#thorin x oc

[lathalea]

The Arrival

Yes, my beloved readers, it's time for another Thorin fic from yours truly!

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader/OC (pick one) Rating: G Warnings: none Author's notes: Thorin and his Company have reclaimed Erebor and started rebuilding their kingdom. Everything seems fine except for the fact that the King Under The Mountain is eagerly awaiting the arrival of someone very dear to him... Also, I want to apologise to Peter Jackson for stealing some lines from An Unexpected Journey and J.R.R. Tolkien for appropriating and rephrasing one sentence from The Lord of The Rings.  I'm a hopeless romantic, what can I say? You can find this fic on AO3. For @legolasbadass 💙💙💙

Khuzdul: Iglishmêk - dwarven sign language Kurdelê - my heart Lukhdelê - my light of all lights

The King Under the Mountain, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, the second of his name, also known as Thorin Oakenshield, the king of Durin’s folk, was not a patient Dwarf—and yet he waited. He had been standing on the main terrace above the Great Gate of Erebor since the moment when the first rays of the morning sun gilded the distant peaks of the Iron Hills. His eyes, however, were turned towards the west, where the jagged tops of the Misty Mountains grazed against the pink sky. As he took a deep breath, fresh spring air filled his lungs. It was his—and his people’s—first spring in Erebor since it was reclaimed. The winter after the Battle of Five Armies passed in a blink of an eye. The kingdom was being rebuilt and prepared for the returning Dwarves, food stores had to be replenished, new trade agreements had to be signed… but among all those duties, something else kept Thorin awake until late on many a night. His memories.

The memory of a pair of hands gently resting on his shoulders as he sat behind his desk, and the sweet timbre of the voice that went with it, “Come, Kurdelê, it is time we reposed for the night, those reports can wait until the morning.”

The memory of those soft, sweet lips pressing innocently against his cheek and murmuring something scandalously indecent into his ear.

The memory of how her body felt in his lap, his arms around her waist, her arms around his neck, her forehead pressed against his, her silver laughter as she pretended to scold his rash behaviour, so unbecoming of a king.

The memory of her bare skin in candlelight.

But there were other memories, too. Their lengthy late-night conversations about anything and everything. Their secret escapades to the market, or to an inn, dressed as common folk, pretending to be a couple of travelling merchants. Their wanderings through the Blue Mountains in search of the best view of the sea in the west (his choice) and the most beautiful flower glades (her choice). 

During the lengthy council meetings he had to hold almost daily in Erebor, he would recall how much her presence changed the dynamics of similar gatherings back in the Blue Mountains. Her reasoning was swift, and her no-nonsense approach to the matters of state made even the most ancient council members nod in approval. Even now, he would—out of habit—turn to his right, wishing to discuss a matter with her or ask for her insight. But she was not there, and so he would give out a dissatisfied grunt and return to the matter at hand. 

He knew that the only thing he had to do was wait, and he abhorred it. But there was nothing to be done. No sane person would risk crossing the Misty Mountains in the middle of winter. Now, however, the spring came into its own right. And he sent his best men to the High Pass to oversee the approach of the first dwarven caravan from Eriador. It was supposed to bring the first group of his people returning home, merchants, masters of craft, their families and belongings… and her. The whole Erebor was waiting for the arrival of their kin—the symbol of a new beginning for the Mountain and its dwellers. Many eyes turned to the west, counting the days, making wagers, discussing the route the waggons must have taken, and the current road conditions. It seemed that in those days, only one topic existed: the caravan.

But Thorin could only think of her lovely hand in his.  Of her kindred touch.

As soon as a raven brought word from the caravan, reporting that they have succesfully crossed the mountains, he could not stop himself from looking to the west, and hoping. 

This was the fifth day he spent on the terrace, waiting for any signs of the caravan’s approach.

On the first day, Gloin waited with him in hopes of seeing his wife and son, but was called away due to some issue in the treasure chamber. Thorin stayed, cursing the enchanted forest (and its haughty king, for good measure) for daring to obscure his view. Sadly, neither the forest nor its king moved out of the way.

On the second day, Dwalin asked Thorin whether he was growing mawkish in his dotage, staring at the edge of Mirkwood like a lovesick whelp—a question he had to take back on the training grounds. 

On the third day, Dori asked whether Thorin would rather wait inside, on account of that nasty rain, and drink some warm tea with honey. No, said Thorin, he would not. And that envoy from the Iron Hills could join him there, on the terrace, by the way.

On the fourth day, Nori, Bifur and Bofur kept Thorin company, amusing him—and themselves in equal measure—with the latest gossip straight from the taverns of Erebor (all two of them, for now). He had no idea that several hundreds of dwarves, mostly newcomers from the Iron Hills and the White Mountains, could wreak such havoc. And marry so swiftly and in such numbers. Spring was truly in the air.

Now, on the fifth day, he stood alone, and waited. Roac was circling the Long Lake below, giving out a single caw from time to time, “Still nothing.”

And then, a hunting horn rang out in the air. Thorin knew its sound all too well.

“Balin!” he exclaimed to his friend who sat in the hall beyond the terrace. “Sound the alarm!”

The elderly dwarf raised his head from above a piece of parchment, slightly puzzled.

“Call out the guard,” Thorin insisted, feeling his impatience take the better of him. “Do it now! 

“What is it?” Balin rose from his seat, his scroll forgotten.

“The caravan!” Thorin gestured excitedly—perhaps a tad too excitedly for a Dwarf of his stature—towards Mirkwood, where a long line of waggons started emerging from the forest. “They will be here soon!”

She will be here soon. 

Over a year passed since the last time he held her in his arms, since he braided the silky dark waves of her hair, and since he looked into the brilliant, wise eyes of the woman he loved. To him, it felt like an eternity, and in that very moment, as he hurried down the stairs that led towards the Great Gate, he made a solemn promise to himself.

When the caravan arrived, most of the Dwarves were already gathered outside of the mountain. The guards held their heads high, presenting their weapons in an honorary salute, not leaving their posts, but even they cast curious glances at the newly arrived, trying to find familiar faces in the crowd. Thorin smirked at his thoughts. They looked as impatient as their king.

He knew the protocol of such meetings like the back of his hand, requiring him to stand by the gate, look regally, and welcome the newcomers to their new—old—home. His resolve wavered, however, when he saw a familiar figure clad in a green, fur-lined gown getting down a waggon, helped by one of the guardsmen. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Without thinking, he took a step forward, and then stopped, recalling who he was and what he was expected to do. He was also not allowed to leave his post, just like his guards. Instead, he observed from a distance, admiring the way the waves of her hair fell down her shoulders as she looked around, perhaps slightly disoriented, taking in the surroundings. Thorin saw the exact moments when her gaze rested on the mossy stone shaped by his ancestors into statues of warrior kings. Then her gaze moved down, focusing on the green marble of the Great Gate. Her eyes widened, her lips formed an “O” and then moved, she spoke something, but her words were lost in all the commotion. In that very moment, she reminded him of that bright-eyed maiden he had met for the first time in a mountain meadow half a world away; the maiden who laughed at his abysmal jokes, who fit so well in his arms when they danced, and who accepted his awkward courting efforts. The time that passed between then and now did not take away her ability to wonder and enjoy the world around her. She endured so many hardships on the way from the Blue Mountains to Erebor, so many cold nights on the road, faced so many dangers, and yet she never wavered in her decision to leave the Blue Mountains behind to be with him and their people. Now, she was finally here and, at last, he felt complete. Being able to see his own kingdom—their kingdom—through her eyes, and to see how amazed she was at the view, was a reward on its own. 

Thorin could not stop himself from smiling when her eyes finally met his. 

“Welcome home, my…” he began signing in iglishmêk, in that discreet way they often did on official occasions when the eyes of many would rest on them.

A light flush bloomed on her cheeks, she responded with a smile, and began walking towards him, oblivious of her escort and the joyous crowd around her, forgetting about the protocol, moving faster and faster, a giggle escaping her lips, her braids danced in the wind, her cloak flowed behind her, and…

“Thorin!” she called him in that melodious voice of hers, and there were diamonds in her eyes, or perhaps it was only his vision that suddenly turned very blurry, and he opened her arms, and thought “the Abyss take the protocol!”, and he rushed towards her, ignoring Balin clearing his throat in embarrassment, because she was finally here, and he had waited long enough—and they finally met halfway.

He wrapped his arms around her and felt her pressing into him, and there was laughter, and more tears in their eyes, the diamonds of happiness, those most precious among gems, and he was finally able to finish that sentence.

“Welcome home, my wife,” he rasped out, pressing his forehead against her, breathing in her familiar flowery scent, the one he adored so much. This was her, finally her, in his arms, and only she mattered in this very moment, not the crowd cheering around them, witnessing this moment of tenderness between their ruling couple, not even his kingdom, nor the world around them—now, it was only her.

“I missed you, my love,” she murmured, holding tight onto him, as if she wanted to make sure he would not disappear, and a wave of warmth washed over him. “I can’t believe I’m finally here, with you, after all those months…”

“Neither can I,” he agreed, cupping her cheek tenderly and eliciting a small sigh from her. “It was much too long, Lukhdelê.”

“Aye, it was,” she nodded, her eyes searching his face, as if learning it anew.

“I made a promise to myself,” Thorin continued. “Never again.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head in that alluring way of hers, and he had to suppress the improper urge to kiss her passionately in front of his people.

“Never again shall we part for so long. I crave you by my side, my heart,” he stated, bringing her hand to his lips.

“Then I will be looking forward to you upholding the promise,” she graced him with a teasing smile that made his blood run faster. “We have been apart indeed for too long, and so were our people. I believe it is time for us to work on improving their morale, would you not agree, my king?”

“Your wish is my command, my queen,” he agreed and took her in his arms again, and then their lips met. Sweetness intermingled with warmth, tenderness fueled the fire inside them, and he cared not that they stood in front of the gate in the sight of many.

After all, who cares about protocol when you have to properly welcome your wife home?

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[fizzyxcustard]

How would Thorin comfort his lover? Both when it’s related to physical pain/injury and emotional distress

Please and thank you! 🩵🩵

Thorin, in my mind, shows his love through touch. Comforting his lover would mean touching her gently, whether her hand, arm, face, or maybe something a little more intimate, like a leg, when no one is looking.

