#thrór's family

[mrkida-art]

The tears of a king who was crowned far too soon

[lathalea]

The Arrival

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The memory of her bare skin in candlelight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She will be here soon. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[gloomwitchwrites]

Spiced Wine

Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: brief alcohol use, dancing, fluff, romantic tension

Word Count: 2.2k

During a winter festival, you dance with a stranger.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist

Winter is knocking on the door.

There is a thin dusting of snow upon the ground. All of Erebor and Dale is out this evening with little regard for the chill. The solstice begins tonight and with it comes the changing of the season along with celebrations to mark the end of the harvest.

You stand just outside Erebor’s massive doors. A large crowd enters, seeking the warmth within the dwarven halls. King Thrór is hosting a massive feast full of food, lively music, and dancing. While Erebor is the host, all of Dale is invited, and that also includes many of the surrounding communities.

This will be your first time entering the dwarven kingdom, and you’re nervous. Sweat blooms in your palms, and you aren’t sure whether you should see this through or turn tail and go home.

But if you return home, you will be alone, and you’re sick of being alone.

Your life in Dale is pleasant, and you enjoy working in one of the few bookshops, but it is almost always only you. Most of your family is gone or dwelling in faraway places. There is only you to rely on, and over the last few years, more and more of the men in Dale have been…forward with their intentions.

Their attention is nice, but it’s also exhausting. Every time the bell over the door rings, you expect it to be a customer. Most of the time it’s one of the many single men wishing to speak with you. You have to put on a smile and get through it as best you can.

You want to enjoy yourself tonight, even though you’d rather return home. Fortunately, you haven’t noticed any of your admirers, and you’re silently thankful for it. The last thing you need this evening is to chase off your group of men. They’ll follow you around, and then everyone else will avoid you.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you turn your nerves to steel, and walk through the massive entryway and into the main hall of Erebor. You follow the crowd, moving with them as they veer to the right, entering through several small archways.

As you near, you spot several tables. There are masks resting upon the wood in little rows, and you silently thank all the gods you know. Walking up to the nearest one, you consider your options. Before you is a beautiful assortment, each mask unique and different. The craftsmanship is exceptional. You settle on a gold mask that will cover everything but your eyes and mouth.

Securing it in place, you feel much lighter than before. With the mask, your flock of men will not find you, and even if they do, they might not realize that it is you that they’ve found. From there, you become one with the crowd, walking beneath more arches until you’re herded into the grand banquet hall.

The walls, ceiling, and floor are all made of smooth stone. The ceiling is high, and the pillars that support it are intricately carved with the images of dwarven kings from ages before. Hanging from the ceiling are strands of lights and different flora from around the area that thrive in the frigid temperatures. Those same plants are also around the room in various arrangements and displays.

The large room is separated into two sections. On one side is the food and drink. There are long tables there as well. People gather around the tables of food and near the massive barrels where people fill their cups. A good many attendees are also seated at the long banquet tables where they talk amongst themselves while they eat. The other side of the room hosts the music and people dancing.

Everything is warm and comforting. With the mask, you’re beginning to relax. You can do this. Walk the room, chat with a few people, eat some delicious food, and partake in a glass or two of strong drink. Then, you can return home, and curl up in bed with a book as the snow falls.

Starting at one end, you do a small lap, eventually making it to the large casks where people fill their cups. You delicately reach for a goblet and present it to one of the dwarves who guards the taps.

“What will it be, lassie?” he asks with a kind smile. His wrinkles crinkle when he grins.

“What do you have?”

“Well,” he begins. “There are lots of options, but there is spiced wine that just came in. It’s strong, flavorful, and filling. You won’t need much to make your toes warm.”

You laugh. “That sounds lovely.” You hand him your cup and watch as he fills it almost to the top. “Thank you.”

You take the cup and bring it to your lips. The flavor bursts on your tongue and your shoulders sag with happiness.

“Good, isn’t it?”

You nod and lightly wipe at the corner of your mouth. “Indeed. Many thanks.” He inclines his head and starts speaking with a new guest.

As you step away, you sense a change, as if someone were watching you. Pausing, you scan the room, making sure to not appear obvious in your observation. Has one of the many bachelors from Dale noticed you? Do they see you at this moment?

When you don’t notice anyone staring, you push out into the crowd, doing slow sweeps with the turn of your head. Still, nothing and no one grabs your attention. Frowning, you stick to the perimeter, stopping to chat with a few people you know.

Deja, the woman who runs the flower shop next to the bookstore you work in, leans against a nearby pillar. A man has her cornered, talking her ear off, and she’s not even paying attention. Finding your in, you saddle up beside the man.

“Deja! I’ve been looking for you!”

At first, she frowns, but then she grins mischievously and grabs your outstretched hand. The man sways a bit, and nods in confusion, stumbling off to find another woman to talk at.

“Didn’t recognize you under that mask,” she laughs, the two of you making a home against the wall.

“Trying to avoid notice,” you reply, sipping on your wine.

She snorts and leans in. “I don’t think you’re successful.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

She points her chin to a spot across the room. You follow the direction and immediately freeze. There is someone watching you. It’s one of the dwarves and the finery he wears is a deep royal blue. Interwoven into the fabric are threads of silver and metalwork that speaks to influence. He wears a silver mask that matches all that detail work. His dark hair is neatly braided, and pulled back, but you notice the soft waves and the way he holds himself.

“You’re mistaken,” you laugh nervously, this time taking a large gulp of your drink.

Deja shakes her head. “Then why is he heading this way?”

“He isn’t,” you insist, and Deja laughs loudly.

“Hand me your drink.”

“What?”

Deja snatches the cup right out of your grasp. “He’s going to ask you to dance.”

You’re about to snap back, but Deja is right. He is right there in front of you and Deja is walking away quickly, enjoying your spiced wine.

“May I ask for a dance?” The stranger presents his hand, palm upward. The rough timbre of his voice is surprising. Your body responds to it, a small piece of you buzzing with pleasure.

Maybe it’s the spiced wine finally making its way into your system. “Of course,” you answer, taking his presented hand.

Your stranger leads you out into the group of dancers. The song that begins is slightly upbeat, and you allow him to take the lead. It is a song and dance you are not familiar with, but he makes it easy to keep up, and you don’t stumble over your feet or his.

His control is impressive. Elegant, but strong. Purposeful. There is power in every step, as if he is in battle and not moving through a coordinated dance.

“I do not know your name,” he says, spinning you into his arms.

You move away, and for some odd reason, your body doesn’t like that you do. It wants you to curl back into him. It is such a strange sensation.

“And I do not know yours,” you tease, not knowing where this sudden flirtatiousness is coming from. Is it from the wine? Surely not. You didn’t even drink half of it. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re wearing a mask, and he is a stranger. There are no stakes.

The music cuts out, and then the two of you are face to face. Mere inches apart.

The music swells and begins a slower tune.

“Another? So that I may know your name?” He asks so kindly. You cannot refuse him.

Nodding, you allow him to slip an arm around your waist and pull you close. You lick your lips, preparing to give him your name, but notice how his blue eyes track the movement of your tongue. It sends an immediate heat to the space between your legs.

You give him your name, and he hums softly like it pleases him to hear it.

“I am Thorin,” comes his reply. He looks expectant, as if waiting for some sort of reaction, but the name isn’t entirely familiar. There is a slight sense of knowing, but it escapes you.

Perhaps the wine is doing more than you previously thought.

“It’s a pleasure.” You bow slightly, and you notice a bit of color blooming near the edges of his cheeks.

The two of you slowly move with the crowd of dancers. His hand on your waist is like a brand. It is hot, as if melting through the fabric of your dress to touch your skin. It feels like a new crush, like one you had when you were younger, and your emotions ran wild.

While the hand on your back is fiery, Thorin’s strength is palpable. The way he guides you across and around the dancefloor is a testament to that. Even wearing such finery, you see the ripple of muscle underneath. Your own hand, which rests on his shoulder, also clearly picks up on his strength.

There are plenty of men in Dale who are warriors. Several of them even actively pursue you. So why is Thorin any different? Why is your body responding to him like it’s as natural as breathing?

At this point, you cannot put it all on the wine. Maybe it’s because you don’t feel pursued, nearly hunted down every day. He is not pushing, and that is a welcome respite from the many months of men wearing you down, hoping that you’ll simply give in.

“You are from Dale?” he asks, guiding the two of you into a turn.

“Yes. I run a bookshop there.”

He smiles and you instantly melt, loving the attention. “You’re a reader then?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“When I have the time, I do enjoy it. Yes.”

The people around you fall into a dip and Thorin responds in kind. When he brings you back up, your foreheads are nearly touching, and your mouths could easily close the distance if one of you made the first move.

Perhaps it’s only a second, but the two of you hang there in that moment. Close, but not closing the distance. Thorin’s blue eyes are piercing. Sharp. They are like steel swords. You are cut through, down to your core, and you are unable to look away.

The music tapers off, but Thorin does not pull away. He does not remove his arm from around your waist. And you do not remove your hands from him.

“I should go,” you murmur, but make no move to break contact.

“Should you?” asks Thorin, his head tipping to the side as he examines you.

And you do draw back from him, even though it’s painful. Thorin releases you, but remains unmoving, his hands slightly outstretched before him as if you’ll step right back into them.

“Thank you. You’re a lovely partner to dance with,” you say just as the music begins to swell again.

Thorin bows deeply, and the gesture momentarily steals your breath.

“Enjoy your books. Perhaps you may find me amongst your shelves one day.”

He turns and leaves, disappearing into the crowd. Turning on your heel, you bolt for the door, your chest heaving as your heart hammers.

Deja steps into your path and her hands grab your shoulders. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes,” and you almost choke on your answer.

She frowns, her brow creasing. “Did he hurt you?”

“No!”

She sighs, her relief spreading across her face. “Oh, thank goodness.” Deja releases your shoulders and places her hands on her hips. “I’d end up in Erebor’s dungeons for assaulting the crown prince if he had.”

“The what?” you splutter, eyes round and alert as you turn around to look for Thorin.

“Did you not know?” asks Deja skeptically.

You swallow, and don’t answer.

“By the gods,” laughs Deja. “What did he say to you?”

Gripping the front of your dress, you turn back to Deja. “He said he might come to the shop.”

Her eyes widen a moment before a mischievous grin spreads across her face. “He likes you.”

“Don’t say that,” you hiss.

Her laugh is loud as she grabs your wrist and guides you to the exit. Tucking her arm around yours, she pulls you in close. “You’re giving me detail of this encounter.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

[basil--and--sage]

This is for @hobartsaglet, who asked for a headcanon list about how the company would respond to a trans person.

Oh boy, what can I say, this got long. (more than 3k words, oh well)

I love trans stuff and I’m also currently writing a super long fic about Fíli’s life, starting in the Blue Mountains, and he’s a trans guy in the fic. So, I have a lot of thoughts about trans Dwarves in general and also about the reaction of the company.

If this is your cup of tea, proceed!

