#thorin oakenshield x healer!reader

[letaliabane]

Exciting news! I have finished thr Aftermath chapter for my "care for series!" Before I post it I'm reworking on all previous chapters because I feel it needs a serious revamp haha. Will let everyone know once the process has been completed!

[celeste-clearwater-06]

heartbeat (thorin oakenshield x female!modern! reader)

gif by me!!

desc. - reader puts her CPR lessons to good use when thorin's on the brink of death. (inspired by an imagine by @imaginexhobbit but make it sad🫶 also i listened to "farewell to dobby" while reading this, it adds so muchhh)

warnings - angst 💔

word count - 2.7k

For most of the time you’d been traveling with Thorin and his merry band of warriors, you could only account a few times you provided yourself useful to the group. Bofur was a whittler and toy maker, Oin a healer, Ori a scribe. Thorin and his sister-sons, the rightful heir to a kingdom. Even Bilbo had squeezed his way into a position of burglary, though he was hardly fit, and was still fighting to prove himself.

You?

A few stories around the campfire. Some questions answered about where you’d appeared from out of nowhere in particular. Mouth watering modern food recipes you babbled on about, over rabbit stew Bombur happily served on the cold nights on the road. And sure, you were getting good with a sword, but not nearly as skillful as the fearless fighter Dwalin.

You could see the malevolence and distaste in Thorin’s eyes when Gandalf decided for himself that you would make a fine addition to the group. After all, some otherworldly stranger happening upon them just as their fateful quest began was no coincidence. To him it meant something. But to the leader of the group? Danger? Deadweight? You couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, it settled behind his cold, steel-blue eyes and swelled whenever he watched you fail miserably at every task given.

You simply weren’t built for a world like this.

Thorin didn’t hate you. He wasn’t necessarily fond of you either. And how you longed to fit in, impress him maybe. Break past whatever tough exterior that he used to keep a distance between the two of you. Pushing too much would surely annoy him, so you opted to keep to yourself, sitting back and placing yourself near Gandalf and the witty Bilbo Baggins, who seemed to have walked a few miles in your own shoes. If he could wear them, that is. Hoping maybe one day the King under the mountain would come around. Maybe.

But now, soaring over the horizon of a morning sun and above the towering mountains, on the feathered back of a massive bird, Bilbo had proven himself in his bravery, and you were alone and useless in your skills.

You were seated atop the same eagle as the halfling, right behind another that carried Thorin’s limp body in its talons, wind and the worried cries of his nephews rushing through your hair and past your ears. Azog’s fight was not an easy one. Not that you could do much anyways, dangling uselessly from a blazing pine tree and fingers slipping from its scorching branches. But Thorin, ever the brave, was taken down quickly.

Thank the lord for Gandalf’s endless alliances.

Now, the eagles circled a plateau, oddly sticking out from above high treetops like a sore thumb, and began to descend to its slanted surface where each member of the company jumped off. Some destination this was, hundreds of feet off the ground. You’d think they might find a safer spot to land this band of underground dwelling travelers but beggars can’t be choosers. At least you were out of harm's way for the time being. The eagle you and Bilbo rode flew low enough for you to hop off and land safely on the cliff’s surface, then turn and see Thorin, unconscious and unmoving, set down gently in front of the rest of the group.

They all crowded around him, shouting and shaking his body vigorously, but to no avail. Your stomach dropped when you heard one of them mutter a word that sounded like “dead”.

You rushed over, just getting a few glimpses of his face from behind the heads of thick hair and heavy fur coats circling him like vultures, Bilbo at your heels and following in curiosity.

“He’s not breathing!”

“Thorin! Thorin, wake up!” A hand tapped on the side of his face.

You immediately began shouting to clear some room. The sea of worried dwarves parted for you, just enough room to sling your haversack off your shoulders and lean down on your knees, bringing an ear to his mouth. They were right. Not a breath to be heard. Nor a pulse, you discovered, after placing your fingers to the side of his cold neck.

“No…no no, no.”

The company shared confused mutters and looks, worry lines still etched like canyons in their faces as they watched you clamor to unclasp his thick cloak and pull away as much clothing as you could from his chest.

Now, you were no doctor. Not even a medical student for that matter. Just barely scraping by with an art degree and two, low paying part-time jobs back home. Wherever that was. But, thankfully, those required CPR lessons back in junior high suddenly came rushing back to you, and you were gonna put to the best use you could.

You locked your elbows, flattened your palms, and then hastily pressed against the brute of his firm chest. Mahal, it was stubborn, and the armored shirt between your hands and his heart was no help, but acting quickly spared no time for shedding any more of his clothes. Again and again you pressed, one, two, just how the instructor taught you with her quick tongue and loud voice.

“An even pace! You’re going to lose him!”

The recall made your head spin, especially considering it might have been a bit comedic at the time, trying to revive an armless mannequin on the tile floor of your classroom. But under the steady pressure of your palms was a real person, teetering on the edge of life and death.

Gandalf landed somewhere behind you, being the last to touch ground, but he was forgotten in the sea of deep voices asking what you could possibly be doing.

By the 16th compression, you were beginning to break a sweat. Twenty, twenty one…

“Lass… what are ya’ doing?” Bofur's voice, usually friendly and jovial, was a low and cowering one. His question left the rest of the group quiet. You heard, but you didn’t answer. That would be for later when this was over. Preferably with a happy ending.

Thirty.

You moved to pinch Thorin's nose shut, tilting his head just slightly off the ground with the other hand tangled in his hair and breathed into his open mouth.

Any and all bewildered muttering was lost on the focus you had, to watch for any movement in his relaxed face.

You breathed again, and then bent over to listen. Nothing.

Now things began to get more grave than you’d taken them before.

You moved back to begin compressions again, this time pressing harder and deeper against his heart. You lifted a forearm to wipe the sweat gathering on your brow.

In your class, you were supposed to take turns, and rotate when one got tired so they could properly compress. But this wasn’t class.

Thorin was beneath the weight of your hands and his face was losing color.

“Come on… come on Thorin.”

You lost count after the 19th shove downwards, adrenaline kicking in and tears blurring the corners of your eyes as Thorin convulsed.

A warm hand settled on your shoulder above.

“Lass… he-” you smacked it away, anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach like fire that you spat out.

“No! No he’s not, n-not yet.”

Again, you breathed into his airway, heavy and even, like you were supposed to. You were doing everything right. So why wasn’t it working? Why wasn’t he breathing?

This was the quietest you had ever heard the company. Only birds and the sound of your exhausted, heaving breaths and choking sobs floating in the cool morning air.

You moved back to compressions, starting again, one, two, three. You were begging him, hysterically pleading his unresponsive body to kick start back up.

“Please Thorin. Come on.”

Now tears rolled down the apple of your cheeks, warm and bothersome and blinding, falling over your hands and his clothes. Your arms ached at the now desperate shoving against his heart. You looked pathetic, like a widow begging for scraps of Thorin’s lifeline, something to get him through. The ground dug harshly into your knees, bruising and irritating them through the pants as they dully scraped with each movement.

Twenty two.

You were slowing down, growing weary and tired from the work. But it wasn’t good enough. At this point, with the silent stares, you knew that even the ever stubborn dwarves had lost hope for their leader some time ago. And you had too, but now you were already getting past the twenty-fifth press down. Curse the lot of them, just staring down at you with pity as you sniffed and wiped the snot and tears from your face. And curse the beauty of the morning sun peaking over the mountains, so regal and beautiful, and staring down at the morose show of a sad little human weeping to herself.

“Please… please, God you idiot. Running down there like that.”

A cry frogged its way out of the back of your throat, raspy and gurgling. You lift his head for the third time, sniffed in and then pushed your shaking breath as hard as you could manage, pulled away, then back down to press your quivering lips upon his cold ones and-

A breath. Soft and faint, just barely there, and it slightly cooled the tears on your face.

You froze, staring down at Thorin to see his eyes twitch just slightly underneath their lids. Another exhale fled him, his time much more apparent, and his brows furrowed as he stirred awake. The gasps and shouts from the company, scrambling over and circling him like they did before to help him up as he came to.

“He’s alive!”

“A miracle! Bless the Valor!”

You lifted yourself from the ground, onto your feet, but the shock of your attempts actually working, and exhaustion, just left you to stumble backwards onto your butt, crying harder than before, in relief and joy, nonetheless sobbing like your life depended on it. You gave into the fatigue of your muscles, the tiredness from the adrenaline, and exhaustion from your sobs, and fell onto your back, covering your eyes with a forearm with the other limply laying on the ground next to you. Bilbo kneeled next to you and laid his small hand over yours, watching as the king was pulled to his feet and grimacing at the noises of his jovial party celebrating with shouting and laughing.

“You did it,” The burglar said quietly, just enough for you to hear. It wasn’t just amazement in his voice, but reassurance. Something to ground you, like the warm squeeze of his hand.

You trembled, breaths coming in and out with a shiver.

Thorin’s dazed when you slowly sit up off the ground to look at him, swaying about and being jostled as each excited dwarf embraced and jumped around him, and an arm shouldered over Kìli’s to keep his balance.

“You were dead.” Dwalin’s normally stony, hard-set face, was graced with the most horrified look you’d ever seen in your life, eyes widened and brows twisted upwards in awe. That seemed to settle everyone down enough, and shake Thorin from the rest of his stupor. Once again, the world around you was blessed with silence that you hadn’t gotten a taste of since you arrived. It was short lived.

“Dead?” Thorin asked, incredulous and confused.

“Ye’ weren’t breathing lad!” Gloin chimed in, “we thought you were gone!”

The king’s eyes narrow, and shift between the members of his party, blinking away a head rush.

“How is that possible?” The second set of words he’d spoken since he screamed Azog’s name. Thorin’s voice was low and rasping. He slowly turned, following the astounded, wide-eyed stares from the surrounding dwarves, boring into you like you were some God.

You sniffled, wiping at your reddened, runny nose with the sleeve of your shirt.

He lifted a jeweled hand to graze over his heart, where you were reviving him, just staring at the sad sight of your tearful eyes.

“She saved ya’, Thorin,” Balin’s voice is serious and somber, breaking the silence, “Brough’ ya’ back from near death. Mahal knows how.”

Thorin’s eyes grew sharp, brows furrowing and piercing into you, where you pulled yourself to sit on your knees. His fingers tightened around the cloth where his hand laid, clutching at his chest.

“You,” he gruffed, “You did this?”

“I-I… I didn’t know if it was gonna work.” Your throat tightened and squeezed. Great, even more tears flowed down your face. Thorin’s eyes held the same glint that made your stomach twist with embarrassment and shame. The least he could do is offer a nod of gratitude towards you. Instead, he tore free from the group, ripping his arm away off his nephew’s shoulder and stumbling towards you like a drunken fool, with thudding footsteps.

Dwalin calls after him uselessly, just hanging back and letting the scene play out.

When he stops in front of you, eyes firey and broad chest heaving breaths in and out, standing a few inches over where you’re knelt, all you can do is try not to look away. You’re glad you hadn’t.

A boa-tight grip took hold of your heart and tightened when you saw his features soften, worry lines and crow's feet disappearing in the appearance of a small, incredulous smile. His softened eyes lined themselves with the hint of tears catching like jewels in the morning sun. Thorin dropped down to his knees to meet your height in a hug that you could never have prepared yourself for. You freeze for a moment, completely dumbfounded. Thorin, fearless, merciless, King Under the Mountain was hugging, no, embracing you, with the force of a thousand winds and strength of ten thousand men, because he was alive, thanks to you. And you hugged him back, pulling closer than you already were, and grasping at the back of his shirt and cried into his shoulder. The dwarves cheered in excitement behind Thorin. Through the yelling and praise, you can hear Thorin’s low voice next to your ear.

“I cannot repay this deed. Thank you.”

You pull away to see the kindest, warmest smile your eyes had ever been blessed to lay upon. It knocked the breath from your lungs. The corners of his eyes and the arch of his nose wrinkled upwards. It suited his face much more than the cold and stoic stares he was prone to.

“I wasn’t sure you were gonna make it.” Was all you could huff out.

“Yet I did. I misunderstood you greatly.” Thorin wiped a tear from the side of your face, “You make a member of this group. My life is indebted to you. And you,”

He peered over your shoulder at a wide-eyed Bilbo Baggins, standing just past your shoulder. You helped him stand from the ground, arm linked in his to meet the hobbit.

“You nearly got yourself killed,” he slipped free from your arm, and started toward Bilbo, just as he did you. “Did I not say you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild?”

Your face fell, akin to Bilbo’s solemn look. He stood there, taking the string of insults like a punching bag.

“That you had no place amongst us?”

And then he pulled the hobbit in just as he did you.

“I have never been so wrong, in all my life.”

Your heart reeled, and this time you smiled along with the rest of the company’s rejoices, watching the surprised grin spread across Bilbo’s face. Thorin pulled away.

“I am sorry I doubted you.”

“No, no. I would have doubted me, too.”

A hand planted itself on your shoulder, and you turned to look at Gandalf and his sagely smile.

“You’ve made yourself quite the home in these dwarves' hearts, young lady,” he said. It was comedic, the way his silvery hair and beard dramatically blew in the wind, “Perhaps once this has settled, you stay with them. I think you’d find yourself more than welcome in Erebor’s Halls.”

You hummed in thought. The band of travelers were gathered on the edge of the plateau, looking out in the distance towards the peak of the Lonely Mountain, calling their name through the mist.

Thorin turned back to look at you over his shoulder with a gentle smile, and nodded his head to you in a silent thanks. The ghost of a blush spread across his face.

“I just might.”

(aaaaaah! what did you guys think??? :3 it feels wonderful to get a full fic out after so long, ive had this idea in my head for dayyys ugh 💔 please send me some requests loves, i'm in desperate need of some comfort fics! don't forget to reblog and like!! love yas! 🩷🌺🌸🌷💝💞)

tag list : @kumqu4t @tolkien-fantasy @blueberryrock @to-be-frank-i-dont-care @luna-xial @legolaslovely @fizzyxcustard @pistachiozombie @imaginexhobbit @beenovel

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Affections

Fandom: The Hobbit Ship/Pairing: Thranduil x F!Reader Trope: Unrequited love that’s requited after all Note: No idea. I probably made heavy mistakes in the mythology. Don't hesitate to point them out if need be. Warnings: Miscommunication, father-son relationship, rejection Word count: 6 282 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstareditd @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

“Legolas!”

Seeing your friend after so many years made you so happy, your eyes were watering even before you could feel his arm embracing you.

“My dear friend. I am so glad you could finally come home.”

Decades earlier, the young prince and you had learned and grown together under the watchful eye of the Mirkwood. Small ones were a rarity, but two at the same time almost never happened. Once an adult, it became clear you needed to leave the palace’s grounds and see the world for yourself. The only kin you had left was your aunt Ede, and she encouraged you to go, despite being torn upon your departure.

Now, finally, you were coming back to your place of birth, filled with new memories and new experiences. During the war, you were following the refugees, learning medicine and healing amongst them as you had for the past decade. Fortunately, this knowledge became of vital importance after the conflict and here you were, talking animatedly with the Crowned Prince, sharing adventures and stories.

“I am sure your father must not have taken kindly to that friendship.”

Legolas laughed, his long hair moving with the winds around.

“No, he did not. Gimli is a close friend of mine and I would not allow him to be treated with the disrespect my father is so easily using. — Still. Of all the people present in the Company, the only one you find to be a friend is the son of Gloin? The very last member of Thorin Oakenshield’s entourage? — I did not choose, you know. And…”

Before he could finish his sentence, you stopped your steps. The place had grown so much since you last were there. The tallest trees reached peaks you could not see anymore, cutting into the sky slices of clouds and sunshine. The hall around you felt heavier. More grounded in stone than in wood. Ravages of the Great War had reached even here, it seemed. From the stairs in front of you, a tall she-elf, with her dark auburn hair and her proud stature, was staring right. Your feet guided you to her in a hurry. Her embrace felt like a warm bath, smelling of lavender and a quiet temperance you needed in that moment. Ede was one of a kind. She was the one who had taught you the basics to healing and the plants, as well as the stars. Your mother had been a valiant soldier of the King’s army. She perished on the front of the battle of the Five Armies. Ede became a support and an ally in the pain of her loss. It made you two grow closer, especially when her brother - your father - left for the Shores after his wife died. He did not see the future in as much brightness as he used to and did not want to become a hindrance for you. It was with the certainty of meeting him again that you let him go.

“Aunt Ede, I have missed you so much. It is a genuine pleasure to see you. — As it is for me, child.”

She pushed a strand of hair back, watching you intently with those profound dark eyes of hers. Once Legolas reached you, he saluted the Royal Healer before leaving the both of you, a soft smile on his face. You spent the rest of the day walking around and rediscovering the grounds with your aunt. They had planted bigger gardens next to the Healers Quarters. A gardener had been appointed specifically for them, allowing time and space for the now withering Ede. She was growing tired more easily and, despite her appearances, was becoming more depressed by the day. Her work was never done in this place, being the sole reference for every other healer in the woods and sometimes outside of the country and into others. Everyday that passed made her long for her home in Rivendell. Her husband had gone back the year before and the separation was taking another toll on her, time only making it worse. At the first signs of dusk, she brought you to your room, next to her own. It contained a simple bed and a desk as well as two tall windows, looking out on the garden below. The bag you carried when you arrived finally found a space to rest too next to the neat sheets.

“Child, I bid you goodnight. We shall talk more in the morning. -Yes, my aunt. I wish you pleasant dreams and a restful sleep.”

She kissed your forehead, smiled and closed the door behind her. Soon you crumbled into the heavenly made bed, but could not find sleep. After all, the real reason of why you left had been kept secret from everyone. Including yourself. You were becoming more agitated with every minute passing before meeting the King. You had not left on particularly good terms with him, a show of restraint on your part, inclining you to keep quiet and move on. Nevertheless, the memory kept replaying in your mind, as you felt yourself drift into a soundless sleep.

In autumn, the leaves fell, and Legolas was in the trees. Well, one tree. The tallest at the time, a great oak with leaves reaching into the sky as if trying to touch it. The Prince loved to climbed its branches, storm or high wind was of no matter to him, wanting to admire the sky more than anything. Also, it was the only place his father would not think of searching him in. Lately he had been adamant in having his son with him at all times, protected and locked in, close to him where he could not be lost. Or killed. That oak was where you found him.

“My Prince, I am afraid your kingly father will be upset with both of us if you do not come down this instant.”

Silence. Thranduil had asked you personally to go in search of his son. Out of the two of you, you were in appearances the more mature one. Even now young adults, you could not help yourselves and hid from each of your parents whenever you could, spending most of your times observing the wood’s life. The fleeting murmurs of the trees settled, leaving a melody of singing birds behind. Soon, he came down, looking sheepish.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to cause my father’s anger towards you. — No need to apologise. I understand why you would want to hide. Yet, you can not do so forever Legolas.”

He nodded, following you back inside. His father had grown tensed and tired after his wife’s death. Her warmth was the heart of the forest and once she was gone, every winter became colder and colder. The King only grew more weary of the outsiders, leaving no choice but to close the borders to most of them. You knew him in happier times, grew with his son and should have grown attached to the Prince. Yet, in your heart, Thranduil had the only space you could allow to be filled. It had pained you to acknowledge it, more so when Legolas’ mother passed. A voice inside wanted you to reach out and to pull the pain away from him. From them both, but you could not. As well as Thranduil’s borders closed, his mind and soul did too. For the longest time, he retreated so far inside that no one could reach in. Not even his son. Your arm looped around Legolas’ shoulders, trying to comfort him however you could.

“Do not fret. He was scared to death you broke your neck. Once he sees you intact maybe he’ll calm down”

It did seem to make him chuckle at least, as he leaned into you. You felt ashamed feeling this way towards a brother’s kin. It was a torment you would not wish on anyone not even your greatest enemy. It became a soft agony and then a feeling deeply buried. Sometimes, you hoped you would find yourself looking at Legolas the same way you looked at Thranduil. It never happened and you grieved the proper relationship that would never be. It had been talked about, making a match between the two of you. The Prince could have been inclined. Your own affections lead you to say no, to the disarray of your parents and Legolas’ poor heart. He never resented you for it but you did. You resented yourself so much it blinded the young spirit you had into biding yourself to this place, when nothing new could be learned, nothing new could be seen. No new love would grow. Ede had mentioned leaving before. The idea was taking roots but Thranduil’s actions were the final push into the adventure of your life.

Upon arriving in the King’s room, you caught onto three things. The first, he was still worried sick, apparently repeatedly pacing the room with no signs of stopping soon. The second was that once he saw his son, he embraced him, where you had seen him lash out in anger at others. The third, you were sure that when his eyes landed on you, he would burn you right where you stood. He took his time, checking if his son was alright if he was injured, who’s idea was it to go out and hide like that. Once his nerves settled, he dismissed Legolas, closely watched over by two guards. As the Prince left the room, you shared a soft smile, already knowing what was bound to happen. Once he was gone, the air left the room and the reprieve you had ended right there.

“How dare you?”

Thranduil’s voice was carrying across the room. He was standing as far away as possible from you, as if trying to avoid catching a disease you had.

