others were silently drinking their last mug of ale, while he and Ylva had barely touched what was in front of them, not even noticing how often their fingers were touching and brushing against each other, fiddling with each other.

"What were you doing at the market yesterday? You've never been there before from what people say, in fact you're not often seen there," she asked him, fiddling with the edge of his arm guard, tracing the seams with her fingertips.

"We need to build some new housing areas and a new wing for the markets on the floors above us," he replied as he watched her pale, shy fingers stop at one of the stones.

"Many will be delighted by this news, you know," she confessed, smiling softly at him. "Many still have no homes and live in their workshops, others have homes two hours' walk from here, in the old shelters..." she explained, lowering the tone of her voice almost to a whisper.

Durin sensed a veil of sadness in her words that made him turn his hand over and grasp her hand lightly, looking into her dark eyes.

"Like you?" he asked her, not at all pleased with the answer she might give him.

Ylva shook her head and chuckled, grabbing his hand in turn "I manage your majesty, old Mor makes me a good price for a room and food. It's small but it has a bed, a table, a bowl and even a tiny fireplace," he explained, gesturing with her free hand, forcing another smile.

Durin, however, was not convinced by what she told him: it was as he had suspected and she was not the only dwarf lady in that condition, in the precariousness of a kingdom that perhaps even after her death would continue to be rebuilt.

However, hearing that information from someone, especially her, and not reading it through reports written on old parchments hurt him more than he had expected and made him face the great responsibility he carried on his shoulders.

"When we arrived here, there wasn't much," he began to tell her over the barely audible sound of the candle burning between them in total silence, "the battle lasted for months, taking one room at a time and for a long time I lived on a blanket next to a bonfire, nothing more. I understand how you feel,"

Ylva looked at him wide-eyed, opening and closing her mouth ready to say something, perhaps to retort, but finally she only smiled at him, nodding and slowly crossing her fingers with his in an almost intimate gesture, but so innocent and sweet that Durin did not have the heart to stop it.

"I'm very well, don't let it bother you," she tried to reassure him, smiling, "when you build the new residential wing," she continued, raising both eyebrows, "I'll be the first to put my savings aside for one of those dwellings, in your majesty's name!" she giggled and raised her half-full goblet high in a toast to him.

An amused laugh escaped Durin, but she continued gesturing with the goblet in front of her.

"I'm going to buy me one with even a bathtub built into the floor, one of those where you can put bath salts, you'll see!" she continued proudly, laughing to herself.

"In the palace, every room has one, I think you might like them so..."

She shook her head laughing as her cheeks coloured again, "I don't think I can go back and forth from my room to the palace to take a bath if that is your intention, my lord.”

"It wouldn't be a problem if you wanted to do it once."

"Oh please don't make fun of me, I haven't had enough to drink yet!" she retorted laughing and taking another sip from her mug before wiping her lips with her fingertips, "Speaking of which, can I ask you a question, about the palace?"

Intrigued, Durin nodded, pulling himself up slightly to sit ready for any questions she might ask him.

"Ask me anything you like," he said again.

Ylva looked around, checking to see if anyone was listening to them and then stepped closer to him rolling up the sleeves of her elegant red dress. She moved closer to his face, almost touching his nose and placed a cupped hand to the side of his mouth so no one could hear them.

"Is it true that in the palace there is an adorned room with bas-reliefs of Mithril?" she asked him and Durin nearly jerked back in his chair "My mother told me that Durin IV, you, had ordered it to be built with a golden floor. That she had inscribed your family tree on the floor and that all around, on the walls, bas-reliefs of mithril and precious stones tell the story of... your lives, our lives. Is this true?"

Durin looked towards his armguard and then towards Ylva's eyes, which were dark and pleading, asking him to tell them the truth. It was difficult for him, not so much to explain the existence of that room, but so much because he had no memory of that room, not even the smallest one. Perhaps he had built it for that very reason, but he only knew of its existence and of what others knew about it. What was on the walls or on the floor was of no importance to him.

He nodded, not finding the heart to lie to her "It's the private room of the royal banquets, it's almost completely unused these days, but yes, it exists."

Her face suddenly lit up and her mouth at first contorted into an ecstatic expression. "Really? It exists!

Do you know that it is said to have taken fifty years to complete, and that it took more than three hundred goldsmiths and at least twenty thousand gems just for one wall?! It's the closest thing to a miracle a goldsmith has ever achieved!”

He bit his lip slightly and yet another madness rose in his chest and took possession of his words. A strange idea buzzed in his head, in perfect, too perfect an idea. "Would you like to see it?"

Ylva's eyes widened and she immediately stopped talking or even breathing if he didn't see her chest move under her low-cut dress. "W-would you... would you let me see it? But I, I am me..."

"Because it's you, I want you to see it, it's my payment."

The dark eyes lifted to the sky and rolled in on themselves "Oh again, I thought we'd worked it out? There is no need for any payment-"

"Get your things," he told her quickly, coming down from the stool in front of the counter with a small jump.

This time he didn't give her a chance to retort, he had well understood that reasoning with her was pointless the more he would let her talk the more she would object to any kind gesture he would make on her behalf. His only choice was to do the same thing he had done with him a short time before: not to leave her a choice.

Ylva in fact looked at him as if he had gone mad blinking over and over again gripping the edges of the table "You've gone mad it's the middle of the night, they'll cut our heads off if they see us!"

"They'll cut my head off? And who would order that?" he replied, grinning out of the side of his mouth.

Carefully, he reached out a hand towards her, inviting her to take it with a slight bow: if she couldn't take no for an answer, he wouldn't either.

She looked at him in bewilderment, first at him and then at his hand, and finally after a long time she reached out and took his hand with a smile on her lips.

"You are completely insane, your majesty."

In the silence of Khazad Dum's palace their heavy, laboured breathing was the only sound echoing through the deserted halls. Dawn was not far away and yet everyone was still in a heavy sleep, unaware of what the king was about to do and who was with him.

Not even the rays of the sun dared disturb them, remaining hidden behind the peaks of the misty mountains, giving themselves a few more minutes.

Thorin walked swiftly, holding Ylva's hand still inside his, their fingers intertwining more and more with each step they took. Her hand was warm, small, and smooth, the softest, most delicate thing he had ever touched in his life. Sometimes he was afraid of squeezing it too tightly and hurting her, but often it was she who held on tightly, making his heart beat faster in his chest.