A short info: I will use terms like afab/amab, mtf/ftm and such in the following text. Usually, I am not a big fan of those words, since they focus so much on the gender assigned at birth, but for better readability I will use them. Just so you know :)

The reaction of the company to a trans person will be connected to the opinion on trans people in the Dwarven society in general, at least to a certain point. So, I’d like to share some thoughts about that, before we get into the reactions of the company.

I read a lot of great fics with a very open-minded Dwarven society (and I loved it). In such a scenario it is fair to assume that the company would react quite positively.

But what if the Dwarven society is not as open-minded? In this scenario it is important to also think about how minorities in general are treated. What about sexism?

Since I’m currently working so much on my fic, these headcanons are strongly coloured by it. Let’s get started:

The general view on trans people in the Dwarven society:

A common headcanon in the fandom is the idea that the Dwarves are per se male-dominated in the way that there are more male Dwarves than female, as an explanation for the slow decline of the number of Dwarves in general. Let’s take a quota of one Dwarrowdam in five Dwarves.

What does that mean for the role of female Dwarves? There is probably a strong focus on childbirth, so it is expected for a lass to marry a Dwarrow and have a few children. The birth of a little lass could be seen as a gift to secure the family line, since the likelihood for a son to be able to marry one of the rare Dwarrowdams and produce some offspring with her, is statistically lower. 

This means it is probably quite the issue, if a Dwarrowdam does not want to marry/is dedicated to her craft (=asexual)/does not want to have children/prefers females/or – turns out to be male after all (=a trans guy), who does not want to birth children.

Another important aspect: the role of Mahal as the Maker in Dwarven society. If the Dwarves in general think, that each one of them was made by Mahal himself, what consequences does it have, if one of them declares themself a different gender (=comes out as trans)? Is that accepted? Or seen as a form of blasphemy?

In case of the latter, we now have two factors working together: coming out as trans as a general threat to core believes, and also a difference between the reaction towards amab and afab people.

Another factor: the consequences of tragedies, especially for the Longbeards, like the loss of the Dwarven Kingdom in the Grey Mountains (which results in the return of the Dwarves to Erebor, under the reign of Thrór), the loss of Erebor, and the battle of Azanulbizar. I think, it is fair to assume that the Longbeards lost such a high number of people that the pressure to have children may be a lot stronger than in other clans, who faced less loss. This will also shape the way minorities are treated, and now we are back at the trans Dwarves.

After the loss of the Grey Mountains and the return to Erebor under the reign of Thrór, no Dwarf willing to work can be spared. Maybe being trans was a punishable offense in the past (due to the blasphemy), which could have led to banishment, but now there is such a demand for workers that Thrór probably changed some laws and now, all of a sudden, being trans isn’t a crime anymore. Although, that obviously doesn’t change the views of the public immediately.

Another question: is there a difference between different groups within society, for example the nobles and the working class (e.g. miners)? Since titles and such are not of importance in the working class, it’s fair to assume that the miners etc. are a lot less strict about the doings of their lasses, though there’s probably still a certain expectation for Dwarrowdams to marry a Dwarrow and have a bunch of Dwarflings. But it is probably not seen as a catastrophe, if the lass in question turns out to be dedicated to her craft, prefer Dams, or comes out as a trans guy.

Since the working class, especially the miners, are all the way down in the line of payment (they do most of the work, but most of the earnings go to the mine owners), it is probably common for Dams to work to provide for the family and only halt work during pregnancy and childbed, which means that gender roles per se are less strict in the working class. Female nobles, on the other hand, probably focus on marriage (which might be politically motivated) and children, since they have the line of their own families and the one of their husbands to secure. In this scenario, the coming out of the sole daughter as a trans guy must be seen as a lot more threatening.

After focusing on afab trans people, let us look at amab trans people. Since in this scenario Dwarrows are a lot more common, it is probably more accepted for them to be dedicated to their craft (=asexual) or to marry other male Dwarves. This might mean that they have in general more freedom how they live their lives, which could also mean that a son coming out as a trans gal is less seen as a catastrophe in comparison to afab people, though it’s probably still not easy, due to factors like the influence of Dwarven religion, and even more so in noble families.

If we look at the nobles in the company, all of them appear to be warriors (alongside their crafts), which could mean in conclusion that it is in general expected for noble sons to become fierce warriors, so noble parents are probably not thrilled, if their son comes out as a trans gal, especially, if she wishes to focus on marriage and such.

So, in conclusion:

If “a lass declares herself a lad” (=comes out as a trans guy), this is often seen as a tragedy, but somewhat tolerated (though not happily), as long as the lad in question is still willing to make use of Mahal’s gift (=wed and have children). If the lad in question refuses this, it is seen as a shame, similar to a cis lass, who refuses to have children, especially in noble families.

If “a lad declares himself a lass” (=comes out as a trans gal), the reactions are probably a lot milder due the to the lack of Dwarrowdams, but especially noble parents are still not thrilled, since sons are expected to be warriors, a path which is usually only available to lads.

Nonbinary people are treated accordingly, with an unfortunate focus on the gender they were assigned at birth with. This is obviously a very unpleasant and distressing situation for the nonbinary Dwarf in question, so they have a hard time.

I like to think, that Thorin follows his grandfather’s example and doesn’t criminalize being trans, since a) he does strike me as a kind person in general (if he isn’t on a quest of life and death), and b) he is probably also in no position to banish a Dwarf willing to work, since Thorin’s Hall (=their city in the Blue Mountains) is still rather young. Imagine the scenario of for example one of the few midwives coming out as trans. No way Thorin is going to kick them out of the city.

So, all in all: being trans is not a crime anymore for more than two hundred years (since Thrór returned to Erebor from the Grey Mountains), which means that the amount of disapproval in society probably also softened, though it is still frowned upon, especially in noble families and especially for afab people, which means that noble afab trans people have the most difficulties. As you can see, the view on trans people in this scenario is influenced by several factors like gender roles, sexism, spiritualism, social station, historic tragedies and such.

And now, with that in mind, let’s deal with the actual question: how does Thorin’s Company react to a trans person?

(if you made it this far, despite my verbose rambling, you have my deepest respect, lmao)

Thorin:

As the crown prince and heir, he received a very traditional upbringing in Erebor, which results in quite conservative opinions towards the role of Dwarrowdams and trans Dwarves in general. He still follows his grandfather’s example, and so it is not illegal to be trans in Thorin’s Hall, and one can even go to the city hall and change their name there.

His motto is: “Even if we do not agree with the choices of our fellow Dwarves, we will accept them and value their contribution to our society.”

That is all he will say about the topic and keep his own opinion to himself. Following this mantra, he will treat a trans member of the company with politeness and put a stop to any conflicts due to the subject matter, though he will keep his distance.

But what now, if a loved one comes out as trans? Like Fíli in my fic?

He’s struggling. He searches for a reason, probably blames himself, and has a very hard time in general. At the same time, the coming out explains so much, especially how unhappy the loved one in question has been for a long time. So, he shifts between his conservative views and the affection for his loved one, and in the end, he tolerates it, even if he is not pleased about it. He also does anything in his power to make things easier for the person, since he doesn’t want them to suffer anymore, though there would be a lot of very uncomfortable discussions about the topic in the beginning, with Thorin probably hoping that they change their mind and everything returns to ‘normal’.

But with some time, I think, he will truly come around, especially if we are indeed talking about his nephews, whom he loves very much. And one day, he will suddenly pause and realize that he isn’t bothered by it anymore and his own struggle in the past seems very far away. He then seeks to talk with the person and apologizes for his negativity in the beginning, and also works on repairing their relationship, since he is aware that he caused a lot of hurt with his behaviour.

Balin:

Balin lived through so many hardships that he early on started to question the values he was taught as a lad. As far as he can tell, everybody is just looking for a way to find happiness in a bleak world, and why would he make it any harder for them than it already is?

So, he’s very accepting, not matter if we are talking about a new person he meets or about a loved one.

Dwalin:

Dwalin might appear very intense in the beginning, but is actually a rather chill guy, when you get to know him better (at least to a certain degree. Let’s not talk about Elves). He doesn’t really care about what other people do in their private lives and has a similar opinion like his brother, especially after the horrors of Azanulbizar.

“Aye, what does that mean now? What words do I use, when I talk about you? Uh-huh, uh-huh. Alright.”

And that’s it.

Fíli:

I love the headcanon of Fíli being a trans guy, because it brings some suspense into the line of succession, since afab people are (in this scenario) usually not in line for the throne, but Fíli is better suited to be King than Kíli (especially in Kíli’s opinion), and it would also challenge Thorin’s views. Would he accept Fíli to the extent that he would declare him his heir? And if so, how is the process of getting there? Lots and lots of interesting questions!

And as a cis dude meeting a trans person for the first time?

He is slightly confused about it, but like Dwalin he just approaches them (with a puzzled Kíli looming behind him) and listens carefully. He accepts it and probably smooths the waters silently in the background with the less tolerant members of the company, so that it wouldn’t become a big deal.

Kíli:

If the trans person is Fíli? 100% accepting, even before he actually understands what is going on. He just wants his sibling to be happy. And if anybody says anything against it? The lad will throw hands. He’s also very excited to help pick out a new name for his sibling. (“It has to end with -li, so everybody knows we belong together!”)

And with every other person? Very confused in the beginning. Like always, he sends his brother ahead to nose out the unknown situation, before he swoops in with friendly curiosity.

At one point, his questions probably get way too private, but after Fíli tells him so, he’s embarrassed and apologizes. It is easy to forgive him, since he doesn’t mean any harm, and also, surprisingly, turns out to be most considerate one of the whole company (aside from Óin), for example with the bathing arrangements and such.

Though he would be really mystified in the beginning.

(“Fíli… psst!, Fíli! … this is so confusing. What… what if I turn out to be a lass?”

“Then you just happen to be one and I will love you all the same and stab everybody teasing you about it. And now shut up and go to sleep.”)

He also takes joy in correcting people using the wrong name or pronouns, to the point that everybody is annoyed, but Kíli has a great time.

Óin:

As a healer and midwife, he meets a lot of people with very different lives everyday and is known to be accepting, so a lot of the trans population of Thorin’s Hall goes to Óin, when they have a medical issue. He will treat them with respect, and he is also very discreet. (Here are more Óin headcanons)

Glóin:

He has a hard time. He doesn’t understand, why anyone would question Mahal’s decision to make them the way they are. He doesn’t attack anybody, but he keeps his distance. He’s also very annoyed, because Kíli corrects him loudly, whenever he gets it wrong.

Until he suddenly doesn’t mind anymore, because at one point he finally understands that it isn’t such a big deal, and they are just a person like everybody else. Then he starts to be surprisingly protective.

ftm/mtf: “Oi! That is our lad/lass, you are talking about!”

nb: “Oi, that is our – our – our what now? – our person you are talking about!”

(he a little confused, but he got the spirit)

Dori:

Dori is very proper and values good manners, so he’s very respectful about the whole affair and takes great care to use the right pronouns and the right name. His own private opinion is not important and also stays a mystery.

He likes to judgingly side-eye everybody, who gets it wrong. (with Kíli cheerfully correcting them in the background)

Nori:

I love to headcanon Nori as trans.