If only that was the reason, he would sleep better nights. Not watching the stars peak and go down every morning, growing mad with every time he saw you. He knew it was, in truth, for another set of reasons entirely. His body was betraying him. His heart ached in the most delicious ways, retreating from its hiding place. He would have thought it dead if it weren’t for you. You with your sharp mind and loud laughter. You who had a spirit all of your own. You who were the oldest friend and confident his son had. How could he feel that way for you, he never wanted to know. It would have meant accepting he nourished feelings for you. He watched you grow and become a mighty warrior and a spirited young elf. Once well in adulthood though, that was only then that he noticed you. Before that you were a shadow compared to his wife’s memory. He saw and perceived all too well your longing looks and tight smile for him only to see. It touched his otherwise dead heart. The pain of knowing that it could never be and the blossoming feelings he carried for you were growing inside of him intertwined. Now, your eyes haunted him at night, hot and feverish, lingering in his mind. He longed to be touched by you, when he knew he should not have. The remorse was ever present. What would she think of all of this? She would want him happy, cared for and content. He wanted it too. He would not yield, not crumble under your stare. He had to protect his people from disappointment in their ruler. He could not afford jeopardising his rule so. Even for your beautiful mind and gorgeous soul.

“How dare you compel my son into acting so? You and your ideas! Of course you were the one to give him such ideas about freedom and… — Your Majesty, with all due respect, I gave him what he asked of me, nothing else.”

He was livid. What he asked of you? A jealousy he had forgotten the name of, formed in his stomach, giving his wrath a fuel to keep on burning. What did he ask of you? What did you ask of him?

“How could you? You are full of yourself. Arrogant. Reckless. Do you not know the influence you have over him? How dangerous that could be?”

He could see you, bowing your head, biting your tongue. He drove the knife deeper still, wanting you to react, to do something. Anything was better than you not reacting at all. Especially to him. The cruel intentions in him a reflection of his frustrated state at seeing you and not touching you.

“Answer me!”

The scream rang through your body. Teeth clenched, you had been biting your tongue this entire time, not wanting to make this situation worse. Although, he was on the right path for it to get worse.

“Why would I? You seem to have all the answers already! About your son, about me!” You kept on going, even as he stepped closer and closer to you, domineering and hovering over you. “He needs to experience life! If you can not give him that, at least give this to his mother!” This touched a nerve, his face darkening with fury. Where he knew you were right, he wanted to make you quiet. Those truths either he was not ready to hear. “She would certainly not want her only son to go to the Shores having never touched life with his own hands. Never fighting for what he believes in, never seeing the sun high in the sky or never feeling the touch of a lover, because of you. Sire, you cannot keep him in a gilded cage like this. Either you let him go or he will escape.”

He was invading your private space now. You could not look up. You would not look up.

“How would you know how to care for a child who is not your own? — I know him better than you think.”

Better than you lingered in the air, unsaid, deeply felt. His long fingers gripped your jaw pulling your eyes along them, then his deep burgundy robe before meeting his darkened pupils. He narrowed his eyes, the very tip of his fingers were burning with the yearning of touching you. He could not give in. He would not give in.

“Do you now?”

His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, in what was supposed to be a show of power. Both of you knew it was not, still thinking the other to not know about it. His teeth bit lightly into your earlobe before you could stop him. Frozen in place, you did nothing when his lips drew goosebumps down your throat. In a swift movement, he sucked a deep bruise into your skin. You cried out as he held your face in place, merciless in his grip. It was not a cry of displeasure and that surprised him. As your hand gripped the one holding your face, he searched your expression looking for a momentary lapse in judgement. Maybe something to stop him. Something to tell him this was wrong. He found nothing of the sort. He slid his fingers from your jaw to your cheeks, finding comfort into the plump and supple skin of your face, before all but tearing himself apart by kissing you. You kissed him in return, feverish and wanting. Too soon, he stopped. Disgusted with himself, he turned around, hurting like never before. His weakness was showing, all too visible to his own eyes.

“Go. Now. And never come back. — Sire…”

Your voice was but a whisper, the fluttering of your heart where his skin had met yours turning your whole body into a beating drum.

“Leave! Leave and never show your face again!”

Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. You did not let them and left the room, closing the door as hard as you could behind you. Once in your room, everything went blank. Almost as if on drugs, mechanically, you gathered your things, warned your aunt of your departure. She did not question it. She knew of your yearning to leave and did not stop you either. Only accompanied you to the main road, wishing you farewell and a heartfelt goodbye. Legolas received a delayed goodbye, by letter. He was angry with you, but understood. You never told him about what happened and it said a lot about his forgiving nature that he did not hold that hurt against you today. She figured Thranduil might have something to do with it when the next day he asked about you. He seemed hurt beyond measure when she told him you were gone, almost surely never to return.

The first rays of the sun sneaked through the glass windows, shades and hues of red and yellows nesting into the corners of the room. After a change of clothes and a frugal breakfast, you accompanied Ede to the gardens along with her pupils, witnessing the classes she gave to elves from all backgrounds and all horizons. Midday approached and she took you aside after leaving her students.

“Child, we need to talk. — Yes, aunt Ede. What do we need to talk about?”

Her next words startled you as much as they turned your world upside down.

“I will be direct, my child. I need you to replace me, here, at the palace. I need you to become the next Royal Healer.”

*

Ede and you had carried that conversation long into the night. She was adamant that it was you who was supposed to carry on in her place. On the other hand you were less than convinced. Especially considering that she always described the task as a burden - more so in the last years. You would not negotiate with her and complained, exposed, revealed what you feared and felt unable to do. She would hear none of it. Her sole purpose here was to give her place to you, of that she was certain. Deep within her a longing of her home had taken root and she had wanted to leave for a long time. If only for her sake, you had no other choice but to do what she asked. For your own, you would have to face Thranduil when that day would come. Maybe, it was for the best. You could not stay in this place of ignorance and avoidance. A quick walk through the garden and you found yourself, face to face with Legolas, all smiles and a hint of mischief in his eyes you were worried about.

“Good morning to you. -And good morning to you, my friend.”

His smile did not falter as he proposed to accompany you through the palace, talking animatedly as usual, until finally you reached the healers quarters.

“I do have a question though. — Yes, what is it?”

As he opened his mouth to say something, he closed it again, his eyes drawn to something - or rather someone - in the room behind you. The door had been left ajar. Distinctively you could see Thranduil’s back and when he stepped aside, your aunt Ede too. Her brows were furrowing and her lips were pinched in a thin line. That could not be any good. The King on the other hand, was towering over her, rolling his eyes and pinching his nose every time she spoke as you would do with a child. That, that was intolerable. Legolas tried to stop you, his hand slipping from your arm only to be left bewildered and strangely, amused, when you stepped inside, slamming the door open.

“Your Majesty. Aunt Ede.”

You bowed your head as he observed you from head to toe. Since that night, it was the first time he was seeing you again. As you, him. A beating sound rang in your ears. His sharp eyes looked down upon you, considering your face, your lips. He stopped and turned towards Ede again.

“Your Majesty, this is… — We shall talk about it at another time. ”

She bowed and did not dare question his statement. He stepped out of the room without another word, only mildly surprised at finding his son at the door. He inherited his need to meddle in other’s affairs from his mother. It both amused him and annoyed him to no end.

* “Ede, what was that about? — Oh, nothing. Have you eaten yet? I was hoping we could eat together and talk some more about your new position?”

There was no negotiating her. Soon, she led you towards a secluded spot under a willow tree you used to hide in when you were a mere child. It’s blooming branches looked smaller now, even when surrounding both of you in its fresh shadows.

“Aunt, please tell me what this talk was about. With the King.”

Ede sighed, plugging some grapes from her bag. She stalled, settling down cheeses and bread at a luxuriously slow pace.

“Aunt… — Yes, I know. Listen, it is a matter between the King and I and… — Was it about me? — Sort of.”

You snorted loudly, startling a few birds in the tree.

“What do you mean? — It was about my replacement. He disagrees with my choice.”

That should not have stung as much as it did.

“And I told him that I would not be changing my mind anytime soon. And that you would be taking my place in three weeks time as per what was planned. — Wait… Three weeks? From now? It’s too soon, Ede.”

She shushed you with a finger against your lips, as she did when you were younger.

“No discussion, no negotiation.”

She proceeded to tell you all about the Royal Healer’s position. You were to tend to the Royal Family, anytime day or night, big or small wounds. Fondly, she recalled a time when Legolas was still small, and had fallen off of a tree, breaking his wrist. He had been restless for the long process of the cast and even more when he had to not use his arm for weeks after that. Being light of foot was not something you were born with and he had mastered it with numerous injuries and various broken bones. You recalled the infinite patience his father had to show. The prince was not as quiet and calm as he was now. She kept on with an extended list of places you were expected to go and help, as well as the palace. Indeed, she had taken it upon herself to replace the old healers in all the neighbouring villages. Most of them had been replaced, yet there was still work to do and new persons to train. At the first lights descending in the sky, she excused herself, exhausted that she was. She kissed your temple and walked away.

Your room felt smaller once you reached its bed. The walls seemed to be getting closer with each moment and soon, you could not stand it any longer. The night had just settled, the first stars showing above. Without much thinking, your feet wandered around the place, finding bushes and crannies, the deep river you knew. Several times, you passed by the willow you had eaten under earlier that day. Somehow, it drove you to its shelter, the rays of the moon shining through the leaves, giving the place an eerie and melancholic air.

Carefully you immersed yourself in this small reprieve of the world.

What you did not know was that you were not alone, sneaking around at night, unable to sleep.

* Once done with the argument, Thranduil had left the infirmary in a hurry, not wanting to dwell in a room where you were. Inadequacy was not something he was fond of feeling. Legolas followed him back to his chambers. He could sense his son’s amusement from behind him. When he turned around, stepping into his bedroom, the very same son had the audacity to laugh wholeheartedly.

“You do remember you owe me allegiance, even as my son and heir.”

The elf struggled to gain back his composure and nod. Finally he had come to his senses.

“Yes, Father. Although I choose to find our relationship into its more domestic issues than its governmental ones.”

Or not.

“Legolas, I swear on your mother’s grave if you do not explain why you are mocking me I will send you to an early retirement deep in the forest with nothing but bread and water to survive, as well as the animals to keep you company.”

That made him stop. Thranduil’s threats were always outlandish. They were also never made in vain or carelessly. Legolas stepped closer to his father, leaning in as in confidence. The King’s eyebrow lifted in a show of not being impressed. From where he was sat, he could see the sparkle in his son’s eyes. The one that meant no good.

“Your affections are showing, father. — My…”

If he had not been angry to begin with, he might have been now. He thought back to that night and could not wash away the culpability creeping in. After you had left, he had spent sleepless nights, without an end to his thoughts about what he could have done worse. Never better. In fact, he had come to the conclusion that where you were concerned, things was to be left alone. A sort of status quo, left undisturbed. Nevertheless, he stayed quiet. The silence worried Legolas.

“Father, I never meant any harm. — I know.”

He couldn’t face Legolas anymore, a veil covering his vision. The King felt the weight of the past years weighing him down, sitting in that chair behind this table, his future in the eyes of his only child. How much he had wished there had been other children with her. Legolas was as perfect now as he was when he was born but he was alone. He released a heavy sigh.

“Sit.”

Legolas obeyed, fearing something worse than a stern talking to.

“Nothing is ever meant to happen between…” The name on his tongue travelled down his throat to his heart. He chocked on it. “It is not meant to be, my son. Of my own fault. No harm can come to her. Not more than the one I have already done.”

Questions began plaguing the prince’s mind, almost wondering aloud what his father could have done to deserve your absence and his longing. In a way, those questions were answered shortly after he thought them up.

“I was the one who chased her away. — You…”

Thranduil’s hand stopped him. It barely lifted in the air, before resting again.

“In a very unkind manner. The behaviour I had was… Unworthy.”

No other words were necessary for he was one to choose them precisely. His close circle knew that. That knowledge was what made his son get up and look at him, with so much disappointment in his eyes he could have made his father drown in it if he so much as wished it. Legolas did not have any will in himself to do so. Instead, he channelled this frustration and shame into his words, chosen carefully as he had been taught to, many times before.

“Did you even try to talk with her? — No. — Why?”

His tone had taken a harsh turn, startling Thranduil in his immobility. No good excuse came to mind. He had been afraid and incapable of voicing his apologises. With you gone, gone was the possibility of redemption. Now that you were here again, he could try. Legolas’ mother was still in his mind, chastising him for his actions. He had come to accept that he would never forget her. That she would remain his conscience for the years to come, the years until his disappearance from this Earth. He had known her for so long, she would always be there. Telling him when he was doing wrong too. Even if it was with the voice of their only child, now grown, looking at him with something akin to violence in his eyes.

“She is out there, thinking she has done something wrong, when you could have freed her from that burden long ago. That, father, is not an unworthy behaviour. That is the behaviour of a coward. — How dare you speak to me in such a way? I am still your King… — Not as long as you behave like this, you’re not.”

He strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. His words resonated against the walls and the mind of the one left behind. A deep frown settled on his forehead, erasing all traces of previous fury. A weary hand pinched his nose, narrowing his eyes at his own anger. In a careless gesture, Thranduil pushed everything off of the table before him. Papers, ink, quills… everything went flying across the room. The only thing left were his hands gripping the edges of the table, ready to throw it too. Soon, he found himself crying silent tears, trying desperately to stop them from falling. His hands were shaking, a whole body tremor going through him, as sobs escaped him. This had to stop. A knock at the door interrupted him in his misery. Quickly he composed himself and followed the council servant outside, attending absentmindedly the meeting he was supposed to preside over. Legolas’ absence thrust another surge of sadness, pure and raw, through him. His absence only making him think about yours. In this scenario, he could lose you both. He could have none of it.

Once the first rays of sunshine started disappearing behind the clouds and down the horizon line, his feet brought him to his son’s chambers. He had to at least try to make this right.

* Under the willow tree, you laid, head resting against the trunk, eyes up in the sky. Sleep would still elude you, in the most peaceful ways this time. The clouds were moving with the winds, hiding and showing the numerous constellations up above. A rustling of leaves brought you back to solid ground quickly. Someone had found your hiding place, of all the places in the palace.

“Legolas? What are you doing here?”

The shadow did not answer, only advanced and stepped in the moonlight. It was indeed Legolas, but his eyes were different. A solemn toll had taken hold upon them and it was strange, if not completely out-worldly to watch him be this serious.

“I fear, the same as you. I could not sleep. — How did you find me?”

He did not answer right away, throwing a glance behind him before looking back at you.

“I followed you.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. His steps had gotten more silent with the years, apparently. From your room to this place, you had not heard him once, not even in the gravel or the grass.

“Listen, I am here…” He hesitated a moment. “I did not meant to follow you. It was the only way. The most opportune one. There are things you need to talk about. I thought that if I was the first to show, you would feel less incline in running. — The first to show?” Fear ran through you. “What have you done Legolas? — I talked with my father.” Something sank within you. “About you.”

Your voice died in your throat. “I never meant to overstep my position, as your friend. I was worried about what he could have done to warrant such guilty actions from him. — What actions? Wait. Did he tell you…?”

Thranduil’s voice interrupted you both. His tall stature loomed over, albeit hunching over to pass through the leaves and come to you.

“Legolas, would you leave us for a moment, please.”

The gentleness in his tone surprised you. It seemed it was a normal occurrence for the Prince who reached and squeezed your arm reassuringly before leaving with a bow of his head.

“I believe we have much to talk about.”

Neither of you said another word, before he stepped forward and sat down next to you. It felt awkward to see your King in such an informal setting. You could see the discomfort it brought him to be this close to you. You were about to get up and go, when his hand pinned yours to the space between the two of you. Stunned, you looked at him straight on. He avoided your gaze at all costs, not taking the risk to say hurtful things again, out of spite. Out of fear.

“My rank demands an exemplary behaviour and it seems I have failed in that task.”

Your breath caught in your throat, you kept staring at his profile, making it hard for him to keep going. Through greeted teeth he added more words you never thought you would hear from him.

“My actions towards you were nothing short of ungraceful and puerile. You have my deepest apologies.”

Finally, he looked at you, tall and head held high. That was as far as he would go. Legolas might have had a hand in that forsaken apology. It was a needed humiliation, if he was to keep you in his court. With him. Near him.

“Sire, you have my sincerest thanks for this. There was no need for you to do so and you demonstrated a great kindness by this gesture.”

His face relaxed slightly, his jaw unclenching. His hand was still on yours. The feeling erupting from that meeting left you dizzy and energised at the same time.

“Was that all, Sire?”

Thranduil could see the hope on your face. Brows pulled down, frowning around your beautiful haunting eyes, lips pinched in a thin line. What took him over he would never know, for he did not recognise himself behaving like this.

“No. The kingdom is deeply grateful to have you back here with us. This land deserves excellency and perfection. That is why I can be demanding of my people. As well as of you.”

His hand gripped yours. You did not stop him from doing so, letting him finish his thoughts. He seemed to be needing it as much as you. A prickling in your eyes made you withdraw your hand for a moment to wipe it out. Your fingertips erased the tears down your cheeks, while your tongue felt as a leaded weight in your mouth.

“I understand.”

Only then did you put your hand over his, squeezing lightly. A sharp hope ran through him, a knife of helplessness felt deep in his bones. He did not want to recognise the feelings growing inside of him. He knew what they were anyhow.

“Thank you.”

Words ran away in the night. Your eyes found the sky again, the stars and the moon above lighting your way in the dark. He was staring. You could feel it. You kept on looking away, biting your lips and swallowing your tears down your throat. If this was what you could get, then you would take it. At least he was sorry. Your feelings, you could deal with on your own. Thranduil’s stare was boring into you with little care for his heartbeat accelerating. Here he was, sitting in the grass, in the middle of the night, watching someone he thought he had lost. Something to smile about, finally, he thought. He was committing to memory the shape of your nose. The curve of your chin. The apple of your cheeks, the soft trace of your eyebrows. The stubbornness and intelligence hiding in your eyes. As he did back when, his hand slipped down your cheek, bringing you to meet his eyes. He settled in your throat, slender fingers finding their place under your jaw. Half hooded eyes and a sharp inhale from your mouth were all it took for him to meet your lips. Slowly, both his hands came to cradle your face.

Then, you were the one to pull away. He frowned, trying to meet your eyes. You wouldn’t. Cradling his hand against your cheek, you pushed it away. Deep within, the restlessness of your heart had not gone quiet with his words. Only louder, the beating in your chest trashing around, begging to be freed.

“My lord, I… I understand. I really do understand what is at stake, here.”

You met his eyes, full of something you never thought you’d see again. Worry.

“Nonetheless, I want more.”

Thranduil opened his mouth to stop you. You stopped him first, the palm of your hand quietly overtaking his senses, when meeting with his face.

“This. What is happening here, I will not have it hidden away. I cannot. Not after this long. I…” You licked your lips, anxious at his reaction. “I belong to you. In whatever shape or form. But, if you give me this…” The skin of your thumb caressed down, meeting his lips. He had stopped moving. “There will be no going back. All out of the shadows. And, if you break my heart a second time, I will not be coming back.”

For someone with a patient talent for words, the King was left speechless. No proper sentence could carry his meaning. Only gestures, actions and demonstrations of his affection and commitment could. So he did. For the first time with you, he became hesitant, his mouth shaping itself around your throat, your open neck bathed in the moonlight. He clung onto your waist as one would a lifeline, your hands threading through his hair when he kissed you. His hunger and thirst for you was unmatched. Unparalleled. He had forgotten what that felt like.

That night, as many others afterwards, you found yourselves bound together, under the willow.

[cauliflowertree]

thorin oakenshield—i fell in your arms tonight.

—thorin oakenshield x human!reader

summary: you've sustained a serious injury.

warnings: blood, injury, mentions of death.

word count: 0.9k

fanfic no. 042.

a scout had been the beginning of a series of unfortunate events, the remnants of which had left you with an arrow in the abdomen. through the tumultuous ordeal, the adrenaline coursing through your veins had propelled you to safety, but once the imminent peril had dissipated, the realisation of your injury had taken its toll.

try as you might to ignore the searing pain, your body's plea for aid, as the dwarves discussed amongst themselves where to go from the cave you cowered in together, you felt the stone wall against your back as your body began to give way.

but the dwarves had made their decision - you would venture through the narrow passage and hope the destination to which it led would be hospitable to your company. but as thorin watched those he was responsible for head one by one after one the other through the small entrance, he noticed your stillness.

eyes flickering down to your hands that held a wound gushing crimson liquid, his breath hitched. "you're bleeding."

"it's minor," you lied, battling to stand up on your own two feet without the support of anything else.

gandfalf helped you to steady yourself while thorin removed your hand from the stab wound, examining the injury for himself. he said nothing for a moment, looking to gandalf with a gaze that felt as if he had finalised your future.

"do not act as if this is where you leave me. i am perfectly able to carry on, i simply need a bandage."

"of course," gandalf said with a weak smile. "thorin," he urged.

shakily, thorin called for oín, the healer of your small company. oín was gentle with you, having grown fond of you over the course of the journey, despite the entirety of the dwarves having been sceptical of a human joining their cause.

he bandaged you as well as he could, sealing your wound beforehand with a small portion of his own ointment, and declared you fit to continue. but thorin was still wary this decision and decided to remain close to you, should you find yourself struggling and in need of a helping hand.

the journey through the slender passageway was treacherous for none but you, feeling with every step a sharp pain in your abdomen that could not be tamed. thorin winced with you, feeling his stomach churn at the thought of losing you on the road. every breath that hissed through your teeth frightened him, and he gently laid his hand on your back, reassuring both you and himself that this path would eventually end and you would be able to rest, though he was not sure himself of this hope.

it wasn't until you arrived in rivendell that you felt some sense of ease, though it was to vanish upon thorin's protests. his distrust of elves prevented him from walking any further into the sanctuary you so craved. to be so close yet so far to relief was agonising, and the anxiety forced your body to the floor, writhing in pain as you began to bleed through your bandages at an alarming speed.

thorin was immediately silenced, rushing to your assistance as he rested your head on his bent knees, cradling your cheek as oín removed the bandages to try his best to help. you had never felt such pain, such blistering agony that forced the tears from your eyes unwillingly.

