#thorne kreizler fanfiction

[thorne-kreizler-fanfiction]

Marital Promises

AO3 fic link

Relationship: Thorin×Fem!Reader

Word count: 4099

Summary: Thorin and you fought too hard one day, sending each other into a spiral of not communicating in weeks. One night he tries to make amends, and you hope it’s not too late to save your marriage.

Khuzdul dictionary: -Amrâlimê: My love

-Bunnanunê:  My tiny treasure

-Amralizi:  I love you

Author's notes: -English is not my first language. I am open to suggestions of fixing grammar/vocabulary and even revising entire works.

-This fic emerged after reading @fizzyxcustard fic “Misunderstanding”.

Suggestions: Enjoy, comment your opinions and share!

***

Thorin Oakenshield was King Under the Mountain, and you were Queen. The good thing about your marriage was that you two loved each other dearly, which wasn't the norm when it came to royalty unions. You and your husband had gone through good and bad situations before, experienced ups and downs and were able to sort them out; that’s how a marriage was supposed to work, encountering difficulties and handling them, always ending together and happy again. But there had been a moment when you two had fought so harshly it didn't look as if it could be fixed easily.

It had been two months ago, during the banquet that was set to celebrate the fifth anniversary of Erebor’s reclaim. It was a special day for Thorin considering how important it had been for him and all dwarves to regain their home, but his joy dissipated entirely after hours of not only not capturing your attention but also not being the first dwarf to take you out to dance. If you were entirely honest, you had been drinking way before the celebration started. By the time everyone was sitting at the big and abundant table, you had a great time getting to know new friends. Most of them were lords, who took your hand and led you through the dance floor before your husband could. Thorin was not amused by the way his wife seemed to ignore him all day during his special occasion, and even worse, because of other dwarves.

The next day, and the following one, and the one after it, he ignored you. Suddenly he was too busy attending different royalty matters; he went to bed after you'd fallen asleep and got out of the room before you woke up. You followed the routine, but he never showed up for lunch nor dinner. Even though you felt lonely, there had been previous occasions in which you two barely saw each other, so you'd thought it'd be over soon, like it had been many times before. But then you started asking the royal workers where Thorin was, and realized he wasn’t that busy at all; he had been eating alone or with friends, pacing the halls boredly, calling for extra public petitions forums and checking in different matters that weren’t completely necessary. He could have definitely taken some time to be with you.

So you confronted him, staying up till late one day to surprise him when he got to the shared bedroom. You had made sure to tell the staff you were going to sleep (because you had the suspicion he would ask them if you had fallen asleep before entering the chamber), and two hours later, around midnight, the door opened. You closed the book (which you could barely read because of how tired you were by that time) and got up from the armchair. Thorin spotted the lit candles and then saw you, standing there, and looked away.

“What are you doing awake so late?” He asked with a casual tone while walking to sit on a chair, which enraged you further because you two hadn’t seen each other in days and he didn’t even smile at your sight.

“I could ask you the same question.” You answered.

Thorin shot you an annoyed look before sitting down and starting to untie his boots.

“Royalty duties. You know I have responsibilities and sometimes they take all day long.” He spoke with some resentment in his voice.

“For three days in a row with no time to eat with me?” You walked closer to him and crossed your arms over your chest.

He finished taking off his footwear before sighing deeply and looking up at you, serious.

“Do you want to reproach me about something, love? Do it quickly, I want to go to sleep.” The king said rudely and got up. He walked past you, heading to his closet.

You were outraged when turning around and facing him. “Yes, I do want to complain.”

“Do you? Then go ahead.” Thorin spoke like he didn’t care one bit about what you had to say.

Then you exploded, accusing him of not living up to the expectations of a married life and being secretive with his own wife. He snapped back at that instantly, despite his attempts of remaining cold and unbothered. The king accused you of being the one who failed to fulfill the marital promises in the first place. He screamed at you, which only made you bite back. With uncontrollable anger on both sides, sleepiness taking over your ability to think before speaking and refusals to listen to the valid points of the other one, the argument escalated until he hurt your feelings, and you hurt his. It was a relief that the walls were made of pure stone; if they weren’t, the whole staff would have heard every harsh word that was screamed inside the royal chamber.

“Do not speak to me of loyalty!” He had said. “You were surrounded by dwarves who approached you unequivocally being suggestive, yet you did nothing to stop them! People might have thought you actually enjoyed it! At my own celebration!! That was an embarrassment. I’m disappointed in you as my wife.”

“I'm so sick of you! Of your pent up anger, cold demeanour and childish behaviour!” You had screamed back with tears threatening to wet your cheeks. “If I’m such a bad wife, to the point in which you do not even want to dine with me, then leave the room and never speak to me again!”

After that night, you two picked new bedrooms to sleep at, separated. The royal workers had been ordered to take the personal belongings of each and rearrange them in the new chambers. From then on, you hadn’t slept with your husband and definitely didn’t go back to the routine of eating together. It had been weeks since that.

You closed your eyes and placed your forehead into your hands, trying to forget about the argument. But the memories kept coming back, like a curse that haunted you. You shook your head, sighing. There definitely was work to do on your outbursts, as well as Thorin needed to work on his repressed anger. Luckily, a knock on your bedroom’s door distracted you from the memories.

“My queen?” You heard Halda's voice, your personal maid.

“Come in.” You said and your voice sounded quiet and wavering.

Your voice was worn out because lately you hadn't talked to anyone. At your request, nobody ever bothered you as you stayed in your chamber alone every day, only going out to read under the sun when natural light was very much needed. Still during those occasions you never came across anyone, avoiding all kinds of contact. The servants were to take dinner to your new cold chamber.

“My queen,” Halda said while entering the bedroom. “I've come to bring your lunch…” She took a pause before speaking again. “And to tell you the King asked me to bring you this…”

“Do not say more.” You interrupted her, looking through the window with a frown, watching the midday sun clean the white rock that held up the mountain high and strong. “Please leave it on the desk and leave.” You said with a brittle voice. The situation hurt you a lot, but unless Thorin apologized in person, you didn't wish to maintain contact with him. That was your pride taking over you.

“My queen,” Halda spoke again, after leaving the tray on the desk and picking the plate she had brought for breakfast hours ago, which was still half full. “he insists on telling you he wants you to join him…”

“Please, get out.” You ordered and closed your eyes. “I do not wish to be bothered.”

“Of course, my queen. Forgive me.” You saw from the corner of your eye that she bowed.

“Do not apologize. It’s not you who started this, and I’m not mad at you.”

“As you wish, my queen.”

When the door closed, leaving you alone and silent again, you laid in bed and allowed yourself to be true to your feelings for the first time in days. You cried your heart out, feeling cold and empty, until you were so exhausted that you fell into a deep sleep.

…

Thorin had been in the dining hall for over an hour. He had tried, since midday, to concentrate on his duties, but the thought of whether you would accept or not his invitation to dinner was unsettling him. Since he couldn’t concentrate on his duties, or in any pleasant distraction even, he showed up to eat before it was planned. The kitchen servants started to run from one place to the other, cooking as fast as possible and preparing the table for the king who had arrived earlier. When dinner was ready, the king asked to speak with Halda.

“Tell me what she said.” He demanded, his voice soft but deep as always.

“My king,” She whispered a bit afraid, knowing what was about to come. “she asked not to be bothered.” Thorin slowly nodded, closing his eyes while growling. “She never gave a clear answer, and she might as well show up when it’s actually time for dinner…”

“You can leave now.” Thorin interrupted.

“Yes, my king.” She rushed out of the dining hall.

“I'm so sick of you! Of your pent up anger, cold demeanour and childish behaviour! If I’m such a bad wife, to the point in which you do not even want to dine with me, then leave the room and never speak to me again!” He remembered your words, and the guilt ate him alive. Were you serious about not wanting to speak to each other anymore? Was the situation that bad?

Your extremist decision of never walking around Erebor had been devastating for him, since he couldn’t cross paths with you and try to talk. Of course he could have simply walked to your room, but he didn’t want to risk another fight that would make the marriage even more unsavable. There was also a bit of pride that participated in the making of the decision, but he was more than used to that feeling, so he didn’t realize. Your complaint of him not wanting to eat with you haunted him, because he knew it was a thing that mattered a lot to you; to share a bit of time together, even if it was only ten minutes, sitting close and enjoying nice meals while updating each other on their days and plans. But he had been so angry that he gave no care to the things that kept the marriage going, even during the busy weeks when you couldn’t see each other at all times.

His way of trying to start a conversation was by giving you what he had so selfishly denied you. But the thought that you had given up in the relationship filled him with an early grief that broke his heart. The big gate of the dining room closed, and to that it followed the sound of plates, cups and food crashing against the ground with loud noises. The king let out a scream from the core of his chest, getting up. He then took the tablecloth and pulled from it until he had thrown every bottle and tray to the ground. The guards flinched and the mess Thorin provoked was heard from nearby rooms, making the servants prepare themselves to clean the dining hall.

The King Under the Mountain left and the place remained silent.

…

You opened your eyes and stood up quickly after realizing you had fallen asleep. When looking around, you saw only darkness. Once your eyes got used to the gloom, you lit the candle from your bedside table and then the fireplace. You sat for a while in front of the big cackling fire, eating the food that had been brought to you hours ago, despite it being cold. You were feeling numb, but not physically. You couldn't think of anything or concentrate on your feelings, only on the rising fire in front of you, warming your body and blinding your eyes with white and red brightness. It was peaceful, really, and you very much needed those few minutes of silencing your brain.

When you were done eating, you decided to read for a while under the moonlight. You took the tray to your desk in order to keep a minimum level of order in the chamber, and there you saw it; a letter. You frowned, and after stirring in your memories, you remembered that Halda had left something Thorin wanted to give you. But that had been many hours ago. You dropped the tray, not minding the broken glass cup, and quickly picked the envelope. The truth was, that even while acting indifferent, you cared about your husband. A lot. No stupid fight could ever make you stop worrying about him or loving his majestic personality. What you had said about his “childish and cold demeanor” wasn’t entirely true; there was way more in him than jealousy and anger, which is why you fell in love in the first place.

