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Chapter Text

Gandalf’s POV

“She is Númenórean Gandalf, how can I be expected to trust her?” Thorin snarled, hands thrown up in frustration. “And she has no swordsman skills at all because she’s been raised by Men? She will be a burden to the quest Gandalf, and I cannot allow it. I cannot forsake my people!”  

Gandalf sighed. Thorin had always been the more reasonable of the dwarves he had encountered during his time in Middle Earth and now he was letting old grievances cloud his better sense of judgement. “My dear Thorin, it is precisely because she is Númenórean that makes her a great asset to the quest. Not only are they bestowed with the art of healing, they are much sturdier than normal Men. Swordsman skills can be easily changed; she has the blood of the Númenóreans in her, she’ll pick it up easily.”

Thorin scowled, turning around angrily to face him. “But we have-”

“Oin is a talented healer indeed, but put mildly, your quest will be difficult and you need all the help you can muster, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!”

Gandalf noted (rather smugly) how the King deflated in defeat.

“Then what about that halfling ? He’s even worse Gandalf! He can’t fight , he’s fragile , he can’t heal -”

“You requested me to get a burglar for your quest Thorin Oakenshield and A BURGLER I HAVE FOUND!”

Even thickheaded Thorin knew better than to argue with an angry and obstinate wizard.

Your POV

“Why hello G-”

You were suddenly interrupted, bowled over on the ground by what seemed like a tussel of arms and legs. You heard your wooden dining table splinter down the corridor. Sighing, you went to look at what had just interrupted your greeting with Gandalf, only to find two young male dwarves fighting over a honey cake.

“Fili no pleaseeeeee you’ve already had your share-” the brunette whined, trying to grab for the honey cake that was speared on the tip of a sword held by a blonde.

“No Kili, don’t puppy eye me , it-”  

Their tussel was interrupted by a loud BANG of your front door which made the two dwarves jump up rather hastily.

In your front porch stood another dwarf, raven black hair tumbling in loose curls all over a war hardened face. He was muscular like the other two who had just barrelled into you, except much broader and definitely much more surly. You didn’t want to admit to yourself that he looked rather handsome as well, minus the frown on his face. “Fili. Kili. What are you doing.” he hissed through gritted teeth, as he swept his hair backwards to reveal a set of piercing blue eyes that seemed to shoot icicles at the two dwarves cowering behind you.

“N-nothing Uncle. Erm we were…. Welcoming Y/N!” The brunette looked at you expectantly, eyes begging you to cover for them.

You would have giggled at this adorable dwarf if it had not been for the angry one situated right at your front door.

“I, um yes Master Dwarf, they were introducing themselves to me. Rather grandly , if I may say so.” You twitched your eyebrows at the two young dwarves as you turned and smiled at the raven haired dwarf, only to receive a cold, empty look in return.

You felt a chill down your spine. You were starting to regret signing up for this quest if this angry dwarf was coming along.

“Kili. Fili. Get out and prepare the ponies.” the Angry Dwarf growled. Relieved, both the young dwarves bolted past you, Gandalf and the Angry Dwarf outside. You shuddered and averted your eyes to the ground as you heard heavy bootsteps in your direction.

“So Gandalf. This is the Númenórean.”

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It has been three days since you have started your journey with the dwarves, rather miserably you should add, for that sullen dwarf would definitely be coming. You had found out from Gandalf that he was the King under the Mountain, Thorin Oakenshield. You felt his disdain at your presence and knew that he thought you as weak and unworthy to help them reclaim their homeland. The rest of the Company seemed okay though. The half bald dwarf with strange rune tattoos around his skull was called Dwalin who was the King’s personal bodyguard. Oin, your fellow healer was a rather wide dwarf with massive braids of dust grey hair and a honking huge ear trumpet. The two that had barrelled you over were Fili and Kili, the crown princes of Erebor, The King’s nephews.

Oh how they differed from him in personality. Whereas the King was sullen and looked like he had a permanent thunder cloud over his head, Fili and Kili were balls of sunshine, friendly and open. You smiled slightly at the thought before you felt a dull clunk on the back of your head.

“She is Númenórean Fili!! I told you so!!” Kili squealed for the fifth time in the past three days, each time after throwing an apple at your head with the force of an axe blow. You could just hear Fili berate his younger brother for “not treating a lady right…” and how “Kili you’re never going to get married at this rate!” You giggled. Oh these two.