He guided her through the other rooms, knowing every tunnel by heart, and for the first time in almost six years he did not get lost, arriving at the palace in less than a handful of minutes. They passed the huge hall, turning quickly between the gigantic columns of the palace's main hallway, which occupied metres and metres of surface. He heard her tug several times, entranced by the spectacle that surrounded them, for though he had seen it so many times he could not deny it, Khazad Dum's palace was a spectacle, the greatest work of his people... his work after all, though he had no clear memory of it.

They walked swiftly until they reached the centre of the palace, surrounded by grey marble and veins of priceless white metal, and stopped in front of a huge golden doorway. The engravings on it were faded, but Thorin could read every single letter on it, though many of the characters had vanished completely. Carefully he let go of her hand and went to one of the doors; he grabbed hold of the huge handle and gave a mighty push opening the doors wide. It was old, it was heavy, and it had been so long since he had entered that room that it was almost like opening the door to a world unknown to him.

"After you," he told her as he turned, gesturing with one of his hands for her to enter first.

Ylva's eyes moved quickly from side to side scanning every single part of the entrance hall nervously clutching the edges of the dress she was wearing.

Her dark eyes shone in the half-light becoming just as precious as the door behind her, if not more so.

"Th-thank you," she murmured as she looked away from him again, though it was not easy for him to notice as she shifted her gaze back to the door immediately afterwards, looking at it amazed.

Thorin smiled, feeling incredibly light-hearted, as if he had just made the best gesture in the world, and he partly felt it, as if he had just made Ylva extremely happy with his small effort.

He followed her silently into the room, watching her as she walked through the door, looking around. She gasped and put her hands in front of her mouth as Thorin slowly grabbed one of the torches outside and quickly ignited one of the torches at the entrance, creating a chain reaction that lit up the huge square brazier that ran the length of the room.

Gleams of gold, gems and metal overhung each other and little by little every single drawing or rune or bas-relief, warriors, goats and towers alternated, showing in the greatest idleness the great deeds of his House. His figure was always there, with sword, bow, axe, dead or alive, he was always there.

Thorin sighed heavily, unable to look beyond that work of art, and turned his gaze towards Ylva, who instead kept her eyes focused upwards, holding her chest with both hands in amazement.

She walked slowly, her red hair shining in the light of the torches, her dress of the same colour draped over the golden floor, barely covering her pale skin. The freckles on her body looked to him like tiny rubies set in a statue of white stone and her dark eyes like two shining flakes of black obsidian as strong as it was elegant.

She was the most important jewel in that room, and he was unable to stare at her uninterruptedly: she was a sight that would never be repeated to him, and he wanted her to remain imprinted in his mind forever, to remain at least that memory imprinted on him for all his lives to come.

"This is.... in the name of… I've never seen anything like it in my entire life...."

" Beautiful...." he replied preceding her, not talking about the room at all, but she couldn't know that.

Ylva looked at him smiling shyly and nodded quickly "It is, yes it is, magnificent," she answered him almost with tears in her eyes, "I don't even dare to imagine how much it cost and how much it's all worth."

"It's not calculable, or at least that's what it says in the books, it's worth more than the earthly value, I suppose," he replied walking back to the centre of the room leaving behind the torch he was holding earlier.

Slowly she approached one of the walls, looking curiously at it walking with slow steps along its length without ever taking her eyes off the figures created with the gemstone settings or the backgrounds made of pure silver mithril.

"Do you remember these things depicted on the walls?" she asked, staring at one effigy in particular.

Thorin looked at himself, holding a two-pronged axe, while on the slopes of Mount Doom, an orc's head flying in the air He was flanked by an elf and a man: The Battle of the Last Alliance.

That, he remembered. It was only a few scenes, but inside he could hear the clatter of spears and swords, the screams of pain, the heat of the ground, and the Dark Lord advancing towards them covered in smoke and flames. He could feel the fear, the agitation, his desire to take revenge for all the evil on the land that had been caused by him, but... nothing more.

He brought his hands behind his back as he moved closer to her side "Not entirely, no," he answered as he lowered his gaze to the ground, "just bits and pieces, nothing more. It's not like you just pick and choose, I only remember small fragments, nothing more, like smudges on a paper, an incomplete drawing," he concluded, lowering his voice more and more, unable to hide his pain or his sadness that caused him those empty spots, the not knowing.

Ylva did not answer him and remained silent, observing the carvings for a few moments, before walking in small steps towards one of them. Thorin's eyes widened as she lifted her hand slightly, brushing her fingertips over his face in the bas-relief, touching his beard set with black gems and then his chest covered with blue gems.

He squinted his eyes slightly as if he felt her fingers on his body, as if she was touching him and not a piece of stone, and slowly every single affliction seemed to disappear from his chest. "It must be awful, not remembering, not... knowing a part of your life, even if it's one you've already lived," she said turning her gaze to him "I'm so sorry my lord,"

"It's not as bad as you think, memories can always be rebuilt," he answered her forcing a smile "and my new ones won't drown out my old ones and my old ones won't drown out my new ones."

"You must be very lonely," her voice cracked, "to see the people you love leave and know that… that you'll be back and they won't," she whispered in a voice full of sadness and melancholy, erasing the last string holding him to reality.

Thorin felt a dagger pierce his stomach, opening a wound that still continued to bleed, day after day: she had told him the truth and he, after all, had no one, no one was like him. Everyone was leaving and he was staying.

He clenched his jaw and quickly lowered his head, not wanting to look further, feeling deeply hurt, feeling as if the whole truth of his existence had been thrown back in his face. And she had understood it, no one else.

He did not see her, but he felt her jolt and her breathing quicken.

"Oh no, I'm sorry, please, no, I... I didn't mean to..." she tried to justify in a trembling voice, broken by a soft croak.

But Thorin could not look at her, he was covered in shame at himself, at what he was.

"I'd better go, I've talked too much... I'm sorry, my lord, please forgive me..." she said, still in a broken voice.

He didn't answer, not knowing what to say to her, what lie he could tell her, what he could reveal to her about everything he felt every day, but it took him too long to think, because he saw her out of the corner of his eye starting to walk away from him.

No, he wanted anything but that, she had to stay, he couldn't lose her too, not her.

With quick steps he chased her and with a lightning gesture he grabbed her arm forcing her to stop and turn towards him.

"No...." he murmured looking up into his dark eyes "stay here, with me, please..."

Ylva's eyes widened as she looked at him, stunned by his sudden gesture, which she would never have dared to make if not in that situation.

"Stay with me Ylva," he repeated, leaving her speechless for the first time, leaving himself speechless. "You're the most real and alive thing that's happened to me in all these years of... memories," he murmured through his lips, gently raising his other hand and brushing a wisp of red hair with his fingertips, afraid that she might disappear from in front of his eyes. "Stay here," he begged her, "just stay until dawn, that's all I ask, just a few hours, let me feel like this for a little bit longer,."