Obviously physical injury may be a little more difficult, but Thorin would tend to her wounds himself, not wanting touch from anyone else. I imagine him being a little jealous in that respect. Not overly, but something he can’t help himself feel.

Apart from touch, he is a gift giver. He’d shower her with flowers, trinkets and even food. Then he’d encourage her to rest, not take on extra duties, and remain beside her. ♥️

Thank you for asking, love! Thoroughly enjoyed answering this.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : Imagine you're a stunt coach (archery) and you have private lessons with Richard Armiage. You know each other from the set of "Robin Hood" and now you're working together on "The Hobbit".

[ A/N ] : The photos do not belong to me. English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story.

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : The first time I met Richard, it wasn’t exactly a meet-cute. Picture this: Sherwood Forest, the set of Robin Hood, and me, covered in mud, trying to coax a particularly stubborn arrow out of a bale of hay. The rain was coming down sideways, and I was starting to question my life choices. Suddenly, a voice, smooth as velvet but with a hint of amusement, piped up, “Having a bit of a crisis, aren't we?” I turned around, mud-caked and glowering, to see Richard Armitage, looking impossibly handsome even in the pouring rain, standing there with a half-amused, half-sympathetic look. He was holding a perfectly dry umbrella, which, I admit, made me feel even more miserable. “Just peachy,” I grumbled, wrenching the arrow free with a satisfying thwack. “And you are?” He chuckled, a sound that somehow managed to cut through the storm. “Richard. And I believe I'm about to make a fool of myself trying to learn archery.” “Well, you’ve come to the right place,” I said, gesturing at myself with a muddy hand. “You're lookin' at your head coach, your arrow-slingin' sensei, the queen of the quiver, and... yeah, I'm a girl! Surprise! I know, I know, you were probably expecting a gruff, beard-stroking, totally serious dude who only speaks in grunts and talks about bows like they're his long-lost children... Well, I'm here to shatter that stereotype like a poorly-placed arrow on a target! I'm Bathsheba... " He grinned, and I swear, the clouds parted for a moment to give him a spotlight. “Then I shall be in your capable, possibly muddy, hands.” That was the beginning. Over the next few months, we spent hours together on the archery range. I taught him the basics, the stance, the draw, the release. He, in turn, taught me about the intricacies of playing a charming villain and how to make a convincing brooding expression (something I apparently needed help with). We'd argue about the best way to hold a bow, debate the merits of different arrowheads, and share stories about our lives. He’d tease me about my aversion to technology, and I'd tease him about his fondness for perfectly ironed shirts. We developed a sort of easy camaraderie, a comfortable rhythm of banter and respect.

So, fast forward a few years, and The Hobbit comes along. When they were casting for Thorin Oakenshield, I knew instantly Richard would be perfect, from his amazing height and stoic appearance. And when I got the call to be the archery consultant again, the first thing I did was request that Richard and I work together again. Luckily, they agreed! Now, here we were, back on the range, preparing for the epic journey ahead. The only difference was that, this time, the stakes felt a little higher. Maybe it was the pressure of the iconic character (which was beloved by fans everywhere and Rich would need to hit it out of the park, while also embodying some of the best archery skills. I'd spent weeks pouring over the script, agonizing over Thorin's archery scenes. If they weren’t done right, they could break the immersion. The responsibility weighed on me. I hoped that he knew how important this was...) the sprawling landscapes, or the sheer amount of time we were spending together. Whatever it was, Richard seemed… different. He was more focused, more intense, but also…flustered. The first few lessons were a disaster of awkwardness. He’d struggle with the draw, and the arrow would wobble in the most comedic fashion. I, of course, would start laughing. Then the actor would blush beet-red. I would have to stop the lesson, and we'd end up talking about some random thing to recover. "Alright, Richard, keep your back straight, your stance firm, and your eye on the target," I'd say, trying to sound like a seasoned pro. He'd nod seriously, his jaw set, and then his gaze would drift. Not to the target, mind you, but to me. His eyes would linger, and a faint flush would creep up his neck. He would then, with the most distracting drawl say: "You… you are distracting me." "Am I?" I'd ask, feigning innocence, though my heart would do a little flutter dance. "What am I doing?" "Your... your presence is... unsettling," he'd stammer, and his ears would turn bright red. I started trying a new tactic. "I'm just here to make sure you don't accidentally shoot yourself, or anyone else on set," I said. "This is a job, Richard, nothing more." "Bathsheba, I need a break," he said during one sparring session, his voice laced with frustration. He rested his bow against the hay bale, the tension in his shoulders slowly releasing. "Maybe a little bit of distance would do us both some good." "Good idea," I agreed, my voice sounding a little too eager, even to my own ears. I walked to the water cooler, trying to put some space between us, not just physically, but emotionally. But I knew, it wouldn't work. As he approached me to take a sip of water, he kept his gaze locked on mine. We were both silent for a long moment, the only sound the gentle breeze rustling through the trees. I could feel the thrum of my own heart, echoing the rhythm of the bowstring being pulled back. "You know," he began softly, his voice barely above a whisper, "this archery thing… it's becoming a metaphor, isn’t it?" My gaze snapped up to meet his. "A metaphor for what, Richard?" I asked, my voice a little more breathy than I would have liked. He took a step closer, his nearness stealing the air from my lungs. "For us, Bat. The way we circle around each other, drawing closer, then pulling back. The precision we try to achieve, the aim, and the way we seem to consistently miss our mark." I didn't deny it. The truth was, the archery range had become a battleground of sorts, a place where we tested the limits of our self-control, where our unspoken desires were played out in every stance, every glance, every near miss. The bow and arrow, the ultimate tools for directing focus and power, had become the very thing that made Richard's focus falter. "And what does it mean?" I whispered, my voice a mere breath. He reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of my jaw, sending shivers down my spine. "I'm not sure yet," he admitted, his voice raw and filled with uncertainty. "But I know... I don't want to keep missing."

[doodleferp]

Hobbit wife hobbit wife hobbit wife

[yell0ws0ul]

I really wish people would write fanfics about Thorin and Reader/OC after the quest when Erebor is reclaimed...

I want to read fics about their life's once they're married and royals and stuff🥰

About how their relationship would be after the quest, if things would change and stuff... Reader/OC becoming Fíli's and Kíli's Aunt and her relationship with Thorin's sister, Dís (I LOVE DÍS SM I WISH SHE WAS IN MORE FICS)

Would anyone be willing to write something like that?

[cutoruncut]

Thorin Oakenshield

[middleearthpixie]

The Ties That Bind ~ Chapter Twelve

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

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

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

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Eirlys of Mirkwood

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.9k

Read on AO3

When she opened her eyes the next morning, Eirlys was alone and she thought for a moment that perhaps she’d dreamed the previous night. Dreamed the previous weeks. 

But then she heard the soft pad of bare feet on wood and rolled onto her belly to gaze out at the terrace. There, dressed in only his trousers, was her husband. She smiled. He is my husband. 

The chill in the morning air did not seem to faze him. He did not shiver. Didn’t rub his hands along his thick biceps or forearms to try to keep warm. Instead, he bent slightly forward—most likely leaning against the railing as she often did—and let the pale early morning sun splash across his skin. It highlighted the swells of muscle along his broad shoulders, down his equally broad back, but her smile faded at the sight of the scars that marred his skin, for there were quite a few. When he moved and the hair that fell halfway down his back shifted, it exposed still more marks. Some were old and had gone white, some were newer and still pink. Some were smooth, but more than one had jagged margins, and she wondered how he’d come by them. 

The sunlight shone along his black hair, the ornaments he’d woven into it glinting, throwing off flashes of light here and there with the slightest of movement. She didn't know what he watched, but something seemed to have caught his attention. 

She snuggled into the pillow beneath her cheek, perfectly content to simply study him. The previous evening had been nothing short of magical and while she hated to see the morning come, she knew there would be more nights like their first and she looked very much forward to them. 

He turned then and her breath hitched. If she’d thought him beautiful in the moonlight, that was nothing compare to him in the daylight. Her dwarf was the powerfully built man she’d ever seen and when he smiled, her heart actually skipped a beat, a soft laugh bubbling to her lips when he grinned and greeted her with, “So that’s why my back grew warm.”

“I’ll not apologize. You’re quite handsome, you know.”

His grin widened as he came back into the room. “I thank you for the compliment, but I’m certain not many would agree with you.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she replied, rising to prop her head on her fist. “They must need glasses, to think such a thing.”

He sank onto the edge of the bed. “I thought this moment might be awkward,” he confessed, trailing his fingers along the length of her hair. 

“Why? We did nothing wrong.”

“No, we didn’t. But… it was still nothing I could have prepared for. And I mean that in the nicest way, before you think I found fault with it, or you.”

He skimmed along her hair, over her shoulder, and the caress sent heat streaking through her. Her eyes grew heavy-lidded, but she refused to let them close even as she shivered beneath his touch. “I also found no fault with you, Thorin,” she told him softly. 

“So I did not disappoint you, then?”

She heard the note of teasing, the hint of a smile, in his voice, and shook her head. “Not at all. Did I disappoint you?”

His eyes darkened slightly and he shifted to ease himself over her. The hair curling away from his chest tickled her bare back, and he nuzzled her, whispering, “I think it impossible for you to ever do such a thing.”

Now she let her eyes close, his lips soft and warm, his beard coarse and tickling her skin as he swept teasing kisses along first her cheek, then over her jaw. Sweeping her hair to let it spill over her left shoulder, he then kissed his way down along her neck, over her nape, across her shoulder. With each pass of his lips, her skin grew more sensitive, the warmth that uncoiled in her belly bubbled into heat that spread through her veins.

He slid one hand along her arm, to her hand, beneath her pillow, and covered it, linking his fingers with hers as he whispered, “Does anyone expect us at this hour?”

Her thoughts came muddy and slow, thick and lazy as she managed to murmur, “I care not, to be honest.”

A soft laugh whispered across her back and her toes actually curled as he kissed down over her left shoulder blade. “Good.”

Thorin crept lower, drawing the sheet down to her hips, pausing when she shivered. “Are you cold, mesmel?”