You sat in front of the fireplace again and opened the letter. It read:

“Amrlâlimê, love of my life, who I chose as my companion and queen:

I wish to apologize for my manners. What I said wasn't fair, and I haven't been sincere with my feelings nor with you, Bunnanunê. I do not wish for that unleashed fight to keep affecting us. Please, do me the honor of joining me for dinner tonight.

Amralizi,

-Your king and husband, Thorin Oakenshield”

You covered your trembling lips with a shaking hand, then looked out the window and deduced that the night was nearing midnight. You sighed with guilt and ran out of your bed chamber, almost forgetting to put an appropriate cloak on. While you headed to the dining hall, rushing down dozens of stairs and running through multiple corridors, many heads turned to look at you. You even met Dwalin while he was coming out of a door in one of the hallways. Well, you rather collided with him.

“My queen!” He exclaimed, surprised.

“I am so sorry, Dwalin.” You sighed, agitated. “I’m in a rush.”

“Then I won't stop you.” He stepped aside with a nod of his head.

You lowered your head too as a quick greeting and kept on running. But before stepping down on another pair of stairs, it occurred to your slow sleepy mind that because Dwalin and Thorin were so close, he might as well know where he was. The king probably hadn’t been sitting at the dining table for hours, waiting for you. So you turned around and shouted so Dwalin could hear you.

“Do you know where Thorin is?”

“I do, my queen.” He said, but didn’t turn to face you.

“Oh…” You walked back and stopped next to him. “Tell me.”

He sighed and looked at you. “He asked to not be bothered by anyone, no exceptions. So I cannot tell you.”

“Dwalin…” You lowered your head with tears in your eyes. “Tell me where he is. I made a mistake and need to make amends with him.” Since you didn't hear an answer, you kept on trying to persuade him. “I think you and everyone knows Thorin and I haven't been… Well.” He looked at you with soft eyes, slightly moved. “You worry about him as much as I do, and I'm sure that if we don't solve our problem now, he might go mad.” Dwalin looked away, sighing and weighing the possibilities.

And when a slight impatience filled your chest with a tightening anxiety, you suddenly remembered: You were the Queen of Erebor. You shouldn't be begging to talk to your husband. Your marital promise had been to stay with Thorin until the end. What kind of royal member would allow their duties to be unfulfilled because of a disobedient friend? So you spoke again, putting on the serious demeanor that you’d been perfecting in order to use it during important political situations: “I order you to tell me where he is. I’m the queen, Dwalin. And Thorin was the one who tied me to him with a marital knot. If he really wished to be alone, he wouldn’t have asked me to be his companion! Now tell me where he is!”

Dwalin looked up, surprise and concern invading his eyes, since it was the first time you snapped at him like that. “He's at the forge.” The dwarf answered, not yet convinced he was doing the right thing by disobeying a direct order from Thorin.

You looked at him with a big smile, whispered a “Thank you” and rushed to the forge.

…

The rhythmic sound of the hammer against the iron and the king's groans filled the place, along with a permanent heat that came from the lit forge. He was still thinking about you. It had not been possible for him to take you out of his mind during the night, so he made it his goal to stay there, crafting and refining to appease his feelings. Even before opening the gate, you could hear your husband’s growls, and it worried you. It wasn't a new thing for him to calm himself down with his crafting, but this time, you knew  you were the cause for his anger. You opened the gate slowly, almost not wanting him to hear you. But he did, and the sound of the hammer stopped so suddenly that the utter silence still reproduced the echo of the previous hitting.

“I asked not to be interrupted.” Thorin said with a low but agitated voice. “Now what could be so important…?!” He turned around, and when he saw you, the hammer fell to the ground with a loud noise.

The place remained silent, only the forging fire daring to make a noise. You couldn't look at him, much less talk to him. For a moment you thought of running back to your lonely chamber and locking yourself up. What if he was still mad? And what if he didn't want to see you? What if it was all lost already?

“Amrâlimê.” Thorin whispered and slowly approached you.

In that moment, all fear and doubt vanished. You remembered the times he called you that, kissed you and made you remember you were his one. And when you saw him, you remembered how much you loved and longed to be with him. His lips were parted, threatening to form a smile. His eyes were shiny, big and expectant. There was a sudden light that traveled his face and set hope in him, which turned his expression so soft you could melt like the iron he had just been working with. He had sweat on his face and was almost completely covered in dust from working; despite not being clean, you always thought that look was so masculine and sexy. When you met his gaze, Thorin seemed to take it as a sign that you weren’t going to run away or shout at him, and he quickened his steps. He stood in front of you, took your hands in his and got on one knee, resting his forehead on your wrists while kissing your knuckles.

“Amrâlimê…” He repeated, and you felt his warm breath against your hand. You were frozen despite the heat of the place. “You are here.”

“Yes, I am.” You whispered, not really knowing what to say.

“You sound doubtful.” Thorin said, insecure, and slowly raised his head, linking your gazes. His eyes were so passionate that they filled your own self with strong emotions. “Don't you want to be with me?”

“I do! I do. I do want to be with you.” You said quickly. “The thing is… I wasn't expecting this reaction from you.”

“After many moons of not meeting with you, how else would I react?” He asked, getting up. You could watch him closer then, admiring his bright eyes and paying attention to every one of his handsome features.

“I never thought you would want to see me again.” You said lowly, lowering your gaze.

“Why wouldn't I want to see you?” He asked, confused. “I love you. I asked you to be my wife…”

“And I accepted! Because I love you too… But you’ve pushed me away, love.”

“But why would you think I don’t want to see you for weeks?” Thorin seemed so sincerely confused it annoyed you. How could he not know?

You looked at him raising your eyebrows, outraged. “Allow me to think.” You said looking at the ceiling and crossing your arms. “First you avoided me for days, then you screamed at me, and called me a bad wife. After that you agreed to sleep in separate rooms, then you did not come looking for me in months, and you just told Dwalin not to be bothered by anyone! No exceptions, he said…”

He chuckled lightly at the end and shook his head. He looked so beautiful that suddenly all your pent up desire bloomed and you wanted to jump at him and kiss him hard. “I ordered that to Dwalin because I did not think of the possibility you would look for me.” He explained, a bit ashamed.

“Why wouldn't I look for you? Even though you hurt me…” You swallowed, a cry threatening to come back and making a lump in your throat. “Why would I reject an apology?”

This time Thorin was the one who raised his eyebrows. “Well, allow me to think.” He mimicked your corporal actions and voice tone comically, surprisingly making you laugh. “First you ignored me all day during my celebration feast, then you accused me of not being a good lover, after that you told me to not speak to you ever again. You suggested sleeping in separate rooms, locked yourself in your chamber for months, and on top of it all you did not come to join me for dinner tonight…”

It was your turn to shake your head with an amused smile. “I fell asleep before reading your letter.” You explained, chuckling softly and feeling your body relax slightly; it wasn’t as bad as you had thought it would be. After all, you had chosen a good husband. You could sort things out, even when the situation was bad; that had been your marital promise. So you decided to abandon all your pride by then. “I'm really sorry, love.” You looked at him with sad eyes and lips tightened in a straight line. Guilt had done its damage to you too.

Thorin shook his head and placed your foreheads together, holding onto your hands dearly. It kept surprising you how soft and careful he could be with such big hands, strong body and imposing looking. “I am sorry, Bunnanunê. You were right; I failed to fulfill my husband duties.”

“I also forgot my vows when I abandoned you and refused to fix things immediately.” You sighed, closing your eyes. “I’m afraid both of us have failed to keep up with our promises.”

He was silent for a moment, then whispered “I am working on a ring at the moment. I’ll look for your favorite gem tomorrow to complete it, and we’ll renew our vows when I gift you the ring.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him with a big smile and a tear already making its way down your face. You couldn’t believe your ears; after all that happened, he kept finding ways of mending the relationship. You were so, so lucky to have him as a husband. Someone who tried, very hard, to stay with you and be a good companion. You nodded intensely and he smiled too, then lowered his hands to your waist. You both looked at each other, melting in a hug and closing your eyes. Little by little, you got closer and closer until you kissed. It was a slow kiss, deep, loving and letting show how much your bodies had missed each other those past weeks. You two had a lot to talk about Thorin's management of his emotions and your dangerous outbursts, but that kiss told you that you wouldn't have to be alone. You would work together in the amending of your own selves and the relationship you so madly wanted to keep forever. The marital promises had to be repeated, and this time, kept.

***

[riflerhymeswithtrifle]

Life Is Short

AO3 fic link

Relationship: Stanislaus "Kat" Katczinsky & Paul Bäumer

Word count: 1778

Summary: "Kat's mind felt silent. The only thing he could think was 'Impossible'; It couldn't be possible. It could not. Paul's wound was small. Paul was his only friend. He couldn't be dead. It wasn't logical. It wasn't fair."

Author's notes: -An AU fanfic in which Paul doesn't loose Gerard Duval's papers and gets shot by the farm kid instead of Kat.

-First work published. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

-English is not my first language, sorry for any gramatical error.

Warnings: Mentions of death, war, grief, wounds and blood.

***

"I'll be right back." Kat said and went into the woods.

Paul sat down and the man wandered for a while before stopping in front of a tree. Kat was just done when he suddenly heard a gunshot, clear and loud in the middle of the silence. Some birds flew while squeaking. He flinched, looked around quickly and put his trousers back on. He then ran back to where he left Paul.

"Paul? Paul!" Kat screamed and heard some quick steps close to him.

"Kat!" That was Paul's voice.

The man turned to his left and saw his comrade, walking rapidly towards him with his left hand pressing the right side of his stomach.

"Paul..." He looked around and saw, to his relief, no one else. When the young boy was near enough, Kat could see Paul was limping. "What happened?"

"We need to go." The young boy said in a serious tone. He didn't stop to let Kat examinate him. He was too scared to stay there any longer.

"Who fired the shot?" The man asked and followed Paul out of the woods.

"The little kid from the farm." Said Paul, trying to remain composure.

That didn't last long, because he fell on his knees while grunting in pain.

"Paul!" Kat exclaimed and rushed to him.

"This is bad." Paul whispered in fear while laying on the floor.

When Kat took his clothes and pulled them up, he saw a big amount of blood coming out of a small, black hole in Paul's abdomen and staining his skin.

"What a mess." Kat complained. This wasn't planned, not at all. "It's not so big."