Turning around with lightning quick reflexes, you threw the apple at Kili’s forehead, watching with smug satisfaction as the apple burst upon impact on that thick dwarven skull. Kili’s expression turned from mischief to shock, then to mischief again as apple juice sluiced its way through his hair. “Ohhh Y/N… help me! It hurts so bad….” he moaned, pretending to flop dead on his horse. Rolling your eyes, you smiled as you guided your pony toward Bilbo’s, with Fili chortling in laughter and a couple smiles from the rest of the dwarves.

Thorin’s POV

Thorin stared impassively at the scene. What a good load of help she’ll be against Orcs , he thought sourly as he turned on his mount. Throwing apples against their thick skulls.

He felt Dwalin’s pony sidle up towards his.

“Lad, the girl ain’t half too bad you know. Just the other night, I saw her teaching Oin some herby stuff and she’s got Fili and Kili off your back…” Thorin huffed as he gazed into the sunset. “She can’t fight, which means she is vulnerable, a burden. At least Oin can. I do not know if it was a wise choice to listen to the wizard on this suggestion my friend.”

He could hear Dwalin sigh softly before ordering the rest to set up camp for the night.

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Your POV

The night stars twinkled in the sky and it didn’t comfort you that the brothers had that same twinkle of mischief in their eyes.

“Y/N! Come spar with me,” Kili whined, almost pleading. You stared at the offered sword, throat clenching. “Kili...I..I...can’t. I….don’t know how to….” you mumbled, embarrassed at your lack of combat skills. You looked up to see Kili’s mortified face before Fili could slap the back of his brother’s head. “Don’t worry Y/N, I’ll teach you. Kee as well… right Kee?” Fili said as he slapped his brother out of his trance. “Yes we will Y/N! We’ll make you the best fighter here,” Kili said with a seriousness you did not know he could possess on his face.

Sighing, you picked up the sword. It felt strange, almost clumsy in your hands, but not an unwelcome touch. The blood of the Númenóreans flow in your blood , you try to convince yourself as you steel yourself for the upcoming sword lesson.

Thorin’s POV

He watched from the other side of the clearing as the girl pick up the sword as his nephews corrected her posture and hand grip. “She won’t be able to do it,” Thorin thought out loud to himself. He knew how difficult it was to pick up a brand new skill once you were past your tweens and sword fighting was not an easy skill to pick up at all.

“It has just been the beginning of the journey and the training Master Thorin, and you already refuse to give her the chance to prove her worth,” came a voice from behind. Thorin sighed inwardly. Mahal blast that snooping eavesdropping wizard.

“Master Gandalf. I merely do not wish to end up with a corpse on my hands if I can avoid it,” Thorin countered lightly.

The wizard just smiled pensively and left to talk to Gloin, leaving Thorin alone to brood in the dark.

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

One week later

Your POV

Everytime you had a training session with Fili and Kili, the whole Company would be there to encourage you on. You had a natural flair with swords, although it took a bit of time coaxing out and everyone could see it.

Well, except for the King.

He would leave the clearing the moment training started. You had been hurt by his indifference for you had hoped that your vast improvement in combat would prove to him that you were worthy to journey with them to reclaim Erebor, but Dwalin had reassured you that he was just patrolling. They were about to enter the North Moors, dangerous rocky mountainous terrain and Thorin wanted to ensure that they were not being followed. You had accepted the explanation at face value, although you felt that that was not the only reason why he left.

You sighed, turning on your side and looking straight at the messy mop of brown curls that was Bilbo’s head illuminated in the soft glow of the fire. You glowered as you thought more of the King. It infuriated you to know that he looked down on you and you felt infuriated at yourself for being so useless apart from your skill at healing. You were Númenórean; your kind was born to fight, just like the dwarves, yet you could not. Your adoptive parents were human; they had not bred you as Númenórean although they made sure you knew about your heritage and the kind that your biological parents belonged to. You did not know who your actual parents were. They had passed away in some war fifty years ago, leaving an orphan in a town on the outskirts of Gondor. You.

“Y/N?”

Bilbo’s sleepy voice jolted you out of your thoughts. Blinking, you stared at him, wondering if you had accidentally woken him up.