"i'm frightened," you stuttered through uneven breaths. "am i going to die?" you found yourself asking, ignorant to such an injury and its consequences, blinded by the fear this suffering had imposed upon you.

the dwarves fussed around you, gandalf was adamant that you needed elvish medicine, but thorin was still, contrast to what you saw in his eyes as you laid with your head in his hands.

"no," said he, firmly but gently, determined to see you live through this affliction.

elves descended, ushering the dwarves away, receiving serious objections from the dwarf prince, though he relented eventually when he saw there was nothing he could say to convince them to let him stay with you. last you remembered was thorin's blue eyes trailing after yours with worry evident within them, just as the rest of the company's.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡

when you woke, feeling a soft bed beneath you, a tautness in your abdomen and sunlight creeping into your resting place, thorin smiled. he had waited for hours by your bedside, refusing to eat or sleep until he knew you were out of danger. with elvish medicine and care, it did not take long for you to wake, feeling a great deal more refreshed than you ought to have done after your ordeal.

"how are you feeling?" he asked softly.

"better," you replied earnestly, sitting up carefully.

the sun's rays were dipping below the horizon, casting a strange crown above thorin's head that was oddly fitting. he came to sit beside you, placing his hand in yours.

"i was worried."

"i know," was your response.

"you should be more careful," he teased.

"you should work on your heroics," you laughed, squeezing his hand.

"agreed," replied thorin with an easy smile, pushing the hair from your face, snaking his arm around your neck so his hand rested on the back of your head and pulled you down to him.

your foreheads rested together for a moment in silence, a moment to be grateful for this turn of events, before gandalf cleared his throat behind you, revealing the entire company watching the scene before them with smiles on their faces, both from relief and amusement.

requested by @auroracalisto

🏷 @velvetcloxds @entishramblings

[lathalea]

The White Raven 7/9

The next chapter of Thorin and Carra's story is here!

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Carra Rating: G Warnings: mentions of injuries/death/dragon sickness Author's notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield's quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike. You can find this fic on AO3.

Special thanks to @legolasbadass for being a great, great, great beta reader and extra special thanks to Legolasbadass (again!) and @i-did-not-mean-to for our Silm evenings and discussons that helped me write this chapter 💚

Khuzdul: Karkûnê - My Raveness 🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 ... 🌟

The tint of Carra’s face closely matched the crispy white colour of the pillowcase beneath it, her silver-white hair scattered across it in disarray. Her eyes were closed, and Thorin held his breath for a heartbeat—before he noticed the slight movements of her chest. 

She was breathing. Still.

Sitting on a makeshift wheeled chair, which Nari, the disgruntled healer, procured from somewhere, Thorin leaned closer towards Carra, biting his lip in an attempt to ignore the pain his protesting body evoked. Another spell of dizziness washed over him again, and his body pleaded for mercy, but he pushed those sensations away. Perhaps Balin and Nari were right, and he should have stayed in bed, but at that moment, Thorin’s own discomfort felt insignificant.

His fingertips brushed against the softness of Carra’s hollow cheek. Her skin was cool under his touch, but warmth still lingered within.

“Carra… Karkûnê…“ he murmured. There was no response. Her eyelids did not flutter to show the iridescent depth of her gaze; her lips did not open to utter his name. She was here, beside him, yet completely out of his reach.

“How long has she been this way?” he asked.

“Since she was brought in here on the day of the battle, Your Majesty,” the healer responded and cast a worried glance at Balin. “Most of her injuries are minor, but she has yet to regain consciousness. We do not know why it takes so long but then again, she is not a Dwarf.”

Thorin thanked him with a nod, and his eyes returned to Carra. Her face and arms were marked with multiple bruises and scarrings—mementos of her confrontation with Azog. He closed his eyes, attempting to get rid of the tightness in his throat. At least a fortnight had passed since the battle ended, and her body seemed to refuse to heal at its regular pace. Throughout the years, he learned how quickly she regenerated; one or two nights should have been enough to cure most of it, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, this did not happen. But…

She was still breathing.

He took her slender hand in his. So soft. So fragile.

“I want my bed moved here,” he turned to the older dwarf, not letting go of her hand.

“Thorin?” Balin raised his eyebrows.

Nari’s stifled cough of surprise reached him at the same time. Thorin chose to ignore it.

“She needs me, Balin,” he looked at Carra’s hand. So delicate in his palm, like a folded wing of a sleeping fledgeling.

The older Dwarf pulled at his beard and cast a meaningful glance at Nari. It was enough to make the healer bow and leave the room, closing the door behind him. Only then did Balin speak again. 

“I assume that you are aware of what message this is going to send, laddie.”

“What message…? I told you, Balin, she is my wife.” Thorin’s eyes wandered to Carra’s peaceful, unmoving face. With his left arm bound up, he had to gently free his right hand and reach into her hair. He let his fingers run through the silver-white strands until he uncovered the marriage braid he had pleated himself. “She watched over us on our way to reclaim Erebor. Now I shall watch over her.”

His mentor sat down on a nearby bench with a grunt, his gaze resting on Thorin’s hand, once again clasped with Carra’s. Thorin could almost feel its weight.

Balin sighed heavily, “There will be trouble with the lords when they hear of it.”

“I have never supported any of their plans of political alliances via marriage as you very well know,” Thorin furrowed his brow.

“Indeed. I still applaud you for how you handled the situation with Lord Yngví and managed to convince Fili to marry Lady Tarja. You killed two birds with one stone!” A shadow of a smile appeared on Balin's lips. “The Firebeards are our strongest allies, and if Mahal blesses the couple with a babe, it will rule over the whole Blue Mountains.”

“It was not a great feat. They were already in love with each other,” Thorin tilted his head.

“But you saw the opportunity and took it,” Balin’s smile grew slightly. “And now it seems I will be the one on the lookout for an opportunity to explain the current situation to the lords. And Dain…”

“She is my One, Balin.” The rasp of his own whisper sounded hollow in the silence of the stone chamber. He had said these words only once before and only to Carra. They were meant to be said not more than once in a lifetime, and it felt wrong to repeat them in this stuffy, dimly lit chamber and not under a star-studded sky with his Raveness in his arms.

His old friend remained silent for a long while. Silent and unmoving, like a stone statue. Thorin avoided looking into his face by turning his attention to Carra’s hand, which he still held. He felt the warmth of his own body seeping through her skin, but it remained cool despite his best efforts.

But she was still breathing. There was still hope, he reminded himself.

“How can it be? She is not a Child of Mahal.” Balin frowned. “She could not have been made from the same piece of stone as you.” “I do not know, Balin,” he shrugged and presented their joined hands to him. “But I do know this: she saved me. Twice. Once—at Rivendell. And the second time… Do you remember my feather, Balin? That is how I overcame the curse. In the darkest hour I took it in my hand. And so I recalled my One—and my true self.”

Thorin glanced at Carra’s face, but it remained unmoving; her eyes closed. 

“My blood sings in my veins whenever she is around. Even now.  It feels almost like when you sing to the stone and it sings back, showing you the hidden veins of ore in its depths.” His voice was but a whisper. “I shall not attempt to understand Mahal’s mysterious ways, but I am certain beyond doubt that she is my Other Half.”

His mentor pulled at his beard once again. “Let us only hope that this explanation will be enough for our people to accept her as their queen. Our kingdom is about to be rebuilt. We need unity, not dissent.”

“You told me once that I have done honourably by our people. That I had a choice… This is my choice. She is. If Carra cannot be accepted, so be it. We have never planned for our secret to see the light of the day and it can remain hidden,” Thorin admitted with conviction. After taking a brief look at her pale face, he addressed Balin once again. “And before you mention the issue of succession, we both know that I have already named Fili as my heir. The lords have no leverage here. I will do all in my power to unite the Seven Kingdoms again, but I will not be parted from Carra. That is my final word on the matter.”

Speaking of a future with Carra, regardless of the shape it would take, felt like a fresh waft of hope. She would wake up—and soon. And then they would keep meeting in hidden forest clearings, secluded valleys, and forgotten caverns, just like they had done for years.

Thorin never noticed when Balin stood up with a grunt. He barely felt his hand patting him on the shoulder.

“Very well, laddie. I will see what I can do about this matter. And now—allow me to leave you be. You have your wife to take care of.”

Thorin’s eyes met Balin’s in an instant. It was impossible to miss neither the softness of his gaze under those white bushy eyebrows nor the warmth in his smile.

“Balin, I…” he began, his voice faltering. Instead, he covered his mentor’s hand with his.

“I know, laddie, I know.” The old dwarf nodded. No other words were needed between them.

At that very moment, something brushed along the inside of Thorin’s palm, as if a butterfly opened its wings.

“Carra!” He brought her hand to his face, hoping to see the repeated motion of her little finger. Gently pressing his lips against the back of her hand, he breathed in the faint scent of snowdrops.

Her face was as expressionless and pale as before, but when Thorin was about to look away, Carra’s eyes darted about once or twice under her eyelids.

It took him one heartbeat to lean closer toward her; before he knew it, he gave her forehead a soft, lingering kiss. The pain and exhaustion he felt did not matter any longer. Everything besides Carra was of no consequence. His One was still there, and this knowledge imbued him with a new strength.

“Fight, Karkûnê. Do not give up,” Thorin whispered into her ear. “I am here, beside you. Do you hear me, amrâlimê?”

He pressed his forehead against hers in an intimate gesture they exchanged whenever they met. Her skin pleasantly cooled his burning hot forehead while Thorin whispered, “Come back to me, Wings of my heart.”

***

The butterfly circles above the rock basin. Its orange wings flutter gracefully a hairbreadth above the still surface of the water, yet its wings never touch it. Carra cannot seem to tear off her eyes from the afterimages of the spectacle she has witnessed a mere moment ago. More blurred shapes appear in the water, but they are distorted and barely recognizable, fading away quickly.

“Do you see now, Silver One?” The Weaver’s voice fills Carra’s ears. “There are countless possibilities for the thread to run through the loom.”

“But the taint is spreading in the pattern,” the white-haired man, the Water Bearer, says; his words sound hollow. “Everything withers in its wake.”

“There is still hope. Not everything is lost.” The Great Mother walks towards a nearby apple tree. Both its leaves and her gown shimmer in the sunlight. Something tells Carra to follow her creator, and so she does, her legs unsteady.

“Not everything? What about… ” The White Raven’s voice trembles. “Thorin Oakenshield’s life?”

The Great Mother does not reply. Instead, she plucks a large, ripe apple from the tree and smells it with an approving hum.

“Curious creature.” The Water Bearer approaches them from ahead; Carra could have sworn he was behind them merely a moment ago. “Is it the silver dust in your wings speaking or your heart?”

Carra lowers her head—in shame or embarrassment? She does not know which one burns stronger.

She wants to seek redemption—to show that there is still a part of her that is worthy. In fact, she wishes to explain that her question was born solely out of her sense of duty, that her feelings are insignificant, but then her own faint whisper reaches her.

“I speak from my heart,” she says. Always my heart, she thinks.

The Water Bearer and the Green Lady exchange a boundless glance. An eternity seems to pass, as long as one blink of Carra’s eyes.

The Great Mother turns back to her and speaks; a shadow of a smile blooms on her lips, “Then you should already know the answer to this question, my child.”

“I do not understand, Great Mother.”

“Was it not you who alarmed us of the threat to his life?”

Carra recalls the very moment when the Pale Orc attacked Thorin and finds that she does not have the strength to speak. She simply nods as the sense of foreboding tightens its fingers around her throat.

“Your croak echoed so strongly across the tapestry that I almost lost several useful threads!” The Weaver’s voice seems to come from afar, but when Carra turns towards its source, she sees the Weaver standing only a few steps behind her.

“My apologies, my lady,” Carra says faintly. “It was not my intention to cause trouble.”

“Child, you did no such thing. You fulfilled your duty.” The Great Mother shakes her head gracefully, the apple still in her hand. “He is still among the living.”

Something hums in Carra’s ear, and the dread that has been gnawing at her mind finally leaves her; her legs fold beneath her, and she finds herself on the grass, supported by trembling arms. Her heart beats fast, as if after a long run.

Thorin lives. Thorin lives. Thorin lives.

“Thank you, Great Mother.” The world blurs before her, and she needs to wipe away the tears. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“You should be thanking yourself, dear child—it has come to pass through your sacrifice.” The Great Mother extends her hand, and Carra takes it tentatively, lifting herself from the ground on unsteady legs.

The Water Bearer steps towards them. His hands are empty. The butterfly is nowhere to be seen.

“And so the line of Durin remains unbroken,” he says. “So does the pattern.” The Weaver’s elegant fingers move along a thick piece of thread. Its colour makes Carra think of the waters of the Long Lake at dawn. “I was almost certain that this thread would be lost to the tapestry forever.”

The three of them exchange a lengthy glance in silence, and Carra wishes she could understand its meaning.

“Forgive me, Great Mother.” Her throat constricts at her own boldness.” But who will watch over Thorin Oakenshield and his kin now that I am gone?”

“The mettle on this one!” The Water Bearer chuckles, but Carra can barely hear him. A strong gust of wind picks up suddenly, making the leaves rustle in the trees around them. As she looks up, the wind brings another sound with it. A low whisper that reverberates in her ears with longing.

“Carra… Please…”

“Thorin?” Her eyes search the beech grove ahead in hopes of seeing her son of Durin, but there are only tree trunks and shrubbery, and the rustling of leaves. Has she imagined hearing his voice?

“Is that…?” There is a hint of amusement in the Water Bearer’s voice. His white hair dances in the wind.

“That silver in her wings…” the Weaver adds, but before she can finish her sentence, another figure appears in the garden, as if out of nowhere. With a few measured strides, he approaches the Great Mother, who offers him the apple she picked before. He takes it, reverently kissing her on her hand. Even though the newcomer is taller than his companions, there seems to be something dwarven about him. Perhaps it is his robust figure or muscular arms, his long hair, brown as elm bark, or perhaps his thick, braided beard; Carra is not certain.

“Husband mine, it is good to see you here,” the Great Mother says.

“I would not have missed it for the world, my dearest.” The man’s voice is as deep as the deepest mines of Erebor.

The wind picks up again, and the rustling intensifies, but the Great Mother’s spouse remains unmoving; even his hair and garments remain still, as if carved out of stone.

“Karkûnê… Come back to me…”

Carra’s searching eyes frantically move from one tree to the next, from one patch of shrubbery to another, but he is not there.

“Thorin!” Helplessly she exclaims towards the sky. “Where are you?”

“You will not find him here, Winged One,” the Great Mother’s husband addresses her. “He is under his Mountain.”

“But I hear him as if he was here!” Carra does not dare to lift her eyes and look into his radiant face.

“The bond between you is as strong as mithril,” he explains.

She opens her mouth to speak, but then she hears the Weaver’s voice.

“So it is mithril, not silver… What are you up to, Smith?” With her brow furrowed, the ethereal lady glances at her loom. “You are not hammering out a new pattern, are you?”

He gives out a short chuckle, “Nothing of the sort, Spinner. This pattern does not need any adjustments on my part.”

“Because you have already made them,” the Water Bearer interjects, once again standing by the rock basin, the silvery jug resting at its edge. When his all-knowing gaze meets hers, Carra wants to disappear.

“A pinch of mithril has never done any harm to anyone.” The Smith takes a step towards Carra. “Has it, Winged One?”

“My lord, I do not comprehend…” she speaks shakily. “I only wish to know if Thorin is going to be safe now.”

There is something benevolent in his expectant gaze. Is he smiling? He has heard her, surely, but he does not address her. Carra does not understand what is expected of her now. A glance passes between the Great Mother and the Weaver, but Carra remains oblivious to it, her attention caught by a new occurrence. The orange butterfly appears in front of her, its wings fluttering, and then it flies off to rest on the folds of the Great Mother’s robes, as if on a flowery meadow. Standing by her husband, she gives a shallow nod.

“So be it, Smith,” the Water Bearer says. 

Carra blinks, and when she opens her eyes again, she stands by the rock basin once more. This time, the water is black and impenetrable, like the sky on a winter night. An image starts forming, but it feels like a mere shadow of the visions she has experienced before.

*** Thorin sits on a gilded stone bench on a high terrace carved out of the slope of the Mountain. A beautifully ornamented walking cane rests against the wall behind him. A thick fur-lined cloak rests on his shoulders, adorned with golden embroidery. His breath turns into mist in the cold air, and several stray snowflakes find their way to his hair, adorned with braids and golden cuffs. His sunken cheeks and pale skin are in stark contrast with the opulence that surrounds him. A guard passes by and salutes him, only to disappear in the bowels of the Mountain.

Time passes as Thorin gazes into the horizon. Although his left arm remains motionless—his left hand clothed in a glove—his right hand reaches under his tunic. Soon, his ringed fingers emerge, holding a silver-white feather. Thorin presses his lips against its tip and closes his eyes for a moment. He whispers something, but his words escape on the wind.

When an elderly Dwarf clad in burgundy robes approaches him, the feather is still in his hand.

“The delegation from the Woodland Realm has arrived, Thorin,” the Dwarf says. “It is time.”“Time, Balin? It feels like mine has already passed,” Thorin replies.

“And yet they say it is time that heals all wounds,” Balin gestures towards the feather.

Thorin rises from the bench with a pained hiss, helping himself with the walking cane. There is a heavy limp in his walk, and as they enter the Mountain, his solemn voice echoes in the corridor.

“But will it heal mine?” ***

“Your Dwarf rules over his kingdom. There is peace and safety for him and his people,” The Green Lady speaks. “Why the tears, my child?” 

Carra brings her fingers to her cheek. It is wet.

“I failed him, Great Mother. He needs me. I should be by his side, not here!” With her vision blurred, she can barely see the four luminous silhouettes standing around her, the expressions on their faces unreadable.

“You are on the path to the Timeless Halls of your winged kin where the reward for your deeds awaits you. You have earned it, Carra.” The Great Mother’s voice is like a sturdy nest shielded from the elements, like a warm blanket on a stormy night.

“I cannot draw joy from such honours. Not when my mate—the one I love—suffers. I’d rather…” She stops, terrified by her own insolence. Nevertheless, Carra has had to speak out. The vision of the terrifying king on the throne of Erebor, cloaked in darkness and blood, has been haunting her since the moment she saw it in the water. But this image was not as horrifying as her sudden realisation. Thorin’s gaze in her most recent vision, bitter and devoid of hope, was disturbingly similar to the darkness in the dragon king’s eyes.

The Smith gives out a lengthy hum. It sounds like a rumble of a distant avalanche.

“What is it that you are saying, child?” The Great Mother stands before Carra now. 

“I do not have the right to ask, Great Mother, but there is no greater reward for me than seeing Thorin contented and at peace,” Carra explains, and there is no doubt nor fear in her voice now because she speaks for Thorin, not for herself, for the one she has been watching over since she can remember. “His past has been filled with hardships. And now he needs joy, not grief, to heal. I will do anything you ask of me, I will serve you for as long as you wish… Please, Great Mother, do not let the darkness consume him. Does he not deserve a long and happy life now?”

“You would relinquish your place in the Timeless Halls for the sake of this Dwarf?” The Weaver inquires. There are several threads in her hand, but Carra does not see their colours.

“For Thorin’s happiness, I would, my lady. As my last gift to him.” Carra swallows. She has just sentenced herself to oblivion, and yet it does not terrify her in the slightest. Only Thorin’s future matters to her, just like it always has.

“Shall we grant her this reward, husband?” The Great Mother turns to the Smith, who looks at a little pebble in his palm, and then tosses it up, catching it in a blink of an eye later.

“Your devotion reminds me of my own children, Winged One,” he declares. “Know that the path you chose is a path of no return. If you take it, the Timeless Halls will not welcome you. You will become like this stone. Stones do not have wings nor do they dream. Do you understand?”

“I do,” she speaks quietly. “This is the path I want to take.”

“Very well,” the Great Mother grants her a smile as warm as a spring day. In her open palm, a flower blooms. Its countless petals are orange, and it smells like fire.

“You have fulfilled your duty as the White Raven, dear child. We shall bestow upon you the reward you have chosen,” she offers Carra the flower in her outstretched hand. “Accept it, if that is truly your choice.”

“Thank you, Great Mother.” She touches the flower with her trembling fingers. It feels hard, like a piece of stone. “Thank you, Great Smith…”

As Carra closes her hand over the silky petals, a curtain of darkness falls over her, and it is as if the air disappeared from her lungs. She cannot move; she cannot speak. This must be the end, she thinks, and in the cold stillness of oblivion, a familiar sound reaches her ears.

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh.

The loom resumed its work.

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 ... 🌟

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[i-did-not-mean-to]

Fallen Leaves

Written for @fandomfaeryreads <3 Thank you for requesting Kí still <3

This one might end on a cliffhanger, I am warning you <3

Characters: Kíli x reader

Words: 1 690

Warnings: injury, anxiety, sadness...cliffhanger

You had always loved the enchanted time between autumn and winter—there was a melody to it that far surpassed the song of the other seasons in its delicate beauty, and you were in the habit of walking amongst the tastefully denuded trees, a living phantom ambling under the protective gaze of those silent guardians.