"Take out the bullet." Paul said with a small voice.

"I'll leave that to the medic." Kat stated and looked inside of his pockets for a gauze. He found one and placed it carefully on Paul's wound.

"I was once in class at seven years old." The young boy said suddenly. "We were talking about what we wanted to be when we grew up." Kat frowned. He didn't understand why Paul was talking about that, in that moment. "I said I wanted to be a writer." The boy let out an unfunny laugh. "A poem writer. The teacher said I could do something more useful, the kids laughed and said that I certainly couldn't. I should have agreed with them and gone with the first plan."

Kat was left speechless. Was Paul venting because he thought those were going to be his last words? He couldn't allow that. He wouldn't let Paul die.

"Listen." Kat said with an accusatory tone. "Everything's going to be okay, alright? We'll get to the infirmary and they'll fix this. It's not a big deal, won't even be difficult to walk."

Paul slightly nodded and winced. His hand went to his wound, and Kat never in his life felt more guilty. Fucking decision of stealing from that farm, fucking hunger, fucking war.

"For Christ's sake." Kat whispered while looking down at the stained gauze. "Why did it have to happen now?"

Paul looked at him with a worried face, but said: "We have to keep going."

"Yes."

Kat got on his knees, put Paul's arm across his shoulders and took him by the unharmed side of his waist. He got up with an unusually required strength and Paul stumbled a little before steadying himself.

"Paul?" Kat said, before starting to walk.

"Yes?"

"I think you would've been a remarkable writer."

Paul laughed, incredulous.

...

The return felt so much longer and tortuos than the departure. Kat felt the way Paul's body was pressuring him more and more with every passing minute. He tried to shake his friend a couple of times so that he would gain consciousness, but it took Paul less and less time each time to go back to lay his dead weight on Kat.

The man started to panic. What if Paul wouldn't be able to make it?

He shook off those thoughts and intensified his grip on the boy. It wouldn't be illogical if that happened; No one died of a small hole in their waist. Besides, those thoughts wouldn't be any useful; They were there just to worry him and fuck it up again. But Kat wouldn't make a mistake again. He wouldn't let Paul slip, not so near the end. Instead, Kat would talk to Paul to keep him conscious.

That was something he was used to do. When receiving new recruits, it was almost a job he signed up for to calm them. After hearing the first gunshots, or witnessing their first bomb, or coming back from their first attack, the new soldiers were always scared and confused, as if just realising what they actually went to do. Kat had been the same on his first days, but he hadn't had anyone to tell him how to protect himself, or when the explosions were going to end. So he made it his job to take care of the new arrivers (as much as he could).

Kat was lucky he did the same with Paul's company. Franz, Albert and Paul weren't the youngest he had meet, or the most terrified in their first night, but they were certainly the best comrades he could have met. Especially Paul, who didn't have problem on staying by his side at all times, and read him letters, and just talk of anything. Kat was more than glad to take care of him as much as possible, and make bad jokes to pass the time, and talk nonsense just to distract Paul from all the pain and death that surrounded and threatened to ruin them.

This time was no exception, although it was easier to have a conversation with Paul when the young boy actually answered and wasn't about to fall unconscious.

"When we get home... I'm going to make you... a new pair of boots... for Christmas." Kat said between heavy breaths. "Yours seem like they hurt."

Kat wasn't sure if Paul actually laughed, because he heard some happy cheers growing louder in the distance. He turned around while strongly holding his friend and saw two trucks going through the road. Kat smiled with relief and backed off to the side. He left Paul sitting on the floor and looked at the first vehicle. He waved his arm but, to his horror, the truck didn't stop. It kept going, and Paul fell from his arms.

Despite his desesperate screams, neither of the vehicles lifted him and Paul. Kat cursed the men who were happily waving at him and turned his attention to Paul. He tried to lift him up but the boy was too heavy and dysfunctioning to get on his feet, even with help.

Kat noticed blood on his fingers, and with all the strength he had left, he lifted Paul over his shoulders. His friend made some painful noises, but almost didn't move.

...

Kat was going as fast as possible, breathing heavily. As soon as he crossed the infirmary door, he screamed a couple of times for a medic. Paul had stopped whinning of pain a while ago, and the man could feel the whole dead weight of his friend. That wasn't a good sign.

There was a free litter near him, so he bent next to it, sat Paul down and with a hand on his back laid him down. He took a moment to watch his face, which was pale but seemed calm. That was good, he thought. It meant no pain.

When he saw a man in white and stained in red go to him, Kat sighed in relief and sat on the floor. He watched as the medic analised Paul's wound, and then his face.

"You could've saved yourself the trouble." The man said, taking Paul's neck in both of his hands.

"Uh?" Kat hummed.

"He's dead."

Kat's mind felt silent. The only thing he could think was "Impossible"; It couldn't be possible. It could not. Paul's wound was small. Paul was his only friend. He couldn't be dead. It wasn't logical. It wasn't fair.

"But... It's only a small bullet wound." Kat said, standing up.

"Yes, black blood." The medic spoke while walking far from the litter (why was he walking away? He had to cure Paul). "Straight into the liver. His organs are poisoned."

"He's unconscious." Kat insisted. He had to, or the medic wouldn't help Paul. And Paul needed help, but he wasn't getting it. So he had to fight for it.

"No... He's dead. I think I know more about these things than you."

"No. It's impossible." Kat sat next to Paul. "I was... I was just talking to him to keep him conscious." His voice became desperate while he lifted Paul's clothes again. "He's unconscious..." Blood wasn't coming out the black wound. "He's unconscious." Kat kept insisting. He had to make the medic realise Paul was going to be fine if only he could get help.

But when he took the young boy's cheeks in his hand to shake his head, and when he applied pressure to the side of his neck, he didn't get a response. And then the it hit him, like cold water in an already very cold day.

"You see?" The medic spoke again, quite calm to be surrounded by so much death. "He was so unlucky. So young and close to the end."

As he was caressing Paul's face, Kat noticed it's expression was still calm, as though almost glad the end had come. No more pain, no more war, no more hunger.

...

It was a haunting memory. He became that: A memory. Paul Bäumer was no longer a boy, or a soldier, or a body; His youth was taken away from him, people will see him just as another name in the list of the dead, and his lifeless body could no longer imitate his movements and talk as if it was him.

Paul was gone. The only thing left was his memory.

What haunted Kat the most wasn't the fact that this was the loss of a friend, or the death of another boy, or all his wishes for a better life for Paul being smashed; It was that he never got to say sorry. It was his fault, and he could never apologise.

While playing with a "Gerard Duval" information papers, he thought of saying sorry to Paul's family and making sure to tell Gerard's family what happened to their beloved dad and husband. Would that make him forgive himself? Of course not. But he had to do it for Paul. It was the least the young boy deserved.

***

[thorne-kreizler-fanfiction]

This goes very well with a fic I'm working on! ;)

Thorin would def be the type of parent/guardian who goes through every single name he knows before he lands on the person he’s actually trying to speak to. like in a bagginshield shire au he’d be trying to call for Frodo and it’d go like “Fili! wait no- Kili- fuck- Dís- what? Gim- oh come on- Myrtle- Mahal that was the pony. What’s his name? FRODO!”

[thorne-kreizler-fanfiction]

Thorin Oakenshield'S FANFICTION MASTERLIST - BY thorne-kreizler-fanfiction

(Last updated: 26/03/2025)

Keys and warnings: -Most fanfics have OCs and/or are written from Reader's perspective. However, not all of them are like that. Some just follow the nature of the movies/book. -I write a lot of smut. Read carefully. -📖=Uses only the original s tory/characters 🖋️=Has an OC (most of the times in order to write a love story) 😆=Humor/Light story 💘=Romance ❤️‍🔥=Smut 🔞=Sensitive content (will specify on the respective Author's Notes)

One Shots

Marital Promises -🖋️💘 Summary: Thorin and you fought too hard one day, sending each other into a spiral of not communicating in weeks. One night he tries to make amends, and you hope it’s not too late to save your marriage.

Cursed Walls - COMING SOON WITH Thorin's Springe Forge 2025!🖋️💘🔞

The Wandering Blacksmiths - COMING SOON!🖋️💘

You Are Perfect For Me - COMING SOON!🖋️💘

A Mournful Dragon - COMING SOON!🖋️💘🔞

My Queen - COMING SOON!🖋️❤️‍🔥

Come Back To Me - COMING SOON!🖋️🔞

Language Barrier - COMING SOON!🖋️💘

Off & On - COMING SOON!🖋️❤️‍🔥🔞

Wicked Game - COMING SOON!🖋️💘

Come On Baby, Light My Fire - COMING SOON!🖋️💘

Did I Tell You That I Miss You? - COMING SOON!🖋️💘🔞

MANY MORE COMING SOON!

Multi Chapter

A Mighty Warrior - COMING SOON!📖🖋️😆💘🔞

In Health And In Dragon Sickness - COMING SOON!🖋️❤️‍🔥🔞

Flourishing Love Like Blooming Flowers (Part of a Series) - COMING SOON!🖋️💘❤️‍🔥

My Rightful Heir (Part of a Series) - COMING SOON!🖋️

Kneel Before Your King - COMING SOON!🖋️❤️‍🔥🔞

What The King Wants, The King Gets - COMING SOON!🖋️💘❤️‍🔥

Two Gems More Valuable Than All Jewels - COMING SOON!🖋️😆💘❤️‍🔥🔞

To Fall In Love With Who You Least Expect - COMING SOON!🖋️😆💘❤️‍🔥🔞

MORE COMING SOON!

Headcanons 📖🖋️😆💘❤️‍🔥

Coming soon!

FULL MASTERLIST HERE

[thorne-kreizler-fanfiction]

Heyyy, I’d like to read your Thorin fic but the link doesn’t work. Where can I find it? Cheers!

Edit: I've already revised the fic and re-wrote it. The link I shared doesn't work because I already deleted the unclean work. You can find the clean one HERE.

Hello there!

Oh myyy I'm so happy you want to read it! Sorry about the link, I just realized why it doesn't work🤦🏻‍♀️ I'm a bit dumb and didn't see it before, but I will revise it and post it on AO3 soon!

Btw, you can read it on Tumblr HERE. But I warn you, it has a few mistakes and things I'd change. If you still can't read it, search "thorin" on my profile and scroll down just a bit.