And if he’s cis? He doesn’t give a shit, since his own concept of gender is kind of casual. He doesn’t think in categories like male or female. Everybody is the same to him: a wandering wallet waiting to be pickpocket.

Ori:

He’s very excited, since he recently read interesting literature about the history of “the ones, who change their path” (=trans people), and would love to talk about the topic in depth. The trans person is probably slightly overwhelmed at one point, but he’s very sweet about it and means well, and he also dishes out very subtle digs at anybody, who’s not nice about it.

Bifur:

He listens carefully and then he signs: “Tell me, if I get it wrong.”

Though he doesn’t, not even once.

If there are bad reactions, Bifur dislikes that very much, since he knows how it is to be dismissed due to his injury. He gives the rude person a bombastic stink-eye, while sneaking the trans person little things, like berries he picked, to lift their mood.

Bofur:

Another one I love to headcanon as trans.

And as a cis dude: Everyone knows Bofur and Bofur knows everyone, and so he also knows quite a lot of trans people. So, he’s not confused in the slightest, and just very casually accepts it.

Bombur:

He’s accepting, but very nervous, since he doesn’t want to get it wrong and offend anybody. Unfortunately, he’s so nervous, he accidently gets everything wrong, one can get wrong, and is mortified about it. He apologizes profusely.

After a few days he gets used to it and calms down, and then it is not a big deal anymore.

Bilbo:

Bilbo appears to have never heard about trans people before and listens attentively. He’s very polite and respectful about it.

At one point he suddenly talks about his one uncle, “who used to be an aunt”. The Dwarves are like, “And why the fuck did we had to explain it in such detail, if you already knew about it?”

Bilbo stuffs his pipe, shrugs, and says: “One can never be careful enough about cultural differences.”

Gandalf:

He’s very accepting.

He also says something very obscure about life in general, while smoking his pipe and staring meaningful into the distance. Then he says something even more confusing about the genders of wizards, before wandering off into the fog to not be seen for the next few days without another word.

Afterwards everybody is very puzzled and wonders, what that was now supposed to mean. 

And that's it! Sorry for the long wait. It got longer than expected and I also got a little self-conscious about it, since there are already so many great headcanons about trans Dwarves, but maybe someone still finds some enjoyment in my take :)

[sotwk]

Historical Event in the SotWK AU:

The (Non)Involvement of Thranduil in the Sack of Erebor

Could Thranduil have helped kill Smaug and save Erebor?

Disclaimer: The content in this post is mostly headcanon created for the SotWK AU, founded on canon details from the books and movies.

Context: Timeline of Thranduil's History in the Third Age

c. TA 1000-2000 - Thranduil, his family, and their people spend one thousand years fighting and enduring against the rise of Dol Guldur and the darkness and evil creatures that have infested and overrun the southern regions of Greenwood the Great.

Alas, by TA 2000:

Nearly all the woodlands south of the Old Forest Road had been abandoned.

The Woodland Realm's population had been reduced to nearly half of the great number it reached during the Golden Age of Thranduil's rule.

Many Silvans were killed by the onslaught of spiders, orcs, and other dark creatures or poisoned by the sick forest itself (air, water, food). A few even faded from grief and despair, which never before happened to the resilient Silvans.

The Silvans' famously high birthing rate dropped to nearly zero, leading to a "lost generation" and fears of gradual extinction.

TA 2063 - Crown Prince Mirion dies in direct combat against the Necromancer, resulting in Thranduil's vengeful razing of the fortress (SotWK HC), and the Council of the Wise's investigation (through Gandalf), all of which forces Sauron to abandon Dol Guldur. This begins the period known as the Watchful Peace. 

During the 400 years of the Watchful Peace, the Silvans regain hope and courage, and with that, their ability and desire to have children again.

TA 2210 - Thorin I abandons Erebor to join his kin in the Grey Mountains in TA 2210. The Lonely Mountain is abandoned for three-hundred and eighty years. 

TA 2460 - The Watchful Peace ends. Sauron returns with increased strength to Dol Guldur.

TA 2509 - Princess Itarildë’s mother, Nimeithel (oc), dies trying to defend her cousin Celebrían from the Orcs. Lady Celebrían sails to the Undying Lands the following year, and Queen Maereth is devastated by the loss of her two dearest friends.

TA 2589 - When their halls in the Grey Mountains come under attack by Cold-drakes, Prince Arvellas dies attempting to aid the Dwarves (defying his father's orders for the only time in his life). Dáin I and younger brother Frór are both slain, and Thrór inherits the kingship.

TA 2590 - King Thrór returns to Erebor with the Arkenstone to re-establish the Kingdom under the Mountain. Thrór's younger brother Grór leads others to the Iron Hills.

TA 2601 - Prince Turhir leaves Mirkwood, unable to cope with the trauma and guilt over his brothers' deaths. (Further details withheld to avoid fic spoilers.) His departure strains Thranduil and Maereth's marriage in a way it has never suffered before.

TA 2746 - Thorin (Oakenshield) is born in Erebor. Maereth sends gifts to honor the birth of the new prince, in an attempt to heal the friendship with the House of Durin that was broken after Arvellas's death. The gifts are accepted, but the rekindled friendship remains tenuous, especially since Thranduil has lost his desire to remain allies with the Dwarves he holds responsible for Arvellas's death.

TA 2760 - The continuing strain on their marriage forces Maereth and Thranduil to agree they need time apart. Maereth leaves Mirkwood to reside in Imladris for several years. (This is the only separation they have in the 2,900 years of their marriage.)

TA 2765 - Thranduil (trying to prove to his willingness for peace with the Dwarves again, as Maereth wants of him) commissions the jewel-smiths of Erebor to make a necklace from the White Gems of Lasgalen. However, when he comes to claim the finished necklace, he is turned away by Thrór, who (under the influence of dragon-sickness) claims that the gems were ill-begotten treasure from Khazad-dûm, and belonged to the Durins by birthright. Thranduil holds in his anger at the insult and does not press the matter, not wishing to completely sever the alliance that means so much to his wife.

TA 2770 - Smaug lays waste to the town of Dale and captures Erebor with all of its treasure.

tldr: Thranduil was not at his best when Smaug came to attack Erebor. He had many problems of his own, and he had very legitimate grievances against Thrór and his kin.

Unfortunately, Thrór was never forthcoming with his grandson, Thorin, about the deep history between the Durins and Thranduil's family, so as far as Thorin and his people believed, the Elvenking and his family just "lacked all honor". Nothing could have been further from the truth.

How did Thranduil react upon hearing of the attack?

The Elvenqueen was still in Imladris during the attack, and was therefore not present to give Thranduil council. Because of their separation, Maereth's mind was closed off to Thranduil's, and so she could not be reached through ósanwe. The younger princes, Gelir and Legolas, lacked the ability to telepathically communicate across that great a distance.

It was Gelir and Legolas who pushed their father to ride out with their army to help the Dwarves. Even though the bitterness of Arvellas's death still remained, Thranduil heeded his sons.

They had a solid plan to kill Smaug.

Thranduil had fought against fire-breathing dragons during the War of Wrath, and he knew what it would take to kill one: nothing short of a hero's self-sacrifice.

There was one weapon in Mirkwood that was surely powerful enough to pierce dragon hide and flesh: the great broadsword (or claymore) of the late Crown Prince Mirion.

Mirion's sword was forged by the prince himself (he was the best bladesmith in the realm), and was made from a special steel sourced from Khazad-dûm centuries before its fall. (Thranduil's sword was made from this same steel, which was also crafted by Mirion and given to his father as a gift.)

The sword was so large and heavy, only three people were known to be able to wield it: Mirion, Thranduil, and Turhir. Only Mirion had the strength and sufficient practice to wield it single-handed when needed.

Therefore, any attack using the sword would have to be carried out by the Elvenking himself.

For reference, Mirion's broadsword is about as massive as "Ice", Ned Stark's Valyrian sword from Game of Thrones.

In order to defeat Smaug, Thranduil's strategy would have been to attack the dragon himself with the sword. Gelir, Legolas, and the rest of his army would provide enough diversion to allow the Elvenking to get close without being burned by dragonfire.

What actually happened during the attack?

Thranduil was gripped by indecision and did not act as soon as he received the news of Smaug's descent. He already knew that any action they take against the dragon would mean loss of life for his people, and that made him hesitate, which caused some delay.

But he DID gather his army, his last two sons (who refused to be left behind), and marched out with the intention of engaging.

However, once Thranduil saw with his own eyes he fiery wrath of Smaug and the destruction he was capable of, and sensed the dragon's greed and evilness, the reality of the situation and the weight of old memories crashed down on him full force.

He remembered how he almost died from dragonfire, how painful those burns were, and how long it took him to recover from the physical and emotional scars. (And he only survived due to Valinor-level healing!) Did he want his soldiers to suffer the same, even if they survived?

He remembered that he had already lost one son (Arvellas) to dragons, who gave his life to help these same Dwarves, and received little gratitude for it in return. Was he ready to risk his last two sons?

And lastly, Thranduil realized, with almost full certainly, that killing Smaug would cost him his life. Was he ready to leave his wife a widow, his sons fatherless, and grandson saddled with the burden of kingship in such dark times?

The answer to all those questions was NO. So he made the difficult decision to turn back.

Thranduil's real mistake (that you can fault him for. Maybe.)

An argument could be made that even if Thranduil didn't want to directly engage with Smaug, he could still have sent his army to shield the Dwarves of Erebor and the people of Dale and help them get to safety. Less civilian lives could have been lost.

They didn't have to completely turn around and go home. They could have still tried to to something--as his sons (especially Gelir) would argue later on.

However, at that point, Thranduil choked on his reluctance to risk anything any further, after everything his family and kingdom had already been through. His sons were especially chomping at the bit to slay the dragon, and things could have easily gotten out of hand if they stepped into the same field as Smaug.

By retreating completely, Thranduil eliminated all risk.

And yes, the bitterness of Thrór's treatment (those damn jewels), and the way Arvellas's death was handled (the Durins never properly honored the prince's sacrifice) still lingered. It certainly factored in the decision to (selfishly?) leave the Dwarves to their fate.

Thranduil HAD warned Thrór "of what his greed would summon", especially after the fatal attack of the cold-drakes on the Grey Mountains. And Thrór certainly did not listen.

What was fair, then? How much responsibility still fell on Thranduil to help the Durins, given all these facts?

Aid was delivered in the aftermath; but the Dwarves considered it "too little, too late".

When Smaug had finally locked himself up in Erebor with his precious treasure, Thranduil did send out aid to the refugees of both Erebor and Dale. When Elvenqueen Maereth finally returned from Imladris, she spearheaded this effort.

Mind you, it's not like Mirkwood was swimming in excess resources at this time. But they still gave whatever they could to the thousands displaced, including medical aid, food and clothing, and even temporary shelter.

The men of Dale accepted the aid and help in finding new dwellings, including resettling in Esgaroth.

The Dwarves accepted the Elves' aid, but only to some extent.

Thrór wanted Thranduil to prove his allegiance by helping them to force Smaug out of the mountain, which of course Thranduil flatly refused to do.