“No.” She could barely make her voice go above a whisper, she felt so languorous. He punctuated each kiss with a teasing sweep of his tongue, and with each caress, the heat within her grew. The now-familiar knots slowly tightened, slowly lowered into her core. He came back up, flattening again her, his breath warm against her ear.

“Your Majesty?”

Eirlys and Thorin groaned in unison at Madris’ voice. With a muffled growl, Thorin eased off her, onto his back and she winced, calling back, “What is it, Madris?”

“Your father sent me up to remind you of the breakfast before everyone departs.”

Eirlys bit back the oath rising to her lips. She’d forgotten about the breakfast. “Give us a minute, please?”

“Of course.”

“I forgot about the breakfast,” she sighed, sinking back into her pillows.

“It is of no matter.” His words wafted slowly into the air, heavy with what sounded like regret. “There will be other mornings.”

That brought a smile to her lips, one that stayed there even as he gave a rough sigh and rose from the bed to go to the wardrobe, where his chest stood alongside it. “Do you promise?”

“Why, Queen Eirlys, you sound almost wanton.”

He said it with a grin, which warmed her blood once more. “Is that a yes, King Thorin?”

Crouching before the chest to lift the lid, he bobbed his head. “It is most definitely a yes.”

“Good.”

“And now,” he stood, a heavy dark grey henley clutched in both hands, “I will go and assure your maid I’ve not been in here ravishing you silly and if you don't mind clumsy dwarven hands assisting you, I will help you dress.”

“She might not believe you.”

“I am very persuasive when I wish to be.” He drew the henley over his head, winking as he emerged through the neck. “Although, I might warn her we will be late to the breakfast. I think she will understand though, given that we are newlyweds.”

“Thorin, we can’t keep our guests waiting.”

He thumped past her, pausing to bend and press a kiss into her forehead. “If they have complaints, they can come visit me in Erebor to voice them.”

“I like how you think.”

He winked once more and then crossed to the door, where he tugged it open and stepped to into the corridor. Eirlys sighed softly, then reluctantly rose from the bed, crouching to swipe her nightgown from the floor, where it had spent the night. The wrapper lay beside it, but further under the bed, and she snatched that as well, balling both in her hands as she stood. 

She moved around the foot of the bed, toward the basket where she’d dump the garments, when something caught her attention from the corner of her eye. 

The dark splotch stood out vibrantly against the white linens. Blood. 

“I thought you might not want your maid to see that.”

Thorin’s voice suddenly in her ear made her jump. He’d come up behind her without a sound, and slid an arm about her waist as he spoke. A feeling of foolishness swirled through her at her starting the way she had, but at the same time, his concern touched her as well. “It’s silly to be concerned about it,” she murmured, shaking her head. “It isn’t as if no one knows what happened here last eve.”

“Still… it’s no one else’s concern, either.” The arm about her waist tightened briefly. “Although, I’ll wager both houses will await the announcement of an heir’s imminent arrival in the coming year.” 

“An heir…” She peered up at him over her shoulder. “I do hope we might adjust to being married first.”

“Of course. But…” He smiled as he released her, and stepped around to whisk the linens from the bed and balled them in his arms. “I rather enjoy how one goes about begetting an heir, so I daresay, we will have one sooner rather than later.”

She didn't answer, not that he gave her a chance. Instead, he tossed the ruined linens into the basket and then crossed back to the wardrobe to tug open the doors. “What did you wish to wear today, Eirlys?”

A sense of unease settled about her even as she forced a smile to her face and said, “I think the pale blue will suffice.”

By early afternoon, the palace became a frantic hive of activity as the wedding guests readied to take their leave. Her father and Thorin had disappeared after breakfast, although neither would tell her why, which irritated her as much as Thorin’s statement about begetting an heir troubled her, and Eirlys tried not to dwell on either as she went in search of Madris to aid her in the packing they need to do to make the trip to Erebor in the coming days.

“Eirlys?”

She paused at a very familiar voice, one she had not heard in what seemed like a lifetime, and turned to smile. “Lachon? Is that really you?”

Lachon of Rivendell hurried toward her, sweeping her up to swing her around. “Did you think I would miss an event such as this? Princess Eirlys of Mirkwood actually settling down and taking a husband?”

She couldn't help her laughter as he set her down, and she smiled up into his warm dark eyes. “My father was none too fond of you, if I recall.”

“Well, now, that would be because he caught me attempting to take liberties with you, if you will also recall.”

“Lachon, we were but children when that happened.”

“I was a boy, yes,” he nodded, tucking her arm through his, “but you were anything but a child.”

Her cheeks grew warm. “Either way, it was a lifetime ago, so I suppose Papa thought it would be safe.”

“And he judged correctly. I would never have missed this.” He looked around, the sunlight glinting russet over the reddish-gold hair streaming down his back. “But, where is your new husband? I should like to offer him my congratulations on winning your hand.”

“He is in with my father even as we speak.” She peered over her shoulder, toward the Throne Room, where she figured her father and Thorin were discing whatever it was they discussed. “I’m sure it has something to do with how many soldiers will accompany us back to Erebor.”

“A wise idea, to be sure.” Lachon bobbed his head as they strolled along the walkway, where sun splashed the wood as if lightning their path. “Gundabad has grown far bolder and if you are making your way from here to the Lonely Mountain, it would be best to have as many soldiers as your father might spare.”

She paused, peering up at him. “Have they grown so bold? I know they’ve ventured closer to our borders in the last few weeks, but are they stronger? They have no leader.”

“Oh, but they do once more have a leader.” He turned to her. “And by all reports, he is far worse than Azog or Bolg would ever be.”

She tried to ignore the sudden knots in her stomach, the sense of unease that settled about her. “And has he a name?”

“Rildu. He is a cousin to Azog, or more aptly, was a cousin to him. And that blood knows no mercy, no empathy, and no compassion. And yes, they are stronger now. Stronger and far more determined to rule whatever they can.” Lachon nodded in the direction of the Throne Room. “From what I understand, he is also to out for revenge for what your husband did to his cousin, and what your brother did to Azog’s son.”

“Wonderful.” Her unease grew. Erebor was almost two days’ travel from Mirkwood. Not incredibly far, but a good portion of their journey would be along open road, which would leave them more than a little vulnerable to attack.

“Let’s not talk about it now,” she told him, forcing a smile to her lips, forcing a cheeriness she did not feel into her voice. “Instead, tell me what you’ve been doing since we last met?”

“A little of this, a little of that.” He shrugged. “You know how I am, Eirlys. I’m not overly fond of doing the same thing over and over.”

“I know, but I’d have thought Elrond would have given you the opportunity to channel your energies into one objective.”

Lachon chuckled. “He has. More than once.”

“And still nothing, eh?” 

“I tried to have him speak with your father,” he replied, his smile fading and his eyes growing soft. 

A hint of unease unfurled in her belly. “We’ve been through this before, Lachon. And besides, I’m married now, remember?”

“I know, more’s the pity. Although,” the familiar gleam leaped into his eyes once more, “I am happy for you and Thorin, is his name?”

She cocked her head to the side. “You very well know his name and do not try to pretend otherwise.”

“Guilty. But tell me,” he lowered his voice, “does the fact that he is a dwarf trouble you at all?”

“No,” she replied without hesitation, shaking her head, “not one bit. Why should it?”

He offered up a long look. “Surely, you remember well the last time they passed through here. We heard about it all the way in Imladris.”

She sighed. “The last time they passed through here, it was for the wedding of the king’s nephew to our own Tauriel. So, I’ll wager whatever you heard of that was not nearly as horrifying as what I think you’re alluding to.”

“Don’t be daft, Eirlys. You knew I meant the last time they were here uninvited.”

She stared hard at him. Of course she knew what happened when her father imprisoned the dwarves. They escaped and made their way first to Esgaroth, then to Erebor itself, unleashed Smaug and destroyed the town on the lake.

But, all she said to Lachon was, “What is it you’re saying, man? Don’t beat about the bush, but man up and say it.”

“Your dwarf king went mad. Went mad and nearly wiped out your father’s army, your brother  and Tauriel, all of Esgaroth, as well as his own kin.” Lachon’s dark eyes almost glowed. “And yet you’ve married him just the same, which astounds me.”

“Why?”

“Because when I asked for your hand, you refused. And yet you willingly pledged your troth to him—a dwarf?”

She rolled her eyes. “I refused you because we wanted different things, if you’ll recall. You had our lives all planned out and yet failed to ask me what I felt about any single aspect. I’d rather not have a husband who plans my life for me without any input from me.”

“And your dwarf has listened to you? Has he taken into account what you want?”

“Although, I’ll wager both houses will await the announcement of an heir’s imminent arrival in the coming year.” 

“An heir…” She peered up at him over her shoulder. “I do hope we might adjust to being married first.”

“Of course. But…” He smiled as he released her, and stepped around to whisk the linens from the bed and balled them in his arms. “I rather enjoy how one goes about begetting an heir, so I daresay, we will have one sooner rather than later.”

Still, she couldn't very well tell Lachon how Thorin had not troubled himself to ask her whether or not she even wished to have children. “Lachon, you know how families such as mine are when it comes to marriage. It’s all about the alliances that are created.”

“So, it’s one of convenience,” Lachon nodded, “so why not simply say so?”

He stepped closer and before she could do anything, he caught her around the waist to pull her close. “Remember, my grandmother was Oropher’s mistress. We should continue the tradition, Eirlys.”

“What our grandparents did has no bearing on what we do, and you know as well as I do that those rumors were never more than that—rumors,” she told him, shaking her head. “Now, unhand me.”

“We belong together, you know,” his voice lowered, grew throatier, his arms in fact tightening about her, “and you would be but wasted on that fool, mad dwarf.”

“Lachon, don’t you—”

Before she could finish, he caught her lips in a fierce kiss, his arms like bands of steel about her, pressing her own arms almost painfully against her sides. She tried to jerk back, to pull just beyond his reach, but she had no leverage and no way to force him to yield.

“What goes on here?”

The angry growl of Thorin’s deep voice was enough to make Lachon pull back and she was able to yank free of his grasp. “Thorin, I didn't hear you coming.”

“No,” he growled, turning cold blue eyes to her, “I’ll wager you did not. It’s time for us to take our leave.”

She smiled. “Good. I was just coming to find you.”