Ylva opened and closed her mouth several times and then suddenly her gaze softened to the point of breaking his heart in his chest: she was so beautiful, so perfect, so... right for him.

Gently, she lifted her hand to his face and hesitantly placed it on his cheek, gently brushing his beard. Thorin held his breath and squinted his eyes, settling slowly into the palm of her hand and enjoying those few moments of warmth.

"You look older than you are when you close your eyes," she whispered half-heartedly, stroking his jaw.

A sad smile escaped his lips.

"I am," he nodded slowly opening his eyes "I have ages behind me, you on the other hand..." he stopped to speak taking a deep breath "You are radiant, you are, beautiful and spirited, and alive like a ray of sunshine in a too dark cave, like a jewel in the middle of a barren rock, like the brightest of stars reflected in the Kheled Zaram," he said.

Her cheeks turned red, her pupils widened and she tried again to mask her expression with one of her beautiful half-mouthed smiles, "Now you are exaggerating."

He shook his head anxiously "And I've never been so serious in my life... in my lives".

Durin's forehead went to rest gently on hers bringing her so close he could feel their noses brush against each other as their mouths drew closer uncontrolled and uncontested, because neither of them would be able to stop at that moment and neither of them wanted to. He slowly slid his thumb over her chin, gently cupping her cheek with his hand, watching her half-closed black eyes and the sparkle they gave off beyond her long black lashes, for him, just for him.

Ylva's hands went to move over his chest, resting both of them on it, for a moment she almost seemed to want to push him away, to stop him somehow becoming able to block that huge mistake, that huge and sweet mistake in which they were about to let go.

In that small corner of infinity, made of stars and flames, their mouths met, shaking the very roots of the mountain and untying the thread that had only been pulling them to each other day after day, and it was as if they were breathing for the first time.

All the stars in the universe froze and slowed their turn shattering the veil of day only to observe that moment branded under both their names long before they had uttered their first wail.

No, he knew she was right, they could not go back, not anymore, welded together by a bond as unbreakable and as eternal as Arda herself.

Durin felt small silent tears pass over his eyelashes, his whole existence going back, his whole life becoming clear before his eyes, her becoming living flesh before his eyes and under his hands.

He held her close, desperate, afraid she would slip from his hands again as the falling tears welded their kiss, their first kiss in hundreds of years.

Ylva. Sylvi. Frea.

He had found her again. His soul, his breath, his heart, his sun, his stars. He - Durin, Thorin, he... had her again, she was his again one more time.

#thorin #thorin oakenshield #thorin ff #theh hobbit #the hobbit ff #the hobbit fan fiction #thorin x oc #thorin oakenshield x oc #trsb #trsb21 #trsb 2021 #durin #durin the deathless #durin 7 #durin iv #durin vii #aule #yavanna #lathalea

9 notes · View notes

roadtogracelandx45 · 1 month ago

Text

When the Clock Strikes| The Hobbit AU| 1|

When the Clock Strikes

Summary: *set in modern-day Erebor* They had taken back the throne and the kingdom under the mountain and now Thorin has to find suitable consorts for not only himself but his two nephews. Among them included a homely grocer turned burglar from the Shire, a lonely princess from a far-off land, and a woman from the king's guard.

All human

Thorin/ Bilbo possible

Kili/ Tauriel

Fili/ OFC

Kili/OFC/ Fili

Rated M for violence

30 chapters

Modern era.

I thought I had posted this before but looking at it when I was finishing up the second part, I realize I never posted the first part on here just on AO3. So here it is.

One

Thorin thought taking back Erebor from Smaug would be the hard part, but he was wrong.

Dead wrong.

He was told by Balin and the small consul who now included his cousin Dain and his sister Dis, that he had to marry and that his nephews, Fili and Kili had to marry as well.

And that there would be suitable suitors coming from other kingdoms and walks of life. Was going to be the hard part. If it were up to him, he would rule alone, and then when Fili, his oldest nephew was of age and ready to rule he would step down and live the rest of his life in a quiet peace that he hadn't since the kingdom had been sacked and taken over.

"It's not all a bad thing Thorin." Bilbo Baggins, one of the members of his company, commented as he took a seat at the table, that he and the rest of the company had come into the Great Hall after Thorin in a fit of rage threw all consul members except for his sister and cousin.

And the burglar went right into clean-up mode, "You want the Durin line to continue on past the boys right?" His blue eyes found Fili and Kili who were sitting next to each other bickering over a prank gone wrong.

As much warriors as the boys were, they were still just that.

Boys.

They almost lost their lives taking back the kingdom and deserved to live a little bit and throwing a marriage into this was going to throw them right into being Thorin's heirs and not being able to actually enjoy life.

"I do." Thorin finally spoke, he had been quiet for so long that Bilbo didn't think he was going to say anything, "But I don't agree with this. Many kings have ruled without a consort."

"Not all kings are hot-headed like you brother.' Dis commented, "This will help level things out for us and for Dale."

Dale was the neighboring kingdom that had suffered through a famine that almost wiped out the whole kingdom followed by a depression that was finally letting up after 20+ years.

"If not, it will be entraining." Dwalin laughed, he loved watching his long-time friend squirm and get uncomfortable and this was a prime example of it.

Bilbo dropped his head into his hands with a groan, this was going to be a huge nightmare, he knew Thorin's temper, and he knew Dwalin's temper.

At the first sign of insult, they would fight. And that was the last thing they needed.

It was bad enough that Thorin had almost started another war with the King of the Woodlands who was not too far from where Erebor was located due to insults and past hatred. It had taken all of his patience and care to fix the whole situation before it got any worse.

"Don't worry Bilbo." Dis muttered, " We will make sure that no more wars get started. At least not until we are back on our feet and good to go."

And that was what Bilbo was afraid of.

#ash writes #series: when the clock strikes midnight #the hobbit fan fiction #the hobbit imagines #the hobbit modern world #oc: princess ilianna #fili fan fiction #fili fanfiction #kili fan fiction #thorin oakenshield fan fiction

2 notes · View notes

kayleighhalliday2203 · 2 years ago

Link

Chapters: 28/? Fandom: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Thranduil (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Thranduil (Tolkien), Legolas Greenleaf, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trauma, Recovery, Eventual Romance, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con Summary:

Anna lives alone near the woods, recovering from trauma in her past. One day, she hears a child crying, and sets about a chain of events that leave her playing host to the Elven King.