The proud and angry Durins therefore declared him and his people faithless, and chose to move south to Dunland, instead of accepting Maereth's offer to help them rebuild near Mirkwood.

The Elvenqueen's final attempt to reconcile her family and people with the House of Durin would be during the War of the Dwarves and Orcs (TA 2793). However, her tragic death only worsened the divide between Thranduil and the House of Durin; we see this in Thorin's anger during his capture in the events of The Hobbit.

It all ends happily.

Healing and reconciliation would finally be achieved a century and a half later, during the Battle of Five Armies (TA 2941), where the Elves of Mirkwood play a role in saving the lives of King Thorin and his nephews. Once Erebor is reclaimed by the Durins, the two kingdoms become fierce allies and remain so for the rest of their histories.

(Yes, the SotWK AU is proud to be a Durins Live AU. <3 )

This HC post was written in response to an Anonymous request for a "Family Historical Event" submitted back in July 2023.

For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @acornsandoaktrees @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @fizzyxcustard @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @quickslvxrr @spacecluster @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Fanfiction Masterlist

Fanfiction Request Guidelines

[rachelillustrates]

I am once again asking you to check out Sansûkh by @determamfidd .

Still in (but almost done with!) my recent Bagginshield study of the amazing tale linked above, and was struck with the need to draw Bilbo having tea with Thorin’s mother, the lady Frís, daughter of Aís, Princess Under the Mountain and wife of Thráin. At one point, she literally drags Thorin off for a tea break and he remarks (internally) on the similarity of the treatment! She is a powerhouse, too, and I love her, so here we go.

Her bio, from the author’s notes on the fic:

“Frís was the daughter of a wealthy Guildmaster, Folgar, and his musician wife Aís. She did not have the height of the great Longbeard families, being only 4’4”. Her hair was wheat-gold, and her eyes a very striking blue. She was exceptionally intelligent, very perceptive and shrewd, but also extremely compassionate. Her craft was wire-working, and she also made strings and cords for instruments. She married Thráin son of Thrór quite young and bore three children, the two eldest of which inherited her blue eyes. Her great joy was her harp, a joy she passed on to her oldest son Thorin and her daughter Dís (her middle child, Frerin, preferred the fiddle). Frís was killed when the dragon attacked Erebor in 2770 TA.”

(Also, my take on her based on both @jeza-red ’s design and @fishfingersandscarves’ design for @sansukhcomic )

This piece also protected by Glaze again 💜

(This may be the last piece that I give the photographing-with-stuff treatment, though, as much as I like how I’ve brought that style of presentation together, over the years. I actually enjoy the slight distortion that the Glaze treatment gives my scanned pieces, being a vibe-cousin of when you can see the texture of the paper in my work, imho. But as much as it doesn’t ruin the perception of the piece, the process feels more noticeable to me in this presentation, so everything from here on out might be scanned instead. We shall see. Either way, I am not going without it. I can’t undo what work of mine has already been stolen by AI software, but the peace of mind – even if its a temporary one – that applying Glaze gives me is priceless. So, again, thank you thank you thank you everyone on the Glaze team.)

~

Bonus art and stories ~ Prints, comics and more!

[ironfoot-mothafocka]

Blood-bond For @mrkida-art, and their inspired love of the Grey Mountains Crew.

Young Grór considers what it is to have a friend. Prince used as a gender-neutral term for dwarven royalty.

—

“There! Over there!” Grór, whose eyes had been slowly drifting shut, staggered to her feet and loped over to Ixil. The Stiffbeard had piss-poor eyesight; though a swing from their hammer could crush an auroch in twain, Grór still didn’t understand the point of putting him on watch duty. “No,” the dwarf prince intoned slowly, “that looks to be some kind of avalanche on a distant peak.” Ixil puffed out his chest and arched his eyebrow at the dwarrowdam. “Well — looked like it could have been a drake!” Grór shot him a withering stare. “Everything looks like a drake to you. Like that time you called out the guards from their dinner time because you spotted a very large eagle?” Ixil bumped Grór with his hip and the prince crashed into the side of the guard-tower wall. She gave as good as she got, though, and kneed her companion in the shin with the steel toe of her boot. “It was a very large eagle,” Ixil grumbled, wiping mud from his leg and staring at the ground.

At least Grór was awake now. The chill wind blew down her collar and tousled her long, auburn hair, tossing the thick waves beyond her shoulders. She picked up her axe and leaned heavily against it, eyes streaming with the cold as she stared outwards. Nothing ever happened here. Character building, King Dáin said it was. There was no nobler cause than to watch the endless stretch of grey, snow-capped mountains. Remember Scatha, the worm? Remember how the foul beast almost took the dwarves unawares? They’re breeding like rabbits, faster than our worm-hunters can flush them out. Two of them sacked Ugzarak less than a year afore now, and the rest and coming for us. Are you marking my words, Grór? She could hear her father’s words to her now, rattling around inside her head. They had all been on high alert since one of the Stiffbeard’s holds, the northernmost hall in the lonely outcrop of Ugzarak, on the edge of the Red Mountains, had been waylaid by two particularly nasty worms. More than a thousand had managed to flee, some of them picked off by cold and hunger, but a good many refugees came to settle in Ered Mithrin.

She remembered it as though it had only happened a month ago. Battered and weary dwarves, huddling around large fires which had been constructed deep in the mustering halls of the Grey Mountains, tended to their sick and vulnerable. It was the only respite they’d had for weeks, and the king had gone to each family in turn to ask of their welfare. Grór had hung back in the shadows, watching him silently. Prince Head-in-the-clouds Frór and Thrór called her. Bundushathûr, but less majestic and more scatterbrained than the lofty sacred peak. But Grór was one to watch, and study, and notice the subtleties of a dwarf’s interaction. It wasn’t that her head was in the clouds, but it was often elsewhere. She had noticed as her father lay a caring hand on a stranger’s yak-pelt covered back, to comfort shaking shoulders as they wept for their destroyed homeland. How he lifted an elderly dwarf, who was covered in blackened frostbite, from a makeshift bier and carried them to a soft bed. He had spent a long time tending to the dwarf, whose family had died along the way. Tender, calloused hands bandaged wounds, and the king shook his head when his aides called for him to leave. No — the doors of Thikil-gundu are always open for those in need. What am I, if not the host of this great house? Grór had watched her father until uncle Borin had scolded her for slacking. “Prince Head-in-the-clouds, at least be of use and fetch more bandages!”

Grór studied Ixil. He was squinting into the sunlight again, his raven-dark heavily braided hair wrapped around his head into elaborate patterns, decorated with an assortment of multi-coloured sparkling beads. His face was proud and calm, and he seemed to not have a care in the world, a strange tune rumbling from between his lips as he hummed in vague, broken notes. He had been one of those bruised, cold, tired dwarves who had fled on the back of sledges into the bitter winter. He’d lost family, watched friends die. And how had she helped? Mocked his eyesight and kicked him in the leg? Is that what her father would have done? Suddenly, she felt guilty.

“Hey — you,” she said awkwardly, sidling up next to him. Ixil smiled and covered his forehead with a hand almost as broad as hers, peering over against the sharp sunlight. “What?” What did she want to say? What could she possibly say? Anything that came into her head sounded too contrite. Too insincere. “I like you. I mean I… I’ve never really… except my brothers. But they’re not like you. It’s good to have a friend to talk to. Being on watch can get boring, I mean—” That definitely wasn’t what she’d wanted to say. Horrifically, she felt blood creeping into her cheeks and her eyes widen in embarrassment. She’d meant to tell Ixil that it was good to have him here, as a friend, and that she was pleased he made it to the stronghold after such a disaster. That she would be there for him and his people when he needed her. That she was a proud daughter of Durin’s Folk, and that she kept her oaths. Ixil smiled widely and shuffled a little closer. The wind was screaming at both of them, forcing them to take a step back under the tower roof and press in tighter. He laid his hand against her shoulder and squeezed it. “It is good to have you to watch with, as well. I may mistake everything I see for a dragon, but know that I’ll be ready to fight one, if one comes. You Longbeards took me in. I vow to defend your home until I lose my legs or my breath doing so.”

It took Grór a while to find her tongue after that. In the short time they had known one another, she’d discovered that Ixil was an uncompromising sparring partner and appreciated rude jokes at the mess-table as much as she did. But she was taken aback by the gravity of his words, as though her friend had suddenly grown a new face that she was noticing for the first time. She thrust her arm forwards and found his hand with hers. Their fingers were numb, but they interlocked them clumsily. “Grór, daughter of King Dáin, first of his Name, at your service.” “Ixil, son of Izbar, at yours and your family’s.” He didn’t look away. A fiery intensity, a resoluteness, smoldered deep in his eyes as Grór held his fingers so tightly she thought his hand would snap. Then they parted. Something between them had changed, or maybe something inside her had shifted forever. “I will still turn you into mulch when we next wrestle,” Ixil said lightly. Grór’s eyes narrowed at the wicked grin spreading across his face. “How much do you want to bet on that, Skinny-Arm of the Stiffbeard Clan?”

Perhaps some things would stay the same between them, after all.

[devilshalf]

Journey to the Past

Fandom: The Hobbit, Post Smaug and Pre-Quest

Characters: Dis/Vili(OC), Thorin, Balin/OC

Summary: A young dwarf with no memory of her past is on a journey to find her family when she meets a dashing young stranger who tells her how she has the same eyes as the long lost princess. Valiantly offering to take her to the royal family out of the goodness of his heart, and absolutely nothing to do with rewards.

There was a time, not so long ago, when dwarves lived in mountains filled with fine jewels and veins of gold so thick and long, they had yet to find an end. The year was 2770 and Thrór Son of Dáin was The King Under the Mountain, Ruler of the Seven Dwarven Kingdoms and Protector of Erebor. His line of succession was held strong in that of his son Thráin and grandson Thorin, it was a time of wealth and prosperity for all dwarves but none more than the royal family. The royal halls of Erebor were filled with every gem, gold flowed from their treasury even as they spent it on the most extravagant of parties; parties that could last for days with no reason at all. However, the feast for the King’s youngest grandchild’s tenth name day was said to be the most lavish one yet, merchants had flooded to Dale as even the race of man rejoiced. For you could ask any man, dwarf or even elf and they would all say the young Princess Dís shone brighter than any gem, her smile able to light up the darkest of mines with eyes so blue the seas envied her. She was loved throughout her kingdom, dotted on by every member of her family she loved them all back but held a special place in her heart for her brothers.

“Sister.” A voice caught the young girl’s attention, her long hair following behind as she spun to meet the voice of her eldest brother “This is for you, happy tenth name day.”

“Thank you Thorin!” She smiled gleefully as her little chubby hands clutched at the small box, opening it up her lips parted to reveal her gap-toothed grin “A new hair bead!” She squealed and passed it to her mother who was currently trying to get the young princess to hold still while she finished her hair.

“It is more than just a bead.” Thorin’s smile grew as he held out his hand for his sister to place the bead in, Frerin coming up beside them he offered out a neatly wrapped little parcel to his sister “It is a joint gift, go on open it.”