“Were you?” His gaze shifted to Lachon. “Did you perhaps mistake an elf for me?”

Her belly knotted. “It isn’t quite what you think.”

“Really?” Thorin came up to them, putting himself between her and Lachon. “You were at the ceremony yesterday, weren’t you?”

Lachon bobbed his head. “I was, indeed.”

“So you know that her Majesty is now married. To me.”

“I do.”

“Good.” Thorin offered up a mild smile and then, to both Eirlys’ and Lachon’s surprise, leveled the elf with a punch that seemingly came from nowhere. 

Lachon crumpled to his knees and Thorin crouched before him, adding, “If you come near her again, I will kill you. Do you understand that, elf?”

Blood trickled from the corner of Lachon’s mouth, and he gingerly prodded at his already swelling bottom lip as he nodded. 

Eirlys pressed her lips together to hold back her smile as she looked over at Thorin. He’d seen the kiss, but he’d no doubt seen her fighting Lachon off as well, which filled her with relief. At least his anger was aimed at the right person.

She moved to slip her arm through his. “I’ve never been so thankful to see you, Thorin,” she whispered, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

“Indeed,” he replied, his voice cold, “and now it is time for us to take our leave.”

With that, he started off, and she stumbled as she tried to fall into step with him. Fury practically radiated from him as he stalked away from Lachon, still on the floor. Eirlys had to practically run to keep up with him, and as they rounded the corner leading to her chambers, she said, “What is the matter?”

“The matter is that you were kissing another man the morning after our wedding.”

“Wait,” she dug her heels into the floor to halt him, yanking her arm free, “I was what?”

“I saw you.” He spun around to face her. “Laughing with him and then the next minute, kissing him. Now, I know you and I might not know each other well yet, and perhaps that isn’t exactly how a marriage should begin, but—”

“I want’t kissing him. He was kissing me.”

He stared at her, eyes cold, arms folded. “As if there is a difference.”

“There is this time! He kissed me and made it so I couldn’t free myself.”

“Is that so? I thought you were trained alongside your brother, with Tauriel, with the others, to defend yourself. Didn’t you tell me that? That you are skilled with a bow and arrow as well as steel? And yet, you could not avoid a single kiss?”

“I couldn't when he’d pinned my arms to my sides, you fool!”

“I am indeed a fool,” he replied with a sharp bob of his head, “for now I am bound to you, my faithless queen, for the rest of my days. You should have but told me your heart belonged to another, for I would have refrained from consummating our marriage and then could have possibly freed myself.”

Her heart beat at triple its pace as she held his angry stare. “If that is what you wish to do, then leave for Erebor without me. I will tell no one of last evening.”

“Your sheets were stained with your virgin’s blood, your maid saw them and for all I know, they’ve been presented to your father as proof of our joining. So, as much as I would now rather just leave you behind, I can do no such thing.”

“I did not ask him to kiss me. I did not want him to kiss me, Thorin. But he did so anyway. I’ve not betrayed you nor am I faithless, but instead fell prey to a man who used his size and strength against me to his advantage and for all I know, he saw you there and that was why he did what he did.”

“We will never know, I suppose.”

“No, but you’ve already made up your mind as it is, so I don't suppose it matters one way or the other.”

“No. It doesn’t.” He turned and strode away, calling over one shoulder, “We leave in thirty minutes’ time and do not think to hide in your chambers. You will be with me in my coach if I must throw you over my shoulder and put you there myself.”

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” she snapped.

He paused then, turning back toward her. “Satisfaction?” He shook his head. “There is no satisfaction. I knew better than to trust Thranduíl. Woodland elves lack all honor and now I am trapped with one for the rest of my days.”

“Thorin, I do not lie when I say I tried to free myself from him. I—”

“Of course you did. I saw what a struggle you put up. Please, do not insult my intelligence.”

He bit off the last part as he whipped about and stalked off without a look back. A heavy sigh rose to Eirlys’ lips as she watched him go, watched the way the light played along his silver-streaked black hair, the way it glinted off the silver ornaments woven into those long curls. As soon as he calmed down, he would realize she told the truth. Why else would he hit Lachon the way he did?

Lachon.

She stalked back to where he still sat, his back against the wall, probing the swollen lower part of his face. Crouching alongside him, she said, “If you ever come near me again, Lachon, I will see to it that you never know another woman again. Am I clear?”

“Bugger off,” he mumbled around his puffy bottom lip.

“Gladly.”

With that, she stood up and marched off, wondering who had been fool enough to invite him to the wedding and how she untangled herself from the mess his being invited had created for her. 

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[faerieroyal]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓’𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐘: 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐎𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐱 𝐎𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫

It had been five years since Raven Waters had laid eyes upon Thorin Oakenshield. When the two of them had first met, Raven a young mercenary trying to find her way outside of the Guild that had trained her and Thorin a wandering former prince just trying to do good until the time came for him to once again make his way back to his home of Erebor, the connection between them had been instant, and as they had spent more and more time together, Raven had thought that perhaps they could spend the rest of their lives with each other - until an incident had occurred that left Raven with a fresh scar across her throat and an empty bed as Thorin left in the middle of the night to once again travel to another town.

Not that Raven was not used to being abandoned. An orphan who had bounced around many foster homes in her youth, she had eventually found her place among the local chapter of the Silver Guild, an organization of mercenaries that had scooped her off the street and trained her in the best ways to sneak and infiltrate and kill. The Guild had been the closest thing to a family she had ever had, but she did not wish to be beholden to them forever, and they had, unsurprisingly to her, been perfectly willing to let her go, so she had set out on her own at the tender age of eighteen, wanting to forge her own path in the world of killing and focus her skills on taking down cruel and corrupt nobles and leaders, rather then simply working for anyone who would pay her enough coin. It was how she had met Thorin in the first place, and he had been impressed by her skills and how she was willing to use them to help the innocent… not that it had been enough for him to stay, in the end, but when had anything Raven did ever been enough for people to stay?

And now, five years after waking up to only a short note that offered no real explanation for why the dwarf prince had left her, Raven’s skills are being requested for an entirely different type of mission: helping the man she never thought she would see again finally reclaim the home he had always talked about. Recruited by a rather odd wizard who insists Thorin’s company will need her skills as a killer (which she suspects to be a rather weak cover for simply wanting to cause drama and tension within the group), Raven finds herself travelling Middle Earth with a group of rowdy dwarves, one rather fussy hobbit whom she isn’t entirely sure will make a good burglar, and the dwarf she had once thought the love of her life, who can now barely look her in the eye.

Raven really does expect this whole quest to be a rotten business, even if their company does somehow manage to defeat a dragon and reclaim Erebor for the dwarves. But perhaps this journey might also force she and Thorin to confront their past and the pain they have caused each other… and maybe even bring them back together as they hope to bring the dwarves back under the Lonely Mountain.

tagging: @dragon-kazansky, @callmemana, @askmarinaandothers, @whiskeyswriting, @auxiliarydetective, @manyfandomocs, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @xoteajays, @heliads, @lesrflms !

[vechkinfan]

Thank you all for the likes for the first chapter! Hope you continue to enjoy this rewrite! and if you want to be added to the tag list let me know.

Pairing: Fili x OC and Thorin x OC

Summary: Calin finds herself in middle-earth. with Balin at her side they travel to the shire to where the quest to Erebor beings.

Rating: M for later chapters

Word count: ~5.4K

Prologue // Chapter 1 // Chapter 3

Edge Of Night: Chapter 2

~One Month Later~

Calin laid with her back pressed to the cool August grass as she stared wistfully up at the stars. Her hands positioned behind her head as a makeshift pillow.

Darkness had descended quickly on the small clearing that she found herself in quite often. The shadows of the trees disappeared, leaving nothing but a blackness that engulfed her. She knew earlier that she should have left before it became too dark, but being stubborn she had pushed away that thought and stayed. Whether it was the peace she felt out in the woods or just the fact that she didn't particularly want to go back to reality was what had kept Calin out here longer than intended.

Sighing heavily, she sat up, gently running a hand through her tangled mess of brown hair. Her eyes panned around the clearing as her ears picked up on some leaves rustling and twigs snapping in the distance. Normally it would be no concern to her, but given the lateness and how dark it had become she was slightly on edge. A layer of gooseflesh awakening across the skin of her arms as the rustling grew closer. An unnerving feeling settling over the clearing.

Standing to her feet quickly, Calin roughly brushed off the loose grass that had stuck itself to the material of her cargo pants. Without taking her eyes away from the area the rustling was coming from she gripped the straps of the backpack that had been laying beside her and lifted it up, sliding it onto her back as quietly as she could muster. 

"Hello?" Calin called out, just in case it was a person. But when she heard no response she shrugged it off as her imagination, or an animal that was wandering across the wooded area. It was night after all and many critters of the nocturnal variety live in this area. 

Just as she slowly began walking backwards towards the direction she had come from earlier in the day, she heard another much louder rustle from across the way. This time it caused Calin to stop dead in her tracks. Her eyes narrowing towards the opposite side of the clearing where the noise came from.

She knew it was probably nothing, but for some unknown reason she couldn't ignore the sound. Like a siren call, or a moth to the neon light of a bug zapper, it had her mesmerized and unable to look away. So, doing what any sain, normal person would do, she slowly and carefully stalked in the direction of the noise. Bending down hoping to keep concealed she continued to walk silently across the clearing and into the otherside of the woods.

Calin’s hands came out and gently pushed away branches that hung close to her face, making sure to make all of her movements calculated. Not wanting to draw any unwanted attention towards her presence by stepping on a pile of dried leaves or a dead branch. But with it being so dark she could barely see anything in front of her.

As Calin continued to steadily walk, her free hand fumbled with her side pocket trying to pull her phone out wanting to turn on its flashlight, hoping to shed some light as the rustling sound grew even louder. It was unlike anything she ever heard. Calin grew up wandering these woods and she knew when an animal was around, they gave off a very distinct noise when prowling. This... It almost sounded like footsteps, but heavier as if someone was stomping around angrily.