Thank you again, and sorry!🤎

[thorne-kreizler-fanfiction]

Thorne Kreizler Fanfiction'S ♡MASTERLIST♡

(Last updated: 10/04/2025)

Keys and warnings: -Most fanfics have OCs and/or are written from Reader's perspective. However, not all of them are like that. Some just follow the nature of the movies/series/books. -I write a lot of smut. Read carefully. -📖=Uses only the original story/characters 🖋️=Has an OC (mostly with the purpose of writing a love story) 😆=Humor/Light story 💘=Romance ❤️‍🔥=Smut 🔞=Sensitive content (will specify on the respective Author's Notes)

The Hobbit:

The Company:

All Fools' Day (One Shot) - COMING SOON!📖😆

The Lonely Mountain Curse (One Shot) - COMING SOON!📖

"Everybody lives" AU (Series) - COMING SOON!📖😆🔞

HEADCANONS - COMING SOON!📖

MANY MORE COMING SOON!

Thorin Oakenshield:

Thorin Oakenshield'S MASTERLIST

Fíli:

The Unequal Marriage (One Shot) - COMING SOON!🖋️💘🔞

A Killer, A King Or A Healer (Part of a Series) - COMING SOON!📖🔞

Kneel Before The New King (One Shot) - COMING SOON!🖋️💘❤️‍🔥

The Golden Hour (One Shot) - COMING SOON!🖋️💘🔞

MANY MORE COMING SOON!

Kíli:

Coming soon!

Durin's heirs (Thorin, Fíli & Kíli):

From A Master To His Slave (Multi Chapter) - COMING SOON!🖋️💘❤️‍🔥🔞

MORE COMING SOON!

X-Men

Cherik (Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnserr):

The True Nature Of Those Eyes (One Shot) - COMING SOON!📖💘🔞

MANY MORE COMING SOON!

All Quiet on the Western Front

Life Is Short -📖🔞 Summary: "Kat's mind felt silent. The only thing he could think was 'Impossible'; It couldn't be possible. It could not. Paul's wound was small. Paul was his only friend. He couldn't be dead. It wasn't logical. It wasn't fair."

MORE COMING SOON!

The Alienist

Coming soon!

The Umbrella Academy

Coming soon!

[lathalea]

@thorne-kreizler-fanfiction right? 😍

The damn eyes

[lathalea]

@thorne-kreizler-fanfiction

How have i not realized how FINE fili is⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️

DAMM

[lathalea]

Thank you so much for the tag @aduialel 💙

Here I go!

Tagging everyone who would like to join!

@enchantzz @gwen-ever @shiinata-library @heilith @littlesweetdressmaker @xxbyimm @thorne-kreizler-fanfiction @katlime @enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog @evenstaredits

Thought I'd create one of these cause I haven't seen/done one in a while

How Does Pinterest See You?

-Sports

-Hobby

-Animal

-Instrument

-Song Lyrics

-Famous Painting

Search each topic and put the first picture that shows up

Here are mine:

Make sure to tag your moots!

@f4iry-bell @jkriordanverse @clarissaweasley-10 @obsessedwithjude @never-enough-novels @s-rosie @myfairkatiecat @reyreadersblog @x-liv25-jamieswife @jamcarven @pinkishpearls @bklynbrat @judes-baeeee @shutupbani @shuhuaspookie @mollywog

[lathalea]

@thorne-kreizler-fanfiction AHHHHH YOU KNOW WHAT? Your reblog&comment literally MADE MY DAY 💙💙💙

Thank you so much for reading and letting me know what parts you liked the most! It’s the best gift a writer can get - and a wonderful piece of motivation too 😍😍😍

And now I’m going to do a happy dance and squeal and read your comment once again 💚💚💚

All Is Fair in Love and Trade –  Part 3/9

Relationships: Thorin x Reader

Rating: E

Warnings: pure, unadulterated smut (and some battle aftermath)

For @gwen-ever You can read the other parts here:

The Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...

Notes for this part: Tharkûn - Gandalf

* * *

All Is Fair in Love and Trade, part 3/10

You are in trouble. You kissed Thorin Oakenshield. Yes, the King himself. Whoops. And, what’s worse, he kissed you back. You still remember how he smiled at you afterwards. First you thought it was a triumphant smile of a conqueror used to winning all of his battles, but then you noticed that mysterious flicker of emotion in his eyes and you weren’t sure of anything any longer. Shit.

Sighing, you look around. In the faint light of lanterns, you can see countless dwarves huddled in groups. There are children, expectant mothers, the elders, and everyone else who is not able to hold a battle axe and join the fighting at the entrance to your city in the Iron Hills. You know that everyone is safe here, in the deep caves, protected by thick walls of stone and a labyrinth of hidden passages no Orc can penetrate.

It is late night now. At least you think so. You lost track of time. Many hours have passed since you saw the King in that secluded passage, but you still feel his passionate kiss on your lips. That’s all it was! One kiss exchanged in the heat of the moment, at the brink of battle! Right. A good luck kiss between a sovereign and his subject. Just a tad more sensual than one would expect. Yes. Nothing more than that. And yes, you decide to ignore the fact that when you kissed, your heart beat faster, your cheeks flushed and your mind was drifting blissfully among the clouds.

Damn your chaotic mind! Dwarves are dying left and right out there, protecting the lives of their brethren, protecting your life, and the only thing you can think of is how good of a kisser His Infuriating Majesty is?! Where is your detached, professional mind when you need it the most? Another sigh escapes your lips. Sitting down on a bench you rest your back against a wall, wrapping yourself in a blanket. You know you won’t get any sleep, but at least you won’t be cold while your mind keeps on racing in circles. Mahal, keep him safe. You correct yourself. Mahal, keep our warriors safe.

Not being trained for war, you feel useless now. You hate the feeling of being idle and unable to influence the situation. The last report you received a couple of hours ago said that the battle was a difficult one, mostly because of the overwhelming enemy forces, but there was still hope. Lord Dain. You are sure the raven you sent has reached him hours ago. The question was: would Dain’s warriors arrive on time?

Mahal, let us survive the night. Mahal, keep Thorin safe. No, not Thorin, that’s not his true name. If you only knew his secret name, Mahal would surely listen to your pleas. You shake your head in exasperation. What is happening to you? Are you losing your senses? You know very well that the only way you’d know his true name was if you were bound to him in marriage. The dwarven custom dictates that only after the ceremony the couple can exchange their true names in private so that no other ears can hear them. Wait a moment! You’re not thinking about marriage, are you? You’ve always hated that stuff, it simply wasn’t your thing. You prefer a less formal approach to things. Why would you bind yourself to some reputable old fart with smelly feet, who would most probably be useless in bed but instead would try to order you around and scrutinize your every move? You could find the joys of the marital bed elsewhere and keep your independence, thank you very much. Marriages and weddings were good for young, idealistic maidens. All those useless gowns (well, seven, to be exact, one for every day of the wedding), lengthy preparations, and those boring, endless ceremonies… Ugh. No, you're definitely not thinking about marriage. Especially not when it comes to Thorin Oakenshield. The Biggest Goat Under the Mountain. You wonder why he never married. It was common knowledge that he received quite a few political proposals of marriage, but never agreed to any of them. Perhaps that was for the best. You wouldn’t wish any woman to become the wife of this cantankerous, bullheaded, presumptuous dwarf. Besides, he’s the king, so his wedding would probably take twice as much as the usual weddings and it would be at least five times as pompous. Yaaawn.

Damn it, Ragna, snap out of it! You need to find yourself a new lover, that’s what’s wrong with you. You close your eyes and try to imagine what you would like him to look like. You can see him already: long, dark, wavy hair you would run your hands through, lush beard, eyes blue like sapphires, the strong line of his jaw, a regal nose. As he walks towards you, you admire his warriors’ body, the raw male power slumbering in his every move. He smirks at you in a very alluring way and then speaks in that deep voice of his, sinfully sweet and dark like wild honey: “When I return, we will talk...”

Wait… what?!

A resonant sound of warning horns reaches you. Someone is running; you can hear the heavy stomping of dwarven boots against the stone.

“My lady! My lady!” a messenger stops in front of you.

“What is it?” you ask sharply, already standing up, your blanket thrown off your shoulders.

“We’re saved! Lord Dain is coming! The Orcs won’t know what hit’em!”

A wave of cheerful shouts and murmurs fills the cavern as the news reaches everyone.

Your first reaction is to leave and go to the battlements, to see it with your own eyes, to make sure… But you sit down again, recalling once again that you are not a warrior and can’t help in the battle. Thanking the messenger, you decide to do what you do best: organize, procure and negotiate. Quickly you gather the dwarves who are skilled in the art of healing; there will be wounded warriors soon. And there are also medicinal supplies to think of and infirmaries to prepare. Plus, you’d need cooks; everyone will be famished. Finally you have something productive to do.

***

Another messenger finds you as you are dozing off, your head propped on your elbow resting against a small medicine table in one of the infirmaries. Together with a group of skilled dwarves, you left the hideout several hours ago to prepare everything for the exhausted and wounded warriors.

“It’s over, Lady Ragna! It’s all over!” the messenger shouts into your ear. Startled, you bump your head against the hard surface of the table. Ouch.

“What is over?” you growl at him.

“We have won!” the copper-headed youngster claps his hands together and smiles.

You jump up on your feet and leave the infirmary in a hurry, forgetting to take off the apron you wore during your work to protect your dress. It feels surreal. When you put on your elegant gown last morning, your mind was set on the negotiations and on impressing the King. Now, in the aftermath of a battle, it’s only a nuisance. Your legs carry you towards the main gate to the city in record time. You stop in your tracks. The gate is wide open and visibly damaged. Bodies of dead orcs are scattered around the entrance hall, but you can’t see any dwarves among the deceased. Thank Mahal! Several warriors are already getting rid of the filth and the healers are busy attending to the dwarves who need help the most.

Slowly, a wide flood of warriors returning from the battle pours into the city. Your eyes scan their faces impatiently, but there is no sight of him. Your fingers are nervously fiddling with the edge of your apron. You recall what they said about the Battle of the Five Armies that happened five years ago. King Thorin II Oakenshield suffered a serious wound and barely survived. Luckily, Tharkûn the Grey Wizard was there and helped him recover from that almost fatal injury. Mahal, please, let Thorin be among the survivors once again!