This year, winter had come early, and the air smelled like acrid cold.

If you had found the courage to go up to the accursed ruins of Ravenhill, you might well have found the first snow clinging to the unyielding stone with stubborn determination—of course, your surprisingly light feet would never have carried you onto that fated scene of unspeakable tragedy.

Moreover, your cherished walks had been soured and spoiled by the gnawing uncertainty concerning your one true love—Kíli and you had only just started exchanging meaningful glances and playful quips when his uncle had carried him off to reconquer a realm you had never seen, yet you knew that he was the one your heart yearned for.

Indeed, you had not lost faith in the fragile, but fast-developing affection between the two of you, and—as soon as you had been able to—you had set out with your family on the long and arduous trip to Erebor to follow him.

Not once had you doubted that Thorin Oakenshield, backed up by his sister-sons and friends, would vanquish the scaled foe and reclaim the traditional seat of his line.

Maybe, you thought now as you staggered through dark, depressing corridors haphazardly, you had simply depleted your willingness and strength during that long trek, and you no longer had any miles of pleasant walks left in you.

Oh! What naïvely high hopes you had had and how your heart had soared upon catching the first glimpse of the majestic Lonely Mountain that should have become the cradle of all your happiness and that had since threatened to turn into the tomb of your most precious hopes.

There had been a fight—nay, a war—and, even though the Khâzad had been victorious and the dark enemy pushed back, heavy losses had been suffered.

At that news, your heart had clenched, but a young dwarf with soulful eyes had immediately reassured you that neither the king nor his nephews had been slain.

Sighing now, you remembered the brief, fleeting moment of relief that had been shattered by his whispered addendum that they were, however, grievously wounded and might well succumb to their injuries yet.

Ever since, you travelled from your chambers down the long hallways to Kíli’s sickroom and back with steadfast faithfulness—you never entered, for you were not his spouse and had no right to demand being let in, but you stayed there to watch the healers’ faces, in hopes that their expression might tell you anything about your sweet prince’s state.

In time, someone had brought a chair for you, and that very first friend of Kíli’s you had met—Ori by name—usually joined you for as long as he could.

Through him and his careful tales, you had been able to piece together what had happened since their company had left their home in the Blue Mountains.

“I do not want to distress you,” Ori had said, visibly torn between the desire to share his meticulously crafted narration and his inescapable duty of observing the rules of propriety and exerting caution when it came to young, potentially susceptible dams.

“I am not made of sugar,” you had bellowed. “Tell me all and tell me true.”

Both his momentary hesitation and his subsequent honesty did him credit, you found, and you were exceedingly thankful for his friendship.

Of course, he had thought that the things they had experienced were much too violent and gruesome for a well-bred lady to hear, but you had been able to convince him that—however awful the truth would be—your mind had come up with worse scenarios during the long months of travel.

Unable to contradict or disprove this claim, Ori had submitted to your stubborn insistence, and thus, you had been able to learn how Kíli—object of all your intimate hopes and desires—had been pierced by an orcish blade in the defence of his uncle and king.

Pride and shock had intermingled into a singular jolt of sheer pain, but you had neither fainted nor faltered but merely nodded grimly—the prince had turned out to be exactly the kind of dwarf you had thought him to be, and you prayed to Mahal that he might live.

Even if he was never to become your own to have and to hold, this Kingdom and any other would be better for having such a brave and fierce warrior to defend and guard it.

You smiled softly as you turned the corner, imagining Kíli—alive and laughing—in Durin blue while he sat at the King’s side at the impressive, presently shockingly deserted, table in the Great Hall.

“Oh, hey!”

When you arrived outside Kíli’s door, Ori was already there. Tucked under his right arm was, as ever, a book, but his cheeks were reddened, and his eyes were bright.

“You’ve never told me that you were so close to Kíli,” he said in a squeaky, excited voice.

“I am not,” you replied cautiously. “I am afraid that I care more for the prince than he does for me; we were acquaintances back…in another life.”

Shaking his head slowly and tutting under his breath, Ori—who was very used to calling out fibbing people—gave her a long, wordless look.

“We might have gone on a few walks; I used to love the last weeks of autumn,” you confessed.

As much as Prince Fíli was a summer child—blazing and golden—his younger brother seemed to be made for late fall and early winter with his dark complexion and bright humour.

The sound of his laughter had ever reminded you of hot beverages, and the silk of his hair matched your favourite fur coat perfectly. Moreover, his warm voice and scintillating humour chased the first chill that heralded the lethal cold yet to come so well that you had saved quite a bit of firewood in the past.

It was not that you didn’t love seeing Kíli in spring—joyous and sprightly—or splashing around in the river when summer was at its most unmerciful, but you cherished the mellow, companionable autumn afternoons most.

Despite being fully grown and ferociously brave, he had preserved a sliver of unspoiled delight and fascination that allowed him to take genuine pleasure in the crunching sound of his boots sinking into a carpet of fallen leaves or the sweet juiciness of the last apples of the season.

You desperately hoped that his long ailing had not robbed him of that sense of irreverent levity that had made you suppress and hide chuckles at the most inopportune of moments.

The recollection of that instinctive sense of companionship and complicity made another smile tug at the corners of your mouth.

“He said so, yes,” Ori commented, his warm, knowing gaze following every twitch and shift of your face with open curiosity.

“He is awake?” you gasped, going as far as to grab the slender shoulders of that shy messenger. “Is he?”

“Oh yes,” Ori grinned, adjusting his hold on the book you had almost shaken from his armpit and patting your hand soothingly. “He has asked for you.”

You could hardly believe it—all the words of explanation and context that came out of Ori’s mouth seemed to dissolve, unintelligible and garbled, like a puff of smoke in the tense, cool air between you.

“Do you want to see him?”

What a question! Bursting into the room, you instantly caught sight of Kíli—propped up against a mountain of pillows—beaming at you.

“There you are,” he exclaimed. “Ori here tells me that you’ve come to check on me every day—I am sorry I have not yet been able to receive your visits. Óin thought it would be best to keep me asleep until my injuries had mended enough…He thinks that I cannot be trusted to follow his instructions.”

Kíli snorted disdainfully, but he also threw back the heavy blanket covering his knees and hissed at the flash of sharp pain this motion sent lancing through him.

“Clearly the healer was right,” you chided, rushing to his side and forcefully tugging the blanket back up. When the back of your hand brushed against his bare thigh, both of you sighed softly, but—tacitly agreeing—neither one of you brought it up.

“When did you arrive?” Kíli asked, graciously accepting the goblet of fresh, herb-infused water you handed him to distract from your evident nervousness. You—an unmarried dam—were alone in a room with one of the princes of the realm, and he was not fully clad; surely, your mother would have been aghast to see you behave so scandalously.

“I arrived shortly after…the battle,” you answered reluctantly when he nudged you—Kíli had never been one to let a question go unanswered.

“Again, I am so sorry that I have not been—around,” he sighed, his hand inching closer to yours until his warm fingers could caress the back of your cold hand. “How are the walks around here? Have the clean-up works progressed far enough for you to able to go for a few strolls?”

“I…had neither the heart nor the mind for that,” you confessed. “I was very worried about you—not because of…what we might have had if things had played out differently, of course, but because you’re a great dwarf, and this recuperating realm will need you.”

“Why—” Kíli swallowed thickly. “I did apologise—it was not my fault. After being stabbed by a blade, I would have thought that I’d suffered the worst pain already, but that wound is but a scratch compared to the agony of hearing you proclaim our fragile love dead and buried before it ever had the chance to thrive. What can I do to be forgiven?”

Thank you so much for reading <3

-> Masterlist for November

[ruthoakenshield]

Thorin, Fili, Emma and the Unusual Arrangement - Part 12

[Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11]

This tale is for 18+ readers only.

If smut, angst, fluff, backdoor entry, oral (m&f receiving), and threesome offend you, do NOT read below the cut!!!  

In this Alternate Universe Hobbit tale, Thorin and Company find an injured Dwarrowdam in the wild who is alone. They take her into the company and heal her, insisting that she stay with them so she stays safe. During  the quest, Thorin, Fili and the Dwarrowdam find themselves  in an unusual  arrangement out of necessity and by the will of the  Dwarven god, Mahal.  What is the unusual arrangement? Will the arrangement work out? Will the line of Durin survive the Quest and reclaim Erebor?

(I  do not claim ownership of any of Tolkien’s characters, languages or  places, nor do I claim ownership of  Tauriel’s character. )

–~~–~~–~~–~~–~~–~~–~~–~~–~~–~~–~~–~~–~~–~~–~~–~~–~~–~~--~~--

Dwalin comes trotting out with his axes and grins, “You ready, Lass?” he asks. You grin and nod. The rest of the Dwarrow, Bilbo and Beorn congregate on the porch and stairs, making wagers on first strike, and such.

The two of you circle and you wait for Dwalin to make his move, you fake an attack, and he buys it. Grinning, you spin and get a blow in to his back, and he stumbles forward with a grunt, and everyone cheers. He growls and you’re giggling. “Oh, you think that’s funny?” he asks, and you nod.

He attacks and the two of you go at it, it’s obvious you are well trained and Balin and Thorin grin seeing you play dirty, using tricks to knock Dwalin off his feet repeatedly. “She’s reminding me of another Durin Dam who fights with axes…” Balin teases Thorin. Thorin nods and chuckles. “I wonder who’d win, Em or Dis, if they battled each other?” Thorin muses out loud. “Oooohhh, that would be a close call!” Balin says. “I’m not sure I could say one way or the other.” He replies.

They both chuckle seeing Dwalin getting his ass handed to him. In no time, you’ve pinned him to the tree again and make him drop his weapons. He’s laughing still in disbelief that you’ve bested him twice in one day. “Ye truly are a Master Axe Wielder, Lass!” he says when you let him up. You grin and nod.

He chuckles. “Now, we just need to make ye some kind of harness fer them that’ll work with yer sword’s harness. That thing’s thick enough ye could use it as a shield if ye wanted!” he teases. “No wonder why ye could sleep with it on!” he says laughing. You giggle and nod. “It’s protected my back from being attacked many times. It’s pretty much the only armor besides bracers I wear.” You explain.

Dwalin stops for a moment and looks at you, “So how many weapons do ye have on ye now, Lass?”

You giggle and reply, “If I have them ALL on me, I’d have 100 individual weapons…” His jaw drops “What?!?!” he exclaims. You grin, “…but many of them would be hidden in plain sight and not be realized that they are weapons.” You explain and pull a few daggers from your hair, showing him that the sticks in your hair aren’t normal ones, and that deep in the bun, you have the dagger from Elladan. He laughs, “You’re DEFINITELY Fili’s One!!! You’re like a little walking arsenal!” he exclaims!

You grin and nod. “He suddenly notices the necklaces you’re wearing, and his eyes get big, “Wha’s on yer neck? That’s new!” he says as you flop down on the step next to Kili and rest the two axes against your leg. The rest of the Dwarrow nearby stop and look. You carefully lift it from over your head and say, “This, NONE of you should ever touch without me conscious and present. It is a Cold-Drake’s enchanted claw. It will freeze to death anyone or anything that touches it’s white claw that is inside this gold sheath.

If it thinks you intend to steal it from me, it will freeze you to death the moment you touch the gold sheath. If it lets you touch the sheath, and you pull it open, and you see red runes, it is a warning to not touch the actual claw as it WILL kill you instantly. I can touch it because it has accepted me as it’s owner and it will never harm me in any way. Only a female whom it’s chosen to accept can wield it.” You explain and open it.

A bright blue light radiates from the claw revealing it’s acceptance of you. Looking around in the darkness, you see a chunk of firewood by Beorn’s splitting maul. You get up and grab it and bring it back to the step. Sitting down beside Kili, you set the wood on the ground and touch the wood with the claw. There’s a bright flash of light and when everyone looks, the wood piece is white and completely frozen.

Dwalin picks it up and looks at it and then at the claw. “Ouch! Not touching that with a ten-foot pole! Nope, nope nope!” he says and chucks the piece of firewood over his shoulder. When it hits the ground, it shatters into shards of ice. He freezes and turns, looking at it wide eyed. “NOPE!” he says, and everyone chuckles. You sheath the dagger and hand it to Fili to show them what the red runes look like.

He stands in front of the Dwarves and opens the sheath, and a blazing red emits from the claw revealing the runes. Their eyes open wide and they all nod. Fili re-sheaths it and hands it back to you. Once he does, Thorin stands before them and says, “Em and I talked about this dagger and what lies ahead on our journey. Elrond and Arwen gave her this for a reason. If she can touch Smaug with it on his belly, it will freeze the scales it touches. You saw how easily the wood shattered. If she can open up enough of a hole, she’ll be able to jab it into his skin and it will freeze him like it froze the wood.” He explains.

She is to go with Bilbo to scout out the treasury and keep him safe, should we make it to the mountain alive. If anyone asks. She is the company’s ‘scout’ and Bilbo is or ‘burglar’.” He says. They all nod.

Now, I want to say this in front of you all, so that there is no doubt to my wishes as I am still of sound mind at the moment.

I do not know how the Dragon’s Sickness will affect me once we get close to Erebor. I will do my best to fight it, but I make no guarantees that it will not overcome me. If you see me starting to treat Em and Fili differently or poorly, you are to send them away or they are to follow Mahal’s wishes of where to go. Do not let them near me and do not let them return until I either overcome the sickness, or succumb to it and am taken to Mandos’ halls.

I do not wish to harm either of them in my sickness and risk the blessing Mahal has promised to them. Should I fall, she is to marry Fili after the appointed days of grieving are complete. Balin knows of the dreams Mahal gave the three of us informing us what he has done and Balin has been told Mahal’s reasoning for this arrangement of Fili, Em and I and will explain it to the Dwarrow of Erebor should I not survive. This unusual union has happened by Mahal’s design and despite it not having been done before, we still will follow his design for it. Em will be known as my Wife, and Fili for now, will be Em’s Consort until my death, then they will marry if she is still in agreement with the arrangement.” Thorin explains.

“Fili and I have begun to work out ways to share Em and have agreed on a way to share her so we will be certain who sires her pebbles. Her first MUST be Fili’s so that his position as my Heir is not in jeopardy since the firstborn of females in the line of Durin are always Males. DO NOT let me near Em if I start to lose myself to the sickness.

The Dragon’s claw around her neck will no doubt tempt me to take it from her should I not be able to fight off the sickness. I do not wish to be frozen to death.” He says and there’s a few chuckles. “I also do not wish to force Em and risk getting her pregnant before Fili can, despite her being my Wife. That is why you MUST send her and Fili away if you see me start to succumb. Am I understood?” Thorin asks his company. They all nod. “DO NOT tell me where they have fled to unless I overcome the sickness and defeat it.” He tells them. They nod.

“Let us hope that these precautions are not needed, but I wanted you to be aware of them should they be.” Thorin explains. Everyone nods. “Now, let’s all get inside and make sure everything is packed and ready to go. We leave tomorrow morning.” He explains. Everyone is quiet and heads inside.

Beorn stops you and Fili and waits for everyone to finish entering the house. “If you need a place to hide, send a raven here to me or to the carrock and have him tell the Eagles that I am asking them to come and get you and bring you both to me, since there is no fast, safe way through Mirkwood any longer, and you will need a quick escape. I will keep you safe here until you are able to return.” He tells them. “Thank you Beorn.” Fili says quietly. He nods and lets you both inside. Fili gives you a kiss. “Goodnight, Love. Try to get some rest. If you change your mind and want us to join you, let us know.” He says and you nod. He lets you go, and you head to your room.

Thorin’s and Fili’s packs are gone from the room. Thorin left the remaining fabric for you that he had bought. And the thread that the Elves had not used.

You leave the door open and begin to cut the holes in your pants for the access points for each of your leg sheaths. You decide to leave one pair of new pants uncut and one new blouse uncut, just in case. The rest you cut the holes in. Once they are all cut, you measure out patches to sew on. Various Dwarves come and visit with you for a bit, thanking you for what you did to help teach Fili. They ask if you need anything else.

You nod and tell them you need a harness that will work with your sword’s rig so your new battle axes can be included on it and easy to access without having to remove the entire harness. They take the axes and your rig with the sword and take it to the kitchen table. Several Dwarves discuss it with Fili, and not only do they figure out how to attach your battle axes, but also fit the rest of your hidden weapons so that you are fully armed with everything.

Fili comes in and asks you for the daggers from Lord Elrond that were enchanted. You kick off your boots and he looks confused until he looks inside. He frowns and then picks up your foot. He sees it’s been rubbed raw by the sheath and looks at you with a frown. “I know. But I had nowhere else to hide them! I don’t want those Elves stealing them! They’re enchanted ones!” you say, knowing he’s not happy about your foot being rubbed raw. He takes the two daggers out of your boots and goes to work on the harness some more. He sends Oin in to take care of your feet, so they don’t get infected. You roll your eyes at their fussing over you.

Oin treats your feet and gives you a pouch of the morning tea mix. He explains how to make it, using both hot or cold water and tells you how long to steep it for. You nod and thank him. By the end of the night, you have all the patches sewn on and all the holes reinforced so they do not fray.

You make sure everything is packed and looking around you spot the bottle of lube on the nightstand. You giggle realizing Thorin probably couldn’t see it from the floor. You climb over and take it and making sure it’s closed, you put it in the pocket of your pack. Yawning, you close your bedroom door and change into your sleep clothes and climb up onto the bed once more.

Sighing, you take your hair down except for the marriage braids and the courting braids, and climb under the covers and try to go to sleep, but it eludes you, finally you get up and go out into the kitchen and pour a cup of hot water and make peppermint tea. You climb up into Beorn’s chair and his mice come over to you and crawl all over you squeaking quietly and letting you pet them. One curious one climbs into the pocket of your shirt and squeaks. You chuckle and let it sit there. It peeks out of the pocket and looks around with it’s front paws hanging over the front of the pocket.

Thorin hears your giggles and gets up to see why you’re still up. He chuckles seeing the mice crawling on you and the one hanging out of your pocket on the shirt. “What are you still doing up, Love? It’s late.’ He says quietly as the mice run off, except for the one in your pocket. It decides to just drop down into it and curl up. Thorin chuckles and comes over by you. He peeks into the pocket and sees the mouse all curled up in it. He chuckles again and lets it be.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You say with a sigh. So, I came to have some tea, hoping it would help me relax and get sleepy.” You say. Thorin nods. He caresses your face and kisses your forehead. “Very well. Fili is sleeping with Kili, and I’m where we slept when we first got here. He tells you quietly. If you cannot sleep and want to join me or Fili, just come and find us.” He says.

You nod and finish your tea. Then fish the mouse from your pocket. “Come on, you, time for you to go to bed wherever you normally sleep.” You tell it. It yawns, looks at you, squeaks and scampers off. You yawn and give Thorin a peck on the cheek and bid him ‘goodnight’ and go back to your room.

Curling up on the bed, you pull the covers up and over you. Finally, you fall asleep, but have strange dreams all night long. You are tossing and turning as you dream and Beorn hears you and gets up. Peeking into your room, he sees your fitful sleeping and quietly closes the door. He pads over to the barn area and nudges Thorin’s foot. Thorin wakes with a startle and looks up.

Beorn says quietly, “Your Wife seems to be having fitful sleep. Perhaps you might wish to check on her and comfort her.” He suggests. Thorin nods and gets up. Beorn goes back to his room and Thorin goes to yours. He quietly opens the door and sees you all tangled up in your blankets. Sighing, he closes the door and climbs up onto the footstool. He gently shakes your shoulder, and you startle awake. “Em…” he says quietly. “Em, it’s just me. Beorn came to get me saying you were having fitful sleep. Are you alright, Sweetheart?” he asks.

You shake your head and start to cry. Thorin climbs up and sits behind you and the two of you scoot back until Thorin has the pillow against the back rest and he is leaning on it. “Come here, Sweetheart.” He coos and you crawl over and snuggle him. “What were you dreaming of?” he asks. You sniffle. “Smaug.” You tell him of your dream and how you dreamed a town built over a lake was burning and how when you tried to escape it, the Dragon landed on the platform in front of you and lunged at you. “Oh, Thorin! It was SO scary!!!” you exclaim and tremble in his arms.

Thorin frowns and holds you close and shushes you telling you it was only a dream and that you’re safe. You whimper and he rocks with you, caressing your hair until you finally fall asleep. He kisses your forehead, lays you down and pulls the blankets over you, then slips out of the room and goes back to his sleeping area.

By morning, Thorin finds you curled up next to him and he chuckles. Fili looks over and does so too. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?” he says quietly. Thorin carefully climbs out from beside you and goes over to Fili, “She didn’t sleep well. Beorn came and woke me saying she was having fitful sleep. He wanted me to check on her, so I did. I woke her from another nightmare she was having, and she said she had dreamed of Smaug and of Laketown burning and she was trying to escape it. She said she dreamed that Smaug landed on the causeway and blocked her path, then lunged at her.” Thorin explains.

“Ah, yup, that’ll give anyone nightmares!” Fili exclaims. Thorin nods. I comforted her till she fell back into a deep sleep, and tucked her back into the bed and came back out here to sleep. She must’ve had another nightmare and just decided to come sleep out here.” He explains. “I didn’t even feel her curl up against me!” he exclaims.