Swallowing back the growing lump in her throat she pushed forward into the darkness. Thoughts of her phone long gone, figuring a light would only draw unwanted attention. Well, that was until the tip of her boot caught the edge of a tree root that was just barely sticking out from the wet ground. Calin let out a small yelp as she fell, body landing harshly on the dirt floor but to make matters worse she must have landed on an incline cause she felt herself sliding rather quickly through the leaves on the ground. Sticking her hands out to try and slow herself down anyway she could but Calin was traveling too fast to actually get a decent grip on anything without it ripping from her grasp painfully. So as she tumbled down the hill all she could do was pray that she didn't smash head first into a tree. That would be embarrassing... Local girl dies, impaled by tree after hiking accident. She could just picture the headlines now...

Squeezing her eyes shut, she waited for impact and a few moments later she felt herself leave the ground and then plummet promptly back to earth. Her hands came out to brace for the fall, but as she landed Calin’s head smashed against a rather large rough object causing a slew of profanity to escape her lips and her vision to blur in and out of focus.

"Fucking hell." She groaned out loud, as her  eyes slowly fluttered open. Taking note of the nice size rock underneath her forehead.

"What colorful language, are you alright lass?" Squinting her eyes trying to regain some clarity back to her vision, she heard a gentle voice from behind.

"Yeah, sorry about that." Calin muttered quietly as she slowly started to get up. However she promptly dropped back down to her knees, her surroundings still spinning from the impact. "I don't even remember a hill being there." Sighing, Calin squeezed her eyes shut trying to composure herself before turning to stare up in the direction she came hurtling down from. It was a massive hill covered with rather large oak trees and a few other types of trees that she didn't entirely recognize.

"Well, that certainly was a nasty fall." This time she finally took note of the voice. It was obviously a man and given his accent he might have been British maybe Scottish even. "But I do believe this hill has been here for quite some time, lass." From her place on the ground she tilted her head up towards the voice and what Calin’s eyes saw she truly wasn't expecting.

The man, who appeared to be quite short in stature, was hovering over her with his hands out at the ready, available to catch her if she tried to stand once again. His bushy eyebrows were pulled up in concern as she stared wordlessly at him in wonder. His face was rather round from what she could gather in the evening light, but a huge expanse of white hair covered most of it, in what she thought was the most remarkable beard she had ever seen.

"Balin, at your service." He said cheerfully as he reached out a hand towards her.

Without hesitation Calin gently placed her hand in his and watched as his large fingers nearly engulfed her own. Which was quite a feat, because she had unusually large hands for a girl. 

"Thank's, the name’s Calin." Giving him a genuine nod of thanks, she let go of his hand and began brushing off the leaves and dirt that had embedded themselves into her clothing. "What did you say your name was again?" Calin asked, her eyes looked down nearly a foot before she met his own.

"Balin." He smiled once again and gave a little bow.

The name had her hands freezing instantly,  hovering over the top of her thighs where she had been cleaning off the dirt. Balin? As in one of the dwarves from The Hobbit...

"Son of Fundin?"  Calin slowly asked, praying to some higher power that it was a mere coincidence. Or that perhaps she had still misheard him.

"Yes of course, how do you know of him?" This time it was the man who seemed a little perplexed. For his eyebrow quirked upwards in confusion, clearly unsure of how she knew of such an intimate detail.

That's it! She must have knocked herself out during that fall. Calin must have slammed her head against that rock hard enough to black out right there, cause there was no other explanation for this other than someone being out here in the woods larping. But who the hell does that in the dead of night. Especially in such an elaborate costume.

"I think I need to sit back down." She mumbled, a wave of nausea hitting her like a ton of bricks. Calin's mind spinning not only from my accident but what was happening in front of her, at the very moment. Surely this wasn't happening, and if it was she couldn't just tell him how she knew who his father was.

Leaning over, Calin braced her hands against her knees in an attempt to calm herself. Her eyes shut tightly hoping that when she reopened them she'd see the leaf covered ground where she had fallen. Or maybe she had fallen asleep and it was all just a stupid dream. But when she slowly opened them her surroundings hadn't changed, in fact Calin was still standing in front of Balin. His face holding even more concern than she remembered. 

"Were you attacked, lass? Was someone chasing you?" Balin asked softly as he placed his canvas pack on the ground. His hands unclasping the buckle on the front and making quick work to pull out a long piece of fabric.

"I thought I heard something..." Calin stated, her eyes desperately turning back up towards the hill. "I have to go back though, I have to go back home." Shaking her head in denial, she stumbled her way back up the incline a few feet. Her boots slipped on the damp grass, making it almost impossible to get any traction.

"Lass, surely you know there is not but trees and mountains in that direction. No one lives past those woods for orcs have overrun it." His voice came out as a plea to get her to listen to reason. "Please, do not venture back. I could not forgive myself if I let you walk to your death."

Blowing out her held breath, she gave the top of the hill one last longing glance. What was she doing? Even if she walked up the hill, she wasn't going to be able to find the way home. She was still most likely unconscious and this was some weird dream world that she had fallen into. At least if she stayed, she'd be with Balin and not alone wandering the woods for the rest of eternity, or until she woke up completely.

"Ok." Her voice was weak as she spun around and slowly came back down towards the man.

In his hands he held up a long dark cloak which was what he must have gotten from his pack.

"Here lass, let's cover you up. The night air is a bit brisk." He smiled and she took the cloak from his hands, wrapping it around her shoulders, realizing she was just in a thin black tank top.

"Thanks again." Calin said quietly and again Balin gave a nod as he picked his pack back up.

"It is of no trouble." He shook off her thanks as if it was something that happened regularly. "Let's get moving, we can sort out where you need to head off to in the morning. It is far too dangerous to be out here alone." He added as he started walking down the gravel path. Leaving her standing there quietly.

Deciding it was best to follow him, her feet quickly caught up with his strides. Calin’s work boots causing the stone beneath them to crunch softly in the night air.

"Where are we headed?" Her curiosity finally  hit hard as she asked the question.

"The Shire." He turned his head in her direction smiling, his feet still carrying him forward.

The Shire? Well I suppose death could be far worse. Clearly she had woken up in some strange version of The Hobbit, and judging by where he was headed Calin assumed it was right before the quest had even started. Which also meant Gandalf would be around. Surely he'd know how to get her back to her world if this still wasn't some hallucination.

They walked silently for a few hours after that. Balin was very weary to tell her anything more about why he was heading in the direction he was. So he kept his answers minimal, and after a while Calin took the hint and shut her mouth.

The night breeze had picked up, the coolness engulfing her body as they walked through the overgrown paths. She had pulled the hood of the cloak up around her face to shield from the brisk wind that was cutting at the bruised flesh of her cheek. Balin seemed to not be bothered by it for he kept walking, not hesitating even as they heard distant shrieks reverberating off the trees from the woods that surrounded them.

Calin was just thankful that she was accustomed to traipsing around the uneven floor of the forest, and had worn her work boots out that morning, for if she wasn't prepared she was sure her feet would be blistered and bloodied at the moment. And there was nothing worse than walking around on sore feet.

"We are here." Balin said quietly, bringing her out of her thoughts. Calin's eyes flickering up from the ground to see what Balin was talking about.

Small picket fences outlined the well worn walkways. Houses were scattered here and there across the landscape, the windows lit by flickering flames from candles sitting on the ledge inside. Large sunflowers stood tall against some of the fences, as they passed them by. If it wasn't pitch black out she was  sure the Shire would have truly been a sight to behold.

"One of the lads should have something that may fit you when they arrive, lass." Pulling herself from the slight daze over where she was currently standing, she took notice of Balin addressing her.

She didn't have time to ask him what he was talking about, for they had rounded a corner that led them up a small hill, and at the top of the hill was a big green round door. Attached to the wooden fence outside of the hobbit hole was a single pony that appeared to be rather invested in eating the few patches of grass in the path.

As they reached the front fence, Calin’s hand gently reached out and pushed it open for Balin. Her fingers lingering on the smooth grain of the wood as if it would disappear under her touch if she let go. Balin however, just kept his speed until he reached the round green door. His finger coming up and giving the bell a lite tap as Calin closed the gate and made her way behind him.

Her feet gently shuffled against the smooth ground, kicking up some dust as she nervously waited for Bilbo to open the door. And if right on queue, the hinges creaked quietly and light flooded out from the tiny hole in the ground. A rather short man, with messy auburn hair stood holding the handle of the door. His patchwork bathrobe tied tight about his waist as he stared between Balin and herself curiously.

"Balin, at your service." Balin smiled, addressing the hobbit in a similar fashion he had addressed her earlier that night.

"Good evening." The hobbit said, his eyes narrowing slightly. Clearly confused as to why they were here.

"Yes, yes it is, though I think it might rain later. Am I late?" Balin asked, as he tilted his head up towards the sky. Doing the same, Calin finally took note of the dark grey clouds that had rolled in behind them. Leaving the night sky even darker than normal.

"Late for what?" Again the hobbit asked, looking even more puzzled than before. But before he even could process what was happening, Balin stepped into the house. From where Calin was standing outside, she could see a rather full smile plastered on his aged face.

"Oh, ha ha! Evening, brother. Heh, heh." He said happily, disappearing into the house leaving Bilbo and her alone.

"Sorry about this." Calin said gently, hoping to bridge some form of a small friendship. She didn't want him thinking they were there to rob the place. But if things played out like the book, his pantry would be robbed of every last morsel of food. "Calin." Bringing her hand out from under the warm confines of the cloak she reached it towards Bilbo. Ignoring her inner self and deciding not to warn Bilbo of what was to come. Surely her knowledge of future events occurring was dangerous and she could potentially end up changing the whole fate of this journey by one slip of the tongue.

The hobbit stared up at her curiously for a few moments before taking her hand in his and giving it a firm shake. "Bilbo." He added with a smile, stepping out of the way allowing her to duck into the house. Surprisingly the doorway was the only place she had to duck down, it seemed like her taller than average height was only about a foot and a half taller than the dwarves and hobbits, leaving her with some head room.

"Wider, not shorter. Sharp enough for both of us." Calin heard Balin exclaim as she finally pulled the hood down from around her head, allowing herself to gaze around at the remarkable home. Peter Jackson, you weren't far off at all, she thought to herself as she took in the rich woods of the floor and how even though they were in a house in the ground it gave off a homey feel.