“Is everything okay?”

“Uhmm...yes it is Bilbo? Why the question?” you asked, mildly confused.

“Y/N, I can feel your glower sear right through the back of my skull,” Bilbo said as he raised an eyebrow at you. You sighed. “I’m sorry Bilbo. I was….just caught up in my own thoughts.” Bilbo shifted in his blankets as he craned his head towards you. “Well… I’m a good listener. I’m currently unemployed until we reach Erebor and it would bring me great pleasure to help out a friend in need.”

You felt your heart warm a little as you shifted into a better position before divulging your fears and life story to the hobbit.

Dear Aulë, these halflings were just too pure for their own good.   

Thorin’s POV

Thorin glared over the top of Bofur’s furry hat as he watched Y/N and the Halfling quieten down to sleep. He had just got back from night patrol and he was immediately confronted with the sight of you talking to that Halfling with both your bedrolls side by side. He had felt a knife hot with jealousy rip through him. He remembered how he wanted to strangle that Halfling, to keep him away from you. He didn’t know why he felt that way, neither did he understand the conflicting emotions running through his head.

He remembered how he had masked up that jealousy with a face of pure anger instead, sending the Hobbit into sputters and Y/N to look at you with confusion and anger. He remembered how he looked into those black eyes of yours, turned a dark brown in the firelight.

What was he doing?

Glaring at Bofur’s furry hat, Thorin spent the rest of the night awake.

Chapter Text

Your POV

“Y/N. It’s time to wake,” you hear Bilbo mutter as you felt a hand gently shaking your shoulder. You smiled back sleepily in thanks as you got up and begun tidying up your bedroll. The mood in the Company was sombre for today they were about to venture past the borders of relative safety into more dangerous zones. You were a strange mixture of excitement and panic, excited for the adventure that awaited and panicky about your shortcomings.

You nodded wordlessly to Oin when he patted his pouch full of herbs hanging on his leather belt, mirroring the image back at him. You had your herbs ever at the ready and while you wanted to prove your worth, you didn’t want anyone to get injured. You fervently hoped that whatever skills you had managed to pick up in the one week of relative safety would stand you in good stead.

“Y/N?”

“Yes Fili?” you replied, not turning around to look at the golden haired prince as you engaged in your morning ritual of wrestling your bedroll into your backpack.

“I thought… you may need this,” you heard Fili say before a stone carved hilt was shoved under your nose. Pausing in your struggle, you took the sword gratefully, turning around to face Fili.

“Oh Fili… thank you.”

“It’s no problem my lady. Just wanted to ensure that you can attempt to protect yourself if Kee and I can’t,” he explained cheekily, earning a light swat on his ear from you before scampering off to join his brother.

Up ahead, you could hear Thorin shout in his deep rich baritone for the Company to clear camp and get ready to leave in five minutes. You lot would have to travel on foot as the ponies would be unable to make it past the narrow passageways of the mountains, which saddened you greatly for you had quickly grown to love your mare.

“Goodbye Círdan, I’ll miss you,” you murmured into her soft mane which you just had to note was nearly the same colour as a certain dwarf king’s. Unbuckling her harness and saddle, you patted her on the rump and watched her make her way back home.

In the week, you had come to know more about the King under the Mountain from the rest of the Company. First, he had lost his mother and his grandfather, Thror, to dragon fire and gold sickness in Erebor when he was about your age now. He had to cope with his own grief and at the same time get his people to safety, having to slave away in the forges of Men and enduring their taunts in order to feed his people. Then came the battle of Azanulbizar, where his father was beheaded by Azog the Defiler and his younger brother, Frerin fell to the orc blades. He faced down the pale orc alone, wounding him mortally before reclaiming Moria.  

You could finally understand why he was like a sullen wound up spring all the time. Why he was so obviously full of disdain towards you and Bilbo. You had grown to have deep respect for him in the past week, seeing how he cared so deeply for the Company although his face never betrayed it. He was noble, strong and regal. Oh and also stubborn, scary and perpetually angry.

You were jerked out of your thoughts when you walked into a wall. Or- you thought it was a wall. Strong arms reached out to steady you as you bounced off the ‘wall’ on impact.

“Y/N,” came a deep baritone from somewhere above you.