Dís’ eyes grew to the size of saucers when she revealed the intricately made golden box, she needed two hands to hold it and yet it would fit in her brothers without a problem. The runes carved along its edges their family symbols, a raven with a sapphire for its eye on the lid she adored every detail as her brothers mentioned having found the best music box maker in middle earth “A music box?” she gasped as Thorin inserted the bead she had just received, turning it thrice clockwise the lid opened and a sweet lullaby began; her mother’s voice behind her began to sing with the familiar melody.

“I love it!” Dís threw herself into both her brothers who stumbled down to the ground causing all three children to laugh.

“Come now. Off the floor, boys you will enter with your adad. Frerin no funny business, tonight is about your sister. You must all be on your best behaviour, the whole kingdom will be watching.” Their amad levelled a serious look to each of them before going to adjust their fathers’ medals, Frerin poking out his tongue at Dís who drooped her eyes and scrunched up her nose at him; Thorin shoving them both into place as their mother’s eyes darted back at them.

“The Royal Princess Freyja and the Young Princess Dís.” The herald announced their entrance, his voice carrying across the room of chattering royals and dignitaries, the entire ballroom of Erebor bursting at the seams with extravagant gold laced gowns, fur coats and bedazzled belts. Silence. The entire room flooded with awe as the mother and daughter stood together at the height of the stairs. The future queen was dressed in a pure gold gown with white gold jewels to accompany. Meanwhile, the little princess wore the opposite, a sheer dress of pure white had not one gold lacing or gem to hold it together. Instead the entirely plain tunic was the canvas for the jewels that covered her, bangles of gold attached to an intricately pattern mesh which covered her hands and hooked to her fingers, it made her hands glisten as she moved to pick up her skirt. The pair made their way down the stairs, Dís’ nose twitched with the movement as her nose ring which was covered in small sapphires had a fine strand of gold connecting it to the top of her ear; it moved with every step and tickled but she did not dare show the discomfort. Murmurs began to circle about her hair, the dark black hair of her father, which had her birthday gifts from her mother, fine strands of gold, laced into every braid. A sea full of people looked at her but the little girl only had eyes for one of them, for him, her father.

“Nâthuê kurdu” Her father, the crown prince of Erebor, bowed to his young daughter who giggled with joy as he offered his hand “Will you do me the honour?”

“Yes Adad.” Dís smiled sweetly, as he pulled her to the centre of the room, she looked around at the eyes on them as they waited for the music, so many eyes, it was the young girls first official ball and suddenly she wished to be back in her room playing with her toys.

“Look to me.” Dís looked up at her father, his gentle eyes soft and his smile reassuring as the music started, her father spinning her around she could not help the laugh that escaped her lips as others joined. She looked for her older brothers, Thorin pass with their mother, Frerin winked on his way pass as he had somehow managed to pull their grandmother from her throne, she seemed equally annoyed and pleased. Dís would not believe anyone could be happier. Then it happened. The King had been cautioned of what his greed would lure to the mountain, but all warnings were disregarded, all signs of the sickness that grew in him ignored until it was too late. It began with far off rumbles, at first thought to be a mine collapsed, but more followed and then the alarm as a voice bellowed out:

DRAGON

Dís had been with her father, he had held her so close to him she had barely been able to breathe as the people around them no longer noticing royal, noble or cook as all dwarves raced for any exit they could find. In the chaos Thorin found them when they all near collided into each other, blood stained his left leg as he clutched at it.

“Grandfather, a guard said he was going to the throne room.” Thorin panicked as his father grasped his forearms he steadied himself, he was a warrior, a prince; he could not panic.

“Thorin take your sister. Protect her. I will go back for the King.” Thrain looked to his children, Dís irrationally holding his coat a little harder

“Adad-“

“Go Nâthuê kurdu, stay close to your brother.” Thrain peeled her off him and pushed her into her brother’s arms which wrapped around her, Dís lashing slightly as she screamed for her Adad only for her screams to be drowned out by the roar of Smaug.

“Dís come. Come we must go.” Thorin wiped his own eyes as he grabbed his sister’s hand, they ran from the royal courtyard to descend the stairs when a tremble sent rocks the size of mammoths down upon them, Thorin pulling them both back just in time but the stair case was gone.

“Brother.” Dís whimpered to him as he looked around frantically, the next set of stairs was so far away and his leg burnt hot with pain.

“Prince! This way!” A voice called out, a young serving boy in plain clothes waved frantically at them over to the wall and upon pressing a firm hand a door opened “It’s the server’s staircase, take the third exit and you will be right by the main gate.”

“Wait my music box!” Little Dís cried out as she realised it had fallen from her coat pocket, but Thorin gave her no time to go after it as there was none to spare as the mountain was crumbling on top of them as that which stayed strong was set on fire.

“Dís come, we must go.” Thorin pulled her harder down the spiralling stairs, Dís certain she had never ran so fast in her life as the sunlight guided them out onto the bridge they all raced out sucking in the fresh air as smoke billowed from the mountain. They continued to run until Thorin slowed, he was looking up and he let go of Dís’ hand so he could wave, calling for the elves perched up on the ridge he called for them.

Dís, however, could not see them, she could not see a thing as the smoke stung her eyes, she stumbled back as one dwarf pushed past, she had only just been able to see the large ram hurdling towards her as she leapt back her heels hitting the barricade of the bridge. But it was not at its usual height. For if it had not been reduced on Smaug’s entrance she would have to lift herself up to even dare see over the ledge. But as the back of her legs hit the edge no further support came as her feet were launched into the air she screamed.

“Thorin!” She cried her tears only making her vision blurrier, but she could still see his figure as hands reached out for her until they clutched at one of her wrists, it was all she felt as she dangled above the raging waters below, she wiped her eyes to look at him to see the terror flood his own eyes as her little wrist slipped through the bangles.

“Dís!” He cried for her, and she watched as three dwarves stopped him from jumping in after her, terrified she screamed for him in hopes he would break free and rescue her. So many lives were destroyed that night, Erebor which had stood for so long was lost and the sweet Princess Dís was never seen again.

30 years later

“Name and reason for travel?”

“Aná and I am going home…I think.”

Translation from: https://islenthatur.wordpress.com/welcome/

Nâthuê kurdu – Daughter of my heart or My Daughter of Heart

[mrkida-art]

The young dwarflings Thrór and Frór having a dance party in Ered Mithrin

[bluepickle36]

The Real Story Of Azog

(because the hobbit movies screwed it up)

sourced from appendix a of return of the king

Years after the dwarves were driven out of the Lonely Mountain, Thrór (the grandfather of Thorin) gave to Thráin (his son) his Ring (the last of the Seven Rings given to the dwarves) and went away with a single companion, named Nár.

Thrór and Nár traveled to Moria and found the Gate open. Nár begged Thrór to be careful but Thrór disregarded him and walked "proudly in as an heir that returns." Nár hid nearby for many days waiting for him, but he didn't come back. One day Nár heard a "loud shout and the blare of a horn.... A body was flung out on the steps." Nár, afraid that it was Thrór, "began to creep near". A voice called from within the Gate, telling Nár that there was no need to be afraid; the Orcs wouldn't harm him, as they needed him to carry a message.

The body was indeed the corpse of Thrór. As Nár knelt beside it, he heard the Orcs laughing. The voice spoke again, warning that any other dwarves who snuck into Moria would be subject to the same treatment. This was the message Nár was to carry back to Thráin. The voice continued, "'If his family wish to know who is now king here, the name is written on his face. I wrote it! I killed him! I am the master!'"

The name branded on Thrór's brow was AZOG.

Nár went back to Thráin and told him what had happened. Thráin sent messengers north, east, and west, summoning the Dwarves to take their revenge for Thrór's death, but it was three years before they were fully mustered.

The Dwarves then went to war against the Orcs, "[hunting] for Azog in every den under mountain." Eventually they drove all the Orcs to Moria. "Out of the gates [of Moria] poured a multitude of Orcs that had been held back by Azog for the last need." The Orcs outnumbered the Dwarves and had the advantage of the higher ground. The Dwarves suffered great losses.

Another force of Dwarves arrived "late and fresh to the field" and drove through the Orcs to the gates of Moria, crying out Azog's name as they went. The leader of this force, Náin, challenged Azog.

"Thereupon Azog came forth, and he was a great Orc with a huge iron-clad head, and yet agile and strong." Azog fought with Náin and killed him. Azog lifted his voice in a cry of triumph, but when he looked up he saw his forces routed by the Dwarves.

Azog "fled back towards the Gate". Dàin Ironfoot chased him, caught him on the very threshold of the Gate, and cut off his head.

The Dwarves put the head of Azog on a stake.

[oakenbranch]

THE GOLD-SICKNESS OF THORIN;   A SHORT ESSAY.

seven rings [sauron] gave to the dwarves   [...]   the dwarves indeed proved tough and hard to tame;   they ill endure the domination of others,   and the thoughts of their hearts are hard to fathom,   nor can they be turned to the shadows.   they used their rings for only the getting of wealth;   but wrath and an overmastering greed of gold were kindled in their hearts   [...] the silmarillion,   OF THE RINGS OF POWER AND THE THIRD AGE.

long hours in past days thorin had spent in the treasury,   and the lust of it was heavy on him.   though he had hunted chiefly for the arkenstone,   yet he had an eye for many another wonderful thing that was lying there.     the hobbit,   CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

and already,   so strong was the bewilderment of the treasure upon [thorin],   he was pondering whether by help of dáin he might not recapture the arkenstone and withhold the share of the reward.     the hobbit,   CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

while sauron could not tame to his will the dwarves,   through his seven rings he kindled in the hearts of the bearers and their descendants a great desire for gold so long as they possessed their particular ring.   such is the tragedy that befell particularly the ruling descendants of the line of durin who treasured their ring and wore it age upon age.   the gold-sickness ran deep in thrór’s lineage.   thrór did not take off his ring save to present it to his son,   thráin, on the eve of the battle of azanulbizar   (2799 of the third age),   though the sickness and passing years had long-since robbed thrór of his ability to rule unhindered by his constant and greedy ruminations on gold and the acquiring of it,   which had tinged the last decade of his reign upon erebor’s throne and waned the formerly present good-will of his dwarf heart.   thráin had grown in the presence of the ring since birth,   sharing in his father’s gold-sickness as it too mounted steadily within him.   the ring was taken from thráin on the battlefield by azog the defiler,   and thus the last and mightiest of the dwarf rings was held once more by sauron.   remnants of the magical madness,   kindled yet dormant,   remained in thorin¹.

thrór’s love of gold had grown too fierce.   a sickness had begun to grow within him.   it was a sickness of the mind. THE HOBBIT TRILOGY FILMS.

“ a strain of madness runs deep in that family.   his grandfather lost his mind.   his father succumbed to the same sickness.   can you swear thorin oakenshield will not also fall? ” THE HOBBIT TRILOGY FILMS.

“ yes,   i’m afraid.   i fear for you.   a sickness lies upon that treasure hoard.   a sickness which drove your grandfather mad. ” THE HOBBIT TRILOGY FILMS.