New Discord server for chat and fic discussion: https://discord.gg/uzFGdfQ All are welcome!

I’M BACK!!!!!

#fan fiction #The Hobbit #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thranduil #Thranduil fanfiction

9 notes · View notes

conkers-thecosy · 7 months ago

Text

This is an appreciation post for my fellow fic writers. I love you guys. I frikkin LOVE you! I love being in this community with so many amazing writers, it's so inspiring! Thanks for sharing your ideas, your talent, and your excitement with us all!

#honestly you guys are all amazing #I can't believe how many amazing fics pop up in our li'l fandom even after all these years!#bagginshield #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #conkers corner #thilbo #fandom #fandom culture #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfics #fanfic writing

228 notes · View notes

anemoxlys · 1 year ago

Text

Thranduil x Reader Cinderella AU

The fat crush I have on this man (this is the 18th piece of writing I have done for him-

Can you tell I just watched Into the Woods?

Word Count: 2000+

“Please Valar…” You whispered before swinging your legs out of your bed and quickly rushing to put on your clothes, the cold of the morning startling you slightly. It had been a few hours since you’d been up before the rest of your household woke as well, buzzing with a certain energy that they only ever got during ball season. “Oh I simply cannot wait!” Angelica squealed, grasping her hands in Marjorie, her sister’s. “Yes, the prince is bound to choose one of you.” Your stepmother agreed, sitting down at the table before snapping her fingers to gather your attention. “Yes ma’am?” You hastily ask, dashing over to her. “Have our gowns ready for tonight, and remember you must feed the dogs whilst we are out.” She sighed, as if talking to you was this time consuming, wasteful task. “I-I was wondering if I may not join you this ball, ma’am?” You softly murmured, nervousness flowing over you. “You, join us?” Your stepmother cackled, clearly finding the prospect ridiculous, “My dear, if you were to come with us, who would clean the house in our absence?” She continued, patting your head before speaking again, “Now, tighten those corsets. We want to grab the prince’s attention after all.” She commanded. Dutifully, you did so, trying to withhold the tears from slipping down your cheeks.

You watched, silently as your ‘family’ rode away from you, their carriage spreading out of the gates without you. Finally, you let yourself cry, fat, ugly tears slid down your cheeks as you sobbed in the driveway. “My dear, why do you cry?” An unfamiliar voice asked. “Apologies, are you lost ma’am, maybe I can help?” You immediately responded, wiping your cheeks dry. “It seems as though you are the lost one, is there not a ball tonight?” She asked, resting her hand on your shoulder. “Yes, though I am not allowed to attend.” You smiled sadly, “Are you sure I cannot help miss, I have food if you need or water..?” You asked softly. “I shall make you a deal, you get me a loaf of bread and I shall make you go to the ball.” The strange lady offered. “Of course.” You responded, wholly unbelieving her side of the bargain as you hurried inside to get her the food she wanted.

“Here you go, miss, safe travels.” You smiled, handing over the loaf, alongside some extras that you packed. You moved to turn around only to be stopped, “It seems I have yet to uphold my end of the deal, do turn around dear.” She called, watching as you followed her instructions. -

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.” You whispered, clasping your hands together before the carriage door opened and you were forced to step towards the palace. “Miss?” A man’s voice sounded. “Yes, sir?” You asked, nervousness flowing through you. “May I accompany you inside?” He asked, a pleasant smile on his lips. “Me?” You started before realising how rude you probably sounded, “I mean, yes, if you wish.” You corrected, an embarrassed smile falling across your face. The man standing before you was horribly attractive, long blonde hair framing his face perfectly, a pristine black outfit hugged every muscle flawlessly, and his hands were so unbelievably soft when they gently took yours. “Tell me, what is the name of the most beautiful lady in this kingdom?” He interrupted you from your thoughts with his sweet, deep voice. “I do not know sir, to be honest I do not attend such events regularly enough to have an opinion.” You answered honestly, pure terror now overflowing you as you began to walk up the stairs, eyes falling on you as you did. “You look nervous?” The man beside you asked, concern in his voice as you felt his own eyes settle on you. “Just a bit.” You replied before a nervous laugh spilled out of your lips, “Who am I kidding I’m amazed I haven’t run off yet.” You smiled awkwardly, trying not to clasp his hand too tightly. “Don’t be, you look divine.” He whispered, just loud enough for you to hear. “That means a lot, thank you.” You grinned, some of the anxiety leaving you, “May I ask your name?” You questioned, noting the surprised look on his face, “Apologies, as I said I do not attend social seasons regularly.” You immediately backtracked, your face turning hot. “Not at all, my lady, I was simply taken aback. My name is Thranduil Oropherion.” He answered as your eyes widened. “My prince-” You began before he cut you off, “Do not say anything.” He began, pressing his finger to your lips before realising what he had done and immediately pulling back, “I enjoyed our conversation before. It was… refreshing to not be a soon-to-be king to everyone.” He elaborated, watching as your face grew a small bit less flushed. “Of course.” You murmured, taking in a quick breath as you reached the top of the stairs. “Don’t be nervous, just think that they’re staring at me.” He muttered into your ear before the doors swung open revealing a large gold ballroom, paintings covering the roof.

“Prince Thranduil Oropherion.” The herald announced as the room grew silent and all looked up the stairwell. “Should I have arrived with you?” You whispered as you looked down at the room full of people all staring as you began to descend the stairs. “Do not worry.” He replied before chuckling slightly, “Probably not though.” He continued as you shot him a horrified glare, causing him to laugh slightly more obviously. “Only now we are expected to dance.” He grinned, leading you towards the centre of the room. “You planned this all along didn’t you, my prince.” You hissed, mentally preparing yourself to step on his feet. “What are you accusing me of, my lady?” He smirked, outstretching his hand for you to take. “I’m not a good dancer.” You admitted, a slight laugh escaping you as his face turned mildly horrified, “I’m not going to leave with broken toes, am I?” He teased. “Quite possibly, your majesty.” You replied with a grin of your own.

You smiled softly at the memory, sweeping the floors as you recalled last night before you had fled the palace. “Wench!” One of your stepsisters shrieked, most likely calling you to prepare them for the second day of the royal balls. “Coming!” You replied removing your apron before running upstairs. “Corset.” She spat, bracing herself against the bed frame. “Of course.” You muttered, getting to work on pulling at the strings of her corset.