Fili chuckles. “It’s too bad Thrandy had to be the one to settle in Mirkwood. I’m not looking forward to going through there if it’s sick and foul things now creep in it.” Fili says with a sigh. “I know, Fee, but we don’t have a choice. If we go south and come up through the brown lands, we’d never make it. There’s nothing there to sustain us, nor the ponies, and the water sources are few and far in between.” Thorin explains. Fili sighs and nods.

“Fee, I want you to keep Em with you. If Thranduril and his Elves find out Em’s my Wife, he would try to hold her hostage and use her to try to get me to give him anything he wanted. Her life would be in great danger. Do not let her out of your sight if you can help it.” Thorin tells his Nephew. “Okay, Uncle.” Fili says.

They both look over at you, curled up in the straw. Thorin sighs. “I hope I live through this and am not consumed by the sickness.” He says sadly. “I know, Uncle. We all are hoping the same thing for you.” He tells Thorin. Just try to remember what your true treasure is and what will end up with you in Mandos’ halls. That is what your true treasure is, and is worth more than all the treasure in Erebor. You can’t take gold and jewels with you when you leave this world, Uncle. It’s all worthless to you by that time.” Fili says. “Perhaps it would help you to focus on what is important if you had something of Em’s, something tangible, to keep with you. Something important that when you see it you immediately think of her.” Fili suggests.

“I will think about it, Fili. It’s a good suggestion.” He says. “We need to get her up though so she can get ready before everyone starts to wake.” Thorin says quietly. Fili nods. They both go over to you and Thorin shakes your shoulder. “Em, Honey, you need to wake up.” He tells you.

Groaning, you open your eyes and curl up tighter. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Fili asks. “Cramps.” You mumble. Both Dwarves look puzzled. “Huh?” Fili says. “Apparently my body decided it’s time for my bleeding week.” You groan. Both Dwarves’ eyes get huge. “Come on, Sweetheart. Let’s get you back to your room and get you ready. I’ll ask Oin what he can give you to help keep you comfortable.” Thorin says. You nod and they help you up.

You stand for a moment, then groan and your legs give out and Fili catches you. He sighs and picks you up, then carries you to the bedroom. Thorin wakes Oin up and explains that your ‘bleeding week’ arrived and you are cramping so badly that you can’t stand. He chuckles and says, “Well, nice that it waited to arrive until AFTER Fili’s training!” and goes to prepare a tea for you to help with the pain.

Thorin sighs and goes to your room to help you get ready. When he arrives, Fili is helping you to clean up since you started to bleed and you’re showing him how to put the harness on you to hold your pads in place. Thorin sighs and sees you have three pairs of each clothing sitting out. “Love, why do you have three pairs of your blouses and pants out?” he asks. “Cushioning, so that if we get captured, hopefully the Elves won’t feel my harnesses if they make me remove my surcoat and tunic.” You explain. He nods. He sees you have tacked together the patches so they all stay in one flap on each opening.

Thorin suddenly realizes he can’t hide his dagger from you inside you now. He wonders where to hide it that the Elves won’t find it. As if you can read his mind, you say, “Thorin, give me your boot.” He looks puzzled but does so. You pull out the liner and pull one of your small punch knives out to cut a section out of the middle of his boot.

“Do you have the dagger I gave you?” you ask. He nods and hands it to you. Laying it in the boot, you cut around the sheath into the boot’s soul and then lift the dagger and set it on the footstool next to you. You pull out the section of the boot’s soul until it snugly fits your dagger and sheath. Then you tuck the bits of the soul around it to make it as flat as possible and then take the liner back and put it in the boot. “It’ll feel weird for walking for a bit. But you’ll get used to it. Hopefully if the Elves do capture us, they at least let us keep our boots!” you explain. If they strip you of your weapons, at least you’ll have that.” You tell him. “Tell no one it is in there. If you have to take it out, put some cloth, stone, or wood into the gap to fill it in so your boot won’t snap in two.” You explain.

Thorin nods. They help you to get your harnesses on and your layered clothing. Then your boots, tunic and patched, hooded surcoat. Fili helps you to fix your hair and puts it up with the dagger from Elladan in the center, against your head, then pushes the bun up against it and uses your stick blades to hold it in place securely along with a few hair pins just in case. He hugs you and picks you up, curious now. Thorin chuckles and Fili giggles at how much more you weigh with all your gear on now. “We’ll have to weigh all this when we get back to Erebor and get settled to see how much weight it added to you.” He tells you. “I’m curious.”

You chuckle, then hear a knock at the door. Oin comes in with some tea for you to help ease the cramps. “How long do they usually last for you, Em? I guess I never paid notice to it before.” Fili asks. “Usually a couple days.” You explain. “I tried not to make much of a fuss about it, but I suppose it hurts more since my poor entrance there was getting pummeled by Thorin for the past month and by the two of you for the last few days.” You tease.

Oin chuckles, “Well, this should help you, Lass. I made a large batch of it and Beorn gave me a canteen to use for you to keep with you while we travel through Mirkwood. It should last you for a couple days. Only drink from that one when you start to feel the pain return though, or you’ll run out too fast. I doubt we’ll be able to have a fire or cook much of anything in there.” He says.

“Oh, and Thorin, Gandalf arrived back from wherever he disappeared to, so he said he’d accompany us through Mirkwood.” Oin informs Thorin. He sighs and nods. “Lass, you won’t need to drink the other tea till towards the end of your ‘bleeding time’ if you notice you’re not bleeding much, then start to take the tea again. Each Dam’s time is a little different, some bleed for a full week, others only for a few days, and for some it varies from one time to the next. You know your body best.” He tells you.

You nod and finish the tea and thank Oin. He nods then heads out. “Em, is everything loaded in your pack now?” Thorin asks. You shake your head. “No. I need to put the soap, shampoo, hair oil, my washcloth and towel back into my pack. Fili, hand me my necklaces please and grab the bath stuff and put it in the front pocket. Put the towel and the washcloth on the outside so they can dry.” You instruct. He hands you the necklaces and you put them both on and tuck them under your shirts, so they aren’t as noticeable.

You sigh and look around, making sure you have everything. You pull the pack over and take out the pouch with your pads and cleaning cloths in it and tie it to your belt. Standing, you take the staff from it’s place by the cabinet and nod. Fili closes up your pack and carries it out for you and Thorin follows.

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

(Gen Start-Up) Not Worth It pt. 1

{Reader gets sent from our world to middle earth and falls in love with either Fili/Kili/Thoron or heck maybe all three, I'll leave that up to you, and upon coming to middle earth they get the healing powers. All they gotta do is put their hands on the person and concentrate. BUT these healing abilities have a cost if the injury is severe. Maybe they either transfer the injury to themselves until it evens out between the two? Or it takes a lot of energy from them and if they use it too much they will die. Then Reader tries to heal Thorin/Kili/Fili at the end." --- Britishfajita}

Fluff and Slight Angst

Authors Note: This is the beginning of a wonderful three (or maybe more) part connected series! Same reader for all three of the Durin's who I plan to make this for. There may be multiple parts for them, idk yet. We'll just see what happens :D!

The Durins/Reader

----

You could have been so extraordinary in your past life.

Special, wanted, powerful.

And, to some extent, you were wanted and desired, but you could never deliver on those expectations and hopes.

Your special ability to heal, ease pain, and help others was never anything special where you lived. Many people had healing abilities similar to and better than yours, and most, if none, had the drawbacks that yours did.

Where normal healers can use their powerful auras to mend and strengthen others to accelerate the healing process, yours is much more of a give and take, parasitic relationship between 'doctor' and patient. Instead of your aura enhancing the healing ability of others, it instead participates in a transfer that can leave you wounded yourself.

You retain your ability to heal and, essentially, switch auras in a wound transferral. You do not always inherit the wounds of those you heal, however.

Depending on the severity of an injury, you may be left winded, tired, or extremely hungry, but in more serious instances, the damages completely transfer to you instead.

The best way to exemplify this would be to explain how you found out about this horrible symbiotic relationship in the first place.

Your parents knew you were a healer from a young age, for there are individuals who test all children in schools to determine what classes they will need to hone their abilities, and they figured out your ameliorative nature rather easily.

The fatigue and pain you sometimes felt during training and classes was just chalked up to your control and aura being weaker, for your parasitic power was something very uncommon at the time.

It happened during your first ever shift at the local hospital.

Up to this point you've only ever dealt with smaller wounds because of your easy fatigue and exhaustion, but this day was different.

A disaster struck a nearby bank that left 40 people, and counting, injured, and it was all hands on deck. Every person on staff had somethings to do, and when a young woman with debris sticking out of her abdomen came rolling in, you were the only one free to help at the time.

You took up the assignment without hesitation, but as soon as you began to heal her, something felt different.

There was no weakness at first, something very alien to you, and you were able to heal her in record time for even one of the most skilled (and normal) healers, only, you eventually realized that something wasn't right.

The pain you felt that day was horrible and unimaginable, and you went down in a matter of moments.

It wasn't until 5 minutes later that someone found you unconscious on the ground, pale and barely breathing. If it weren't for your current location, you certainly would've died that day.

That young woman had been saved and, somehow, her power had been enhanced as well after your treatment, but it left your aura damaged and practically sucking the life out of you following her miraculous recovery.

The whole premise of your power is the nature of give and take. You give a piece of your aura to someone else to heal and enhance them (be it their power, strength, wakefulness, or anything else), and in return you take a part of theirs and become weakened depending on how much you give, needing to rest and regenerate what you gave away in that moment. You can also heal yourself of your own, personally received wounds without incident, which is rather strange.

For most, there is a finite amount of their aura that they can ever have throughout the duration of their lives, but your supply is nearly endless. However, the more you spend healing or helping, the more you lose. You can regenerate your aura forever, but if you keep going without ceasing, then your life will eventually begin to drain too, to compensate for your loss.

It isn't an instant process, though, for it takes time for your body to catch up to how much of your power you spend, so you had to train really hard from that moment on to ensure that you never spend more than you've earned.

If it weren't for this fateful vice of yours, you'd probably be one of the most powerful healers in your world; the only limit to the wounds you may heal is your own aura and life force, and the amount of time it takes all depends on your concentration and intent.

Because of this, you became unwanted.

Unwanted in a sense that, people did want you to help them become stronger, but no organization or job wanted to hire such a liability, and those with such horrible vices are always subject to horrible criticism and scrutiny, so you eventually just stopped using your ability altogether.

It isn't until you fall into Middle Earth that you start to habitually use your powers again, and it's because of the life-threatening journey you're forced to join.

Here in Middle Earth, however, you're one of a kind.

There is healing magic and those gifted with the knowledge of higher level healing, but your ability to heal simply using your hands and mind is something totally unheard of.

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield were the poor unfortunate souls that you scared half to death on the day you arrived in Middle Earth.

You came, quite literally, out of nowhere.

One second you were washing the dishes in your house and the next you were unconscious in another world.

From their perspective you came falling out of a tall tree, nothing to break your fall other than the cold, unforgiving dirt below, and it successfully gave everyone a huge scare.

Your right arm seemed to have broken and you were horribly battered and bruised, and the dwarfs, hobbit, and lone wizard couldn't just leave you there.

They made camp for the night and made you as comfortable as possible, hoping above all else that you'll wake up at some point, and you eventually do. Though, it isn't a nice or very calm occurrence.

When you finally woke up to a new hat and 4 thick wool blankets smothering you, you freaked out.

At first, you thought someone had kidnapped you or something, but the calm, old wizard named 'Gandalf' managed to calm you and explain that you're not healthy enough to be thrashing and panicking so frantically.

That's when you shocked them all.

You managed to kick off those pesky blankets and shake off that too-warm, but also soft hat, and get a look at yourself, and you were dismayed to see so much of your skin marred with bruises, cuts, scrapes, welts, etc, and your broken arm was unsightly enough to make you nearly sick.

"I-I'll fix it then, I guess." You grumbled nervously, laying back down in the heaping pile of blankets to focus on mending your broken and shattered bones, re-weaving your muscles together, and accelerating the healing of the more superficial wounds.

By the time you were nearly completely healed you were too tired to finish fixing the cuts, scrapes, and other lacerations, so they were left as week-old injuries that had been scabbed over and mostly fixed.

When your eyes fluttered open again you were, once again, shocked to see multiple people leaning over you with awestruck expressions, and you realized in that moment that things were even less right than you initially feared.

Rather quickly did you realize and accept that you were no longer in the same place or time as you were before, but the news was actually fairly easy to accept because of the nature of your past life.

You were probably accidentally sent here by someone with power over the space-time continuum, and it's impossible to come back from one of those accidents. You didn't trouble yourself with coming up with a way to go back home, because you knew for a fact that it was over. You'll be here until the day you die.

You made fast friends with the two younger Durin brothers, for they were always full of questions and curiosity for you and your abilities. Many times have you had to heal them as well, for they're quite prone to trouble.

Small things were always easy to heal, so your powers proved to make you not only a very desired part of the group, but the subject of heavy praise and kind words; it's wonderful and new, for you were neither wanted nor praised in your old home once your crippling vice made itself present.

Night after night you helped them to sleep, gave them the strength to carry on, rid them of discomforts and small, painful wounds, and, essentially, made the original healer of the group, Oin, obsolete (in a good way for him, of course). Oin taught you some things about natural medicine and was, ultimately, allowed to focus on rest and fighting (which you assume is good for a dwarf of his age).

Being needed and relied on feels like heaven, and for the first time in 5 years, you have a purpose.

The true nature of your healing powers didn't become apparent to them until the fight following the Goblin Tunnels, for Thorin Oakenshield is nearly fatally wounded in his fight against Azog the Defiler, and he's left weak and dying.

The group runs as fast as their feet can carry them as those wargs and nasty orcs draw near, chasing all of you to a cliffside with plentiful trees and nowhere to go.

It's a dead end, and those foul creatures know as much.

You aren't much of a fighter so Bofur and Fili keep you ahead of them, urging you to climb the far tree with Gandalf and some of the others, and you do so without hesitation.

Fear drives your frantic climbing and trembling muscles, and, with great effort, you manage to climb far enough that those horrible dog beasts cannot reach you.

Everyone manages to climb a tree and avoid a violent death that would leave them in pieces, and you're relieved to see that there isn't much the enemy can do in this moment; that is, until they begin to uproot the trees and push everyone further back into the barely hanging on tree you already reside in.

There is absolutely no way this flimsy tree will hold all of you for long if the wargs loosen the soil around the roots, and it seems that you're not the only one to notice this.

Gandalf prepares the perfect pinecone ammo that serves as an excellent enemy deterrent, for the flames burning within the heart of the pinecones spread easily and set the cliffside alight.

The wargs retreat to escape a fiery death, but the triumph doesn't last long, for the tree begins to creak and groan as it dips beneath the weight of all 15 of you.

"T-The tree's going to fall!" You cry hopelessly, unsure what to do.

A fall from this height would kill everyone before you even had a chance to try and heal them, and this knowledge leaves an empty, useless hole in your heart.

"Everything will work out the way it's supposed to, Master Healer." The grey wizard tells you, though you can hear the unease and slight panic in his voice as well.

You open your mouth to say more, but movement catches in your peripherals and you turn your head to see what it is.

There stands Thorin Oakenshield on the thick trunk of the tree, facing the white orc with murder and hate shining in his blue-gray eyes, and your heart drops all the way down to the violent deaths below you when you realize what it is he plans to do.

The to-be King Under the Mountain abandons the tree and meets the orc in a battle, albeit short, and he loses.

Just by looking at the way that albino dog uses him like a chew toy is enough to fill you with dread, and when another orc goes in for the dying blow, you're fully prepared to experience this horrible tragedy, only it never happens.

That brave little hobbit, Bilbo, challenges the rest of the goblins one on one, and his bravery encourages everyone able to get back up and fight.

Only, this secondary fight doesn't last for terribly long, for these huge, magnificent birds come soaring out of seemingly nowhere, and they scoop up each and every one of you.

Cue a short, but also liberating, journey to the nearest, safe area (which just so happened to be a secluded and inaccessible mountain top).

As soon as your feet touch the ground you're being scooped up into a strong pair of arms, and the perpetrator breathes your name with relief on their lips.

"Are you alright?" It's Kili, the taller of the two Durin brothers.

You nod your head once and hug him in response, winding your toned healer arms tightly around his shoulders for a few beats before you pull away.

A quick glance around shows you that some of the others still have yet to touchdown on the peak with all of you, so you instead move to Fili, who had rode to his brother, and hug him next.

The blond heir firmly locks his thick arms around your middle and holds you to him for a moment, but his arms disappear as soon as Thorin is gently dropped to the ground, bloodied and broken.

Gandalf rushes over to the heavily wounded dwarf and kneels down next to his unmoving form, and Bilbo runs up behind him with wide, stunned eyes.

You pull away from Fili and rush to Thorin's side without hesitation, falling to your knees beside him as you immediately hover your palms over his body to find the biggest issues ailing him.

The internal bleeding catches your attention right away, caused by the bone crushing bite from the white warg, and you start working on healing that without hesitation.

You know that a wound such as this will hurt you, but it doesn't halt your frantic healing for even a second.

The mountain peak is dead silent while you work your magic on the unconscious Thorin, the knowledge that they would be lost without him spurring you on, and in a matter of 5 minutes he's groaning and his eyes are opening.

You feel nothing at first which tells you that soon his damaged aura will begin affecting you, so you slowly rise to your feet and move away from the still grounded Thorin to avoid falling on him if you do go down.

Pats on the back and praises are thrown your way as you separate yourself from the king, but they cease the moment Fili worriedly asks, "Wait- What... what's wrong?" He seemed to have noticed your shaky movements right away as your health begins to deplete.

You step up to Gandalf and place your hand gently onto his shoulder, mumbling with slurred words, "Gandalf, I should've told you before..."

The old man looks up at you with worried eyes, and he rises to his feet so he can grasp your trembling arms with gentle hands, "You should have 'told me before'? Told me what?"

"I..." You begin to speak, but you're unable to form another coherent thought as your legs suddenly give out from beneath you, and you slump forward into the cloaked wizard.

Gandalf releases your arm at light speed and catches you around the waist, slowly lowering you down to the ground before your eyes slide shut and your consciousness fades in place of Thorin's.

---

Gandalf the Gray was not too happy with you when you woke up sometime later, having had to save you after you saved Thorin with no prior knowledge regarding the truth about your ability.

He scolded you first, calling your actions foolish and scaring you with information on how you could have died had it been any worse and had he been any worse at his job, and then he thanked you.

"But even so, still must I say with the utmost gratitude; thank you. The service you provided was well beyond what we asked for, and much more than we deserved. After all you've been through and done for us, you would have been right to keep to yourself and not heal him. You are a very good person, Y/N, and I should like to see you survive this journey."

Is he telling you not to heal people anymore, or is he telling you to be more careful, you wonder.

Apparently this situation scared everyone shitless, because as soon as Gandalf was done getting on your case, you received countless apologies for having you heal small, meaningless wounds and for the other things you've done for them.

Of course, you tried to explain that the smaller boosts and injuries are nothing for you, but you were still apologized to a whole bunch anyways.

Fili and Kili's apologies stuck out to you the most, however.

When everyone felt better knowing that they'd informed you that you no longer need to waste your power healing them and the excitement died down, the two brothers approached with sad expressions darkening their handsome faces.

"You should have told us that we were hurting you." The dark-haired dwarf informed you sadly, taking up one of your hands in his carefully.

"We wouldn't have bothered you so much if we knew." The blond-haired brother agrees, swiping up your other hand in one of his.

Their words make you grimace, and you try to console them. "No, the smaller things don't hurt at all! I don't 'get hurt' because I heal you, I only suffer when it's a major wound that needs to heal more than just the body."

Their expressions don't change and they don't seem to fully believe you, so you try to explain in simpler terms.

You squeeze both their hands weakly, still needing rest to regenerate your own aura, then reiterate, "Think of it this way. You've got a huge jug of water about this big," you make a big circle with your arms, " and it's completely full. Now, if you take a sip of the water when you get a little thirsty and look inside again, it will look the exact same, and you can refill it super quickly... now, if you and a few others are super thirsty, dehydrated, and you need to take big drinks then it drains even more, and very soon it's almost a quarter empty. It takes longer to fill it up then, because there's way less because of how thirsty you were."

They both look at you and nod their heads slowly in understanding, but you simplify it a little more after that.

"So, what I'm trying to say is that if I do something small like help you sleep or heal a cut, maybe mend a headache, I'll only feel a little tired if that, but if it's something horrible like Thorin's wound, then it affects me more severely. It almost transfers to me, but not the physical injury, just the effect of it while my 'power' heals yours."

Everyone is listening at this point, and it seems that they all gain a better understanding of what you can do.

It seems Gandalf figured it out, though, judging by his unsurprised expression and slightly proud smile (pride because of your easy to understand explanation, most likely).

"So... what about now, then?" Kili asks, still holding your hand by your side, "What do you need?"

"To rest. Only for a little while until my water replenishes."

---

It's going to take around a day for your aura to heal and your strength to return, but, unfortunately, you don't have the luxury to just lay back and relax like you want.

You all had to stay on the move, so the dwarfs took turns carrying you on their backs.

At first you denied any and all requests for piggy back rides, embarrassed by the mere thought of being hauled around all day while you wait for your aura to heal, but it goes that way regardless.

First it's Fili and Kili, then Dori (the strongest *according to the book*), Dwalin, and, finally, Thorin.

Thorin carried you for around an hour or so, and each step he took was careful. He wanted to make your ride as comfortable as possible, and he was succeeding for the most part (you're as comfortable as someone on a piggyback ride can be).