"Who is this?" Calin’s eyes widened as a rough looking dwarf in a fur collared coat, stormed towards her. His gaze shifted back to Balin, as if silently asking him why she was even here.

"I found her out in the woods, brother. I believe orcs had chased her down from the hills. She still seems a bit lost." Balin quickly came to his brother's side, defending her from his scrutinizing gaze. Lost? Wasn't that the greatest understatement of the year. But his story of being chased by orcs was at least plausible compared to some she might have thought of.

"Uh, excuse me; sorry, I hate to interrupt, ah, but the thing is, I'm not entirely sure you're in the right house." Bilbo who was standing beside her finally spoke up addressing the three of them. But it seemed to go on deaf ears with the dwarves.

"We will tend to her wounds, nothing more. She will need to be gone by morning." Balin's brother glared at her for another moment then turned around and headed off down the hall with Balin following closely by his side. At his words she subconsciously lifted a hand to her face, letting her fingers graze gently across the skin of her forehead and cheek. Feeling the abrasive edges of a long gash, she winced realizing she probably looked worse for wear.

Standing awkwardly in the center of the foyer, her ears picked up on the two dwarves muttering to one another about food and being hungry. Letting her know she would at least be free to tend to herself for a bit uninterrupted. They'd be in the pantry clearing it out until the others arrived.

"It's not that I don't like visitors; I-I like visitors as much as the next Hobbit, but I do like to know them before they come visiting." Bilbo addressed as he leaned over to see the dwarves all but ransacking his pantry. A nervous expression painted clearly across his face.

"Tell me about it." Calin huffed, setting her bag down gently on the floor by the wall. This in turn caught Bilbo's attention once again. His eyes widening taking in her appearance for the first time since she stepped in out of the darkness.

"I-I am terribly sorry." He mumbled and began pacing back and forth, his hands flailing about as he searched for something. "Please, sit down." He motioned to a small rickety looking chair opposite of the door.

As he wandered about looking for whatever it was he was looking for she eyed the chair cautiously. Calin’s hand reached out giving it a small shake testing its strength, still uncertain whether or not she was going to chance sitting in it. When she heard a creak from the old stained wood, she instantly let it go, her eyes shifting back and forth nervously making sure no one heard it.

"Maybe it's best if I don't touch anything." She muttered to herself and promptly took a seat on the floor beside the chair. Out stretching her legs as she let her eyes take in her surroundings.

Out of all the places her mind could have taken her, it was The Hobbit. One of her favorite movies and books of all time. She just couldn't fathom that she was actually sitting in Bilbo's house, the night where the quest to reclaim Erebor started. And if Bilbo thought it was bad now with just two dwarves here she hardly doubted he would be able to handle the mass of dwarves about to arrive. Because if she remembered correctly the two Durin princes were to arrive next. Those two would most likely drive Bilbo clinically insane by the night's end.

"Sorry about that." Bilbo came padding back in holding a white washcloth. "Not used to tending to people."

"Don't worry about it. It probably looks worse than it is." Calin gave a small chuckle as he came to stand in front of her. His hand gently tilted her head up as he started to clean the cut on her forehead first followed by the scratches on her cheek.

Surprisingly he was very soft with his movements, dabbing the wet cloth against the angry red wound trying his best to clean it without causing her pain or irritating her skin further. His nose scrunched up in concentration before they both saw a piece of blue cheese come flying out from the pantry. Which immediately caused Bilbo to pull away and groan unhappily.

"Are they always like this?" He asked while looking at her. But all she gave was a simple shoulder shrug, unsure how to answer him. They were dwarves, they liked food just as much as hobbits. They were just a little bit more messy...

Ignoring the two now coming out of the pantry with full arms, Bilbo leaned towards her again to finish cleaning the cut on her forehead. His hand barely lifted from his side when the bell rang. At this Bilbo sighed loudly and left the cloth in her hands as he stomped his way across the room and opened the door.

"Fili."

"And Kili."

"At your service." Calin heard two voices say enthusiastically from outside. But Bilbo had only opened the door slightly blocking my view of the two dwarves.

"Nope, you can't come in, you've come to the wrong house." Calin's lip upturned into a small smirk as she heard Bilbo desperately try to get the two outside to leave. It was a losing battle though, dwarves were hard headed not being keen on giving up. And just as she expected a quite large leather boot caught the edge of the door as Bilbo tried to close it swiftly on the two.

"What? Has it been cancelled?" One of them asked, a deep worry lacing their voice.

"No one told us." The other stated quickly. His voice holding more power compared to his brother.

"Can-? No-nothing's been cancelled." Bilbo sputtered, showing he was very frustrated by the sudden influx of unexpected guests showing up at his front door.

"Well, that's a relief." Just as the voice sounded out, two dwarves pushed their way into the small foyer.

They stood there for a brief moment, looking around the room before they began to unload their belongings onto Bilbo. Who was now standing stalk still with his arms out in front of him as he watched these two plow their way into his home.

"Careful with these, I just had 'em sharpened." The blond dwarf said, his impressive golden mane swinging as he dropped a bundle of swords into the hobbits hand. Nearly knocking him over in the process.

"It's nice, this place. D'you do it yourself?" Her attention quickly turned to the smaller brother, who had taken to scrapping the mud that collected on the soles of his boots from his travels on the edge of a fairly expensive looking chest.

As Calin sat watching this event play out all she could really do was scrunch her face in knowing worry. It was one thing to read about dwarves destroying Bilbo's perfectly kept house, but it was a whole other experience sitting on the ground being associated with the dwarves who were doing this. She'd be lucky if she wasn't kicked out after what just happened.

"Brother, look! A woman!" Calin had been nervously ringing the damp cloth that was in her hands when Fili and Kili finally took note of her. Their faces turned up in wide smiles as they ignored Bilbo's rants about ruining his mothers glory box.

"Aye! You must be a friend of master Baggins." The blond smiled proudly. "Fili and Kili, at your service." He bowed his head with his brother in greeting. The braided strands of his mane dangled freely in the air before he stood to his full height once again.

"No no no! She is not a friend! I don't even know her!" Bilbo protested from behind them. His hands were now free from the heavy weapons Fili had dropped into them earlier.

Calin couldn't help but feel a slight pang of hurt at his words though. She wasn't sure why because he was being truthful, they didn't know each other. It was just that she felt like she knew these characters, that she had a connection with them already despite never truly meeting till this moment. So she knew she had to play dumb, at least until Gandalf arrived.

"Calin." She nodded her head the best she could from my spot on the floor. A small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she saw the two brothers staring at her in wonder. "Ah he's right." An awkward chuckle escaped her lips, her free hand coming up to run nervous fingers through her unkempt chestnut colored hair.  While the hand still holding onto the washcloth gestured towards Bilbo who was now more concerned with the two other dwarves carrying things into his dining room. "Balin found me actually. Don't remember much but he said something about orcs." Calin shrugged in hopes that the little white lie would pass with the two brothers.

"A woman who escaped orcs, impressive." Kili smiled and ducked his head lower, his blue eyes fixated on the large gash on her forehead.

"Not really." Mumbling to herself quietly, Calin denied that fact. Unless Orc was a fancy new word for rock, then no, not very impressive.

"I am sure uncle will not be thrilled by her presence." Fili added, his face that once held curiosity now held an oddly fearful expression. His chest heaving a heavy sigh as he looked her over once again. His blue eyes boring holes into her skin like he would be able to read Calin’s true intentions. The look quickly vanished though as his head tilted causing his mustache braids to sway gently. "Perhaps she is who Gandalf spoke of. It would explain her direction of travel."

"She is a woman!" Kili's brow lifted in confusion. His hands raising up in exasperation and outright batting down his brother's words "Surely he would not ask her to join."

"She is a fighter brother." Slapping his brother's arm Fili pointed to her disheveled appearance. Calin indeed looked like she had fought her way through the forest but she wasn't a fighter, she had never picked up a sword or a fist for that matter. However in that moment she felt grateful for the young Durin prince. Even though he had hesitations about her arrival here, he didn't write her off like Dwalin, Balin, or his younger brother.

"Fili, Kili, come on, give us a hand." Dwalin's loud booming voice echoed down the hall, breaking their  little moment apart.

"Mister Dwalin." Kili cheekily greeted as soon as he heard the familiar voice, causing him to venture over towards the others. Fili hesitated a moment, looking at her one last time with calculating eyes before following his brother. Leaving her alone once again.

Knowing that the others would undoubtedly be arriving shortly, she decided to clear her stuff from the room. Standing more quickly than she should have, her vision blurred and she stumbled a bit as she grabbed her bag. In the background she could hear the four dwarves still moving things about and Bilbo objecting vigorously.

It was falling on deaf ears still so Calin was surprised Bilbo continued his valiant attempts.

Slowly wandering down the hall she managed to find the bathroom. Well it wasn't exactly hard, Bilbo's house was easy enough to wander around, and all the room doors were open so it didn't take a genius to find the bath. Ducking in she placed the red tinged wash cloth on the counter by the sink, not really needing it anymore. But not knowing entirely what to do with it.

In the corner of the room by the large wooden tub was an ornate cupboard. Its brass looking handles gleaned from the candle that was perched on the windowsill. Deciding it was best to hide her bag, she strode over and opened the small door. Inside there were a few towels that had been neatly folded and tucked away for later use. It was safer if none of these curious dwarves saw what she had, just in case. For if they did, she would most certainly not be trusted by anyone here. And being an outsider as it was, she didn't need that happening.

Taking a quick glance over her shoulder she made sure the coast was clear before she shoved the bag into the cramped space. Surprisingly it fit almost perfectly allowing her to close the door as if nothing was ever disturbed.

Smiling to herself at the sneaky job well done, she made her way out of the bathroom and back to the foyer. Calin’s boots thudded against the old wooden floors as she grew closer. Bilbo still seemed to be trying his best to get the four dwarves to listen but as expected they still seemed in their own world.

Just as she got to the door, the bell rang out quite loud. Calin’s body flinched, not expecting it to be quite that ear piercing.

"Oh no. No, no! There's nobody home. Go away, and bother somebody else. There's far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is. If- if- If this is some clotterd's idea of a joke, ha ha, I can only say, it is in very poor taste." Bilbo rounded the corner, a scowl on his face, his bare feet stomping towards the door.