That is when you see him, walking through the gate, Lord Dain beside him, their armors dented, both of them grinning in triumph. And - thank Mahal! - they both seem uninjured. A wave of relief washes over you. As soon as the two rulers enter the city, the entrance hall explodes in cheers and applause.

King Thorin stands in the middle of the crowd talking to the warriors, his hair unruly, almost black, his face smudged with dirt, but you don’t think you have ever seen him so regal, so commanding. You order your suddenly weakened knees not to fail you now. From the edge of the hall you steal another glance at him and in that moment your eyes meet. As his sapphire gaze burns into your face, you feel a slight tingling in your lips, recalling the kiss you shared before the battle. You bite your lip. Damn it. Stupid, enticing, arrogant, titillating King, although the way he looks at you now makes you think of a powerful battle ram preparing to charge at the gates of a besieged castle. Yup, he’s doing it again. One look at you and the flames of your desire burst up to the ceiling of the mountain cavern. And it’s a very high ceiling.

In a few quick strides, Thorin Oakenshield, the King Under the Mountain, approaches you. His movements make you think of a wild beast prowling its prey.

“It is time for us to talk, Lady Ragna,” he states in a husky voice, his eyes burning into your face.

“It is,” you agree, hoping your face doesn’t betray the emotions that are raging inside you.

You walk through several pathways in silence, keeping a respectful distance, not meeting each other’s gaze. The city is almost empty, most of its inhabitants still in hiding, the warriors still at the gate. Soon, there will be music, food and celebration, but for now, the deeper into the mountain you go, the more deserted it looks. Suddenly, without a warning, the ruler of Erebor, Thorin, the second of his name, pulls you into a narrow, forgotten corridor, taking your breath away.

***

His lips crash with yours with the fury of a raging storm. He tastes like red hot iron and smells like the cool mountain wind. You feel the cold surface of a stone wall against your back, the hardness of his armor mercilessly pressing against your breasts, you’re barely able to breathe, but who cares. Who would have thought of breathing at such a moment? Not you. Not when he’s back, victorious and unharmed. The city is safe. He is alive. And you feel more alive than you have felt in a long while. Your hands are entangled in his hair and you’re pulling him towards you, demanding more, not planning to let him go anytime soon, at least not until you’re done with him.

The kiss is like a battle all over again, but this time you are both fighting against a common enemy: the flames of your lust. Yes, of course, you want to be devoured by this fire once and for all, let’s face it, you’ve wanted it since you laid your eyes on Thorin Oakenshield for the first time. But now you want to cherish it. Everyone in the Iron Hills is currently celebrating the victory against the Orc army, it is obvious that you’re going to do the same, and with the King Under the Mountain himself, nonetheless. It’s only proper that he is shown how grateful his subjects in the Iron Hills are, right? Besides, he’s a fine specimen of dwarfhood and you have always had a weakness for fearless and strapping, very well-built warriors. And, Mahal, he is very well-built. Very.

His tongue slides into your mouth, hot and impatient, finding yours and beginning a sensual dance as they both intertwine. He is exploring, eager to conquer the new, unknown land that he encountered in this secluded passage. You. One of his hands cups the back of your head as he dives into yet another passionate kiss while his other hand travels along the curves of your body and cups one of your shapely buttocks. Through the fabric of your gown you can feel his fingers pressing into the softness of your skin. A moan escapes your lips, stifled by his kiss. Yes, you should probably keep quiet, you wouldn’t like to be discovered, would you? You suck at his delicious lower lip instead of making any more noises, and hear a low rumble awakening in his chest, a herald of a storm of passion to come.

You can feel his hard thigh pressing against your legs and you slightly pull them apart.

“Lift me up,” you purr into his ear and wrap your arms around his neck.

One glance into his sapphire eyes darkened with yearning and you know he understood you at once. Clever king. He grabs your waist and lifts you into the air as if you weighed nothing more than a feather. Ohh. Mahal, he’s so strong! Your skirts bundled up, you wrap your legs around his waist, brushing against the cold metal of his cuirass. Stupid armor. No matter, you have more important things to focus on now. Thorin presses you against the wall and holds you firmly, one of his massive hands wrapped around your thigh as his scorching lips begin their explorations along your neck, sending delicious shivers down your spine.

“You’re like wine…” he murmurs huskily into your skin, his beard prickling against it.

“Old and musty?” you grin, running your fingers through his silky, slightly damp hair, a few strands of silver against ebony.

“Strong, sweet,” he chuckles and playfully catches a patch of your skin between his teeth only to let it go and cover it with his greedy mouth, “And going straight to my head.”

His low voice makes you think of molten dark chocolate, intoxicating and sinful. You want to reply but then one of his large hands covers your breast, burning through the fabric of your clothes and you forget about everything else. There is roughness in his caresses, but it’s exactly what you are after. The thrill of a battle. Blood is thrumming through your veins with impossible speed; warmth uncoils deep inside you as you press your hips against him. Thank Mahal you’re not some innocent maiden because you’d faint in ecstasy in a blink of an eye. This dwarf is a serious danger to womankind. All those dwarven ladies will surely be grateful to you knowing that you decided to take care of this walking explosive all by yourself. And judging by what your senses tell you, this explosive is quite large and definitely ready for action. Good. He’s not the only one. You grin, running your hands upwards, along his strong neck, feeling the muscles underneath the heat of his skin. Your hands move to his bearded cheeks, lifting his head. Thorin’s heavily-lidded gaze is blurred with passion, his chest is heaving and it takes a moment until his eyes regain focus. Yummy. You could devour him right here and now. You can. And you want to.

“Would his majesty grant a favour to his faithful subject?” you cast him one of the appealing looks from your arsenal, attempting to keep your head clear. It’s not an easy task, though, feeling his exhilarating closeness, his bold touch, his raw scent, his heat burning your skin. He is like a furnace fueled by pure lust and adrenaline. Relishing in the sensation of his beard brushing against your hands, you barely notice that he takes one of them in his hand and places a surprisingly gentle kiss in the middle of your palm. You bite on your lower lip not to whimper as his lips send a wave of heat through your body.

“It depends on the favour,” he raises one of his thick eyebrows, flashing his teeth in a grin, their white, even rows contrasting with the smudges of blood and dirt on his face.

You thought you were in a forgotten, drafty corridor, but it feels as if you were in the middle of forges working at full capacity. Mahal, it’s bloody hot in here. Mahal, he’s bloody hot. Focus. You have to focus.

You take a deep breath and open your mouth, a small smile dancing on your lips.

“Would his majesty agree to move to a more… comfortable place so that we can finish our negotiations undisturbed?” your eyelids flutter invitingly.

“You are lucky, my lady,” King Under the Mountain chuckles as his hands close around your waist. Yes, they do. Such large, manly hands of a warrior. Damn, it’s getting even hotter in here than before.

“Oh? Does that mean my favour will be granted by your majesty?” you tilt your head slightly.

“That means I find you quite irresistible, my lady Ragna, and I plan to continue our negotiations for a while,” he replies and both quickly and effortlessly lifts you up, throws you over his shoulder. You manage to utter a faint squeal of surprise. Now he holds you in a firm grasp, carrying you away deeper into the mountain, while you’re graced with a delicious view of his muscular buttocks covered by the dark fabric of his trousers.

Yummy.

***

For a long while, it’s only the brute of a king, his heavy steps echoing in the empty corridors of the mountain, and you, hanging from his shoulder.

“How about you let me go, your majesty? I can walk myself!” you wiggle your body, but he tightens his iron grip around your thighs.

“When I’m done with you, you will not be too eager to walk, my lady,” you can feel a rumbling chuckle filling his chest as he puts you down on the floor.

You gasp in fake indignation (a girl needs to keep her appearances, right?) and then you see him open a heavy wooden door. King Thorin II Oakenshield himself makes a courtly bow, gesturing at you to enter the room. You gather your skirts, trying not to notice how wrinkled and stained they have become due to your recent, well, negotiations with the King. Gracefully you raise your chin and walk into the chamber, making sure to subtly swing your hips when passing him by. As you predicted, you are rewarded with an approving growl. King or no king, he’s definitely a man, and you are planning to get thoroughly acquainted with that particular aspect of the King of Carven Stone. Besides, you already know that some parts of him have to be carved of stone. Really. There is no other explanation for what you felt a few moments ago in that corridor.

“Enjoying the view, Lady Ragna?” the sound of the closing door behind you brings you back to reality. You seriously need to get this king out your system one way or another. You can barely think of anything else. Or anyone.

Forcing yourself to look around, you recognize where you are. Most of the walls are covered with shelves filled with large scrolls of parchment. There are only large maps of various areas hanging on one of the walls, but the largest map is beneath your feet. The central part of the floor in this room is made into a map of the known Middle Earth encrusted with various types of stone and precious gems. The sapphire Blue Mountains in the East, then the Shire with its hills, the Misty Mountains, and then Rhovanion with the emerald Mirkwood. Last but not least, there is a magnificent red ruby marking the Lonely Mountain on the map. One of the greatest points of pride of the craftsmen and jewelers of the Iron Hills.

“The Map Room? How do you know of this place, your majesty?” you turn to your sovereign. You know this place all too well.

He takes a step towards you and corrects you pointedly, his eyes are burning into you, “Thorin. I’m not a complete stranger to Iron Hills, Ragna. Lord Dain is immensely proud of this room,” he points at the floor.

A round of happy shouts echoes somewhere away, along with the cheerful sounds of music.

“Just as the people of Iron Hills are proud of their king,” you smile and close the distance between you, placing your hands on the hard metal of his cuirass. The armor is slightly dented on his left shoulder, and there is a black smudge running across it. It’s not dwarf blood for sure.

“Are they, Ragna?” he looks into your eyes, his darkened gaze never leaving your face. Why haven’t you noticed before how thick and soft his eyelashes were, just like his well-defined eyebrows?

“They are. Very much, Thorin,” you admit, subconsciously licking your lips.