Oh no.     

“I uhm sorry Master Oakenshield I was caught up in my own thoughts and I didn’t see-” you stammered towards whatever your eyes were level with (his fur coat??), afraid to obtain his wrath.

“Stay safe. Both you and Master Baggins.” Your heart jumped.

He continued. “I do not wish to put anybody in peril just to save you two.”

Oh.

You glared at the receding figure in the distance as you picked your pack off the floor and went to join Fili and Kili.  

I can take care of myself just fine you stupid frustrating king.

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The North Moor seemed to be in a constant state of thunderstorm, lightning crackling across the sky every few seconds as the rain beat down. You had given up wringing out your hair and your clothes for the rain would just wet them all again. Glaring at the sky, you trudged on ahead before a glint of metal caught your eye.

“ Kili! Stop it, ” you whispered, grabbing the dwarf’s forearm.

Kili looked at you through his wet bangs, grinning evilly as he passed you the last of Fili’s knives. For the past hour, he had been slowly disarming his brother quite literally, if you may add.

“Y/N…. look he doesn’t even realise that he’s lost his weapons! Any good dwarf would never allow that to happen.”

To your left, a grumpy Bilbo snorted. “And they make me the Master Burgler.”

You rolled your eyes, torn between amusement and annoyance. “Kili, yes I get what you are saying but Orcs won’t bother stealing your weapons before they kill you, you know .”

Before Kili could reply, you heard a shrill shriek from up above.

Above it all, you could hear something whizzing through the air.

Towards Fili.

Unsheathing the sword Fili had given to you, you leaped over Nori and Bifur, following your sense of sound and turning the broadsword face up.

Clink.

The arrow ricocheted off your sword, clattering onto the ground.

The whole Company looked at you, their faces all one of shock for a moment. Even the shrill shriek above stopped. Then you heard that deep baritone voice.   

“ Goblins! RUN! ”

As though time came crashing back into action, everybody bolted. You had never ran so hard in your life before, weaving in and out of mountainous passageways in an attempt to lose the goblins.

“Thorin! We can’t keep running, we’ve got to hide!” yelled Dwalin in the distance. You could see them exchange a look of understanding and you wondered to yourself how exactly did they plan on hiding thirteen burly dwarves, a wizard, a halfling and a man.

“ Y/N! Here! ” Fili slung an arm around your waist as you nearly ran past him, hitching you both through a narrow doorway as he slammed the door shut behind you. Both of you flew through the air for a split second before you crashed down on something hard and furry beneath you.

“ Quiet!” Oin whispered to the grumbling dwarves and you could hear the thundering of feet running past and shrill cackles.

No one dared to move until they could hear no more.

Breathing a collective sigh of relief, you tried to get up, forgetting that Fili was on top of you. You heaved, but to no avail. “Eughhhh Fili you are heavy ,” you grumbled, poking the golden dwarf in his side. Fili rumbled in laughter. “Y/N, wait till Bombur lands on you.” Chuckling, you tried to wriggle out from underneath, but then you realised that you were lying on something that was breathing . You could just see from the corner of your eye a thin dark braid splayed across your collarbone. You froze. That was definitely not your own braid.

Suddenly, your whole world turned and you found yourself lying on top of Fili now. The braid lifted and your eyes followed it up, up until they came in contact with burning blue eyes.

You gulped as you stared back at the King Under the Mountain, who had just a couple seconds ago had been King squished under you.

“Y/N. Are you okay.” he asked bluntly, his face unreadable.

Wha-what? Why’s he asking me that??? you wondered in horror. “I..I’m fine. Thanks,” you mumbled, getting up as fast as you could. You could hear Fili grumble into the ground in Khuzdul, probably some swear words at being manhandled (or dwarf handled) onto the ground as Thorin got up.

“Fili. Kili. Quickly scout out the passageways at the back, ensure that it is secure. The rest of you prepare to set up camp for tonight. Quietly.” you heard Thorin say.

You sighed in relief as you set your pack down, grateful to have something to do to take your mind off that accursed dwarf.

Chapter Text

Thorin’s POV

He had placed his bedroll in the deepest part of the cave, far from where most of the Company was preparing to sleep. He was grateful for the gloom of the cave for he knew that his face would be a mess of conflicting emotions, crystal clear to one who knew him well such as Dwalin and he didn’t want his friend to be worrying about him unnecessarily.