“I am glad to see you again, my lady.” You heard the now familiar voice of the prince. “To think, I came through a different entrance and everything.” You joked. “Indeed, one might think you were trying to avoid me.” He half-jested. “Indeed.” You agreed. “Why did you run last night?” He asked, taking a step towards you. You remained silent. “Do I scare you?” He started, this time you interrupting him, “You could never, my lord.” You hastily denied, “You wouldn’t want to be seen with me outside of this palace. Let us enjoy what we have here as it cannot exist anywhere else.” You murmured sorrowfully before walking over to get a drink, leaving the prince by himself.

“That bitch was there again!” You heard Angelica squeal before attempting to hit a high note on a song her and Marjorie were learning with their singing instructor. “I know!” Her sister replied before also attempting the same note. You were amazed your ears were still intact with how loud their screeches were, yet you survived the constant war against your senses. “Y/N!” You heard your stepmother call, breaking you from your thoughts. “Coming ma’am!” You called back, placing the broom against the wall before reluctantly walking to her study. You knocked before hearing the confirmation of you being let in. “What do you need from me, ma’am?” You asked, bowing your head as you shut the door behind you. “The stable boy has fallen ill, clean the stables.” She ordered before dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

“My lady.” You smiled as the prince’s voice came to your ears. “My prince.” You replied with a sad smile, knowing that this was the last time the two of you should meet. “May I finally learn your name?” He asked, taking your hands in his own. “I told you my lord-” You began before he interjected, “May I not know the name of the ellen who has taken my heart?” He pleaded, his eyes practically staring into your soul as he spoke. “I may give you a hint my lord.” You gave in, your own heart beating to the same rhythm. “Anything.” You opened your mouth to speak before noticing the clock as your face grew pale. “I must go!” You hastily muttered. “Please, your name is all I desire!” Thranduil begged, reaching for your wrist. “I am sorry, my prince.” You whispered, tears coming to your eyes as you slipped your glove off of your hand, leaving it in his and fleeing down the stairs. As you did so, your foot caught on one of the stones and you slipped down some of the stairwell- your foot sliding out of your shoe as you did. Glancing back up at the doorway, you saw the prince racing down the steps after you, watching with wide eyes as you quickly slipped off your other shoe and fled, leaving one behind.

“That whore took up the whole ball all three days!” Marjorie sobbed into your stepmother’s shoulder as you swept the fireplace, careful to not spill any ashes onto the carpet. “I know.” Your stepmother comforted before a knock on the door caused her to pause. “Shall I get it stepmother?” You asked as she glared at you. “Of course.” She responded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Right away, ma’am.” You muttered, standing to move to the door, accidentally knocking over some of the cinders. “You stupid girl!” Your stepmother screamed, her hand coming to slap your cheek, “Clean those up, I shall get the door. Stupid child.” She spat, not caring as tears began to slip down your cheeks at the sting of her hit.

“We really must see every ellen.” An unfamiliar voice spoke as the sounds of footsteps came towards you. “My daughters are all you need to see, our housemaid does not leave the house much.” Your stepmother immediately shut down the idea as you continued to sweep. “No matter Elaron.” A familiar voice reached your ears. You forced your head to stay down, however your sweeping has ceased, the urge to look at his face one more time growing nearly overpowering.

A loud, piggish, squeal reached your ears as Angelica tried to shove her foot into your shoe. You watched out of the corner of your eye, a small smile on your lips as she was rejected- her sister taking her place as she also tried to shove her hoof into the clearly too small heel.

“I thought I said to clean that up!” Your stepmother hissed, stalking over to you as you hastily began to clean again. “Sorry, ma’am.” You softly apologised, flinching away from her as she raised her hand up. “There is no need to violence, miss.” Thranduil’s voice once again reached your ears, his voice sounding more hopeful than before as he carefully walked over to you. “What is your name?” He asked, voice full of desire. “I am afraid I cannot tell you, my lord.” You responded softly, a grin falling over your lips as he sharply breathed in. “Elaron!” He quickly called as the sound of more footsteps came. “May I?” He asked, kneeling down before you, shoe outstretched. “Of course.” You answered, finally looking at him. Carefully, he slid the shoe onto your foot, his face erupting in happiness as it slid further onto your foot without resistance. “You have the other?” He asked, “I would hate for my queen to walk with only one shoe.” He continued as you reached into the pocket of your apron- pulling out the second shoe which he carefully slid onto your other foot.

I hope you enjoyed, I know it's not as long as some of my other works but I like the length for this fic (I feel as though if it has been too long it would have been less enjoyable) Let me know your thoughts, and if there are any typos please let me know I do not proof-read...

#thranduil oropherion #thranduil #thranduil x reader #x reader #fan fiction #the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #lotr #lotr x reader #lord of the rings #lord of the rings x reader #thranduil oropherion x reader #cinderella au #xreader #disney au #lotr fanfic #the hobbie fanfic #hobbit

163 notes · View notes

trpiaep19 · 2 months ago

Text

such a funny thought to wrap you up in cloth

Summary:

After the battle Bilbo takes care of the dead. After all, he has nothing better to do.

#bagginshield #fan fiction #ao3 fanfic #bilbo baggins #the hobbit #botfa

25 notes · View notes

squoony · 20 days ago

Text

I just read a fanfic where Thorin gets the ring during his gold sickness and it was so good! I tried to find others like it but i couldn’t find any. Do y’all have any suggestions?

#bagginshield #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #ao3 #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfics #fan fiction #fanfic suggestions #lord of the rings #thilbo #the hobbit fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction

25 notes · View notes

miridiums-writing · 3 months ago

Text

The new improved mastlist

The hobbit

No escape; Thranduil x reader : You looked so spookly similar to his late wife

JJk

Not a moaner?; Toji x reader: smut without a plot

Mystic Messenger

What Saeyoung would say in bed

15 notes · View notes

middleearthpixie · 1 month ago

Text

The Ties That Bind ~ Chapter Eleven

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: M

Word Count: 4.3k

Read on AO3

Butterflies fluttered about in Eirlys’ belly as Madris steered her to the bench at her vanity. “This is silly, Madris. He knows what to expect. He’s a man and has probably done this a thousand times before.”

“Eirlys!”

“What?” Eirlys met her horrified gaze in the large oval mirror above the vanity table. “Have I said something I shouldn’t?”

“Well… not exactly, I suppose. But what do you know of what he expects?”

“Because Tauriel and I did speak. And quite often.”

“And that’s what His Majesty gets for allowing the two of you to become friends.”

“That is neither fair nor kind, Madris.” Eirlys shook her head. “I never thought you to be anything of a snob, you know. Tauriel was like a sister to me and I miss her so terribly now.”

“Well, ordinarily I’m not, but… well… you are a young maiden and should have been innocent of such things until you were married.”