"How are you feeling?" You ask at some point, adjusting your gentle grip around his shoulders as you do.

"I should be the one asking you that question." He replies without missing a beat, turning his head to the left slightly to catch a glimpse of you.

You don't say anything right away, looking at him with a small frown before countering, "Okay, but I asked your first."

"Truthfully, it shames me to say that I feel very good at the moment. My strength has returned tenfold, and I feel as if I've just recovered from a long rest."

"It shames you?" You ask softly, leaning your head against his carefully, "Don't let it. I chose to do that knowing fully well what I was getting myself into."

Thorin sighs heavily and shifts his grip on your legs, "I do not wish to treat you as a child. I respect your choice, but I must implore that you do not waste your life on me. It simply isn't worth it. You're too precious."

You feel your face heat up and you find that you become slightly embarrassed. "Thank you Thorin, but I think that a king is slightly more important then a commoner from another world."

"No... a king is only as strong as his people, friends, and allies. And I happen to value you as all three."

You don't argue or disagree this time and instead just nod your head once, "Then I'll say thank you again."

The rest of your conversations with Thorin are much more light hearted and wholesome, and you find that this piggyback riding isn't as bad as you initially though it would be.

[fizzyxcustard]

Thorin falling in love with a human biologist would include:

This Headcanon was requested by @algernon-science. Hope you enjoy. 

* You are immediately put under the supervision of Oin as an apprentice. 

* Instantly you find your niche, and all of the Dwarves who come and visit you return, loving your approachable and kind nature. 

* Thorin comes to you asking for you to help with his back pain. 

* You blush the first time that you take off Thorin’s tunic to feel his muscles. Your eyes are drawn to his impressive physique which certainly doesn’t look like it will diminish any time soon in his later years. 

* Thorin keeps watching you and knows that you’ve sensed his eyes on you, but you purposefully keep looking away, asking questions. 

* Thorin comes to see you regularly; however, as the pain gets better from your strict regime of exercise and medicinal herbs, you realise that he has no reason to see you. 

* One morning when you finally say to him that you feel he doesn’t need to visit any more in regards to his back, Thorin asks you to go to dinner with him. 

* You and Thorin begin courting soon after. 

* At first Thorin is a little jealous of your passion for your work and enquires if you will spend more time with him. 

* Oin is happy for you to cover less hours in the healing chambers. 

* Thorin enjoys your back massages, which later lead to more passionate pursuits. 

Masterlist of head canons here

Requests for head canons are open. 

[enter-fandom]