Thing is, there wasn’t a problem, really. Except that he couldn’t get Y/N out of his mind.

He sighed, rolling on his back trying to find a more comfortable position to sleep in before his nose nearly came in contact with a gigantic pair of well worn dwarf boots. He groaned inwardly. Of course Dwalin would’ve noticed something was wrong no matter how well he hid it. You two had not grown up side by side for naught.

“What,” he huffed grumpily, staring at the metal capped boots that still stood in front of him.

“Lad, you and I both well know what ,” Dwalin grumped back, before plopping himself beside Thorin’s face. Dwalin sighed gently as he looked at his friend.

“You should treat the lass better you know,” Dwalin murmured as he averted his eyes to look at a particularly interesting stalagmite. “I know you think that she is unworthy of the journey but look Thorin… she’s just saved your nephew’s life. Her reflexes and senses are keener than any dwarf. I... I cannot imagine what would have happened to Fili if it had not been for Y/N,” Dwalin whispered, words catching in his throat.

Thorin sighed, partially in relief that Dwalin had not asked him about his… feelings as he looked towards where the main Company slept, with you snuggled between Fili and Kili. “And for that I am eternally grateful Dwalin, but much as I love my nephews, I am worried for her safety, as much as I worry for the Halfling’s safety. That is all I am afraid of.”

He didn’t want to add that he was afraid that he was falling for that certain girl with the dark brown hair who would probably never love him back after all the grumpiness that he had put her through.

Dwalin patted his arm almost all too knowingly. “Well, I’ll leave now m’lord and take first watch then. May Mahal bless you.”

May Mahal bless him indeed , Thorin thought as he watched his closest friend and trusted advisor go.  

Your POV

You woke up to the sound of loud snoring in both your ears and groaned loudly into your bedroll. It had been the third time this night that Fili and Kili’s snoring had woken you up and now you couldn’t go back to sleep between these two despite the exhaustion weighing down on your shoulders. Grumbling about your life choices, you distangled your limbs from whatever bedsheet you had left (Kili was a notorious blanket stealer) before you got up and tried to tug your bedroll over to the far corner beside Bofur.

Alas, Fili had just rolled over slightly onto where you had previously lain a couple seconds before, golden moustache braids fluttering everytime he breathed out. For all your Númenórean strength, this bedroll would not be moving anywhere else tonight.

You glowered slightly at Fili’s sleeping face, thinking about how a tomato would look like plastered on it.

“Y/N.”

You jumped as a shadow emerged from the darkness. “I..I’m sorry Master Thorin, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you stammered, wringing your hands as thoughts went running wildly through your head. Damn you Y/N, why are you like this in front of this dwarf out of all dwarves??

You heard a breathy chuckle. “No Y/N, I was on night watch, you did not wake me up. Anyways, I… wanted to thank you for saving my nephew’s life earlier on today. Your reflexes had been quick and true,” you heard the King say softly.

“I-it’s nothing my King. It is my honour to help. And...well…. whilst Fee and Kee have been brats, they are… my favourite brats and I wouldn’t want to lose them for anything else in this world,” you replied softly, chuckling slightly as you gazed back at the two splayed haphazardly on the ground, snoring in synchrony.

When no reply came, you tore your eyes from the two sleepyheads and looked at Thorin in confusion. “I..I’m sorry my King, I-”

“My….King…?” Thorin repeated back slowly, those Durin blue eyes seemingly boring into your soul.

Oh shit. Was I not supposed to call him that, you thought panicking slightly, trying to shove your desire to look into those gorgeous blue eyes again away. “I- uhm- sorry. Master Oakenshield,” you quickly corrected yourself, just to see him shake his head, braids tumbling over those massive broad shoulders.

“No, it’s alright… but….why? What...have I done to…..gain your allegiance?” he asked slowly, his face nearly unreadable.

Oh because you have been nothing but the most courageous, stupid, beautifully stubborn and perpetually angry King that I have come to respect? With loyalty as strong as mithril itself and a heart as big as the lands of Middle Earth? A King that cares so deeply for his people? Also a King that I think I am falling for? Although I’d wager you’d rather eat green food than to love me?  you thought, cheeks flushing a tinge red at the last thought.