“And now I am. And I know full well what Thorin of Erebor will expect this night and all I can hope is that I do not disappoint him. I’ll imagine he’s been with a fair number of women before me.”

Although her cheeks grew ruddy, Madris merely asked, “What makes you think so?”

Eirlys stared at her in the glass. “Have you not seen what he looks like, Madris? Tauriel thought Kíli handsome, but Thorin makes him look like a mountain troll.”

“My lady!”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Well… no, I don’t suppose I can. But, again…” Madris sighed sharply, her cheeks growing redder still. “What did Tauriel tell you? Just so I know what I should tell you.”

The butterflies worsened and her cheeks grew slightly warm, but Eirlys still managed a smile. “You needn’t tell me anything, Madris. I’ll be fine and your face might melt completely off otherwise.”

“Are you certain?”

Eirlys let her gaze drop to her own reflection. Her cheeks were only slightly pink, despite the growing heat in them. “Well…. I suppose…”

“What is it?”

“What if I do disappoint him? What if I disappoint him so greatly, he seeks his comfort elsewhere?”

“You know him better than I do,” Madris replied carefully, sinking onto the elaborately carved chest at the foot of Eirlys’ bed. “Do you think he would do such a thing?”

“I don't know. I only know him slightly better than you, remember.”

“Fair enough. But,” the mattress squeaked softly as Madris got to her feet and moved to cup Eirlys’ chin, “do not worry and do not compare yourself to any who might have come before you. You will benefit from anything he’s taken away from previous experience. And besides, you know not that he will even compare you. Men are funny that way. They tend to forget those in their past when they are caught by the one with whom they are meant to be.”

“Meant to be? Madris, my father arranged this marriage and it’s mostly one of convenience.”

“Perhaps,” Madris straightened up as a gentle knock sounded, “but I saw how he looked at you, both during the ceremony and after. I’m not entirely sure it will remain a marriage of convenience. For either of you. At least, not for very long, anyhow.”

“Eirlys?” Thorin called softly, knocking once more.

Eirlys swallowed hard, her hands falling into her lap, into the pale ivory silk of the nightgown that had been left laid out on her bed by one of the servants. The fabric was cool and smooth, but wrinkled easily, so she smoothed out the newest creases and said, “You should probably let him in.”

“Of course.” In a rare breach of protocol, Madris bent to press a kiss into the top of Eirlys’ head. “Worry not. You have nothing to fear, love.”

Tears poked the backs of Eirlys’ eyes at the maternal touch, and smiled as she slowly nodded. “I hope not.”

“You won’t. I feel it in my bones.” Madris stepped away from the bench and crossed to the door, where she tugged it open and greeted Thorin with a warm, “Good evening, Your Majesty. I apologize for the wait.”

“It’s of no trouble,” he hesitated, “Madris, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. If you require me for anything, you need only tug the cord alongside Her Highness—erm—Her Majesty’s bed. I will bid you both a good evening and once more offer you my best wishes on your marriage.”

“Thank you.”

With that, Madris took her leave and as the door clicked shut, Eirlys’ belly gave a might leap. She suddenly felt terribly underdressed in the nightgown, as it was far more revealing than anything she’d ever worn before, with a plunging neckline, edged in lace, that offered up more than a peek at the inner curves of her breasts.

And that wasn’t all. The sides were lace, and would leave little to the imagination when she stood. She stared at her reflection, swallowing hard when she realized the gown was sheer enough that she could make out the dark shadows of her nipples through the silk. Oh, my…

Madris had set out a silk and lace wrapper for her as well, but it currently lay draped over the foot of her bed, where it had been set earlier alongside the gown, and a sudden, unfamiliar shyness swept through her, rendering her incapable of rising.

“Is something the matter?” Thorin’s voice was still soft, his boots thudding dully on the floor as he came into the room and appeared in the glass behind her. He looked tired, his eyes heavy-lidded, as he eased the brilliant blue tunic he wore over his head.

Her mouth went suddenly dry at the unexpected sight of her husband’s bare chest. He’d shown no hesitation in whisking the garment from his body, no shyness at all, and it was easy to see why.

He was, without a doubt, the most powerfully-built man she’d ever seen. Thick, curly black hair shot through with silver spilled over broad shoulders and tumbled down his back. A heavy mat of black hair curled away from his skin, covering his barrel chest from shoulder to shoulder and down over his belly, where it disappeared into the waist of his black linen trousers. He bore more than a few scars, and the upper right side of his chest was inked with an intricate pattern of lines of varying size that curved along his upper arm and over his shoulder as well.

Draping the tunic over his forearm, he said, “Where should I put this? It needs to be laundered.”

“O—over in that—that basket.” She rose and then turned to point to the tall, narrow woven basket in the far corner, near her wardrobe. “Maylin will take everything in the morning, while we are at breakfast.”

To her horror, his eyes widened at the sight of her and the urge to throw her arms across her chest nearly strangled her. Especially when those pale blue eyes moved slowly up to meet hers.

Then, he offered up a sheepish grin, balling up the tunic to throw at the basket. The basket bumped softly against both the wall and the wardrobe, but the tunic landed squarely inside it. “I beg your pardon, Eirlys. I wasn't expecting you to look so… striking…”

The uncomfortable heat became far more pleasant with those words. She still felt far too exposed, but for a moment, she didn't mind it. “Thank you.”

The sheepishness left his smile and he lowered his hands. She swallowed hard as he reached for his heavy gold belt buckle, and it rattled when he unbuckled it. Any moment now and those elegant trousers would simply spill from him to puddle at his feet.

But to her surprise, the gold belt with its heavy buckle slid easily through its loops, and his trousers remained firmly in place. He turned to let it fall atop the chest, and while he had his back to her, Eirlys practically dove at her wrapper and was shrugging into it as he turned back.

His smile widened, his eyes dancing with something that looked very much like merriment as he said, “I wish you wouldn’t worry so much about covering yourself. You’ve no need to, you know.”

Heat swirled through her, caused her to pull the ski robe more tightly about herself. “I—I beg your pardon?”

He took a step closer to her. “You looked fine the way you were.”

As he spoke, he caught the edge of the wrapper, curling his fingers into the stiff lace. Her heart pounded against her ribs at his gentle tug, at the lace scraping lightly against her. Her cheeks felt like they had to be bright scarlet by now, but there was no denying how the sudden race of her blood was far more delicious than it was unnerving. It almost made her tingle from the inside out.

He leaned toward her then, the coarse whiskers along his chin scraping her just as lightly as the lace dragging against her collarbone did, and when his lips found hers, they were warm and soft and gently teasing.