“Will you show me, how proud they are, Ragna?” there is a flicker in his gaze as he raspily speaks your name, his lips approaching yours. You want to hear him say your name over and over, and preferably never stop. A sudden thought comes to your mind. How would it feel to hear your true name spoken by him, in that scandalously low voice of his? Snap out of it, Ragna, stop daydreaming! Focus on here and now.

The King… no, Thorin is towering over you and in that very moment you allow yourself to feel feminine and delicate for once, shedding your usual armor of a tough negotiator. You stand on your tiptoes, your nose brushes against his, and then you tilt your head, closing your eyes.

“This much…” you murmur. A faint smell of pine envelops you, your lips meet his, kindling the flames between you yet again.

You press into him, and Thorin, clearly surprised by your sudden movement, takes a step back. Now his back is pressed against a wall, or rather, a detailed map of the Old Forest Road. While your lips meet his, the kiss bursting with barely contained passion, your fingers don’t waste any time and reach towards the leather straps holding his armor in place. Whoever designed this piece of junk clearly had no idea about how horny the dwarven ladies can be.

“My faithful subjects seem to be very eager tonight,” he chuckles, cupping your face with his hand.

“Shut up, your majesty, and help me free you from this contraption, or I swear to Mahal, I’m not letting you out of here!” you let your irritation get the better of you.

“And very feisty,” he observes in amusement, but his hands quickly help you and soon the breastplate and other armor parts fall to the floor with a clink. “I may take you next time to the battlefield, Ragna,” he grins.

“First, you have another battle to take part in, Thorin,” you inform him, greedily pulling at the drawstrings of his gambeson, noticing some red stains on its sleeves. Couldn’t he have worn even more layers to that stupid battle?

“This battle I intend to relish,” Thorin the Warrior retorts and throws the gambeson to the floor. He wears a white, long-sleeve undershirt and a sigh of relief leaves your mouth. The fabric isn’t stained with blood. Thank Mahal, he truly isn’t injured. Your gaze slides along the outline of his pectorals, his shirt clinging to his taut torso. Finally! Your bodies crash into each other and at that moment all that matters is his lips against yours, his hands delving in your hair and his hard torso pressing against your breasts.

“What if anyone comes in?” you blurt out suddenly as your hands find their way under his shirt, moving along his body, following the well-defined lines of his muscles.

“They won’t. The door is locked,” he replies, peppering your skin with countless kisses.

You take an effort to glance at the entrance to the chamber and see a turned key in the lock. Perfect. Both this chamber and the king are yours now.

“That little apron of yours is driving me wild,” he murmurs raspily into your ear, his hand pressing into your buttock, squeezing it gently. Thorin has clearly found something to his liking.

“Is it because you wish to get underneath it?” you throw your head backwards, giving a silvery laugh.

“You are indeed a formidable negotiator, Ragna. You can read people’s minds,” Thorin the King smirks, helping you get rid of the apron. As soon as it falls to the floor, his mouth lands on that special place where your neck and shoulder meet, assaulting it with insistent, rough kisses, the hard bristles of his beard brushing against your softness, leaving a trail of sizzling hot skin in its wake.

You hum in approval when his wanton lips move to your cleavage and you inwardly congratulate yourself for your choice of a low cut dress. Thorin the Lover is very meticulous, exploring every inch of your uncovered skin in search of your most sensitive places. Thorin the King orders his hands to roam your body and one of them manages to coax one of your breasts out of your bodice, just enough so his tongue can toy with your nipple. You feel the calloused palm of a warrior against your suddenly bared, delicate skin, along with the deliciously wet heat of his mouth and you’re melting like a wax candle under his touch. This is when your knees decide to give way beneath you, but he holds you firmly, your lower back pressed against his firm body. Yes, he is definitely made of rock.

“You need to lay down, Ragna,” he purrs in that sinful voice of his and before you manage to let out anything more than a whimper, gently he lays you down on the floor, on top of his gambeson and your apron to shield you from the chill of the stone. My, my, how thoughtful we are.

That moment passes quickly when he presses your lips against yours once again, as if to make sure that you haven’t forgotten how intoxicating his caresses are. And then, there are his hands doing something to your bodice, but you don’t care, entranced by his kiss. You have to admit, he is a splendid kisser, making the familiar pool of heat grow between your legs.

“Damned feminine garments,” he grumbles.

You hear the sound of ripping fabric and suddenly you can take a deep breath, unconstricted by any clothes.

“Have you ruined my dress, you brute?” you protest, but then you let out a moan when his hands cover your breasts. Oh Mahal, his wonderful hands.

“I’ll buy you a new one. Now let me worship those magnificent peaks of yours…” he rumbles with a lustful glint in his eyes as he admires your mostly bare body spread underneath him, your back resting across the black marble range of Misty Mountains on the floor. “The great Mount Gundabad,” he grazes your left nipple with his teeth, “the magnificent Methedras,” he flicks his tongue around your right nipple, “and the High Pass between them,” his scorching lips travel along the valley between your breasts.

By the Valar! That’s it. You can’t wait any longer. You’re going to get your fill of this mercilessly alluring king once and for all. But first, before the last shred of thought leaves your mind (currently drowning in a haze of lust), you need to make some things clear.

“Don’t think that’s going to change anything in the negotiations between Iron Hills and Erebor,” you state clearly. Articulating words when Thorin the Lover feasts on your breasts is a greater challenge than you thought. Damn his tantalizing lips!

“Are you concerned I’m suddenly going to agree to all your conditions?” Thorin the King asks, but you hear a playful tone in his voice.

“That would make the negotiations even more boring than before.”

“Then let’s make sure these negotiations are twice as eventful,” this is when he doubles his efforts. No, scratch that. Triples them. His mouth travels down the soft plain of your belly, as if following the river Anduin on the map beneath your back and finding your navel along the way.

“The Carrock,” he breathes into your skin surrounding it, exploring the map of your body. “Did you know you can get a clear view of Erebor from there?”

As he speaks these words, his hand travels to the mound at the juncture of your hips. It’s still covered with a thin lace fabric of your small clothes.

“The Lonely Mountain?” you breathe in, feeling his fingers burning your skin, playing with the edge of the lace.

“Lonely? Not for much longer,” with a small smirk, he places a kiss below your navel while his fingers boldly yet gently slide under the fabric to seize the hidden treasure it has guarded until now.

A whimper escapes your lips as you feel his touch as he finds his way between your folds, straight to your temple of womanhood. Oh…! How on earth does he know how you like to be caressed the most?

It doesn’t take him long to find your ruby bud of pleasure. Oh, Mahal, his devilishly skilled fingers! Perhaps the rumors saying that he enjoys playing harp are true after all, because he is playing you exceedingly well. Oh, so very well. A tormented whimper betrays you as his fingers unhurriedly find an especially inventive way to pleasure you, his movements slow but steady. You can feel his gaze on your face, but you can barely lift your eyelids, constant waves of pleasure washing over your mind.

A cool whiff of air around your hips makes you realize that now you are completely naked, bare under his hungry gaze. His ministrations suddenly stop and you gasp in protest, opening your eyes. Thorin is positioned between your legs now, his shirt gone, and you can finally take in the magnificent view of his bare chest, his broad shoulders, his well-honed pectorals generously covered by dark hair, the lines of his abdominal muscles taunting your fingers to run over them, along with a line of hair mockingly disappearing into his trousers. Why is he so far away from you, out of reach of your arms? And why is he lowering himself over you this way…? Oh. Oh, Mahal.

For a blink of an eye, his face hovers above your mound, his hot breath fanning your skin. He raises his intent gaze from above the secret place between your legs and meets your widened eyes as you lick your lips in anticipation. A flicker dances in the endless depths of his eyes and then his mouth falls on the most sensitive part of your body, eliciting another moan out of you. As his lips dance against your slick hotness, you let out another moan, a louder one. He swirls his tongue around that special place of yours, just the way you like it, and then starts sucking on it gently, sending waves of pleasure straight to your core. Another moan, and another. And then his fingers join in, delving between your folds and entering you slowly, making your back arch at this unexpected bliss, while his mouth and beard are still pressed against you. He is still doing his magic. Yes, you are a harp now, and you want to be played by him, always, without end. You don’t want to be anything else as long as he keeps this immense pleasure flooding your senses, running through your veins, sending ecstatic shivers throughout your body.

“You are exquisite, Ragna…” he purrs into your skin, the vibrations making you moan in delight and this is what pushes you over the edge for the first time, pure ecstasy taking over your body, and you let yourself lose in the sensual pleasure he brought you. Its sudden intensity has been both surprising and overwhelming. A few long moments pass before you return to your senses.

“Is this how you like it?” his caresses slowly subside. “Are these the negotiations you had in mind?”

“Mahal, Thorin, I need more…!” you demand, still feeling slightly dazed, but you sit up, making him raise his head. Oh, yes, you want more. He looks at you playfully, and you can’t stop yourself from once again admiring his handsome features, from his lush hair, through his dark blue flickering eyes, half-lidded with lust, to the curve of his mouth in his beard glistening with your juices.

“A new addendum to the treaty?” Thorin the King raises his eyebrow with a knowing smile.

“Yes. Written in fine cursive so you have to come closer!” You’re going to wipe that smile off his face if he teases you any longer, that sly raven of a king!

Thorin the Lover lunges at you, his fluid movements making you think of a feral beast pouncing at his prey, but there’s one thing this beast fails to notice. You are not the prey. He is.

“This close?” he murmurs into your ear, his bearded cheek brushing against yours, just like his coarse chest hair brushes against the tips of your breasts. His arms are on both sides of you supporting his large, hot body that covers you completely. He gives off heat as if he were fueled by forge fires.

“Perfect,” you turn your head, finding his lips and delving into a kiss while your fingers start unlacing the bindings of his trousers. It is time to set another beast free.

“This is what I need,” you inform him graciously as your hand runs over the large bulge in his pants. He lets out a low growl, but doesn’t interrupt the kiss, clearly enjoying your attention.

“Help yourself,” Thorin the King graciously allows you this favour, brushing his lips against yours.

“Oh my, I didn’t know the king’s scepter was carved out of rock,” you free his impressive length out of his clothes, wrapping your hand around its base, your fingers unable to meet around his member. Oh my, indeed. His skin is silky smooth and hot under your palm.

Thorin the Lover hisses in pleasure, “It’s one of the king’s best-guarded secrets.”