“Thorin…” you started, going slowly so that you would not say anything that would embarrass you back to the village that Gandalf had found you in. “I have seen how you have cared for your people. How you would protect each and every one fiercely. Your loyalty, honour and a willing heart, those are qualities of a king that I would swear my allegiance to.”

There was a moment’s silence as you met Thorin’s eyes again, but this time they seemed...watery.

“....Y/N….I am a homeless king. No crown. Nothing to my name.”

You scoffed lightly. “Nonsense. A king does not need his mountain nor his crown to be King. You are King, both by your own birthright and your skills. Although gaining your mountain back is a good idea. ”

You looked up at Thorin, wondering if you had said too much. But he had turned away, his voice cracking. “Even my kin...my own kin….looked down upon this quest, unwilling to follow a King who has nothing to his name into the abyss. But you… a Númenórean…. Even after how I have treated you in the past…. You still believe in me.”

“I do.”

Thorin turned around slowly, wonder, thanks and a mix of other emotions flitting over his face. Damn, if only he could look at me like that all day, you thought almost dreamily before mentally kicking yourself.  

“You are...a wonder, Y/N,” you heard him murmur.

Before you could almost faint in delight, you felt the ground tremble just so slightly. You glanced down and frowned. “Y/N?” came Thorin’s voice, laced with confusion. You ignored him as a sense of dread started creeping into your heart. You may not have had swordsmanship skills but you were well accustomed to living dangerously in the wild, with nothing but your bare hands as weapons. You knew that something was wrong.

You felt the ground tremble a bit more this time, so much so that you knew Thorin could feel it judging by the sudden hitch in his breathing. Then you saw the minute particles of sand slowly sliding towards the center of the room, and you knew.

“ WAKE UP! RUN!” you and Thorin bellowed as the ground started to shake even harder and the sand started falling faster. The whole Company leapt up frantically, panicking when they saw the gap in the floor widening, but it was just a fraction too late.

The ground gave way without warning and you were sent tumbling, tumbling into the abyss.  

Chapter Text

Thorin’s POV

Clap! Snap! The black crack!

Grib, grab! Pinch, nab!

And down, down to Goblin town

You go, my lad!

Thorin opened his eyes blearily as the song grew louder.

Clash, crash! Crush, smash!

Hammer and tongs! Knocker and gongs!

Pound, pound, down underground!

Ho, ho! my lad!

Shit. By Mahal’s beard, this was not good.

Swish, smack! Whip crack!

Batter and beat! Yammer and bleat!

Work, work! Nor dare to shirk,

While Goblins quaff, and Goblins laugh,

Round and round far underground

Below, my lad!

Fully awake, Thorin found himself shackled at his hands and feet, being force marched in the middle of his Company. Craning his neck, he realised that the rest of them were in similar shackles, and they too had a similar look of terror on their face. He mutedly did a headcount of them all, only to find that three were missing.

Three were missing. Gandalf, Bilbo and….

Snarling, Thorin lashed at his shackles but even dwarven strength could go so far. Y/N , he thought.

Where is she?

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Your POV

Up above in the dark crannies of the vast hall you squatted daintily on the precarious outcrop of rock. Being as small as you were, the goblins had somehow managed to miss you when they had come to take the rest of the Company prisoner. Going by the same logic, you assumed that Bilbo had managed to evade detection as well.

The goblins had left all the weapons that the dwarves carried in the place where you lot had fallen, apart from Orcrist. You presumed that the Goblin King only wanted to see the more valuable weapons. What a shock he’s going to get, you thought grimly. Orcrist, feared by all goblins. The Biter, some called it. Others called it the Goblin Cleaver.  

You had stolen Kili’s bow and arrows before you had left to follow the rest, trusting your hunting acquired archery skills more than your newly formed rudimentary sword skills. Plus, you thought ruefully, sword fighting would do you no good in this cavern full of goblins.

You planned to take out the Goblin King. Cut the head off the snake and the rest will follow into death, your mama used to say. Readying your bow and arrow, you lay in wait, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

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Thorin’s POV

“Now who dares to sit so openly on my front porch do I wonder,” the Goblin King chortled, sending the rest of the goblins into mock peals of glee.

Thorin glared heatedly over Dwalin’s shoulder at the fat, pustulous grey lump that was the Goblin King.