Eirlys met him, letting her hand come to rest against his bared chest, her fingers slipping into hair that was far softer than she imagined it would be. Beneath her fingertips, his heart beat, steadily at first, but as his lips parted and his tongue swept along hers, it sped up, thumping hard and fast beneath her touch.

His lips moved against hers, going from warm to hot as his tongue slid deep along hers, teased hers, drew it back into the wet heat of his mouth, where she did the same to him. The lace scraped harder now, the silk skimming her left shoulder as it spilled from her to pool in the crook of her bent arm.

Fire filled her as he deepened his kiss, his hunger feeding hers. Another gentle tingle swept through her, the warm silk a caress against her now-too-sensitive skin. Her nipples beaded against it to bring a sigh to her lips. The silk teased those aching beads now, her back bowing of its own as if to encourage him to let his hands wander down to her breasts, to cup them and tease her nipples further still.

But to her great impatience, he showed no interest in her breasts, but instead caught the wrapper with both hands now to shove it from her, and she lowered the hand resting on his chest to let it spill from her.

A thick arm slid about her waist, drew her flush against him and she couldn't hold back her gasp as that crisp hair combined with the hot smooth silk to torment her further. Tiny knots tightened deep within her, first in her belly, but then they dropped lower and she was all too aware of the damp heat now swelling between her thighs.

He bent her back slightly, groaning softly into her mouth as the motion thrust her breasts firmly against his chest. His free hand skimmed down along her hip, his fingers brushing her bared skin as he slowly tugged the silk gown up, along her calf, over her knee, toward her hip.

His fingertips came rough upon her aching skin, and as they swept along the back of her thigh, she shivered against him, lifting that leg to arch against him, against the sudden, firm bulge she felt at the apex of his own thighs.

The hand on her hip swept around, curved against her cheek to clasp her hard against him. His gentle thrust was almost her undoing, as it sent a spiky hot pleasure rippling through her, one that had her mewling with pleasure into his mouth.

He drew back, breaking his kiss, but then moved to sweep his lips along her chin, her neck bowing as he moved along it, as he kissed his way down into that plunging vee, along the inner curve of her left breast.

Eirlys couldn't keep her heavy-lidded eyes open. The sensations racing through her rendered her addled and aching for more. She couldn't breathe, her head spun too wildly and her heart raced unlike it ever had before. Desire, strong and sweet, flooded her and without thinking, she slid one hand down between them, to curve it against that swollen part of him, her curiosity as strong as her need. She had never seen a naked man before and as she traced along his thick length, her imagination ran wild with what she would soon see with this one.

“Eirlys…” her name was a breathless, heated whisper along the curve of her right breast, and she shivered as he shifted and his mouth closed over her nipple, his tongue dampening the silk as he slowly traced about the bead he’d caught. The combination of wet silk and his rough tongue set off a chain reaction inside her, made those knots twist and tighten as arousal flooded her.

He rocked against her, the pressure offering only hints of relief.

Then, his fingers brushed down into the crease of her thigh and bottom and then—

“Oohhh…” she breathed heavily into his hair as his fingertips brushed the curls shielding her womanhood from his eyes. Those curls parted. And his fingers teased lightly along aching flesh that had been touched by no man before him.

Her curls parted. His caress slow and teasing as he slid one fingertip along her, as the pad of that finger just brushed over the sensitive bead nestled within.

Her fingers tightened on him involuntarily, a cry bubbled to her lips as he then slipped that same finger slowly inside her. She tightened about it, her hips moving of their own as he did a slow, teasing stroke that had her sinking her free hand into his thick hair. She twisted and held on, her body begging him to move faster, the knots threatening to come undone in the sweetest of ways. She teetered on the unfamiliar edge, clinging to him, rocking to meet each teasing thrust, each delectable swirl.

He teased her until she thought she’d burst, until she thought she’d go mad with the need for some kind of release. Her head spun madly. Her body begged for his, for that part of him that would bring out the relief she so desperately sought.

His name rose of its own to her lips, a husky, raw whisper, “Thorin…”

His tongue swirled about the silk, about her nipple. His finger moved silkily inside her. The knots tightened further still. Every muscle seemed to tense, hot and tight and aching with need.

Then he shattered her.

She cried out, unable to hold it back as the knots exploded and fire rained upon her, spun wildly through her, left her dizzy and raw and clinging to him as each delicious pulse swept through her, as she tightened about him and her fingernails dug into his nape, her fingers twisted sharply in his hair. Oh, this was beyond amazing, this pleasure that tore through her like a wildfire, that washed over her like a tidal wave.

He caught her around the waist with his free arm, kissing his way back to her lips before drawing back. Then, he swung her effortlessly into his arms to spirit her to her bed, where he bent to set her down, looming over her, his black hair spilled all around them.

Thorin bent to her, his mouth hot and hungry as it found hers, his kiss filled with the same fire and desire he’d sent sweeping through her. Without thinking, she freed the buttons of his trousers to shove her hand inside and beneath the hot linen she found even hotter man. That hard part of him was hot and veined, the skin soft and almost supple. Her fingers moved of their own along his length, about his thickness, and when she curled her fingers about him and swept her hand down, he shuddered against her.

He arched into her touch, his groan low and throaty, a shudder rippled through his body and his tongue plunged deeper into her mouth. With each stroke, he grew harder, thicker, and she smiled as he moaned softly. She might not know exactly what she was doing, but he certainly seemed to have no complaints.

His breath caught. His body tensed. His head fell into her chest as he growled, “Eirlys…”

Then, to her surprise, he grabbed her hand to pull it free from his trousers. Disappointment flashed through her, even as he breathlessly whispered, “I wish to see you.”

She bit down hard on her bottom lip as she met his gaze. His eyes seemed brighter, far bluer now and they held hers as he shifted to catch her gown, now damp in several spots, to whisk it up along her thighs. The air was cool despite the fire crackling on the hearth, but heat swept through her as the silk rose over her hips and his gaze fell upon her. No man had ever seen her this way and the fire that gleamed in Thorin’s beautiful blue eyes spoke volumes. They fairly burned with desire and a sinful smile curved his lips as he tugged the silk higher still.

Eirlys pushed herself up and as the silk skimmed over her head, she felt his gaze before she saw it. The gown fluttered to the floor, leaving her bare before him and she almost smiled at the soft, strangling sound that rose in his throat.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, reaching to tug off his boots and stockings before coming back up to grip the waist of his trousers. They rested on his hips and seemed to offer no resistance as he pushed them down. Linen swept along thighs heavily laden with muscle and layered with curling black hair, down along calves wrapped with bands of thick muscle.