"I got it." Calin spun around gripping the heavy handle mainly so Bilbo wouldn't have to greet eight dwarves all at the same time. He barely handled two of them, any more than that would overload the poor hobbit.

Unlatching the lock, she yanked the door open, hearing several voices arguing from outside. As soon as the wooden door was slightly ajar it slipped out of her hand as dwarves came tumbling down at her feet. All of them groaned loudly, shouting at one another to get off. And right behind them stood an unusually tall man, in a grey robe. A tall grey hat stood on his head and a long walking stick posed in his hand as he peered down and into the hobbits house.

Gandalf...

"Gandalf." From behind her Bilbo muttered, but Gandalf didn't take heed. His gaze was trained solely on Calin, a smirk tugged at his thin lips and a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Chapter 3

tag list: @thelittletobsterthatcould

[greenandsorrow]

MASTERPOST || HELLO MY OLD HEART (ongoing)

Pairing; mainly Thorin Oakenshield x fem!faerie!reader

Warnings; fighting scenes, descriptions of injuries, death & loss, sexual undertones at times, middle earth magic, angst & hurt, mean!reader, selfish!reader, immortal!reader, reader with fem anatomy, a not sugarcoated Thorin, I have read the Silmarillion and you should too

Summary; Thorin & company set out to reclaim the kingdom of Erebor from the claws of the cunning Smaug. On their way out of Hobbiton they come across something peculiar. Faeries in Middle Earth have gone extinct, but you have managed to survive against all odds. Your unique beauty and mischievous but still kind character captures the king's heart. His suspicions towards your magic will soon be replaced with a deep love for the real you. Are you ready to go on an adventure?

Author's note; I love the Hobbit. I have some issues with the movie adaptation but that hasn't stopped me from rewatching it relentlessly. The book is like a blanket of comfort to me and I've been smitten with the fictional character of Thorin for too long 🥹

You can ask to be added to this fic's taglist!

THE HOBBIT

An unexpected journey

soon

The desolation of Smaug

Battle of the five armies

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My masterlist

Resources-> @saradika-graphics, @xxbimbobunnyxx, @yeritos, my shifting script from 2022

Tag list-> @concernedcrisis @mrsdurin @meluiloth @fizzyxcustard @shinyshayminflower @how-dare-you @marsmallow433

DO NOT COPY, DO NOT REPOST, DO NOT USE ON ANY AI PLATFORMS EITHER.

[lathalea]

Entangled 5/10

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit)

Rating: G (subject to change)

Warnings: ANGST

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

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

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

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

-*-*-*-

KHUZDUL:

Azsâlul'abad - the dwarven kingdom of the Lonely Mountain

Khagal'abbad - Blue Mountains

‘Urdêk - [ereborean] Kingdom Under the Mountain

Zabdûna undu ‘Urd - Queen Under the Mountain

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

Malasul'abbad - Misty Mountains

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

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

-*-*-*-

✨ Chapter list: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5...

✨ Entangled Masterlist

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

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

“They look so perfect together.”

“Simply stunning.”

“He has eyes only for her.”

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

“Oh, but they are…”

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

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

“Always, My King,” she chuckled.

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

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

When their lips parted, she heard his low chuckle.

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

My love…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thorin Oakenshield kissed her yesterday.

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

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

Thorin Oakenshield, her lord husband, kissed her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In recovery?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Indeed, My Lady.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Balin cleared his throat.

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

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

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

Family above all , the motto of her house said.

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

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

Family above all.

Lord Taran rubbed his hands in joy.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mista found herself staring at the waterfall yet again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“By all means.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mista swallowed.

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

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

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

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

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

Mista felt warmth crawling up her cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The King Under the Mountain.

Her husband.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded absentmindedly and gave out another hum.

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

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

“Too long.”

Dís stepped towards the table, pulling Mista behind her.

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

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

“I believe so,” he said. “Dróri?”

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

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

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

“Thorin?”

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

Mista took a deep breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gave her another slight nod.

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

Thorin looked around the chamber.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

“Pardon me?” Mista stopped in her tracks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dís took her hand in hers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

“The Amphitheater?”

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

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

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

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

No dreams came to Mista that night.

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

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[ IMAGINE ] : As a gift of love, you choose the stones with which Thorin will decorate the hilt of his first self-forged sword.

[ A/N ] : The photos do not belong to me. English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story.

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : The forge roared, a fiery heart mirroring the fierce love that bloomed in my chest. Beside me, Thorin, sweat slicking his brow, hammered the glowing metal, each strike a pulse of his strength, his dedication. I, with a heart brimming, had a different task: to select the stones that would sing on the hilt of his first self-forged blade. A gift, a secret promise woven into the steel itself.

Hours before, under the watchful gaze of the moon, I’d journeyed to the Whispering Caves. There, nestled in velvet shadows, I'd found them. My fingers, guided by the tender memory of Thorin, had traced each facet, each vein of color.

Now, I held them close, a kaleidoscope of hopes and affections. A stone of deep emerald, capturing the verdant strength of his homeland and the lush promise of the future we would build. It would be the centerpiece, the heart. Then, a fiery ruby, mirroring the passion that burned between us, a fierce ember to forever remind him of the heat in his heart. Flanking the ruby, I chose two smooth sapphires, the color of the twilight sky, reflecting the peace that bloomed when we were together, quiet moments stolen under the stars.

I watched him pause, the hammer raised, muscles rippling in the flickering light. He looked to me, a question in his eyes, and I knew he sensed the significance of my presence, the silent joy I held. I smiled, offering a small, encouraging nod.

Finally, the steel cooled, reflecting the dancing flames. Thorin turned the blade over in his hands, his eyes tracing the elegant curve, the honed edge. He looked at me, his expression a mixture of pride and love, his eyes so deep a blue I could fall in them forever.

Slowly, deliberately, I presented the stones. He took them, each one carefully, his calloused thumb caressing the cool surfaces. His touch, so gentle. He held the ruby, the emerald, the sapphires, bringing them close to his heart.

"Amrâlimê" he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, "You have given me more than just beauty. You have given me a promise." He turned back to the anvil, and began to set the gems. With each precise and careful placement, I knew they would never come loose. He secured the emerald first, a single kiss of his lips as a vow that would be made over and over again. He then set the ruby and the sapphires. I knew with a certainty that this first sword was a testament to the power of our love, etched in steel, reflected in light. And as Thorin raised the finished sword, the stones gleaming under the forge's fierce light, I saw not just a weapon, but a symbol: a testament of our love - Orcrist.*

* [ ORCRIST HISTORY ] modified for story purposes.

[doodleferp]

Final semester prep is cooking me

[ravnarieldurin]

Character Personality...by song!

With my new Hobbit fanfic's first chapter releasing on Friday, I thought perhaps a tiny look into my head would help get you all as excited about it as I am (plus bump my inspiration again, haha!).

And what better way to get inspired but by song!

These are the main 'themes' if you will for each of the main pairing in my story. Please enjoy and tell me what you think!

---

Ravnáriel - Out of the Shadows by Ely Eira (Not only is this song epic as hell but the opening line is just... *chef's kiss* for Raven.)

Thorin - Enemy by Imagine Dragons (covered by Colm R. McGuinness - just imagine it's Thorin singing) + Bonus Video Edit (not by me)

Fili - Princesses Don't Cry by Aviva (In my mind all the genders mentioned in the song are swapped so Fili is the 'prince that doesn't cry' and all the boys that are around him are women vying for the attention of the crown prince.)

Kili - Teenage Dream by Katy Perry (I don't know many of her songs, but this one fit Kili perfectly because the man is just such an adorably cute and rambunctious darling + he's a horn dog, lol!)

---Honorable Mentions---

Ravnáriel and Thorin share this song: 12 Rounds by Bohnes

Fili: Dangerous Hands by Austin Giorgio (Only in this case, Fili is the one with dangerous hands...yum.)

Kili: Reckless by Jaxson Gamble

---

And Bofur - just because :P

[self-conscious-author]

Azaghâl

An Unexpected Visitor. Then Fifteen More.

In the quiet stillness of the dark Shire, beneath the millions of glittering stars, two figures maneuver their way towards the cozy looking home at the top of the hill.

The taller of the figures frequently glances around at their surroundings and over at his shorter companion, as if assuring himself she is still at his side. His broad shoulders tense underneath his heavy cloak at the slightest of sounds from the unfamiliar environment around them, his hand clad in its black leather glove resting atop his sturdy sword strapped to his hip.

The shorter of the two walks almost silently beside her wary companion. She stands tall with her shoulders relaxed, thoroughly trusting the air of safety Hobbiton exudes. Her smaller stature often gives off the misconception, mostly to human men, that she is weak, but make no mistake, dams are just as ferocious, if not more, than their male counterparts. As is proven by the large battle ax upon her back.

A sudden door opening near them has her companion drawing his sword slightly, only to slide it back into place with a huff once discovering it’s only a Hobbit letting his cat inside.

She rolls her blue eyes with a fond smile. “Really, Jon, must you be so suspicious of everything?”

“I’ve been sworn to protect the heir to the throne,” He throws her an equally fond smile, though the rest of him remains permanently on guard. “of course I must.”

Thrya hums amusedly as they near the lit home at the top of the hill. “Yes, you must protect me from all the fierce cats, lest I perish from their furry adorableness.”

“Jest if you wish, my princess, but next time it may not be a cat.” His eyes search the night around them, ever vigilant, and his grip tightens around his sword with his next words. “It wasn’t the first time.”

Thrya glances at the scar across his eye in remembrance of the first real time he had to protect her. Her hand presses against his own in silent thanks before opening the gate, with Jon closing it quietly again behind them.

“There’s the mark, just as we were told.” She nods to the glowing mark at the base of the door before knocking. He comes to stand next to her, angled to the side so he can see both the door and the town behind her.

It doesn’t take long for the door to swing open, revealing a disheveled looking Hobbit she safely assumes must be Bilbo Baggins. He’s only just shorter than she is.

“Good evening, Master Baggins. I am Thrya, at your service.” She bows in greeting, feeling her lips quirk up into a grin at his shocked features and the sharp weapons in his arms. Fíli and Kíli must be here already. “And this is Jon.”

“At your service, sir.” Jon bows as well before returning his watchful gaze to the quiet town.