“Well, which bunch of dwarves would be in the right mind to do so?” the Goblin King snickered. “Who are you and where did you come from?”

When no one replied, the Goblin King only laughed louder, rolls upon rolls of belly fat rippling in laughter.

“Well then, since no one would tell me….lets begin.” He pointed to Ori.

“The youngest first. Bring in the Bone Breaker .”

Bones will be shattered!

Necks will be wrung!

Make ‘em stammer and squeak!

Pound pound, far underground

Down, down, down in Goblin Town….

He could not stand by and let this happen to Ori. To any one of them.

…. With a swish and smack

And a whip and a crack

Everybody talks when they’re on my rack-

“ENOUGH!” Thorin yelled.

The song ceased and the torture device rumbled to a standstill as he took a step forwards, looking at the Goblin King straight in the eye.

“Well well… Correct me if I am wrong, but you...are Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain,” the Goblin King mocked. “Except….you don’t have a mountain. So...you’re nobody, really.”

Thorin gritted his teeth so hard at the remark that he thought he would grind them into dust.  

“So... King…. with nothing. What brings you and this bunch of idiots through these paths?”

Thorin only glared at him, fearsome, fiery blue eyes glowering.

The Goblin King waved a pudgy hand in disdain. “Be like that, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. It does not concern me. Like your father and your father’s father before you, you will fall.”

“Send word to the Pale Orc. Tell him that I have captured what he has been looking for.”

Thorin could barely breathe. In the distance, he heard the Goblin King shout once more.

“Tell him that Durin’s line will be coming to an end today!”

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Your POV

“Send word to the Pale Orc. Tell him that I have captured what he has been looking for. Tell him that Durin’s line will be coming to an end today!”

You felt both horror and anger crash through you like a tsunami.

Azog.

Thorin.

No , you thought.

No.

“Durin’s Line will not end today. Not on my watch, you foul goblin!” you shouted as you nocked your arrow and fired.

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Thorin’s POV

“Durin’s Line will not end today. Not on my watch, you foul goblin!” he heard from somewhere high above him before he saw an arrow whizz by and bury itself up to its feathers in the middle of the Goblin King’s eyes.

Y/N, he thought, recognising your voice. Shock which was quickly replaced by a fierce pride welled in his heart, threatening to wash him away, but he couldn’t let it. Not now, when everyone was still in danger. He had a job to do as King.

In one fluid movement, he turned and unsheathed Orcrist from its scabbard behind him, killing the goblin that held it. Screams of pain and horror filled his ears as the goblins howled at the sight of the Goblin Cleaver, giving Thorin time to break free of his shackles and begin freeing the rest. He knew however fearsome this sword was, it would not be enough to keep such a massive number of revenge filled goblins at bay.

“RUN!” he bellowed at the Company.  

Thorin suddenly found himself in the midst of a battle, swinging Orcrist around like a meat cleaver. Everywhere he struck, there were goblins. There were too many, he thought. Every goblin he killed was replaced by another five more. He knew he was gravely outnumbered. Although two dwarfs could take on a hundred of them single handedly, they didn’t stand a good chance against this many and for Mahal knows how long.

“Thorin! Run!” you heard from up above. Y/N was jumping from outcrop to outcrop, shooting at the goblins that were trying to get past his defences.

Not without you , he thought to himself as he began butchering a path out for the rest of his Company before he heard a familiar scream.

Y/N, he thought frantically. “Y/N!”

Thorin turned around just as an arrow shot by a Goblin archer hit you in the chest. He watched helplessly as you fell like a stone onto the path in front of him, squashing a couple of goblins along the way with a sickening splat.

No.

Fury burnt through his veins like molten lava as he swung Orcrist with a renewed ferocity, screaming in anger, trying to get to you as quickly as he could. No, he thought numbly. No, it could not end like this. Not today, not any other day. Never.

“The light will take you all!” a deep voice thundered in the distance before a blinding white light swept across the hall.

Screams of pain filled his ears. “The Foe-Hammer, wielded by the White Wizard!” Thorin heard the goblins around him scream in pain and agony, trying to shield their eyes from the blaze. Thorin wasted not one second of it. Diving forwards, he tried as gently as he could in a high speed situation to fling you over his shoulder before he bolted off, the rest of the Company in tow.