“ dragon sickness.   i’ve seen it before.   the look, the terrible need.   it is a fierce and jealous love,   bilbo.   it sent his grandfather mad. ” THE HOBBIT TRILOGY FILMS.

dragon-sickness differs from gold-sickness in that the former is brought about because a dragon has long-brooded over gold now in the ownership of another.   the potency of a dragon’s greed is a cause of concern for all,   for few can shelter their hears from its hissing,   slithering call.   many become consumed by it,   while others find its effects,   though pervasive, fleeting².   the effects of dragon-sickness are alike to gold-sickness,   but more swift than the latter that has crept into the heart for decades.   in this way,   dragon-sickness can be more easily overcome,   but gold-sickness cannot be wholly cured once it has taken hold.   dwarves under the influence of such a madness   (whether slowly or suddenly)   let their greed for gold define them.   their thoughts,   their dreams,   and their actions are consumed by the want to see gold,   touch gold,   and gather gold,   ‘til such necessities such as eating,   drinking,   and sleeping no longer interest them.   they either flee with their gold (sometimes in search of more of it),   never to be seen again,   or die malnourished and sleep-less upon their hoard   (in some instances they may try to consumed the gold and jewels,   thus choking and destroying their insides).   one can either exacerbate or work in tandem with the other to pull the unfortunate dwarf into the throes of a hopeless gold-lust³.

thorin,   a dwarf already affected by the gold-sickness inside himself awoken by the presence of erebor’s great hoard,   had these effects quickened by the presence of dragon-sickness as well.   while it took thrór many,   many years of the gold-sickness building upon itself before it changed the manner in which he ruled his kingdom,   thorin was taken almost immediately upon the sight of it because of smaug’s powerfully mountainous greed⁴.   there would have been no hope,   no matter how diligently he tried to manage himself or attempted with gandalf’s wizardry,   to separate from the longings that had plagued his family since the gift of the ring for the longbeards.   while he strove to fight it,   to proclaim that he was not his grandfather⁵ and that he would not succumb to the same weakness,   it had overtaken him and his demeanor the moment the gold glittered around him.   he no longer understood anything besides the piles of riches.   he did not trust his company,   the dwarves he no longer recognized.   the intensity of his reaction to bilbo’s betrayal becomes entirely uncharacteristic⁶ and driven solely by the greed to keep what he had claimed in the mountain.   it was the only thing that had meaning for him,   a meaning that went far above his own life or his bonds.

thorin witnessed his grandfather experiencing the sickness of the gold;   it had been coming to him,   something he feared.   [...]   i saw the sickness as a mental disease that manifested itself in an irrational mind in a degenerative way.   thorin did not recognize himself or those around him.   there was forgetfulness,   fury,   sudden clarity,   memory loss,   memory gain,   but it was also a kind of fever.   when close to the gold,   thorin felt its heat,   and when it was distant he craved its warmth,   like a drug addict.   the gold was restorative and regenerative,   but had side effects,   draining him,   fatiguing him,   slowing him down.     weta’s the hobbit chronicles,   RICHARD ARMITAGE’S COMMENTARY. 

it is through incredible fortitude and a noble heart that thorin is able to overcome for a time the gold and dragon-sickness so that he could go forth and lead the dwarves in the battle of the five armies for erebor.   the supportive   (and accusatory)   words from the company,   his friends,   served to temporarily push,   or let be swallowed,   the sickened part of him that had put him in a perilous daze of greed.   this overcoming was not forever,   and while the dragon-sickness was conquered,   the gold-sick part of thorin still remained,   though buried⁷.   without both the loyalty of his company and the necessity of bilbo’s well-intentioned stealing,   as well as thorin’s own resolve,   he would not have come out of it in time,   perhaps even not at all.   the moment depicted upon the golden floor is not a triumph,   but a show of determination and resilience against the battle within his head.   it was a battle and a long-held fear he needed to fight with himself before he could fight for his people and their home.

[...]   in a way,   his possession of gold,   the totality of 'everything' he had wished for,   which had brought him to this lonely place,   was the turning point.   seeing and hearing what he had become reflected back at him,   the gold consuming him and sucking him under,   his last breath nearly taken,   drowning,   is as close to death as thorin had come.   it was as if he was jolted awake.     weta’s the hobbit chronicles,   RICHARD ARMITAGE’S COMMENTARY.

the gold-sickness of durin’s line ended with the death of thorin (and sauron’s reclamation of the last dwarf ring).  while the hearts of dwarves forever remain fond of gold and the beauty of all that glimmers,   the greed would never become hereditary as it had with thrór’s family.   thorin may not have remained impervious to his grandfather’s madness,   but it was with the stout heart of a true king that he fought that madness and rose above it for the dwarves,   his kin,   his people.

FOOTNOTES:

1   thorin’s sister,   dís,   and his brother,   frerin,   both also had exposure to the greed of sauron’s dwarf ring.   frerin died without his gold-sickness showing,   and dís never once felt the tug of the call.   fíli and kíli never came into contact with the ring,   thus breaking the line of gold-sickness.   it is said that those fair-haired of durin’s line,   such as dís and fíli’s blonde hair,   is a manifestation of the durin line’s greed for gold,   turned that color by it.

2   each member of the company felt the effects of dragon-sickness and the enchantment of the gold,   including bilbo,   but it passed,   unlike with thorin.   as described in:

all the same mister baggins kept his head more clear of the bewitchment of the hoard than the dwarves did.   long before the dwarves were tired of examining the treasure,   he became weary of it   [...]     the hobbit,   CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

3   some have speculated whether or not the carrying of the one ring by bilbo baggins exacerbated thorin’s sickness,   but given the dwarves’ ability to resist the will of sauron,   it would have had no impact on thorin or the rest of the company.   they would not have been tempted by it on its own.

4    the moment thorin steps out into view of the hoard,   his breath is taken away,   and his pallor pales further,   as if immediately sickened and enchanted by the sight of it and being in its presence.

5    thorin states in the film,   “ i am not my grandfather ”,   and balin returns with  “ you’re not yourself ”.

6   it is unclear whether or not thorin would have truly thrown bilbo off of the ramparts.   thorin’s sickness had become a singular trust and obsession with bilbo over the rest of the company,   and the perceived betrayal pushes thorin into a disbelieving hurt that is then turned to fury and shame with the audience before him.   if gandalf had not arrived,   thorin may very well,   in his addled state,   thrown bilbo over.

7   if thorin had lived,   the gold-sickness would have remained with him for the rest of his life.   it is not a curable madness,   only able to be tamed and endured with a careful discipline and the watchful gaze of his friends and family.   while it would not have progressed to the same intensity as thrór   (such as leaving him unable to rule)   as thorin did not wear sauron’s dwarf ring,   his involvement in the treasure hoard would have been reduced to very few visits and some restricted overseeing,   nor would he had been able to don much gold.   he would have gone through periods of flaring gold-lust before calming a day or five later and regaining his head.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Vassal of the King (part 6)

Frerin x OFC

Author's annotations are here!

*****

Frerin is one hundred and fifteen years old on the night he confides his secret to Verdandi.

The wedding celebrations have concluded a few hours ago. Frerin and Verdandi are alone in their new house, barely bigger than the room he has lived in until yesterday, not to mention they are still only renting it; but it is theirs, to live in and furnish and decorate as they want, not to mention that squeezing is not exactly a problem for them. Verdandi's sister, Skuld, has scattered flower petals on the marriage bed, a common auspicious gesture for newlyweds, while their mother, mistress Sygin, has used a new broom to sweep the floor of the main room, simbolically banishing negative emotions and memories out of the house; the task is traditionally carried out by the groom's mother or another female relative, but given the situation, they had to improvise.

Verdandi is only half dressed. She was perplexed when Frerin (Fjalar; her Fjalar, her husband) who had just carried her on the bed and started kissing her in a way that made her head spin, suddenly broke away from her and told he has a secret to confess.

Even through she would trust him with her life (she has already trusted him with her heart, which for Verdandi was much more precious and difficult) and he has reassured her he has nothing tragic to hide, Verdandi's mind was suddenly seized by a thousand fears. He is going to tell her that he is already married to someone else. That he has children waiting for him. That he is drowning in debt and that soon they will end up panhandling in the streets. That he has killed someone and there is a bounty on his head.

She would have expected almost anything; but not this.

"Can you say that again?" she asks; she is stammering, perhaps for the first time in her life "I think... I think I have misheard..."

Fjalar has never told her about his family. All Verdandi knows is that he has lost his parents long ago and he has no close relatives, and that his family has travelled far and wide for many years, which is the reason why he has never had a proper home. Is it a strange story, and it did not take her long to realize it could not be the whole truth, that the gaps in that explaination hid something important. His reticence both hurt and worried her (should two lovers not be sincere with each other?... unless they had something very dramatic to hide?) but she has always kept her questions to herself: she trusts Fjalar and respects his secrets. So many Dwarves come from broken homes, losing their parents as children, suffering abuse by the hands of their relatives or even being abandoned because the family could not afford another mouth to feed, and she has convinced herself this is the sort of situation her beloved had left behind him, and that he had never shared with her to spare himself the pain.

She could not have been more wrong.

Fjalar, sitting on the bed by her side, takes her hands in his; he is breathtakingly handsome, in his blue tunic and the wedding braids in his hair, and more serious than Verdandi has ever seen him.

"My name is not Fjalar." he repeats "Or rather, it has only been so for little more than forty years. I was born Frerin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór... King di Erebor."

Verdandi is happy she is sitting, because she feels about to faint. A march of several weeks separates Tharak Bazan from the Mountain, and as far as she knows her clan has never mantained more than occasional commercial relations with the Line of Durin (or at least, such was the state of affairs when Erebor was still inhabited by her people) but all Dwarves know the story of the coming of the dragon, and the terrible fate that befell the once proudest of the Dwarven clans. She had felt compassion for them, those Dwaves she had never met, driven out of their land, forced to build a new life for themselves or to wander around in search of a way to reclaim their homeland...

And now a Dwarf of that very line is there, next to her, just a few hours after swearing before Mahal to love and protect her as long as he lived; a Dwarf who knows her like no one ever has, and who is able to make her forget her own name with a simple kiss.

And not just any Dwarf.

Verdandi's hands fall from her husband's; she is flabbergasted, and while she knew today was the day her life would change forever, she had no idea how. "You are... a prince."

"No. Well, not anymore. I..."

"A prince. Oh, Mahal..."

"Verdandi, please; listen to me." Fjalar (Frerin) implores; yes, this is what he is doing, he is begging her, as if afraid he is going to lose her in a moment; he has never looked so scared, and powerless, in this night that should be the happiest of their lives. He takes her in his arms, and Verdandi lets him, because despite all the confusion and the sudden fear (and the anger; she would not demand he share every single moment of his past, but he has been lying about his own name?!) there is no place in the world she would rather be than wherever her husband is. She loves him; she loves him with all her heart, and nothing can ever change that.

His expression is somber, but also somehow relieved; the expression of a Dwarf who feels an heavy burden being taken off his shoulders.