My Holy Ground

Fandom: The Hobbit Pairing: Thorin x Reader Rating: Lemon Warnings: Explicit, mentions of battle and wounds Theme: Ritual by Wrable Request/Inspo: N/A Words: 974 Status: Complete Notes: This has been in my head for days. 

~~~~~ Thorin sighed, looking over the papers once more. He had hoped to be done early tonight, had spent far too many nights slipping into your rooms late, into bed long after you fell asleep. You always woke when he drew you close, only long enough to feel his lips on your brow and to curl further into his chest. The restoration was taking far longer than they hoped, and working out trade agreements on top of that was slow going. You had been beside him through it all, since the battle. You had been among the healers who had tended to the wounded, had helped stave off infection and ease his recovery when those around him feared that he might fall. The Line of Durin had endured, partly due to the skill of your hands. It had not been those skills, however, that had first endeared Thorin to you. While your knowledge had kept the worst of infections at bay, he had still fallen to fever in the early days of the injury, unable to be safely moved from the field tent to the mountain, and you had stayed with him, listened as he became unfiltered in delirium, and spoken soothing words. You had brought him the Hobbit, so he could apologize once more to his friend as his strength returned, your presence a quiet comfort. When he had called for his nephews, you assured him they lived, and had been returned to the mountain to recover. When the King himself was moved, you had returned to help your people, only to find your presence requested in the mountain. Uncertain, you had taken the invitation, convinced Oin could handle Thorin’s care on his own at this juncture, but the King had requested you. It became clear after a few days that it was for your company as much as your healing abilities, and you had grown to care for him, if you were honest. As he became more capable, you had readied to leave. The night before you were due to return to the slowly rebuilding New Dale, however, he requested your presence at dinner. It was there that he confessed to having grown to care for you as well - something you could never have imagined. His heartfelt request to begin courting you had been initially met with a laugh, disbelief at his words, but as his face fell, you’d sobered, giving him a soft smile and assuring him that you were of a similar mind, just caught off-guard. It had been a whirlwind courtship, only a matter of months before you had become Queen. You held one another together, pieced one another from broken fragments. And tonight, you intended to do the same. Moving up behind your King, you ran your hands over his shoulders, feeling him shudder beneath the material of his tunic. “Come to bed.” “I need to finish this, Ghivashel.” You shook your head, reaching around him to press the papers down onto the desk, “It will wait until morning, when you can come to it with fresh eyes.” He turned his gaze up to you, and you gave him a soft smile, caressing your other hand over his jaw and neck slowly, a promise in your gaze. With a nod, he waited until you’d stepped back to stand, taking your hand and allowing you to lead him deeper into your chambers, to the bed. You worked his clothes from him slowly, treasuring each inch of scarred, worn skin as it was revealed to you, paying special attention to the wound that had brought you together. His own hands tried to do the same to you, and you shook your head, “No.” Confusion flooded his gaze, and you gently kissed him, nails dragging lightly over his scalp as you whispered, “Tonight, I worship you, my King.” He let out a low groan at the words. As often as he’d told you not to call him that, you still did, knew what it did to him to hear you say it with such reverence. You guided him back to the bed once he was bared to you, easing him onto the softness with gentle touches. It was a ritual, an act of adoration as your fingers and lips seemed to dance over every bit of him, relaxing him more than anything else could. He would do the same for you, and you knew it, but tonight, was about reminding him that you could heal him in all ways. You took your time, eventually pulling away to shirk your nightgown, bare before him now, and he stared at you with half-lidded eyes, “Y/N.” Your name was like a prayer on his lips, and you smiled, drawing your fingers slowly through your own desire, before wrapping your hand around his length. His eyes closed fully, and he arched up, silently begging for more. You didn’t give, taking your time with his pleasure. It wasn’t until he was drawing too close, blissful tension in every muscle that he lost control, drawing you up to him for a deep kiss, before rolling you beneath him. He took you with just as much adoration and worship as you had shown him leading to this moment, power in his movements coupled with exquisite, tender care. Soft whimpers and moans fell from your lips, and you crashed to your fall with his name on your lips. It wasn’t until you found release that he began to chase his own, holding himself above you with shaking arms and a low grunt when it came. Collapsing beside you, he drew you into his arms, your breathing slowing together, not quite matching up, but close. With a soft kiss to your brow, he took a deep breath, murmuring words of love. You drifted off slowly in your King’s arms, content.

[thesheelfsworld]

My Sun Prince

Warning: None, this is pure fluff

Pairing: Fili Durin x reader

Summary: Fili always looked beautiful, but when the light grazed him, he would glow.

Author's Note: I was definitely inspired by one of @rucow 's drawings, and I hope this gives you the same soft vibes as her drawing gave me. Make sure to check out their art, it'll give you all the feels 🥰

As always, English is not my first language, so please be nice and enjoy!✨

Reclaiming the mountain had been no easy feat, but three years after the battle, things had finally begun to settle. 

In a few weeks' time, the annual Durin’s Day ball will be held and the party preparations were already in full swing. 

As a member of The Company of Thorin Oakenshield, my presence in the festivities was not only expected but required. All 15 of us had our own tradition of gathering outside on the balcony to drink and smoke together and remember how blessed we were to make it out alive, all of us. Even when there was a moment there when it did not seem like it. 

Thorin, Fili, and Kili had been gravely hurt in battle, and when the eagles brought back all three Durins unconscious, the relief of having survived turned sour. Oin could not tell us with certainty if they were going to make it. Their wounds were too severe. That is when the elves’ help came led by a distressed Tauriel, who stood by Kili’s side the entire time. I could have not been more thankful to the elven healers who swiftly got to work and contain their bleeding wounds. 

The three days after the battle were spent pacing restlessly from one side of the infirmary to the other as I helped the healers in whichever way I could. Did they need more gauze? I was on it. More clean rags? I would fetch them. Anything to be useful, but still be close to our wounded. More than once, my feet would take me to the side of the infirmary where my friends rested. Oin had explained that Thorin’s wound was the biggest one, Kili’s wound had luckily spared his spine, but Fili had been wounded in several different places. He had been injured where Azog’s sword had slain him, but the drop afterward had broken both his legs and arm, fractured some ribs, and dislocated a shoulder. All these injuries caused internal bleeding, which they were able to clear, but they were still not sure if he would make it. And if he did, his recovery would be a lengthy and difficult one. Hearing this, I felt devastated. My heart plummeted and tears soon filled my eyes.

After a few days, Oin’s initial diagnosis improved. All three Durins were responding positively to their treatments, although they remained unconscious for the most part.  

Once I was done with my duties for the day, I picked up the habit of looking after the trio, cleaning them slightly, and making sure they were comfortable. I liked talking to them as well, telling them everything that was going on inside the mountain. When I was done, I would usually sit next to Fili and hold his hand. During our travels, I found myself smitten with this dwarf. He was always kind and easy to talk to, and such a fine warrior as well. We worked well together and I genuinely liked fighting alongside him. But the road is no place for romance, and the stakes of the quest were too high. I could not afford to be distracted by my feelings, because those distractions could have cost me my own life or somebody else’s. And yet, with the object of my desires laying upon that bed, unmoving and pale, I could not agree with my previous reasoning. I should have said something, anything. I was so afraid of losing him, of never hearing him speak again, or seeing him fool around with his brother, his eyes alight with mischief and mirth. 

Getting caught up in my musings, I lost track of time and was not sure how long I had been sitting there. The place was dimly lit by the light of the candles, the light rays of sunlight no longer bathing the hall. It must have been night already, surely dinner would be ready in a few. However, I did not wish to leave just yet, I wanted to stay with Fee a while longer. 

Each time I looked at him, a lump would form in my throat. He was so beautiful. The light of the fire would always dance in between the strands of his hair, making them glow and his mustache was neatly braided and resting against his lips, which although pale and chapped, looked as inviting as ever. How I wished I could see them curl into one of his charming grins.

A sob left my throat before I could stop it.

“Mahal, please spare them. Bring them back, bring him…” my voice was barely above a whisper. My prayers were meant for no ears but for those of the Maker. 

And answer my prayers, he did. 

With a lot of effort, patience, and time, all three dwarfs made it out of unconsciousness and through their recovery successfully. And still, I had yet to confess my feelings to a certain prince.

At the moment, however, I had my hands full trying to escape the ever-watchful eye of a certain princess who was set on making me try every dress in existence for the ball. Each dress bigger and stuffier than the last. Do not mistake me, I have gotten along with Dis from the moment I met her. We bonded pretty quickly not only over the stupidity of her kin for splitting up on that mountain, but over our worry for them. But now, I could not run faster to get away from her. 

I had duties to attend to, duties which she canceled in order to try even more dresses than we did the day before, and the day before that one. 

Looking back over my shoulder to make sure she had not spotted me, I did not see where I was going and ran into a very strong chest. 

“Oh, I am so sorry! I did not see-” 

The words caught in my throat when I looked into the eyes that accompanied such a sturdy chest. 

“Oh, hi Fee, how are you?” I tried to sound nonchalant, though I could feel myself blushing.

However, Fili’s expression showed nothing but amusement, and his soft smile fully lessened my embarrasment. 

“I  am alright, just got out of a meeting. You, on the other hand, seem like you are being chased after, are you okay?” He could not contain his chuckle as he asked me if I needed help. 

“I am being chased, actually, by your mother. Please help me,” I pleaded with my best puppy eyes and grabbed the lapels of his coat, “she is making me try all these truly dreadful dresses again, and I can not take it anymore.”

This dwarf really dared to burst out laughing and never had a scowl form so quickly on my face. 

“Yes yes, laugh it up! But next time you are getting scolded for a prank gone wrong, I will not hide you, just wait and see,” and I turned to leave. 

Fili quickly sobered up and grabbed my arm, “There is no need to go there. I am sorry for laughing, it’s just good to be on the other side of her fussing for once, that’s all.”

“Yes, well, it is my first time on this side and it is getting a bit much.”

“I understand, and as a prince, I feel it is my duty to save a damsel in distress. So, if you please” he extended his arm to me “I will hide you from dreadful dress fittings and fusing mothers” 

“My hero!” playing along, I sighted dreamily and leaned on his shoulder, a hand resting against my forehead as I pretended to faint. Fili’s laughter echoed on the walls of the hall and we sped away to the gates of the mountain. 

Arm in arm, we made our way to the edge of the forest that surrounded Erebor. 

“You have no idea how long it has been since I have come out for some fresh air,” I commented. 

“Me too. Uncle has been keeping me very busy these past few weeks”

“So I have noticed. Kili too has been missing a lot lately, but when I do catch sight of him, he is following after Tauriel. It is actually very cute,” a slight smile grazes my face to hide the feeling of longing that loomed in my heart.

“Yes, he has also been very busy, but still makes time to see her. I probably should have done the same, I’ve missed you” 

At that, my eyebrows shot up so high, I was confident they could have met my hairline. I looked at him and found him sitting next to me but staring at the ground. Regaining my senses and taking advantage of this moment of vulnerability, I took a moment to look at him properly. It had been some time since we had had any time together, just the two of us, and I wanted to enjoy it. The golden light of the sun setting in the west took me back to that night in the infirmary when he had been fighting for his life. If I thought then that he was beautiful, now, with the sun kissing his skin and his eyes wide open and full of life, he was ethereal. Absolutely breathless, I tried to answer him, say anything to keep the conversation going, but nothing came out. 

I opened and closed my mouth a few times until Fili turned his entire body to face me. 

“What is it? Do I have something in my face?” he jested.

And I could not help but giggle because yes, he did have something on his face, absolute beauty. 

Fili’s eyes opened wide and his cheeks turned a deep crimson red. Perhaps his skin was getting too sensitive to the sun after being underground for so long, I thought. 

“You really think I am beautiful?” 

I frowned, how did he …? Oh god, how embarrassing to have said that out loud, but then again, he didn’t look put out. Far from it, he looked happy.

“Yes,” all the air left my body with that only word. 

“Yes, I do,” I said, this time with more confidence.

Fili beamed at me. A bright light that seemed to be coming from his very soul out through his eyes and smile blinded me, and I was sure that with him by my side, no dark days would ever come again.

“I think you are very beautiful as well”

His reply made me smile, and the words I have been wanting to say for months -years were now demanding to get out. 

“I feel the deepest kind of love for you, Fili, and I do not know how to hide it anymore.”

“Then don’t,” his eyes became glossy and he took both of my hands in his. “Do not hide it, give it to me instead, and I will give you mine.”

Tears spilled from the corners of my eyes. My heart soared with the knowledge that my affections were returned. 

“Do you truly feel this way?”

“Yes, amralime. I have loved you for as long as I have known you. I loved you after every battle and during our hardest days.” Both of his hands came up to cradle my face and joined our foreheads together. With eyes closed, he continued, “I loved you when you were the first thing I saw after the battle and I loved you when you stood by my side during my recovery. And with each day that passes, I love you even more.” 

My hands grabbed the back of his neck and pushed him to me. Our lips met and all I could focus on was Fili. How he tasted, how he felt, how soft his hair was and how well his hands fitted on my body. 

Warmth filled my entire being, not from the sun, but from the golden prince who was finally in my arms.

[letaliabane]

Regarding "Care For Series"

Hi all! I know all of you have been patiently waiting for the updated chapters of the story and the latest chapter. Unfortunately, I've been busy rebuilding my YouTube channel, trying to find a job and working on other projects so much so I haven't been able to focus on rewriting previous chapters besides chapter one.

Probably in due time I will have the strength to come back to the story and rewrite it. I think with my long standing history with hate from writing this particular series I'm somewhat afraid to write it again.

In the next few days I'll release the next chapter in line just be aware in a different writing style compared to the rest of the story because I haven't been able to update it.

Take care all x

[hattiewritesalot]

hi i'm not sure if u would do a request like this.. but can u do a couple of characters from the hobbit reacting to y/n with eczema? like maybe just them looking after it or whatever you wanna write. it's just i've had bad eczema since I was small and it's getting worse and it's making me feel kinda sad because it never goes away. thanks 💚💚

of course my lovely! I'm always open to requests like these. I decided to do Thorin, Kili, Fili, Legolas and Tauriel, hope this is okay. My girlfriend has eczema, and I'm sorry that you feel sad about it. Just remember that you are absolutely beautiful the way that you are <3

~The Hobbit Characters With An S/O Who Has Eczema~

Thorin x gn!reader

Kili x gn!reader

Fili x gn!reader

Legolas x gn!reader

Tauriel x gn!reader

Summary: How some of The Hobbit characters would react to their S/O having eczema.

Warnings: if skin conditions trigger you then yes, a bit of pain and uncomfortableness, but that's about the worst of it

A/N: love you, you're worth it :)

——————————————————————————————

THORIN OAKENSHIELD

listens to your explanation v v carefully

I mean

he's thorin

he doesn't want to get anything wrong.

He's always there to remind you not to itch or put cream on your skin <3

Defo informs Oin of all the medication and OINtments (you see what I did there) that you need

Bestie would actually stab anybody who ever dares make a comment about your eczema

You've probably had to drag him off a few people

which is not surprising

But all in all, he's very understanding and very caring.

stan our dwarf king

KILI DURIN

omg our resident cinnamon roll

He, like his uncle, is very understanding

and he, too, cares

But he cares very...

Aggressively

To say the least

Will psychically hold your arms apart if you're trying to itch anywhere

Will throw your medication at your head every five minutes

Will sit and kiss you until you realise that he loves you no matter what

this is him caring about you. appreciate it while you still can.

pLS I LOVE HIM-

FILI DURIN

look at this boy and tell me he wouldn't be there for you 24/7

TELL ME

I DARE YOU

He's v sweet, and a nice mix

He cares about you and is very understanding, like Thorin, but doesn't throw things at you, like Kili.

He will drop EVERYTHING and rush to your side if you're in pain

Will wrap his arms around you and kiss your shoulders and tell you to stop scratching OMG

He always has a little sample of your medication around with him

he has a lot of pockets

Will absolutely murder somebody if they even DARE to look at you the wrong way

Somebody get me a Fili please.

LEGOLAS THRANDUILLION

look at this little elf boi

oKay so he is very confused at first

'So your skin just… gets dry??'

'And very itchy, yes.'

'…wut'

He's trYING OKAY-

But once he understands everything, he is the best person to have around

Will always keep an eye on you for any signs of pain

Will always have a little bottle of cream on hand

And will constantly remind you that you are absolutely gorgeous no matter what

I love him so much I'm crying

TAURIEL

I am very in love with this woman

and I am not ashamed

As we see in BOTFA, Tauriel is a very good healer

and she would do everything she could to make sure you weren't in pain

Will definitely remind you to apply/take any medications when needed

If you start scratching, she will SCOLD YOU

Like a mother

mommy

Will go out looking for any healing remedies that could help you

She would also ask the healers to keep an eye on you and report anything serious

She just loves you so so much and that makes me very very jealous. you lucky lemon.

———————————————————————————————

I'm sorry if this was bad, but I hope you enjoyed <3

[middleearthpixie]

Please miss may I have some more smut

If you're worried about your smut becoming to cheesy may I request some Thorin×reader where both are very new at bedroom fun time and mistakes happen.

Be warned some tmi incoming I used to be so in the moment that I used to give my ex nosebleeds while kissing him during the act 🤦‍♀️😂 also we may have been a bit extra rough one time and as a result I had to get the irritated part of my cervix zapped to stop penetrative bleeding.

Maybe a minor injury here, an embarrassing queef there, an unfortunately times visitor. The less sexy side of sex

Hi there, Nonny!! I am so sorry it took me this long to get this finished, but I wanted it to be just right and just right nearly drove me insane. :)

Any way, here it - I hope you like it! 💜💜💜

Absolute Beginners

Summary: Post BOTFA AU where everybody lives

It’s Thorin’s and your wedding night, but it doesn’t quite go as planned

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader 

Rating: M

Warnings: Unprotected sex, some bloodshed, a possible broken nose, and some fluff 

Word Count: 5,430

Khuzdul Translations:

mesmel - jewel of all jewels 

amrâlimê - my love

Mahal - the maker of all things  

Maralmizi/Maralmizu - I love you

Your stomach was going to eat itself alive. You’d never been so nervous, which was silly, really. After all, you and Thorin were friends, and had been for a very long time. It was only natural that your friendship evolved into far more. And you’d come so close to losing him when he’d faced off against Azog the Defiler at Ravenhill, that you’d learned the hard way to never take him, or any moment of any given day, for granted. Nothing in life was guaranteed. It took his nearly dying at Ravenhill to drive that home to you and you’d vowed to yourself you would never forget that. So when he’d finally asked you for your hand, you couldn’t say yes quickly enough.

But now, you were a nervous wreck as you sat at your dressing table, lit by so many flickering candles, while a maid brushed out your hair, then pinched your cheeks even as she said, “You hardly need this, you are already so flushed, Your Highness.”

Your Highness. How was that even possible? Your mother was a maid, you’d been an assistant to Erebor’s healer Narnerra. Now, you were the queen.

Waiting for your husband on your wedding night.

Your wedding night.

“Do you need me to explain what His Highness will expect?”

You met your maid’s eyes in the looking glass and shook your head. “No. My mother made certain to inform me. I think I’ll be fine.”

“Very well. Now, remember, above all else, this is a serious night. Remain quiet and calm, no matter what he wishes to do. After all, it is his right as your husband now.”

You wanted to ask her how she knew, when she’d never married, but it seemed rude to do so. Instead, you offered up a demure smile and nodded. “I know. Thank you.”

She patted your shoulder. “I will see you in the morning, then, Your Highness. Unless you need me sooner.”

“Again, thank you.”

You waited for her to leave, then rose and crossed the room to the big bed in the middle of it, draped with gauzy curtains and canopy. You smiled at the sheer number of candles all around what had been Thorin’s bachelor’s bedchamber, smiled at the garlands draped along the ceiling’s perimeter, the way the golden glow of the candles flicked along the walls studded with veins of the gemstones Erebor was so famous for producing. You wondered if Thorin had any idea how the maids feminized what had been his space, and you chuckled as you imagined his response to it. 

Your maid’s words of wisdom only made your nervousness worse. You didn't know what to expect, but from the sounds of it, it might be horrifying. All you knew was that this night belonged to him, it would go as he wished it to, and you would do as he demanded. And you would so quietly. Any pain, any humiliation, anything you might suffer, you would suffer in silence and not deny him anything. 

Not exactly the most comforting of thoughts, indeed, to know you might be seeing a monstrous side of him you had no idea even existed. 

There came a light rap on the door. “Are you presentable, amrâlimê?”

You smiled at the sound of Thorin’s deep voice. It rumbled along the walls, the floors, through you. “I am. Come in.”

The door opened and he filled the doorway and when you turned to him, his slow smile heated your blood. His eyes, normally a pale blue, darkened to almost cobalt as he came into the room and closed the door behind him. “A sight for sore eyes, indeed,” he growled, his gaze moving over you as if he’d never seen you before.

For the first in a long time, a hint of shyness darted through you, which was silly because you and Thorin had known each other for so many years. But at the same time, he’d never seen you this way before, and as you cast a quick glance at the bed, your stomach fluttered at the realization of what you were about to do with him as well. 

“Are you nervous?” he asked softly, moving to the bed, where he sat to remove his boots. And once they were off, he stood once more and came around to close the space between you. 

His arms slid about your waist and you found that fool shyness made meeting his gaze nearly impossible. You simply couldn’t make your eyes see reason and they focused instead on his boots, of all things. “A bit, yes,” you confessed, feeling foolish as you did.

He caught you beneath the chin with a bent finger and gently lifted your face to his. “Amrâlimê,” he murmured, his voice husky and low, “we do not have to anything if you’d rather wait.”

You thought back to what your maid had said, about how Thorin had rights now as your husband and you didn't wish to test that theory, for the last thing you wanted was to see a more forceful, demanding side of him that would hold you down and take what he wanted from you, your feelings be damned. To hear him whisper that reassurance calmed you to a certain extent.

And although you weren’t supposed to admit to such a thing, you were curious. You’d never so much as seen a naked man before and now you found yourself with the knowledge that your first—your only—naked man would be one as magnificent as Thorin II Oakenshield. There were many dwarrowdams who would sell their souls to be where you stood. 

“No,” you said, finally meeting his gaze, “I don’t wish to wait…”

His slow smile did something odd to you, it twisted your belly and sent butterflies fluttering wildly though you. The finger beneath your chin moved, grazed along your jaw and then his palm cupped your cheek, rough but warm, his touch gentle as he murmured, “We can go as slowly as you need. I am in no hurry.”

With that, he leaned in and his lips swept lightly against yours. His beard was soft as it brushed your chin, around your lips. His lips were even softer, moving gently against yours. They parted, and when you did the same, his tongue glided silkily along yours in a slow, heated caress that had you forgetting any shyness almost at once. You leaned into him, your hands coming to rest against his broad chest. You wondered if his heart beat as fast as yours did at that moment, when he drew your tongue back into the damp heat of his mouth. He tasted faintly of mead and smoke, the combination heady and sweet at the same time. He slid his free arm about your waist, drew you flush against him, and as your breasts pressed against his chest, you caught his sigh, you felt his swift reaction to you in the firm ridge of his erection now pressing against his trousers, against you. You tried to imagine that part of him, but simply couldn’t, since you had no real knowledge of what he kept tucked within those smooth woolen trousers. However, you couldn’t deny the headiness that accompanied his reaction to you. 

But you were about to find out. 

Impatience swirled through you, but you managed to hold it at bay, almost tentative as you slid your hand down over his chest, along his firm belly, over the gold belt still about his waist. You unfastened it, but hadn’t realized just how heavy it would be, and it slipped from your grasp to slam down upon his foot.

The air left his body a mighty whoosh, accompanied by a low, growly, “Oh…” 

Embarrassed heat swept through you and you gathered your skirt between your knees to crouch and swipe up his belt. Without thinking, you simply tossed it onto the trunk at the foot of his bed, then bent back over his foot, letting your fingers move along the warm smoothness of his hose. ““Thorin, I am so sorry… Can you wiggle your toes?”

He tried, then sucked in a sharp breath. “I can, but it hurts.”

Pressing your lips together, you looked up at him, then said, “I’ll send for Narnerra.”

“No,” he told you, curving a hand against your cheek, a smile slowly coming to his lips, “that isn’t necessary.”

“Are you certain?”

He nodded. “I am, yes. The pain is already fading.”

You weren’t so certain he was being honest, but nodded as you stood once more. “I truly am sorry.”

“Worry not about it, amrâlimê,” he murmured, his thumb sweeping along your cheek. “It wasn’t intentional and I will live.”

“Still—”

“No still.” He shook his head. “Kiss me.”

“Of course.”

This time, when he leaned in and his arms slid about you, his fingers trailed lightly along your back. Your gown parted, the warmth from the fire a tender caress against your bared back. His lips parted, his tongue swept along yours, and you smiled against his mouth as he eased the silk from your shoulders. It spilled like water from your body, glided down along your arms, your waist, to puddle at your feet.

Heat from his palms sank into your back. He pulled you closer, his chest solid beneath your breasts pressing against him. That heat permeated you, filled you from the inside out. It swirled and ribboned through you. It smoldered deep within your core as you reached for the lacings on his tunic. 

You caught the edges of the neck to part them and he broke the kiss to allow you to shove the fabric up as far as you could reach. Then he took over, whisking it over his head to let it drop atop his belt.

In the golden glow of the fire, his skin was like burnished bronze, swells of thick muscle along his shoulders and arms highlights by that same glow. Your mouth went dry at the sheer beauty, the sheer, unexpected beauty of his upper body. A layer of dark hair began just below his collarbones, stretched across his wide chest and down over his belly. Just below his navel, it thinned into a narrow trail that disappeared into the waist of his trousers.

His trousers.

Your mouth went dry. Your heart first skipped a beat, then sped up to race as you reached a tentative hand toward him. You let just your fingertips brush his chest, just above his right nipple. That hair was soft and crisp, like his beard, and he smiled as he caught your wrist to press your hand flat against him.

“It’s quite all right if you touch me,” he growled, his voice low. “It feels nice, you know.”

You smiled, “It certainly does.”

He leaned toward you. Unfortunately, you chose that same moment to stretch toward him and you collided, your forehead meeting his nose.

His, “Ow!” rang out, reverberated off the walls as he jerked back and your stomach clenched at the blood now leaking from his nose. 

“I beg your pardon!” You grabbed the tail of your chemise and whisked the garment over your head to press to his nose. “Thorin, I am so sorry…”

“Please, don’t apologize.” He gently pried your hand away, holding the linen himself. “It was an accident.”

You winced as the chemise slowly reddened. “I don’t think that’s stopping. Sit and lean forward.”

He didn’t argue, but sank onto the trunk and did just that. You stood there a long moment, reaching to stroke the back of his head, but hesitating. You did it again. And once more. But each time, you froze before actually touching him, fearing what would happen next. 

Finally, he drew the bloodied chemise from his face. “I think the bleeding has stopped.”

You moved to crouch before him. “Do you wish me to fetch Narnerra instead?”

His eyes closed as he shook his head. “No. I’ll be fine in a moment.”

With a soft sigh, you shifted back and stood upright. “Perhaps we try another night. Before I accidentally end up killing you or something.”

His eyes danced with the devil, even if they looked a bit more tired than they had only minutes ago. “I’ll take my chances with you. And besides,” his eyes darkened and without warning, he brought a finger up to trace the inner curve of your left breast, “you are naked, amrâlimê. Only a fool would turn this away.”

He stroked down that curve, then along the bottom and as he did, a soft tingle swept through you. Your nipple tightened, a fact which did not go unnoticed by him. He arched one thick brow and traced a lazy circle about that now-taut peak. Your moan was soft, but definitely audible and his eyes darkened further at the sound. You couldn’t help it. It felt amazing. 

He did it again. Deep within you, knots began to twist. But these weren’t the knots of a cramped muscle. Oh, not at all. These were far more pleasant. Far sweeter. And they did something odd to you. 

You reached for him, hooking a finger in the waist of his trousers. He continued his slow, sensual assault on your breast. His gaze never wavered from yours, but you didn't miss how his breath hitched as you eased the top button of his trousers through their loop. 

You paused, fighting to keep your eyes opened as he cupped your breast now and gently squeezed it. Forget tingles. Fire raced through you now. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth as he kneaded your breast. Kneaded it and still swirled his thumb about your nipple. 

“Keep going,” he murmured, bending toward you.

This time, you didn’t move, but let him kiss you. As your lips met, your fingers remembered their job and one by one, worked open the buttons of his trousers. You caught them by the waist and pushed them down, over his thick legs.

He broke the kiss and with a wicked smile overflowing with promise, stepped back and out of his trousers. Mahal, he was, for lack of a better word, beautiful. Like his upper body, muscle wrapped thick about his legs from his ankles to his hips. 

But that was not what made your mouth go completely dry. Everythingabout him was thick.

Everything.

You wanted to touch that part of him, to explore it as fully as you could. You’d never seen anything like this before and seeing him like this, aroused and hard, that part of him standing so proudly away from his body, sent desire scorching through you. This man… this magnificent man, was aroused for you and you alone. A heady feeling, knowing that. A heady feeling, indeed. 

Your hand trembled as you reached for him, and you couldn’t quite make yourself make contact. It seemed so… bold… almost wanton.

And what if you hurt him yet again?

You slowed, pausing halfway to him. You knew that part of his body was sensitive—you’d seen the others take shots to that part of their bodies on various occasions and had seen how they dropped like sacks of sand, groaning and writhing in pain. You had no idea how much force it would take to bring Thorin to his knees and you had absolutely no desire to find out, either. 

He caught you by the wrist and guided your hand to him, murmuring, “Feel free to touch me wherever and however you wish, mesmel. I promise you, I don’t mind.”

“I—I didn't wish to hurt you. Like the time Lillia grabbed Nori and he hit the ground like a bag of dirt.”

“As long as you don’t punch me, as she did him, I promise you,” he winked, “it will not hurt me."

With that, he brought you to him. He was sleek and hot, and to your—not quite horror, but close to it—you realized your fingers didn't meet when they closed about him. And not by a fraction, but by quite a bit. You swallowed hard, staring down at him. Mahal, how was he ever going to fit inside you? There was simply no way it would, at least not without hurting you possibly tearing you asunder.

Your maid’s words bounced about inside your head and a hint of fear uncoiled in the pit of your stomach. Thorin wouldn’t hurt you. You trusted him. 

Your thumb brushed lightly over the tip of him, over a small bubble of fluid that coated your fingertips, that made them glide silkily along his skin. No sooner did you slip your fingers down along his shaft, you noticed more fluid bubble up again. So, that was the secret. 