“May we come in?”

“Of- of course.” Bilbo steps to the side bidding them entry, seeing as she asked instead of just barging in like their companions. Perhaps all dwarves aren’t so.. so.. He silently huffs at the racket coming from behind him.

“Thank you. You have a lovely home.” Her eyes scan the cozy hobbit hole as Jon takes her ax from her before helping her remove her cloak. She breathes a quiet “Thank you” as he hangs it up before removing his own and their weapons, though he keeps hold of a single dagger.

Bilbo’s chest puffs up slightly in pride at her compliment, the noise momentarily forgotten. “Thank you. It’s been in my family for years.”

His eyes briefly spot a bit of black ink he can see on the side of her neck as she gazes around with a soft smile, before her eyes return to him and she reaches for the weapons in his arms with a quiet ‘tsk’. “I must also apologize for my cousins’ brief lack of manners.”

She carefully places Fíli’s blades on a chair, making sure they stay wrapped so they don’t knick the wood, while Jon takes the sword from his shoulder and places it next to the rest.

Thrya nods at Bilbo just as there’s a ring of the doorbell, to which he grumbles unintelligibly, and Jon follows closely behind her as she heads further in.

”If this is some clothead’s idea of a joke,” They hear him quietly rant with a strained laugh. “I can only say, it is in very poor taste!”

They briefly turn back when they hear a series of thumps, one ‘Oh, get off!’ and other uncomfortable sounds, and find the rest of the company, sans Thrya’s father, lying in a heap in the doorway with Gandalf stooping down and peering in behind them.

“Gandalf.”

She enters the dining room just in time to watch Kíli throw a biscuit at Fíli, only for him to duck, which sends it straight in her direction.

She catches it directly in front of her face, moving her hand to the side and revealing a teasing smile on her lips. “I’m always picking up after you boys.”

“Thrya!” Kíli cheers, throwing his arms up with a bright, happy grin.

“Hello, nadadith.”

His arms drop back down and the pout he always makes in response forms instantaneously, his puppy eyes seeming to grow even bigger and glossier as she places the biscuit back with the others. “I’m not a baby!”

Fíli releases a deep chuckle and thumps him on the back. “The pout is not helping your case, Kí.”

Said pout switches back to its normal grin when she motions his head down while stretching up onto her toes, pressing a kiss between his brows. “I take it you two got here alright?” She presses a kiss to Fíli’s forehead as well, and he nods in confirmation once she pulls away.

They share a nod ‘hello’ with Jon standing at her shoulder, before the rest of their company filters in behind them. Joyful greetings are exchanged among the others as Fíli answers, thus settling her small amount of nerves. She knows they are more than capable of defending themselves, but she cannot help the bit of worry that gnaws at her when her family is out of her sight.

“Rather quiet, really.” He muses with Kíli humming in agreement, his dark hair swaying slightly with his nod. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

“Good.”

Chaos soon follows as they continue preparing the dining room to house them all. More chairs are carried in, plates, flagons and silverware, and piles of food, Thrya accurately guesses almost if not all of Mr. Baggins’ food, are placed on the table. All while their frantic host attempts to rein them all in.

“Those are my pri-! Excuse me, not my wine.”

“Put that back.”

“Put that back.”

“Not the jam, please.”

“Excuse me. Excuse me.”

“It's a tad excessive, isn't it?” Bilbo fixes his suspenders in exasperation as he watches Bombur pass by him carrying an entire wheel of cheese. “Have you got a cheese knife?”

”’Cheese knife’?” Bofur questions as he too passes the poor Hobbit. “He eats it by the block.”

Thrya sidles up beside Bilbo, a cup of chamomile tea in her hands curtesy of Dori, and Jon still acting as her shadow, fully in synch with his charge. Her face bares a gentle grimace as she watches the chaos unfold, though she cannot help the fond glint in her eyes. She does step in where she can to help him, knowing they will listen to her when she tells them to be careful.

“I must now apologize for everyone else’s lack of manners, as well. They are just excited to see each other.” She assures.

Bilbo’s response is a quiet, skittish sound and a shaky nod before his attention becomes focused on Glóin. More so the chair he’s carrying, and he quickly rushes over.

“No, that's Grandpa Mungo's chair- No, so is that.” He objects upon seeing another in Óin’s hands, pointing back the way their healer came. “Take it back, please.”

Óin gestures to his ear with one hand as Bilbo begins to push him down the hall. “I cannot hear what you're saying.”

“It's an antique. Not for sitting on.” Bilbo stresses as Thrya moves to stand next to the door, listening to his voice fade in and out as he scurries around behind everyone.

”It is clear that Gandalf did not inform Mr. Baggins we would be arriving.” She takes a sip of her tea with a tiny grin, which grows at the sound of Jon’s quiet chuckle.

”Poor lad. I’m going to help finish setting the table.” He shakes his head in amusement at the ‘That is a book, not a coaster.’ and disappears into the dining room when she hums in acknowledgment.

“And put, that map, down.”

Poor lad, indeed.

Gandalf ducks through the doorway before quickly dodging out of Nori’s way, and Thrya winces when his head hits the chandelier behind him as a result. Dwalin appears beside her, leaning against the doorway and taking a slow drink of his ale. His face twists just briefly in distaste at the sight of her tea, to which she responds by taking a loud sip. The Dwarf who may as well be her uncle huffs in amusement and nudges her with the back of his hand.

“Ah,” Gandalf carefully rights the chandelier before he begins counting the dwarves on his fingers as they bustle around him. “Fíli, Kíli.” Her cousins glance at him as they carry a barrel of ale into the dining room. Dwarves do love their drink. “Óin, Glóin. Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur. Dori, Nori. Ori! Thrya, Jon.”

”No, no, no, no.” Thrya and Dwalin watch as Bilbo darts forward from behind Gandalf and pries a bowl of tomatoes from Ori’s hands. “Not my prizewinners, thank you. No, thank you.” Her lips quirk to the side in a little smirk as he stalks back into the pantry with them as Bifur approaches Gandalf.

”Lu zayara, maima mut karima.” He finishes by thumping his left arm with his right hand to indicate Thorin’s oakenshield.

“Yes, you're quite right, Bifur.” The wizard agrees, a slight worry pinching his brows. “We appear to be one Dwarf short.”

“He is late, is all.” Dwalin assures. “He traveled north to a meeting of our kin. He will come.”

“Do you think they’ll come?” Thrya quietly questions as Dori draws Gandalf’s attention away with a glass of red wine. Though it will be no more than a single mouthful for him.

“I don’t know, lass.” He sighs before grumbling. “Dáin is more stubborn than yer father. And you.”

She quietly laughs in response. She did inherit her father’s stubbornness, and her mother’s, as well as both of their tempers. It hasn’t gotten her into trouble, per se, but there was a time she knocked a human boy flat on his arse when she caught him and his friend picking on little girl.

“Come on.” He lays his arm across her shoulders and guides her towards the table. “Let’s eat.”

—————————————————————————

Thrya makes her way back into the dining room, Kíli following closely behind her, to begin cleaning up after them all. She hears Gandalf and Bilbo speaking as they pass by the kitchen.

“My dear Bilbo, what on earth is the matter?”

“What’s the matter?” Bilbo repeats, staring up at the wizard in slight disbelief. This man brings fourteen Dwarves into his home, completely out of the blue, and then asks him ‘what’s the matter’? “I’m surrounded by Dwarves. What are they doing here?”

Thrya does not take offense to Bilbo’s irritation and confusion, knowing that he clearly had no clue they would be arriving. And Dwarves are a loud and merry bunch when you get them together. She would be surprised if he wasn’t slightly overwhelmed. 

She pats Ori’s shoulder as she passes by him, smiling amusedly at the sight of Bombur seated at the table munching on the leftovers. She gathers up the mugs she can carry and brings them into the kitchen to Bifur at the sink, which he takes with a quiet grunt of appreciation.

“I don’t understand what they’re doing in my house!”  Bilbo rants out in the hall with Gandalf again before he’s approached by Ori.

“Excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?”

“Here you go, Ori. Give it to me.” Fíli and Jon halt their conversation as he takes Ori’s dirty plate, and promptly tosses it down the hall towards Kíli to catch. He then tosses it to Thrya who tosses it to Bifur.

The display, obviously, causes Bilbo to panic once more. Obviously. Jon tries to temper his smile as the Hobbit flails his hands at them with his objection.

“Excuse me! That’s my mother’s West Farthing pottery. It’s over 100 years old!”

They toss plate after plate with perfect precision, some behind backs and over shoulders, some under legs. Jon even tosses a bowl with his foot, and Fíli bounces another on his arms before passing it to his brother.

“And can you not do that?” Bilbo says to those sitting at the table clinking the silverware together. “You’ll blunt them.”

“Oooh. Do you hear that, lads?” Bofur teases with a mischievous smile. “He says we’ll blunt the knives.”

“Blunt the knives, bend the forks,” Kíli starts singing.

And then Fíli. “Smash the bottles and burn the corks,”

And soon the cozy Hobbit hole is filled with the joyful sounds of everyone’s voices, with a few of them bringing out their instruments as well.

“Chip the glasses and crack the plates

That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!

Cut the cloth, tread the fat

Leave the bones on the bedroom mat

Pour the milk on the pantry floor

Splash the wine on every door!

Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl

Pound them up with a thumping pole

When you’re finished if they are whole

Send them down the hall to roll

That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!”

Bilbo stumbles into the dining room as the song finishes and is baffled by the sight of all his dishes, perfectly pristine and cleaned, not a single scuff or chip, sitting atop the table. Gandalf shrugs from his place behind the stack with a look of, “what can I say?” as they all laugh.

However, they are soon silenced by three loud knocks on the front door, and Jon smiles when Thrya’s face brightens even more.

“He is here.”

—————————————————————————

Here’s the first chapter!

Nadadith means little brother, but Thrya means it in the sense of baby brother.

The translation for what Bifur says is “Our great leader, he is not here.” That, as well as some other translations, can be found here ⬇️

thedwarrowscholar.com/2014/06/04/insulting-elves/

Dwalin is the dwarven equivalent to Thrya’s godfather, since he quickly took over the role of big brother to her spitfire of a mother.

Let me know what you think!