"As you probably know, the dragon Smaug invaded Erebor and forced us to flee from our home, with little more than the clothes on our back. I am not a prince; not anymore, that is. I have to earn my keep working like any other Dwarf in this city."

Verdandi nods, trying to recall the little she knows about the Line of Durin and what had become of its people. "You... you have a brother, do you not?" she asks, and immediately wishes she had not when she sees the heartbreak on her husband's face "The one they call Oakenshield."

Thorin. The simple thought of him, of the disappointment he must have felt after that night, is a knife in Frerin's heart. How he misses his brother, how he wishes he could see him again... even though he knows nothing would change, because he has not. "It is true." he answers, as calmly as he can "Thorin is my older brother. And I also have a sister, Dís, and many cousins."

"Oh."

Frerin brushes his fingers against his wife's cheek; she is so beautiful, he reflects, but that is only one of the many reasons he knows he will never be able to live without her. "You are wondering why I am not with them, sharing their struggles and destiny."

"Well, yes..."

"It is very simple; it is because I am a coward."

"Fjalar..."

Frerin shakes his head; he knows she is going to try and comfort him, and he does not want her to, because he does not deserve it. "No; please, this is the truth, and I cannot escape from it. When we lost Erebor... I was only a boy, but this does not excuse my behaviour, since most of us were and Thorin himself was barely an adult. For years we have wandering the wilderland, attempting to raise an army to conquer Moria..."

Verdandi bites her lip; she knows her husband is talking about the battle of Azanulbizar, and she also knows it is not an happy story. She is still wearing the shift matching her wedding dress, the one she sewed herself because she was too embarassed to ask for her mother's help on an item like that, one meant to be admired and then quickly taken off her.

"We won; but it was a meaningless victory, paid for with the blood of so many Dwarves. My grandfather had died, my father had disappeared, and I, at seventy-two, was the heir of a people without an homeland. It was too big of a weight for me, for my shoulders; I had seen so much pain, and blood, and death, on that day, and I... I could not take it anymore. I ran, like a thief; I thought of myself and only myself, I turned my back on my family and my people. Frerin died on that day, and Fjalar was born.

Verdandi does not speak; she has listened intently, thinking that this is not how she had imagined she would spend her first night as a married woman. She looks at Frerin, still holding her, and gently takes his face in her hands; he loves those hands, hands whose touch can be both gentle and sensual, hands in which the prince without a kingdom has found comfort and a peace he thought he had lost forever. He has never felt so lost, now that he should be at his happiest, alone with the woman he has just married; he knows Verdandi enough to know she will not condamn him for what he has confessed, that she will understand and console him, and that makes him feel even worse.

"I have never wanted to lie to you." he murmurs "And I should have told you about it sooner; I know. But my past does not matter, you see? I am ashamed of what I did, but I still believe I made the right choice. I have renounced Erebor, and my people; now in front of me there is a future with you, Verdandi, and the children Mahal will give us. I wish for nothing else, or more. You are my wife, and I do not want there to be any secret between us; I promise I will never keep anything from you again."

He waits for an answer, but Verdandi does not have one to give, her heart so full of conficting emotions it hurts. She looks at her husband, her handsome and gentle Fjalar (because he will forever be Fjalar for her, whatever name he had received at birth) and she thinks that what they are living is almost too perfect to be real: the possibility to be honest with each other, to leave what was behind and build a future together. There is so much she would like to ask, about his youth, and his family, but she will not; maybe he will decide to tell her about it, and otherwise... otherwise she will keep her mouth shut.

She takes his face in her hands and kisses him, long, hard, until for the first time Frerin is the one moaning under him. How much he must have suffered, Verdandi thinks, still a boy and alone, convinced he did not deserve a home or friends, and spending so long atoning for sins no judge would ever condemn him for. But from now on, it will be different; from now on he will be happy, and serene, and free; she will take care of that. "You should have told me sooner." she whispers "But I do not care. I do not care if you are a prince or a beggar; I do not care about your name either. You are my husband, the Dwarf who I love and who loves me, and this is the only thing that matters to me."

The time for words is over, and the two focus on taking off each other's clothes, which gradually fall on the floor. Verdandi smiles, thrilled, as she slips out of her shift and lets Frerin have a long, nice look at her. "Had things gone differently..." she begins "You would have probably married a princess, or at least a lady of a great house."

Frerin smiles; he is already touching her like he knows she likes best. "Jealous, are you?"

"Should I be?"

"As I said, I am a prince in name only, without riches or powers; I do not even have a house of my own. I doubt the princesses and the ladies of the other six clans would fight over my hand."

"Mmmh, good for them..."

Verdandi laughs, and Frerin laughs with her as he pushes her on the bed and kisses her once more, intense and devout and passionate, and then moves downward on her body, his mouth on fire. "Wife." he whispers, as if testing the word on his tongue "Verdandi, my darling wife... I do not want a princess, or anyone else. The only one I need is you."

Verdandi believes him.

TAGGING @starlady66 and @elvenenby.

[ao3feed-bofurnori]

Durinin laulu

by Mikitius

“Thorin!”

Hän hätkähti kuullessaan Dwalinin huudon takaansa. Soturi tunki tiensä läpi haavottuneiden ja taisteluun ryntäävien kääpiöiden päästäkseen lähemmäs häntä. Thorin vilkaisi isäänsä ohimennen. Thráin katseli taistelua ilmeessään omituinen tyhjyys. Dwalinin äänensävy oli kuitenkin niin hätäinen, että Thorin päätti jättää isänsä huomiotta. Hän kiirehti ystäväänsä vastaan. Dwalin tarttui häntä olkavarsista.

“Thorin”, tuo huohotti kasvoillaan melkein kauhistunut ilme. Jokin Dwalinin katseen lohduttomuudessa pysäytti Thorinin sydämen.

“Missä hän on?”

“Tule.” 

Words: 3918, Chapters: 1/?, Language: Suomi

Fandoms: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other

Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Thorin's Company, Thráin II, Frerin (Tolkien), Thrór (Tolkien), Dwalin (Tolkien), Balin (Tolkien), Kíli (Tolkien), Fíli (Tolkien), Dís (Tolkien), Dís's Husband, Náin (Son of Grór), Dáin Ironfoot, Bofur (Tolkien), Nori (Tolkien), Ori (Tolkien), Dori (Tolkien), Bifur (Tolkien), Bombur (Tolkien), Óin (Tolkien), Glóin (Tolkien), Gimli (Son of Glóin), Elrond Peredhel, Gandalf | Mithrandir

Relationships: Dís/Dwalin (Tolkien), Dís/Dís's Husband, Thorin Oakenshield & Thorin's Company, Dís & Thorin Oakenshield, Frerin & Thorin Oakenshield, Dwalin & Thorin Oakenshield, Fíli & Thorin Oakenshield, Kíli & Thorin Oakenshield, Dwalin/Nori (Tolkien), Bofur/Nori (Tolkien), Balin & Thorin Oakenshield

Additional Tags: Pre-The Hobbit, AU - Pre - The Hobbit, Moria | Khazad-dûm, Blue Mountains | Ered Luin, War of the Dwarves and Orcs, Before Thorin's quest, Before Thorin's company, Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Major character death - Freeform, Character Birth, Family Feels, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf mytology, Dwarf History & Lore, Dwarves In Exile, Dwarves in Ered Luin, Slice of Life, AU, Falling In Love, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Dwarven Politics, what happened before The Hobbit, Childhood Memories, Courting Rituals, Thorin's halls of Ered Luin, Middle Earth, The Shire, Playing with Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield (mentioned) - Freeform, domestic life, Grieving, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Uncle Thorin

from AO3 works tagged 'Bofur/Nori (Tolkien)' https://ift.tt/AC5kJxM via IFTTT

[ao3feed-tolkien]

Durinin laulu

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/OjUxrvy

by Mikitius

“Thorin!”

Hän hätkähti kuullessaan Dwalinin huudon takaansa. Soturi tunki tiensä läpi haavottuneiden ja taisteluun ryntäävien kääpiöiden päästäkseen lähemmäs häntä. Thorin vilkaisi isäänsä ohimennen. Thráin katseli taistelua ilmeessään omituinen tyhjyys. Dwalinin äänensävy oli kuitenkin niin hätäinen, että Thorin päätti jättää isänsä huomiotta. Hän kiirehti ystäväänsä vastaan. Dwalin tarttui häntä olkavarsista.

“Thorin”, tuo huohotti kasvoillaan melkein kauhistunut ilme. Jokin Dwalinin katseen lohduttomuudessa pysäytti Thorinin sydämen.

“Missä hän on?”

“Tule.” 

Words: 3918, Chapters: 1/?, Language: Suomi

Fandoms: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other

Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Thorin's Company, Thráin II, Frerin (Tolkien), Thrór (Tolkien), Dwalin (Tolkien), Balin (Tolkien), Kíli (Tolkien), Fíli (Tolkien), Dís (Tolkien), Dís's Husband, Náin (Son of Grór), Dáin Ironfoot, Bofur (Tolkien), Nori (Tolkien), Ori (Tolkien), Dori (Tolkien), Bifur (Tolkien), Bombur (Tolkien), Óin (Tolkien), Glóin (Tolkien), Gimli (Son of Glóin), Elrond Peredhel, Gandalf | Mithrandir

Relationships: Dís/Dwalin (Tolkien), Dís/Dís's Husband, Thorin Oakenshield & Thorin's Company, Dís & Thorin Oakenshield, Frerin & Thorin Oakenshield, Dwalin & Thorin Oakenshield, Fíli & Thorin Oakenshield, Kíli & Thorin Oakenshield, Dwalin/Nori (Tolkien), Bofur/Nori (Tolkien), Balin & Thorin Oakenshield

Additional Tags: Pre-The Hobbit, AU - Pre - The Hobbit, Moria | Khazad-dûm, Blue Mountains | Ered Luin, War of the Dwarves and Orcs, Before Thorin's quest, Before Thorin's company, Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Major character death - Freeform, Character Birth, Family Feels, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf mytology, Dwarf History & Lore, Dwarves In Exile, Dwarves in Ered Luin, Slice of Life, AU, Falling In Love, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Dwarven Politics, what happened before The Hobbit, Childhood Memories, Courting Rituals, Thorin's halls of Ered Luin, Middle Earth, The Shire, Playing with Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield (mentioned) - Freeform, domestic life, Grieving, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Uncle Thorin

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/OjUxrvy

[ao3feed-thehobbit]

Durinin laulu

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/UjG6orp

by Mikitius

“Thorin!”

Hän hätkähti kuullessaan Dwalinin huudon takaansa. Soturi tunki tiensä läpi haavottuneiden ja taisteluun ryntäävien kääpiöiden päästäkseen lähemmäs häntä. Thorin vilkaisi isäänsä ohimennen. Thráin katseli taistelua ilmeessään omituinen tyhjyys. Dwalinin äänensävy oli kuitenkin niin hätäinen, että Thorin päätti jättää isänsä huomiotta. Hän kiirehti ystäväänsä vastaan. Dwalin tarttui häntä olkavarsista.