Her mouth went dry. He was a sight to behold, her dwarf, and she had never dreamed such a magnificent man could exist.

Until now.

He offered up an impish smile. “You are staring.”

Heat climbed into her cheeks. “I beg your pardon… I did not—”

He bent to brush her lips with his. “I mind not. I find I’ve got a bit of the stares myself. You are stunning.”

He gave her no chance to respond, but claimed her lips in a teasing kiss that was gentle and sweet. Her lips parted of their own, welcomed him as it deepened, as he gently eased her onto her back and settled between her parted thighs.

He was solid and firm, but kept most of his bulk supported on his forearms. At least, he did until she slipped her arms about his middle and pulled him firmly against her. He arched against her, his sigh becoming hers as she pressed her thighs into his sides and that thick, swollen part of him brushed against her slick, aroused feminine flesh. He arched again to glide against her, and although the remnants of her climax had faded, the pleasure surged through her anew.

He reached between them and a moment later, she felt him press against her. He was gentle, moved slowly as if afraid he’d hurt her otherwise. Her fingernails bit into his back in anticipation as he deepened his kiss and pushed with a bit more force. Any moment and he would be inside her. Any—

—moment.

Ow.

The pain came unexpectedly and she sucked in a sharp breath as it felt like he tried to tear her asunder. Hot. Stinging. Sharp. She couldn’t hold back her cry as he continued his assault.

“No… please don’t…”

She tried to pull away but he whispered, “It will stop in a moment, mesmel. I promise you, it will…”

But it didn't stop. No, it worsened exponentially and she shuddered beneath him as there came a sudden, tearing pop and then…

Then he filled her and went still against her.

Was that it? She frowned even as the stinging subsided. It no longer hurt, but…

He moved slightly.

Her breath hitched. That definitely did not hurt.

“Eirlys?” He rose onto his forearms, gazing down at her with eyes of concerned sapphire.

“I think I’m all right,” she whispered back, easing her grip on his back. “I just… I didn't know it would hurt.”

“But does it still?”

“I—I don't think so,” she shook her head.

“Good.” He bent to kiss her, then offered up a slow thrust, whispering, “And that?”

She smiled, shaking her head. “Not at all.”

“Good.”

Then he thrust once more, this time with a bit more fire. All traces of pain vanished and left in their wake, a sparkling pleasure that grew with each steady, controlled thrust. He moved easily inside her, silky and slow, and she savored every delectable inch of him, her thighs squeezing his sides, her fingernails biting once more into the warm skin of back.

The pleasure engulfed her, going from sweet to spicy hot as his thrusts came swifter and more powerful now. He rose onto his forearms once more, moving faster still, his eyes screwed shut, his breath as fast and furious as his thrusts now.

Delicious fire filled her, beginning where they joined to flood her veins, to send flashes of brilliant white light dancing before her eyes. Her head spun wildly once more, her body hummed with the need for release and with each thrust, Thorin brought her closer to that blessed end. She clung to him as he drove them both along the length of the bed, where she finally had to throw up a hand to keep from slamming into the headboard of woven branches.

He surged hard then, crushing her close as the knots inside her burst once more and she cried out her pleasure, arching to meet him, wrapping herself about him. He drove them over the edge, her climax a shower of fire and ice and everything wonderful.

“Eirlys…” Her name was a husky growl on his lips. He thrust hard once more, tensed, shuddered, and then went rigid as he came.

A peaceful silence, broken only by their mutual fight to draw breath, settled about them as Thorin sank against her, his head coming to rest on her breast, his breath hot blasts against her equally hot skin.

Eirlys’ eyes were too-heavy-lidded to remain open and so she let them close, her fingers moving lightly along the silken length of Thorin’s tangled black curls, smiling when his lips ever so gently swept against the inner curve of her left breast.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

He lifted his head, regarding her with eyes that were just as sleepy as hers. “Isn’t that what I am supposed to ask you?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Good. I am as well.” He shifted sightly and they both winced as he slipped free of her. He eased off her and for a moment, she thought he was going to get up and leave, which brought down her blissful mood a tad.

But then, he stretched out alongside her and reached for her, drawing her up against him as he draped his arm about her shoulders. Eirlys hesitated at first, wincing at the damp stickiness between her thighs, but as she reached to draw the sheet and coverlet about them, she forgot the mess. The wet spot behind her was another story, but Thorin didn't seem to mind her curved up against his side, and she was so very comfortable with her head resting on his chest and her arm draped over his belly.

His thick fingers swept lightly along her shoulder, along her upper arm. “I am sorry I hurt you, Eirlys,” he murmured into the growing darkness as the logs on the hearth slowly burned up. “I hope I won’t the next time.”

She smiled. “I should have remembered.” She peered up at him in the darkness, her eyes adjusting enough to make out his profile. “Tauriel warned me, you know, after she and Kíli were married.”

“Well, no one warned me.”

Her smile faded. “I suppose I’m the first virgin you’ve been with,” she murmured.

The sheets rustled softly as he rolled to come over her. “Mesmel, you are the first woman I’ve been with.”

His eyes glittered in the pale moonlight that filtered through from the terrace and she stared up at him. “What?”

“You sound as if you don't believe me.”

“Well, because I don’t.”

“Why?”

She stared up at him, dumbstruck that he should ask such an obvious question. “Thorin… do you mean to tell me that this was your first time as well? I mean, your first time, ever?”

He smiled and dipped to brush her lips with a teasing kiss. “It was, indeed. And a better first time I could not have asked for.”

“How is that possible? I mean… how has no other woman ever caught your eye? They must have been nearly pounding down your door to get to you.”

To her surprise, he laughed. Low and smooth, it rumbled from deep within him and he shook his head. “I am flattered you think that of me, Eirlys. Truly, I am. And perhaps it is not this way for elves, but for dwarves, we remain chaste until marriage and then, we are faithful to our chosen partner for all eternity.”

Without thinking, she reached up to trace her forefinger along his jaw, over the bristly black beard shot through with silver. “But you didn't choose me, Thorin.”

“It matters not. We are bound together and so we shall stay bound together. And I consider myself quite fortunate in that, you know.”

His words warmed her, made her smile, and when he dipped back to kiss her once more, she lost herself in it and surrendered to the magic of him once more.

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo

@lathalea @legolasbadass @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @notlostgnome

@myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield

@frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls

@evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

@night-ace @lyl1pad @mistresskayla-blog1 @kmc1989 @linasofia

@rachel1959 @sketch-mer-6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz @sorisooyaa

@albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse

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

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

23 notes · View notes