He let out a low, throaty sigh leaked between his teeth at your next pass. Perhaps it was but your imagination, but you were certain that sigh was all pleasure and no pain. You drew in a deep breath and when you looked up at his face, it was to see his eyes closed, his head slightly forward, a smile playing at his lips. He sighed again, and that low, husky sound rippled through you, leaving in its wake a boldness you’d never felt before.

You slowed.

He sighed.

You sped up.

He moaned softly.

You tightened your grasp.

He actually shuddered and exhaled with a throaty, “Amrâlimê…”

Then, he reached for you, and it was your turn to shiver against him as his lips crashed into yours and he slid a hand between your thighs. Up into the curls no man had ever seen, never mind touched, before this night.

“Ooooh…” It slipped out on its own. You couldn’t help it. Just the brush of his fingers against that part of you sent fiery pleasure spiraling through you. It wasn’t anything you’d ever felt before and nothing any maid could ever possibly describe to you. It was hot. It was tingly. It was amazing and scorching and powerful and on their own, your hips rocked toward him.

His lips moved against yours, his tongue tangled with yours, and when he slid a finger inside you, you involuntarily squeezed that part of him you still held firmly.

He broke away from you with a sharp, “Mahal…” and shuddered against you. He grabbed your wrist and tugged you away from him with more force than he’d used to bring you to him. “Take care, amrâlimê…”

Heat burned through you and it wasn’t nearly as pleasant as the heat he’d created. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, stepping back. “I didn’t meant to hurt you yet again.”

He met your gaze with tender eyes and shook his head. “You didn’t hurt me, so please do not apologize.”

“What?”

He closed the space between you, and caught your wrist to guide you back to him. He closed your fingers about him, murmuring, “You didn’t hurt me. Quite the opposite and you have me so very close to the edge of madness. I do not want our first time together to be me making a mess all over your hand. I want you so very much right now…”

“Thorin…”

He swept another kiss across your lips and you bit down hard on your bottom lip as his fingers slid into your heat once more. He teased you, slipping a finger inside you, and murmured, “I wish to take you bed now, amrâlimê, and love you until you go mad from it.”

“I like how that sounds,” you managed to whisper back, your head spinning and your heart racing at both his words and his touch.

His lips seized yours, and you melted at the magic that finger inside you worked. A slow-rolling, white-hot heat built with each stroke, with each slow swirl. You tightened about him, your hips moving slowly to draw out that bliss, to send it spiraling through you until you thought you might actually melt around him. 

A low moan of protest floated to your lips when he eased that finger free, but it died quickly enough as he backed you up to the bed, and gently pressed you down upon it, and you welcomed his weight as he sank against you. His dark hair, almost as long as yours, spilled forward, over his shoulders, the firelight glinting off the runes in the braids on either side of his head. The one on the left was the one you’d woven when he’d asked you for your hand and you smiled as he whispered, “Abnâmul,” as he dipped to capture your lips once more.

Your legs parted of their own, accommodating his hips, and as he slid into your damp heat, you couldn’t hold back a sigh of pleasure. It felt so… wonderful… you couldn’t really describe it if you tried. All you knew was that part of him against that part of you send ripples of delight coursing through you. It filled you with a heat you’d never known existed—sinful and sweet and enough to drive all rational thought from your mind. He made your body hunger for his, those sensations swirling through you heightened your senses so that even a simple brush of his soft lips against yours would make your core melt. 

He pulled back, then slid through your slick folds once more. You bit down on your bottom lip, your eyes so heavy-lidded now, all they wanted was to close. To close and let whatever pleasure he was about to introduce you do simply sweep you away. 

His eyes were smoky cobalt as he drew back and your hips rocked toward him, your heart beating faster when he shifted enough to reach between you. Your toes actually curled at the pressure of him against you, slick and hot. You held your breath. Any moment and he would join with you and your marriage would be complete.

His eyelids lowered, his expression serious. He bent to kiss you once more as when he did, you felt the gentle, steady pressure of him breaching you, slowly working his way inside you, to stretch you. Small, but sweet, pinpricks dotting along his path. Oh, this was going to be wonderful…

But then—

“Oooh!” Your insides twisted violently and what had been sweet pleasure was now hot, searing pain. You knew it would hurt, but this went far beyond hurt. This was agonizing…Without meaning to, you sank your fingernails into his shoulders with enough force that he let out a hiss of pain to match yours. Your insides twisted more sharply now, the cramping far worse than it had been and you dug your nails in deeper as you gritted, “Wait… please… stop…”

He groaned in protest, but did as you asked and drew his hips back, pulled himself free of you. The pain dissipated, but did not fade altogether and it was all you could do to keep from twisting away from him and curling into a ball to protect yourself from his assault. His brow furrowed and he was breathless as he whispered, “Do you not want to do this?”

“No,” you shook your head, feeling so very foolish, “of course I do. But… it… it hurts…”

He was too big. You’d seen it yourself and there was no way your body would accommodate him. Not judging by that awful pain. 

“There is something in my way,” he whispered, then brushed your lips with his. “Do you wish to try another night?”

You felt so very stupid right then. He was right. Your maid had warned you about it. The barrier that marked you a maiden still. But the fool maid never told you it would hurt this badly. 

You drew in a deep breath and forced yourself to meet his concerned blue eyes. Unable to get your voice to its normal level, you whispered, “No… I don’t want to wait…” You licked your dry lips. “Try again.”

A hint of a smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Are you certain?”

You nodded. “I am, yes.”

“Take a deep breath when I say, and let it out slowly. If you wish me to stop, you need only say so and I promise you, I will.”

His lips swept against yours again and he murmured, “Are you ready? Take that breath now, mesmel.”

You nodded, drawing a deep breath and bracing yourself for the agony you knew was to come. Her bent to you, captured your lips with his, his kiss deep and teasing and as he did, he thrust. Hard.

Your back bowed. You broke the kiss with a cry of pain, and tears stung your eyes as he burst through that barrier. You only barely heard his murmured, “Forgive me, amrâlimê,” as he slid inside you and went still, his body trembling against yours, his head coming to rest in the slope of your neck, his breath rough and ragged and smoking about the edges. “I tried to be as gentle as I could.”

You swallowed hard as the pain radiated through you. But then a most marvelous thing happened. It ebbed. All you felt was him, inside you. 

And it felt rather…

…nice.

Wait…

What?

Yes, it felt nice. Better than nice, really. He fit tightly inside you, but the rendering, twisting, tearing pain? 

It was gone.

And in its wake?

Oh, my. This is very nice…

He shifted ever so slightly and you both gasped at the same time. Had he felt the same spike of pleasure shoot through him as you did? He gave no indication as he rose onto his forearms, but his eyes were tender and soft as they met yours, and when he offered up a slow thrust, you shivered beneath him. Oh, that felt beyond nice… beyond nice, indeed. 

“Are you all right?” His voice was oddly husky as he thrust again.

You nodded. “I’m fine.”

And you were. Your body accommodated his, stretched with each thrust to accept him, to claim him. And with each successive thrust, your pleasure grew. He moved more easily now, his arousal combining with yours to make his thrusts silken and sweet. As your pleasure swelled, you met him, you fell with him. You found if you moved your hips a certain way, the pleasure swelled, and if you angled them toward Thorin, he went deeper and the pleasure swelled even more greatly. He moaned above you when you did this and this time, when your nails bit into his skin, that solid muscle, it was pleasure and not pain that had you clinging to him, that had your body tightening about his.

He moved faster now, his thrusts deep and swift. And with each powerful surge, your pleasure grew even sweeter. Sweeter. Hotter. Until you were sure the fire would consume you and you didn’t care if it did. His name bubbled to your lips. Fire filled you, swirled through you. It heated your blood to make it sing as he strove to bring you both to the edge of madness.

“Amrâlimê…” It was a low, almost harsh growl, his expression one of utter seriousness now. His fingers twisted in the bedcovers just above your shoulders. You pressed your thighs to his sides, and the motion made you shudder beneath him as the knots that had twisted into such tight fists felt on the verge of bursting. A bursting you wholeheartedly welcomed, indeed.

Your eyes closed. Your head fell back. Your fingernails bit hard into his shoulders as the tingles erupted, as they burned so very brightly to bring you to that edge. You felt him swell inside you, and it was your undoing. With his next thrust, you erupted around him, hips rocking to meet him, legs tight about his waist now, feet on his backside to hold him inside you as the showers of scorching white-hot sparks rained over you.

“Thorin!” You couldn’t keep quiet or calm and your maid’s warning be damned. His name bounced off the walls as he surged deep and went rigid, shuddering against you as he came and it triggered something oh-so-sweet and delicious to devour you whole. You clung to him, your body pulsing with absolute ecstasy, and you surrendered to the moment. Surrendered to him. 

He sank against you, fighting to breathe as he buried his face in the curve of your neck and whispered, “Mahal… that was… you are… oh, maralmizi…”

You smiled, tears pricking your eyes at his whispered declaration of love. It was something you’d wanted to hear fall from his lips since you were both but children and now, it was every bit as wonderful as you’d always imagined it would be.

“Thorin?”

He lifted his head to smile at you, then swept the lightest of kisses across your lips. “What?”

“Maralmizu.”You reached up to curve your hand against his cheek. His beard was far softer than it looked, even it was still rather bristly. His nose still bled slightly. “I am so sorry about doing this,” you said, touching the tip of it.

“I think it might be broken,” he murmured back, “but worry not about it. This was worth every last drop of blood I had to spill to get you here. I’ve wanted you since I was old enough to know what that meant.”

“So, why did it take you until now?”

“I was a prince without a home and king without a kingdom. I had nothing to offer you.”

“Nonsense. All I need is you, Thorin. And that is all I’ve ever needed.”

“Perhaps, but your father would never have agreed to this, was I still but a blacksmith in Ered Luin.”

“I wouldn’t have cared. I am a healer’s assistant and the daughter of a maid. Wife of a blacksmith. Wife of a king. Neither matters as long as you are the one I call husband.” You paused, drew a slow breath, and then added, “And I should apologize to you.”

“Apologize?” His forehead furrowed. “For what?”

“For being loud. I know I’m supposed to be quiet, but—”

“Quiet?” he broke in, disbelief woven through that one word. “Whyever should you think you need to be quiet? I’d much rather hear your pleasure and know you feel it than have you remain stiff and quiet and leave me wondering.”

“What?”

“Yes,” he nodded, brushing her lips with his, “feel free to be as loud as you wish. Let me hear you enjoy yourself, hear you enjoying me. There something rather powerful about hearing you cry my name at the height of your pleasure, amrâlimê, and I most definitely wish you to feel free to voice that pleasure.”

“But I was told otherwise, that I should be quiet and calm and let you do as you wish and never offer up a peep.”

“Peep away, because that advice is utter rubbish.” He shook his head, his thumbs now sweeping lightly along your cheekbones. “And you should only let me do as I wish if you wish me to do it. We explore together, mesmel. And never feel you cannot tell me to stop doing something or—” a mischievous smile came to his lips, one that sent a soft shiver rippling through you—“tell me go harder or faster, because I will do whatever I can to make this as good for you as it is for me.”

He smiled as he carefully eased from you. You thought he’d roll over, would slide to the edge of the bed and climb up from it. But he didn’t. He eased off you, stretched out beside you, and promptly tugged you into his arms. As you curved against him and tucked your head against his chest, he murmured, “And I am sorry I hurt you in the beginning. It wasn’t my intention.”

“Don’t apologize. I was ready for that, more or less.” You hesitated, then looked up to smile at him. “I was afraid you just wouldn’t fit.”

A low chuckle rumbled beneath your ear. “I daresay, you flatter me, mesmel. But as we both learned, I fit just fine.”

“Indeed. Very fine.”

He laughed softly once more. “And I’ll wager I’ll fit just as well now and tomorrow and to the end of our days.” 

“I do like how that sounds.”

“Imagine how it will feel.”

As he spoke, he shifted back over you. Your lips met and this time, no blood was spilled as you surrendered to him once more. 

[imnotevenhere9]

Would it be alright to request headcanons for the company (if that's too broad maybe bofur or thorin) forming a friendship over the journey with the newest member that's a healer -maybe she also uses magic to heal and fight (green witch?) and she kinda becomes the unofficial mother hen of the company but will fight fiercely to defend them even though she basically just met them

{The Company x fem! reader}

↳ Type: fluff

↳ Summary: reader forming a friendship with the company and becoming unofficial mother hen of them

↳  Word count: 500

↳ Warnings: mention of injuries

↳ A/n: I decided to include only some of the company (Fili and Kili, Bofur, Dwalin and Thorin), so hope you don’t mind!

Masterlist  •  Prompts  •  S/o match ups  •  Taglist 

if someone came up to you and said you would be helping dwarves with reclaiming their homeland a few weeks ago you would hardly believe them

but here you were, a rightful member of The Company of Thorin Oakenshield, fighting along with a bunch of grumpy dwarves (and one hobbit)

they didn’t trust you at the beginning, because I mean, they already have one wizard that they hardly trust, so why would they need another one?

but they started changing their opinions on you when they saw how you fought just to prevent them from getting hurt

Fili and Kili were the first ones to start talking to you and take you as their friend

Kili was really curious about your magic and asked you about it a lot, while Fili was more calm and civilized, so he often smacked his brother’s head when he was beginning to ask too much

both of them really admired how fiercely you fought, with and without your magic

seeing how well Kili and Fili got along with you, Bofur took a mental note to befriend you as well, because you seemed like a genuinely fun and nice person to be around

he started talking to you a lot during meals, you two bonded rather quickly and started spending more time together

he would also show you how he makes toys from wood, his work perfect and fascinating as always

you both often yelled jokes at each other when you weren't near each other

and that annoyed Dwalin

he was one of the ones who didn't trust you at all, even after seeing you fight

he would often throw glances at you to make sure you weren't doing anything suspicious

eventually he would warm up to you after the other lads confort him

he would still be grumpy and not talkative towards you as usually, but he wouldn't exactly hate you and wouldn't glance at you

it would take Thorin the longest to warm up to you, he doesn't like wizards and you were no exception

he would stay up to keep an eye on you when you have a watch

he would probably fully accept you in Lake town after you vouch for him with Bilbo, but even then he would have some doubts

you helped Tauriel heal Kili, leaving Fili thankful for saving his brother

when Thorin had the dragon sickness, you tried to help him

even tho you couldn't free him completely, you still helped him a lot and made it easier for him to free his mind

in the final battle you managed to save all of them

they were still very badly injured, but they were alive all thanks to you and your healing

you were of course left with some injuries as well, but it would leave nothing more than a scar

Thorin offered you to stay in Erebor as healer, which you accepted

you also helped with rebuilding Erebor and tightened your friendship with The Company even more

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Hello beautiful, remember me? The one who asked for bubbles baths? i loved that so much !? I was wondering if I could ask for the reactions of the same Tolkien characters if the reader dies this time (oh aangst continuing on from with i n n their relationship from the buble baths ). If not it's all good in da hood. 🥰

Dearest anon, you did a 180 here, huh? I, of course, remember you...🥰🥰🥰

-> Link to the original (happy, fluffy, cracky) ask

That was a hard one for me, I won't lie...

so @kibleedibleedoo, here's my very soft angst, nothing too extreme.

@medusas-hairband, @eunoiaastralwings, here's the second (much darker) part of the ask you were so good to help me with lol

Words: 3,3k

Characters: Thorin x reader, Dwalin x reader, Elu Thingol x reader, Caranthir x reader, Ulmo x reader

Warnings: slight angst, character death, reference to injury and illness

Disclaimer: Not only do I not know the characters very well, but I also am NOT an angst writer, so please be kind and lenient!

Ficlets under the cut ⬇️

Thorin

“Don’t…” the king huffed, his usually so strong voice wavering like the flickering candle-light painting scenes of a world to come onto the bleak walls of your small chamber.

“You cannot command death, Thorin,” you smiled softly; the wounds sustained in a skirmish with roving Orcs were too deep even for his skilled healers, and all the gold in Arda would not buy you a single second more than was allotted to you by fate.

“I refuse,” he bellowed, despair turning his eyes as dark as the night sky, “I object! I am the king and I forbid you to die!”

In his eyes, you could read how desperately he tried to convince himself of his delusion as his hands closed tenderly around your upper arms. You could see him move, but your skin had already grown too cold and numb to really feel the touch you had always enjoyed so.

“Be strong,” you wheezed and coughed faintly, “be brave! I will wait for you beyond the veil.”

“It should have…I should have…” he stammered, the frenzy of his helpless, powerless panic clear in the way his fingers clenched and unclenched in irregular intervals.

You had led the life of a warrior by the side of your king, and you had nothing to regret now that you died a hero’s death in the chambers you had shared with the one they called ‘Oakenshield’ still. 

“You cannot yield,” he barked but the softness of his massive palm against your brow – cold and clammy with a sheen of sweat – belied his superficial fury, “I do not know how to go on without you.”

“I…” breathing became increasingly hard, “I loved you best. You, the people, the kingdom.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath that sounded like the wind rattling a broken window and tasted like blood and mud.

“Honour me by taking care of these.”

When he nodded solemnly, you added: “In that order, Thorin!”

He would be devastated, you knew, for he was a dwarf of a possessive, jealous nature when it came to his personal treasures, and he was loath to even consider losing them.

At the same time, his strength of mind and willpower were unparalleled, and he would not be alone and forsaken in his grief; you had to trust that his sister and his friends would find a way to tease that ancient fire back into roaring flame.

“I shall hunt them down and make them suffer,” he promised then, his eyes flashing like his sword and swirling with light and colour like the Arkenstone, “you will be avenged.”

“I love you,” you whispered; your lips felt stiff and cold around the words that suddenly seemed too big and unwieldy to speak, but he had heard you utter this truth – in whispers and ecstatic screams – often enough to understand it in his heart even when his ears could barely make out the garbled sounds.

“Farewell, Thorin,” you mouthed; there was no pain now, only peace, and the air held the crisp aroma of pine needles and fresh summer wind. 

“You disobedient wretch,” Thorin sobbed in a choked voice, “how I have loved you. I wish I could have kept the dangers creeping in the darkness at bay to preserve your light…”

He might have said many things beyond that, but blessed silence blanketed your senses now and the last and only thing you clutched to your stuttering heart as you departed this life of sorrow and love was the memory of his sad, beautiful smile as his eyes met yours for the final time.

Dwalin

It was so cold, you thought hazily, it was so terribly cold, and night had fallen so fast.

“Don’t move,” Dwalin – beloved, sturdy, reliable Dwalin – grumbled as his heavy, broad hand settled on your shoulder, “I’ll take you home…in a minute.”

You could feel the warm wetness under you congeal into a lake of cool, sticky jelly; it had been your own fault, reckless and daring, you had challenged him to a rock-climbing expedition from which you would, in all likelihood, never return.

Had it been the fell shadow swooping down on you or a moment of inattention – distracted by the rolling muscles under his worn tunic – for which you were to blame?

Either way, your hand had slipped, and you had fallen – long and deep – until your body was shattered on a rocky outcropping; you had lost consciousness then for you knew not how long, until Dwalin – soaking wet with transpiration and panting heavily – had appeared, his hands bloody and torn from his hasty, heedless descent.

His eyes flitted over you with dizzying speed, never resting on one particular part of your form for too long, and his reticence to even catalogue your injuries or treat them, beyond the tunic he had spread over you to stave off the biting chill of the night air, made you understand that they were beyond repair.

As you tried to speak, your tongue was stuck against the dry palate of your mouth and so you merely groaned; the pain – flowing like fire through your veins – made you feel as if you were spinning wildly in an abyss of flame and whipping chains. 

“In a minute,” he repeated, stroking your hair tenderly while tears – opaque with sweat and dirt – rolled noiselessly down his bearded cheeks, “no doubt, the princes will come looking for us! They’ll help me bring you back home.”

It had been hours, you remembered blurrily, you had been hiking to this remote area for hours; it was highly improbable that anyone would search for you before morning light, and even then, it was outright unlikely that they’d find you. Cowering hidden on the small ledge only barely perceptible from the steep slopes of the mountain, you were all but invisible and definitely unreachable to whatever rescue party potentially sent out for you.

“I’m here,” he babbled on, and his voice sounded like the gravel under his heavy boots as he scooted closer to you, effectively shielding you by hunching around you like a wild beast protecting its fallen mate. Maybe, that was exactly what you were. 

Again and again, you tried to speak or move, desperate to tell him not to worry, but it seemed that your earthly shell had already assumed the position of burial – still and rigid – no matter how frantically you attempted to shatter the broken cocoon stifling your thoughts into silence.

I love you, you thought, don’t cry, but no sound breached your stiff, numb lips.

“Oh, you’ll be alright,” Dwalin whispered, “but there will be no more rock-climbing!”

There wouldn’t, you well knew that, there would be no more winter walks either, or late nights in a tavern laughing about bad jokes while drinking watered-down ales. Gone and lost were the nights spent in his strong arms, his tender kisses weaving an ephemeral garment of love and starlight around your limbs; your memories blurred into a blinding light that cleaved your hazy mind like Dwalin’s axes could hew through wood and flesh alike.

It pained you that a single moment – so brief and so irrelevant in the big picture of your life together – would deprive you of the love, deep and enduring as the mountain you were perishing on, of that noble dwarven warrior weeping by your side.

The broken, flashing throbs of anger and hurt rattling around your immobile body like shards of glass in a broken crate or snowflakes drifting in a winter storm abated into dull fatigue as the moments ticked by; you were no longer feeling cold, you were merely tired.

“In a minute,” Dwalin said a third time, but his voice sounded muffled and far away now; you were not even given the chance to say goodbye or to release him from that minute that would stretch on endlessly until it had devoured the rest of his life.

Hours, minutes, seconds became meaningless as they contracted and settled into your frozen flesh heavily. 

The last thought you could cobble together before the darkness gaped open and engulfed you was ‘good night’ because – even now – ‘farewell’ was a thing too dreadful to even think.

Elu Thingol

“You cannot be serious,” Elu Thingol – who had the world at his feet and the threads of centuries wrapped around his long fingers – gasped as he saw you, shivering and weak, stretched out like a ghost on the soft sheets of your bed furnishings, “this is ridiculous.”

Death was a concept that was strange and distasteful to him; he, who had travelled beyond the confines of the world known to you and who trusted that he’d find himself in those sacred lands once more, could not fathom the bleak truth of someone vanishing like a candle snuffed out by a gust of wind.

“Don’t struggle,” you said quietly as if it was him and not you battling the shadows creeping in, eager to devour your flesh and bone and turn them into ash and dust.

You felt for him; unable to truly die, Elu Thingol – Elwë, the timeless – was the cracked vessel of the poison following the sting: grief.

It was his fate – whether this was a curse or benediction only Eru knew – to be the living, breathing, eternal memorial of those who had been whisked away to places beyond his reach.

Long was his memory and deep was his pain, and you hated yourself for adding to the agony that choked and dimmed the light of his eyes.

“We could heal you,” he grunted, but he knew very well that all his healers had already exhausted their powers; all they had done though was to prolong your suffering as the rot overtaking your body was only ever stayed but never eradicated.

“When the world is remade,” you murmured, “we shall be together once more; until then, I bid you farewell, esteemed king, cherished protector, and beloved soul.”

“Don’t,” he cried out – all the power in his blood rushing to the surface in what looked to you like a flash of blinding light – as he lifted you into his arms, “don’t leave me! Will all I’ve ever cherished be torn from me?”

Looking up into his beautiful face, radiant with a light he had managed to find where it had no reason to be, you had to concede that it must have been unbearably hard to be impervious to sickness and hurt on the surface while your soul was in the throes of deep agony.

“Remember me,” you choked out, “and the frailty of life, beauty, and love.”

A part of you knew that he would not heed your words; it was in his nature to hold on too tightly and squeeze whatever blessing was resting in his hands through his clenched fingers until he found his palms empty and smeared with the blood of what he had so tried to save.

He was glorious and – after the gnawing ailment had robbed you of nearly all the light you had ever possessed yourself – you were convinced that it would be his radiance that greeted you at the end of the long tunnel from which you would emerge – renewed and hale – at long last.

“Do not mourn me,” you went on, forcing your voice to be the trembling violin that accompanied your inevitable departure, “don’t let it make you bitter. Live as you were always supposed to and be brave in the face of seemingly impossibly daunting challenges.”

Your numb fingers clawed themselves into his long, silver hair as your head drooped weakly against his chest; life was draining out of you to pool – unheeded and shimmering – at his hallowed feet. The earth would drink up your essence and make new flowers bloom in his protected realm; the thought of staying with him – in all the manifold fragments and moods of your soul – comforted you now that the fatal moment had come.

“I beg you,” Thingol whispered as his arms tightened around the hollow shell that had once been a body flourishing with brimming, thrumming, invincible life.

As was his destiny, his pleas came too late and would bear no fruit though, and your serene slipping away was marred by a tinge of bitter regret as your last smile broke midway, leaving Thingol with the sharp-edged shards of loss and the biting knowledge that he had been robbed. 

Caranthir

“You will not come back,” you whispered, touching a hesitant hand to that handsome face you had loved so well, “and we shall not meet again in this life.”

“I shall,” Caranthir hissed sharply, but – in his eyes – you could clearly discern that he dreaded himself the moment his fate – and that Oath that bound his soul in unbreakable chains – would overtake him.

Before he could say anything else, you lifted your other hand to stay his words of love and promise.

“They are your brothers, and you owe them allegiance,” you said gently, pressing a kiss onto the white-knuckled hand now clasped tightly around your own as if to keep you by his side, “I know the forces that drive you; they have ever been the shadow on my every sunny day and the starless void swirling in my night sky.”

You sighed; you had not been granted the gift of foresight and yet, you knew with appalling certainty that this would be the last time you laid eyes upon the angry, helpless flush covering the unbearably handsome face of your beloved Lord with these eyes.

“I am bound to you,” you went on, trying to comfort him, “and your crimes are mine.”

“You shall not be judged for my trespasses,” he roared, his hands scrabbling frantically across your pleated robes now to find purchase, and you didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d fight the Valar themselves for your sake if it came down to it.

“Are you telling me that your wicked cunning knows boundaries, Moryo? Are you insinuating that you would be unable to find me when your destiny is finally full wrought?”

He pondered in brooding silence for a few seconds; the fierce frown and the pinched lips only made him more statuesquely beautiful, and your heart clenched in silent longing.

“They might keep you from me as punishment for what we are about to do…” he then whispered and the weariness weighing down his tone cut through you like a blade. 

“You’ve gone down a path sketched out by another’s hand for too long to turn back now, beloved,” you smiled wistfully, “and I promise that I’ll be waiting at the end of it.”

Taking his pale hands into your own and brushing your lips against his in a last effort to stem the tide of his persuasive speech, you pulled him into a tight embrace, unable to find words that would counteract the spell his love had cast upon you.

“Let me go join the widows and mothers; we both know that even the sons of Fëanor cannot outrun, outsmart, or outman fate! Have you ever come home from battle and not found me waiting?”

“No,” he admitted, his eyes darkening into the shade of empty, bleak doom spreading on the horizon of your shared life.

“Different as our paths may be – mine being one of dignified fading and yours leading through fire and blood – I truly have faith that they’ll lead to the same place in the end. The day has broken, love, and it is time to go.”

One last passionate, desperate kiss later, he got up and dressed in sullen silence.

“Until we meet again,” he rasped, his hand tight around the pommel of his sword.

“Until we meet again,” you echoed, “ride to – if not a glorious – at least a valiant conclusion to this wretched chapter in a never-ending story.”

“You are leaving,” he smiled with a sadness that was always lingering just beneath the surface, “and – whatever is to come – I shall not be afeared for I am eager to return to your arms.”

With him gone, you sunk back against the pillows still holding the echo of his scent and closed your eyes, giving yourself over to the cold but welcome embrace of death.

Ulmo

“This is the way things go,” you sighed, sitting by the shore that had been your home for so many years, “and I am unafraid.”

A soft smile passed over your face; you had spent too many afternoons in Ulmo’s company to dread what was to come for you had faith – having seen one of the great Powers with your own unworthy eyes – and you accepted your mortal fate unconditionally. 

“I will not give you up!” 

The gurgling words whispering like the wings of unseen seabirds sounded strangely petulant for a being who knew everything and had nothing to fear.

“Where I go, you cannot follow me,” you laughed but your voice was diluted in the insistent howling of the wind; you knew that you were dying, you had felt the darkness creep into your bones and slowly paint your body from the inside out until you were naught but a shadow of your former self. 

Dark swaths of otherworldly wrath gathered ominously – the tears of which you’d never feel on your wilted face – and, despite the chill of the grey afternoon, you wanted your last moments to take place here.

Reclining onto the moss covering the sharp rocks, you looked up into the sky – swirling with those clouds in the shape of all you had ever loved and admired – and made your peace with leaving this world behind forevermore.

“You will not leave,” the same ethereal voice – pebbles clicking in the stream of a jauntily leaping river – replied adamantly, “I won’t let you!”

Your head turned slowly as something cold started prickling in the palm of your outstretched hand. 

“Do you remember?” He was mourning already, you realised, his tone deep and hollow like the unexplored abyss in which he reigned supreme. 

Your fingers – thin and brittle like twigs drifting on the ocean – twitched as you saw the tiny, pristine bubbles popping merrily in your worn palm. Only now did you hear the angry crashing of the waves against the cliffs; Ulmo had whipped the ocean into a frenzy, lathering plants and swirling up soil to create a semblance of the stupid soap bubbles you had shown him long years ago.

What devastation would follow for the fishermen and farmers? The thought but caressed your mind, a shadow of guilt for the shared grief for one as inconsequential as you.

“I do remember,” you croaked; your limbs felt heavy and numb with cold and fatigue, but you tried to hold on to this last conversation a little longer.

“Will you do me one last favour?” 

“Anything!” You had nothing to lose anymore; where you were headed, your riches, your pride, your very existence would be forfeit.

“Give yourself over to me,” he prompted softly and – as impossible as it seemed – warm water embraced you as soon as you had managed a faint nod, lifting you up as if you were as fragile and ephemeral as the dying foam in your hand.

Which you were, at least to him.

Dying, you cared not to which place you’d be whisked away; you had been blessed with experiences so extraordinary in life that you would have accepted an eternity of dull nothingness as counterbalance. 

Sweet calm washed over you, drowning you in memories of bliss, before oblivion cradled you in her warm arms as you felt the weight of the world be muffled by a heavy wall of water that swallowed you eagerly.

“You shouldn’t have,” a foreign, enchantingly melodious voice drifted into your now quickly fading conscience while you sunk ever downwards.

“A grave is a grave,” your lifelong friend replied quietly and then, warm, wet sand was heaped upon your unfeeling body like a blanket of tender love. 

So, there we are, tiny angst and dead readers...

I have tried my best to do as many different reasons and ways and reactions as I could think of; I hope you like this, dearest anon...

Other than that, I hope you all enjoyed this venture into unusual territory and - if so - I'd love you forever if you could comment/reblog.

Thank you so much!!!

Lots of love from me <3