“Thorin”, tuo huohotti kasvoillaan melkein kauhistunut ilme. Jokin Dwalinin katseen lohduttomuudessa pysäytti Thorinin sydämen.

“Missä hän on?”

“Tule.” 

Words: 3918, Chapters: 1/?, Language: Suomi

Fandoms: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other

Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Thorin's Company, Thráin II, Frerin (Tolkien), Thrór (Tolkien), Dwalin (Tolkien), Balin (Tolkien), Kíli (Tolkien), Fíli (Tolkien), Dís (Tolkien), Dís's Husband, Náin (Son of Grór), Dáin Ironfoot, Bofur (Tolkien), Nori (Tolkien), Ori (Tolkien), Dori (Tolkien), Bifur (Tolkien), Bombur (Tolkien), Óin (Tolkien), Glóin (Tolkien), Gimli (Son of Glóin), Elrond Peredhel, Gandalf | Mithrandir

Relationships: Dís/Dwalin (Tolkien), Dís/Dís's Husband, Thorin Oakenshield & Thorin's Company, Dís & Thorin Oakenshield, Frerin & Thorin Oakenshield, Dwalin & Thorin Oakenshield, Fíli & Thorin Oakenshield, Kíli & Thorin Oakenshield, Dwalin/Nori (Tolkien), Bofur/Nori (Tolkien), Balin & Thorin Oakenshield

Additional Tags: Pre-The Hobbit, AU - Pre - The Hobbit, Moria | Khazad-dûm, Blue Mountains | Ered Luin, War of the Dwarves and Orcs, Before Thorin's quest, Before Thorin's company, Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Major character death - Freeform, Character Birth, Family Feels, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf mytology, Dwarf History & Lore, Dwarves In Exile, Dwarves in Ered Luin, Slice of Life, AU, Falling In Love, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Dwarven Politics, what happened before The Hobbit, Childhood Memories, Courting Rituals, Thorin's halls of Ered Luin, Middle Earth, The Shire, Playing with Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield (mentioned) - Freeform, domestic life, Grieving, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Uncle Thorin

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/UjG6orp

[ravensliterature]

Poisoned Arrow

A/N: I know it’s been a minute and I am sorry. I really had a blast writing this one and I hope you like it!

Part II

pairing: Thranduil x Reader

warnings: Mentions of blood, poison, fluff, 

w/c: 1924 (Yeah she is a little long)

Prompt: The reader is Thranduil’s wife and a part of the company. While leaving through the barrels without her husband’s knowledge she get’s hit by the poison arrow. Thranduil is trying to save his wife before it is too late. 

/-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------/

She had been shot. His queen had been hit with an arrow. Thranduil could see her falling from the sky, slowly descending through the fading blue and bright stars of the last night. Her lights died as she fell to the ground with a yelp. The arrow had pierced her leg after she tried to open the gate. His heart seized tightly hearing her cries as he attempted to run to her side, cutting down any orc in his way. However, he didn't make it in time, as she had jumped into a barrel following her father down the river.

Y/N was the daughter of Thorin, but her heritage was elven. When young, Thorin found an elf girl and raised her while living in Erebor. She grew into a beautiful woman and was betrothed to Thranduil for the alliance at a young age by King Thrór. However, when the dragon attacked, it was all put on pause, and Thorin and his family fled to the Blue Mountains.

Thranduil would not give up on her as he fell in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her at their announced betrothal. He journeyed himself to find his distant love until seeing her again in the Blue Mountains. He never imagined he’d ever have another chance to meet his beloved again, but when he did... everything changed. Thranduil asked her to marry him again, hoping he wasn't alone in his feelings. Apparently, she had loved him as well and agreed, but things weren't how they should be. Thorin's hatred for elves had increased and never approved of the betrothal.

The argument with Thorin and Y/N spiraled until she left with Thranduil without saying goodbye. A year later, the wedding came around, and Thorin refused to see his daughter marry that elf. He insisted she live in the Blue Mountains, a place far away where dangers were less likely to come and away from elf-kind. Shortly, Legolas was born and grew into a handsome man. Their lives were peaceful until years later when Gandalf knocked on their door.

Gandalf told her that he was building a company in the hopes of reclaiming her childhood home. It had been decided that Y/N would join the company and take part in their quest. She wanted nothing more than to go back to Erebor, return her home, and connect with her father like she once had. So, she took her chance and left. Thranduil hated her putting herself in danger, but who was he to rob her of that connection she missed so dearly?

"Y/N!" Thorin yelled as he ran to his daughter's side.

Y/N's barrel washed up on shore as she used her upper body to crawl to more solid ground, trying not to put too much pressure on her leg.

"I'm here," she breathed as she looked up at Thorin. The dwarf prince scooped her into his arms, holding her close as if afraid someone was going to try something else. Worry and fear were etched over his face, and he saw the pain in his daughter's eyes.

"Oin," Thorin exclaimed, "Please look at the leg. The arrow is cut, but there still may be fragments inside."

The healer kneeled down next to Y/N, looking at her leg. His brow furrowed with concern before he turned back to his friend. "She should be fine, but we need to get her to a town with proper equipment. I'm concerned about it getting infected," he spoke softly. Thorin nodded, helping his daughter stand on her own two feet. She slowly began to walk until she found an arrow pointed at her head.

Thranduil glared the orc down as Legolas held a knife to its neck. He wanted to know what it was doing in his kingdom and why it dared to hurt his wife. It couldn't be allowed to live, but he needed to know.

"In time, all foul things come forth," he said as he circled the orc with a sword in his hand. Legolas continued to hold the blade to its neck, "You were tracking the company of thirteen dwarves and an elf. Why?"

Malice and distaste were in his voice, knowing his father's fears and what it had done to his mother. This thing was not a creature but a monster sent to destroy them. Its intentions are unknown for all to know. The orc cackled, "Not thirteen, not anymore. The elf, we stuck her with a Morgul shaft. The poisons in her blood. She'll be choking on it soon."

Legolas' grip tightened on the knife, causing it to tremble. He needed the orc dead, or he'd kill it himself. A threat against his parents' safety was enough to make him want to do it. Thranduil's breath left him in a gasp. As anger bubbled in his chest, he felt like he was trying to find air. His son's gaze remained on the orc. It knew exactly what it was talking about, the poison that poisoned the elf.

"You like killing this orc?" Thranduil said lowly, almost too calmly, "You like death? Then let me give it to you!" he yelled as he pulled out his swords. Legolas watched as his father charged toward the orc. Before he could blink, the blade made contact with the orc's skull. Blood poured from the wound, but instead of retreating, it rushed forward like a tidal wave. "Legolas, come with me. We must save your mother."

Y/N was breathing heavily as she leaned against the wall of Bard's house. Her father forced her to stay behind because of her leg. Of course, he was concerned for his daughter, but she felt robbed. She wished to help reclaim her home like the rest of the company. Her cousins, Fili, and Kili, opted to stay behind and help take care of her until she was ready to go to the mountain. Oin stayed behind as well, as did Bofur, but he just missed the boat.

However, the pain had gotten worse, and she could tell something was wrong. The leg wound wasn't healing as it should, and she could see the fear in Oin's eyes each time he examined it, even if he didn't tell her. Y/N was worried. The arrow hadn't hit anything vital, yet it could still become infected and kill her. She chuckled to herself softly. Maybe it was best she stayed at home after all.

Her breath was ragged, and her head was light. Her vision swayed slightly as she tried to stay upright, leaning against the wall. She was losing consciousness, but she knew that the battle was not over yet. The pain was becoming unbearable, and she closed her eyes, taking in a few deep breaths. Finally, her body gave way, and she collapsed. "Y/N!" the dwarves yelled as they helped her up. Y/N was writhing in pain as she felt the poison all over her body. She could feel the heat of the flames searing her flesh, and it felt like it was consuming her whole body.

"Put her on the table," Bard said in a frantic tone. They set her gently on the table as she continued to convulse.

"We need something to put her head on so she doesn't hit the table!" Oin shouted. The others quickly searched for anything that could possibly stop the venomous poison. They found only herbs that had been used long ago, and they were useless. The poison was spreading through her veins faster than anyone had realized, and it was eating away at her life. Oin examined the wound more closely. It had turned a black color, and it could be seen going through her veins. This wasn't a normal poison.

"I need kingsfoil! Where is it?" Oin exclaimed to Bard. The Fili, Kili, and Bofur looked around in confusion at the mention of a plant, but they didn't have any of it. Only Oin owned the plants. "Kingsfoil? It's a weed. We feed it to the pigs!" Bard replied in confusion. "Pigs, I got it!" was heard as Bofur zoomed out the door. Y/N struggled for air. Every breath hurt her throat as she coughed painfully. The poison in her body was beginning to eat away at her life. She was dying. That was the last thought that went through her mind before another wave of pain hit her.

Suddenly everything except for Y/N went quiet as footsteps could be heard on the roof. The roof broke, and a dark figure jumped down from above, landing right next to Bard's daughter and stabbing the orc in reaction. The young girl grabbed the orc and then fled as more fell through the ceiling. Fighting ensued as they tried to defend the girls and a table-ridden Y/N.

Thranduil and Legolas ran through the town of Dale in the hopes of finding Y/N and the dwarves. However, they stopped in their tracks when they saw orcs running on the ceilings above the water town. They both knew immediately where they were going. Thranduil ordered Legolas to stay behind while he went to search for his mother, "Stay safe my child, leave none alive."

With that being said, Thranduil continued to run at his pace faster than before. Thranduil continued to run until he heard fighting in one of the homes. With his guard up and weapons, he approached it in the hope that his wife was still alive. Upon approaching the door, he noticed the familiar scent of blood. His heart sunk in his chest, realizing she might be... He opened the door to find three orcs surrounding her, the dwarves, and the humans as they were struggling to defend themselves. One of the orcs was about to strike Y/N when Thranduil shot his bow, sending the arrow right into its skull. He then drew his sword, slashing at any orc in sight.Thranduil rushed to her side and caressed her cheek, hoping to see the spark of life in her eyes. "My darling Y/N, open your eyes," he whispered.She weakly shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Nin Meleth..." she murmured."Do not speak, my love," he said softly, brushing some hair away from her sweaty forehead.Just then, Bofur burst through the door, panting and holding a bunch of kingsfoil. Thranduil took the leaves from him and quickly began to prepare them. "She needs elvish medicine. If we don't heal her leg soon... She doesn't have much time left."Thranduil soaked the leaves and pressed them onto her wound, chanting an elvish incantation that sounded almost like a prayer. As he administered the treatment, he watched her face relax, the furrows in her brow smoothing out as the poison receded.Y/N looked up at him with those beautiful eyes that had always filled his heart with love. He could see the pain fading, and with it, the poison from her body. He bandaged the wound and held her hand, tears escaping his eyes as she smiled up at him. His heart swelled with joy as he leaned closer and kissed her. It was a kiss filled with relief, love, and the promise of healing."Father," came a soft voice, breaking the tender moment. Thranduil and Y/N turned to see Legolas standing at the doorway, a gentle smile on his face.Their foreheads rested together, and a small chuckle passed through Thranduil. "Oh, no. We've been caught by our own son."

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

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