Your hand moves up and down along his shaft several times in one smooth caress, tightening slightly, and then letting go of his delicious scepter completely.

“Mahal, woman, you are a tease!” he mutters raspily, pressing his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.

“And what are you going to do about it?” you challenge him once again, meeting his dark gaze.

“I’m going to give it to you, Ragna,” his husky voice makes you shiver with want. This deliciously handsome and annoyingly arrogant king is going to be yours. You invite him in, pulling your legs wider apart as he leads his member towards your heat. Soon you feel him pressing against your entrance, and you hold your breath but then you hear his whisper.

“Look at me,” as these words leave your lips, as your eyes meet yet again, he enters you unhurriedly, savoring every moment of it. A soft whimper escapes you as your body adjusts to his size and you drown in his gaze. Mahal, he feels even harder than before. Halfway through he pulls out a bit and then returns, steadily going forward, his movements sending torrents of pleasure across your body. Oh my, oh my, oh my! You can’t come yet, you have to withstand it, you can't turn into a molten puddle of bliss just yet! You take a deep breath to steady yourself, and then, with one powerful thrust of his hips, he fills you completely.

“Thorin,” you mumble, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as he lowers himself above you. You had a clever plan, you were supposed to do something, but now it’s all gone from your head. There is only his touch, his lips against yours, his hand firmly gripping your hip, your hands on his back, keeping him close, his temple braids brushing against your skin.

“Ragna, beautiful Ragna,” he replies and thrusts again. You reply with a moan, your hips meeting his as he thrusts once more.

“This is…” you manage to utter two words as your bodies find a steady rhythm, slowly picking up the pace. Where are you, Ragna’s brain? Ah, right. Between your legs.

Thorin the Warrior claims your lips savagely and thrusts all the way inside of you, as if a primeval urge has taken over him. You cling to him, wanting to finally quench your desire, demanding more of the growing pleasure. His hand moves under your bottom, his movements not stopping.

“Thorin…” you cry out, liquid euphoria filling your veins.

“That’s it, say my name again,” his hand squeezes your buttock, coaxing you.

A lengthy moan leaves your lips.

“My name, Ragna, let me hear it,” Thorin the King orders you, relentlessly thrusting inside you.

“Thooo...rin…” you utter a barely comprehensible whisper.

“Yes, exactly, say it one more time,” he murmurs into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand lifts your hips slightly and he finds a new angle while his nimble fingers travel between your bodies, quickly finding the rosy bud of your pleasure.

“Don’t stop…” you arch your head back at these suddenly enhanced sensations. Oh no, you never, ever want him to stop. He’s filling you completely, and moving his fingers in a steady rhythm that is slowly driving you wild from ecstasy. “Don’t you dare…”

“I’m not stopping, not until you come for me. Not until I hear you say my name once again, Ragna,” as his voice weaves its wild magic around you, both his thrusts and caresses speed up, bringing you to fulfillment.

“Thorin, oh Mahal, Thorin!” a wave of indescribable pleasure takes you over as you reach your peak of ecstasy, the world spinning around you. Countless stars explode under your eyelids, like fireworks on Durin’s Day, and you’re floating away, holding on to the one who brought this bliss upon you, the one whose name you keep moaning, whispering as he keeps delving into you, unstoppable, bringing you even more pleasure with every thrust. You feel his hands resting firmly on your hips as his movements become more erratic. Suddenly his hips buckle against yours as he reaches his own summit and you feel his glorious warmth spilling inside you.

A faint smile appears on your face as his incredibly hot body rolls off of yours. You feel the delicious wetness between your legs and let out a satiated sigh when a possessive arm wraps around your waist and pulls you towards him. You rest your head on his chest and a triumphant smile appears on your lips. Thorin the King turns out to be possessive and you allow yourself to enjoy the outcome of your encounter. In Thorin the Lover’s arms you find warmth and tenderness; this is definitely not what you expected. Clearly, he is not one of those lovers who try to leave as soon as possible after the deed is done in order to avoid any other interactions besides carnal pleasure. Some dwarves are surprisingly insecure after sharing a bed with another, but not this one. Listening to your heartbeats slowing down, your fingers playing lazily with his coarse chest hair, you raise your head and look at him. Thorin’s face is serene, his eyes closed, even the continuous frown is gone from his brow, and yet his presence is unwavering, as if he was in the exact place he was meant to be, his presence dominating the surroundings. In that moment, you don’t see a warrior any longer, nor a king or a lover. There is simply a very satisfied dwarf in front of you, basking in the afterglow of lovemaking. Lovemaking. You shake your head. Don’t be silly, Ragna. Where are those silly thoughts of love coming from? It’s about the physical needs, about quenching your desires, nothing else. Soon, you will both gather your things, refresh, and return to the celebrations, forgetting about this little incident. Your gaze moves towards Thorin’s sizeable member resting against his thigh. Scratch that. A big incident. There is nothing little about the king’s scepter.

You are feasting your eyes on his strapping naked body stretched on the floor beside you, his wide back resting on his sadly rumpled gambeson, his head in the vicinity of the ruby peak of Erebor, while his muscular legs are pointing at the western edge of the emerald Mirkwood.

“I have never known one could find so much pleasure scattered across the whole Rhovanion. I think I reached my diamond peak somewhere around the Mountains of Mirkwood,” you whisper dreamily, fully satiated, not sure if he’s awake or slumbering.

“Impossible. I was aiming at Esgaroth. I will not have anyone say that Thranduil’s kingdom is the source of pleasure for the most alluring lady of the Iron Hills,” he murmurs back, not opening his eyes, but you feel his hand wandering along your back, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You reward his words with a chuckle. “Let us agree that we didn’t go farther than the East Bight!”

“You don’t want me to start another round of negotiations with you, Ragna,” he warns you playfully, opening one eye only to close if after a moment, making you think of a content dragon slumbering on a pile of gold.

Rolling onto his side, Thorin pulls you into his arms, bringing your back flush against his chest. You let out a satisfied purr, enjoying his warmth and slowly dozing off in his strong embrace, lulled into sleep by his steady breathing and the sounds of faraway celebrations echoing in the corridors of the city.

***

You are not sure how long you were sleeping, but you wake up more rested than you felt in a long while. Judging by the sounds of merriment, the whole Iron Hills are still celebrating. The dwarven stamina is legendary, after all. And about that stamina… a long, muscular arm is wrapped around you and you recall all the recent events quite clearly. Slowly, you turn around, trying not to wake Thorin the… No, now he’s Thorin. Just Thorin. The dwarf who has helped you reach two “diamond peaks” of pleasure and bliss. Looking into his peaceful face, his eyes still closed, you let your mind wander. How has it felt for him? What have those moments of passion meant to him? Was it only that unusual tension between you? Or the usual surge of adrenaline after the battle? But why has he looked at you so intently as you lay in his arms? Was it just a trick of light? What about the way he touched you so reverently, so tenderly after you made l… No. That L-word again. You shake your head. You are tired, exhausted even, and your mind plays tricks on you. This is so unlike you, Ragna! Stop acting like an infatuated maiden! The reason you feel so good, so right in his embrace is because this particular dwarf has just given you two great orgasms, that’s all. As soon as he leaves the Iron Hills, he will barely remember your name. He is the king, you are one of Lord Dain’s advisors. You need to woman up and be ready to continue the negotiations - the real negotiations between Erebor and Iron Hills, not the ones between your lustful bodies - first thing tomorrow morning. And you have to be as ruthless and as fierce as you usually are.

You allow yourself the last moment of weakness. A stray strand of hair has fallen across Thorin’s face a moment ago. You brush it off with your hand, cursing yourself for this unusually affectionate gesture. It has been only a couple of hours spent in Thorin’s arms, nothing else. Whatever has happened between you, you decide to think of it later. Right now you are busy observing the peaceful face of the sleeping warrior, the king, and the lover, etching it in your memory. You realize it’s probably the only time you get to see him from up close. You try not to think of what happens next. Tomorrow will be another day, filled with negotiations and…

The King’s eyelids flutter, uncovering the cerulean blue of his eyes. The tender gaze of Thorin the Lover rests on your face, the tips of his fingers softly brushing against your cheek as he gives you a disarming smile. And then you hear his entrancing murmur that makes your treacherous heart beat faster.

“Good morning, Ragna.”

* * *

The Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...

Please let me know how you liked it! Do you want me to continue with this story?

Read it? Like it? Reblog it!

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @amelia307 @jotink78 @anyaspidergirl-blog @tschrist1 @rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @xmly-xo @justfollowtheroad @kirenia15

[lathalea]

Awww thank you @aduialel 💙💙💙 Just what I needed today!

Sending a big and warm hug to @enchantzz @usuallysublimepenguin @xxbyimm @legolasbadass @littlesweetdressmaker @asgardianhobbit98 @shiinata-library @thorne-kreizler-fanfiction and everyone who is reading this! (If I haven’t tagged you, that means I’m lazy with typing but you’re still getting a hug 🤗)

Hug time! Pass this around and hug whoever you think is an amazing mutual 🎉🌹

@emoscot @laismoura-art @scentedcandleibex and the person who sent this ask!

[lathalea]

@thorne-kreizler-fanfiction Exactly!!! Gaslighting is a perfect term here - there’s a big difference between promising prosperity in future and giving someone a share of the treasure. Bard could have come and asked for help and support after Esgaroth was destroyed (which dwarves were partially responsible for) - but he chose a different path. And with Thorin being dragon sick… it could not have finished well. I’m having so many problems with this scene in the movie.

And you’re so spot on reminding us how Bilbo acted in the book! It makes me think that maybe Bilbo had his own moment of “mini” dragon sickness and simply stole it (because that’s what it was) because he liked it and never looked back?

IMO that’s what makes the book really interesting - none of them is a perfectly good character and as readers we can interpret it in any way we can while the movie tells us a completely different story…

Sorry but Thorin was RIGHT to not share the riches OR the arkenstone

He made that promise to the Master of Laketown who is dead. Bard was being a hater the entire time about the plan lmao he was actively against it

AND he doesn't owe Thranduil shit. What did Thranduil do other than imprison him?? He rejected his offer because he didn't trust him, remember?

Neither of these people have shit on Thorin, the rightful King of the Dwarves and his grandfather and father's heir. That is his mountain, his gold and his arkenstone. As for Thranduil's gems, he gave those to Thorin's grandfather willingly at the time.

The ONLY person who has more claim is his father, if he showed up. If Thorin dies, Fili and Kili are the only one who get it. After that it goes to next of kin, Dain Ironfoot, which it did.

Bard and Thranduil don't deserve shit. The people of Laketown were only promised wealth so the Master would let them go. Everyone only wanted to imprison the dwarves lmao

It's sad the dragon attacked them and the people are hungry but Smaug could have literally flew everywhere to attack people. Thorin didn't send him to lake town he just send him away from HIS MOUNTAIN.

It's Thorin's gold. He did nothing wrong. And Bilbo, I love him but he didn't deserve to take that stone either. And Gandalf never deserved to keep that key from him.

Dragonsickness or not, these are his rightful things. He was right to be paranoid about someone taking the stone because BILBO LITERALLY TOOK IT lmao he meant well but ?? Just because he's gone insane doesn't mean he no longer inherits his things. Everyone is just being greedy over Thorin's gold.

[lathalea]

That’s a valid theory too @thorne-kreizler-fanfiction, in that case he would focus on making sure Fili was ready to take over the throne after him for sure! :) can’t wait for you to write that fic 💙

I never see anyone talk about how Thorin has just accepted the fact that he'll never have an heir of his own, from the beginning of the movies (because I still haven't procured a copy of the book yet, and book canon must always be treated more or less separate from movie canon). He says stuff to Fili like, "When you become king..." as though he won't ever father a child to take over after him. Unless I missed some dwarven cultural thing where Fili would actually be the heir either way, I can't be the only one who thinks this is odd (and really sad), right? Okay, now I'm starting to doubt myself and wonder if I really did miss something. Whatever, I'm gonna keep explaining my thoughts on this.

There's almost no reason I can see that Thorin would be so sure he'd never father an heir. He's still rather young, and he's certainly attractive enough to find a lover. I can think of only four (potentially five) possibilities:

Thorin is gay (which I know would make many shippers happy)

Thorin is asexual

Thorin does not deem himself worthy of love or otherwise finds faults within himself that he believes would drive love away

Similar to the last one, Thorin doesn't believe in love, for lack of a better way to phrase it, or he just doesn't believe he'll ever personally find it

Now, #3 and #4 could combine to make: Thorin doesn't believe he could ever settle down and/or start/have a family. This could potentially be a fifth possibility, but seeing as it's more of a combination of two of the already listed possibilities, I wouldn't consider it to be a separate/additional one.

Now, time for me to explain some of my ruled out possibilities, which you are more than welcome to argue in favor of. I am, of course, not the end all, be all voice on this matter, and I may very well be mistaken about some of this.

One of my first thoughts had been that maybe Thorin is just a restless soul, wants to keep being out there, in the world, fighting. He wouldn't/couldn't slow down for love. But he was ready to take up a position as king. A lot more work is involved with being king than a surprising amount of people seem to realize. You sort of have to settle down for that kind of position, and he was already prepared to do so, more or less.

Speaking of being prepared to take up his position as king, you cannot convince me that Thorin believed he wouldn't survive the journey (though I welcome you to try). He wouldn't prepare himself for the eventuality of taking the throne if he didn't believe he'd get that far. And there was no way for him to know that he would die, anyway. He literally had no reason to believe this.

An extension of that, however, that I really did consider, is that maybe he believed he wouldn't survive very long after assuming the throne. This could actually hold a little weight. However, I have one issue with this: Why? Why would he believe this? Literally the most dangerous part of his life, dealing with a dragon, would have passed by that point. He's a capable fighter and fairly intelligent, so I don't believe he would be worried about assassination attempts. Not to mention, his grandfather went gold crazy, which probably made him an insufferable king for his subjects, but he was never assassinated. So, what would cause an abrupt end to his life after he assumed the throne? I did stop to consider that maybe he had a terminal illness or something, but I highly doubt that for multiple reasons that I believe to be evident, so I won't waste time elaborating.

One final consideration of mine is that Thorin knew (or believed) in the back of his mind, no matter how much he told himself and others, "I am not my (grand)father," that he would succumb to dragon sickness. This one is actually immensely believable, and I haven't entirely ruled it out. I don't think I even need to explain this one all that much. Part of why it isn't included in the four possibilities listed above is because I felt like it could be considered a/the cause of #3 and/or the second part of #4, both of which are basically my elaboration on this one. If he succumbed to the dragon sickness, it would be an understandable reason to find yourself unworthy of love (#3). And as a greedy, dragon sick king, you're unlikely to find real love, partially because you care more for gold than other people but also because, as harsh as it sounds, not very many people would enjoy your company that much as a result (second part of #4). I think it sort of goes without saying, anyway, that dragon sickness is, for one reason or another, not very conducive to love or lovers. I'm sure we can all agree on that.

That's about all I have for this topic at the moment. If I think of anything else, I might edit this or reblog it or something. Maybe I'm just overthinking this, and he's actually training Fili as a "just in case." Regardless, I'd love to see what you think, especially if you have something to add. Agree? Disagree? Let me know! (Especially if I really did just miss a dwarven cultural thing. Yeesh, would that be embarrassing after I already typed this all out.) With that, be safe, and have a great day/night/afternoon/evening!

[lathalea]

@thorne-kreizler-fanfiction look at this!

So, I may have gone a bit too hard into lore for an upcoming fic...

Presenting, my "how old is your dwarf in human years" chart. I made this to help with an upcoming fic that involves growing up, so I one thing led to another...

This is specifically for times of peace and prosperity in Erebor.

So, how Thorin, Frerin, and Dis, might have grown up if Smaug didn't come. I thought I'd share for any other writers that might like to use it. It's not perfect, by any means, but I just really wanted something that was laid out for me to help with consistency

Sources:

-J.R.R. Tolkien

-The Dwarrow Scholar: The Age of Dwarves

-Wolfsbane-and-nettles (Me)

[lathalea]

@thorne-kreizler-fanfiction Ahhh Filiiii 😍😍😍

These roses are for the princess of Erebor

[lathalea]

@thorne-kreizler-fanfiction look!

Is there a marriage proposal in Khuzdul? Like how would I say it?

Well met, sunnyofitaly!

What a wonderful question — and one that digs deep into the stonework of Dwarvish sentiment. I’m truly glad you asked.

Proposals among Dwarves — if they happen at all — are rare, meaningful, and, above all, private. Dwarves do not take such bonds lightly. As explored in this earlier article of mine on Dwarven marriage customs, only about a third of Dwarves are women, and of those, very few marry. When a match is made, it is for life — forged with all the seriousness one might expect from a people who see love as an inseparable bond, profound familial honour, and a link to their past and even their gods.

Dwarves rarely engage in public displays of affection. Marriage is often quietly arranged or mutually acknowledged — though I imagine even the most stoic Dwarf has their own private way of making their intentions known.

🪓 Would There Be a “Proposal” as We Know It?

I would imagine not in the way Elves or Men might do it. But that doesn’t mean there wouldn’t be words — carefully chosen, spoken with solemnity, perhaps whispered over a forge or in a quiet stone hall.

It’s worth noting that either party may express interest, but it is the Dwarf-woman who ultimately chooses her husband-to-be — a tradition both ancient and quietly powerful. Once she has made her choice, it is the male who follows with a formal proposal, which includes the acquirement sum or contract ("zarb"), offered in solemn recognition of the union to come.

Part of A Dwarvish Zarb

Only once both parties are in agreement does the betrothal period begin.

The traditional order is strict and honoured:

Either party may declare interest

The Dwarf-woman makes her choice

The male proposes — with words, possibly a gift and a zarb

The woman accepts (hopefully - well, she should really, as she made the choice to begin with)

The betrothal period begins

Given their fierce loyalty and private nature, such proposals would not be made lightly — and would almost certainly occur in private, shared only between the pair (perhaps even whispered, not spoken aloud).

💍 Suggested Proposal Phrases:

Zasakrisikiya kayalzi y'amê? “Will you join your lineage with mine?” (Echoing the joining of lineages and the reverence for ancestry.)

Balulmâ mânefan, azafr ritihakhât ni ikh-khebab. “Let us bind ourselves, as ingots in the forge.” (Honouring the binding metaphor — a sacred joining.)

Khebabê tarsari khamazi sullu. Zasasbariya 'arasikhi? “My forge burns for you alone. Will you answer its flame?” (More romantic, but still rooted in Dwarven craft metaphors.)

🌍 Would a Dwarf Go Down on One Knee?

Unlikely on one knee... more likely on both.

Dwarves, much like the ancient cultures Tolkien drew from — particularly Old Norse and Hebraic — are more likely to see marriage as a solemn pact, a joining of Houses and lineages, rather than an emotionally demonstrative moment. Norse sagas and Hebrew texts both emphasize contract, lineage, and honour over ceremony or romantic flourish.

So while a Human might kneel, offer a ring, and proclaim love in the open square, a Dwarf would be far more private — presenting a forged item with both hands or a written zarb (marriage contract) as proof of their intention.

Instead of bending one knee, it would seem logical that they go down on both knees, showing total submission by lowering their head, and presenting their crafted token with both hands, then speak their carefully chosen words softly but with full weight — not as a question, but as a statement of will.

To a Dwarf, marriage is not an emotional leap… it’s a final deliberate forging. And every master forging begins with the steady hand of a craftsperson who knows exactly what they’re doing.

📜 A Final Few Cultural Notes:

It is the Dwarf-woman who chooses her husband-to-be. The male retains the right to accept or decline, but the initial choice rests with her. While it is the Dwarf-male who does the (perhaps somewhat non-surprising proposal)

Proposals may involve gifting a crafted item — a ring, yes, but perhaps a brooch, token, or something forged by the proposer themselves.

The act of proposing may carry more weight than the words — the forging, offering, and silent exchange.

If verbalized, the proposal would likely be brief, poetic, and deeply symbolic, often involving metaphors of forging, stone, and unity.

The proposal would almost always be private — shared between the two Dwarves alone, without spectacle or audience.

Once joined, marriage is for life. Dwarves do not take second spouses, and they marry only once — if at all.

Ever at your service, The Dwarrow Scholar