Chapter Text

But if you loved me,

Why’d you leave me?

Take my body,

Take my body….

 - Kodaline

Dwalin’s POV

Dwalin had never seen his King so angry and afraid before. It had just been little over a minute since they had escaped the goblins nest and found a cave to hole up in. The wizard was already sitting on the floor beside Y/N who Thorin had placed gently on top of his bedroll, muttering under his breath as he weaved some wizardly spell.

Dwalin was worried for the lass. He wasn’t much of a healer but he could tell that it was bad. Especially after seeing Oin blanch at the sight and quickly proceed to whisk out whatever supplies he had.

More than that, he was worried for his friend, Thorin. The dwarf King had always been a difficult one to read, even to one such as himself, but even so, Dwalin could see his anguish as clear as day as you lay unmoving on the ground. He knew how dwarf hearts fell, ironically very much like Elves- only once, or not at all. Once, for the one that the dwarves believed Mahal made for them as a partner in this world and beyond in the Halls of Mandos.  

Dwalin believed that Y/N was Thorin’s One.

He could barely suppress a shudder of dread thinking about how much agony his friend would be going through right now. Fili and Kili formed a protective stance around Y/N, Fili holding a thick branch and Kili, his bow, ready to murder anybody who dared to bring more harm to you.

Dwalin hoisted his own crudely made club that he snatched out of some goblin’s hand, wishing that he had his own axe with him.

“Thorin.” Dwalin heard the grey wizard whisper and in an instant, Thorin had gone to his side. “Gandalf. How...how is she?”  he heard his friend whisper in pain. The wizard looked as though he had aged by a millenia. He looked at Thorin, his ageless grey eyes sad.

“There is deadly poison in that arrow head that even I cannot heal her.”

Dwalin’s breath caught in his throat as he fought to keep his emotions under control.

“There’s...nothing that you can do?” he heard Thorin whisper in a strangled tone.

“No. But there may be one who can. Although,” the wizard said tiredly, eyeing the herbs that Oin had laid out on the ground, “even he may be too late to pull her back from the brink.”

“What? Who can bring her back? Gandalf, we must go now then!” Thorin’s voice rose, booming across the little enclave in desperation.

“We will not be in time unless….Oin...I do not suppose you have athelas with you?”

Oin paused, wild eyes looking at Gandalf. “No Gandalf, it is but a weed, found only in the Shire, some towns of Men and the Elven forests.”

“As much as I thought,” Gandalf murmured, closing his eyes for a brief second in prayer.

Thorin looked as though he was about to blow or crack or both just when a tinny voice came from behind Dwalin.

“I-erm may have some athelas with me. From the Shire,” Bilbo said, startling Dwalin into raising his club at him. “By Mahal’s beard Bilbo, I thought you were lost!” Dwalin exclaimed, looking at the tiny, dirt stained hobbit standing in front of him frantically rummaging about his pockets.

In a flash, Thorin had strode up to Bilbo, waves of anxiety, fear, anger and hope rolling off him in waves. Bilbo began piling things that he drew up from his waistcoat onto Thorin as he searched hurriedly for the weed. It would have been comical seeing Thorin hold what looked like a handkerchief, an acorn and some silver spoons had the situation not been so dire.

“Ah here it is!” Bilbo exclaimed happily, pulling out a tiny bunch of white flowers from the depths of his pockets. Gandalf reached out to grab it, putting it to his nose before he cast steely grey eyes at Thorin. “Hobbits never fail to surprise. Now bring me some hot water!”

-------------  

Gandalf’s POV

He had crushed the athelas into some form of a powder just as Thorin returned with Kili, carrying a steaming pan of water between them. “Good. Oin, pour a little into a bowl. Thorin, sit beside Y/N,” Gandalf muttered, sending a silent prayer to the Valar that Y/N would have the strength to fight.

Picking up the bowl that Oin had thrust at him, he poured the powder inside and stirred quickly. “Thorin. Before I apply the athelas, hold her down. She will struggle, for dark forces are inside her and I need steady hands to anchor her here in the present,” Gandalf ordered, steel grey eyes meeting burning blue. Thorin nodded and did as he was told.

“ Y/N, Tul- back na i galad. Hear nin hu, tul- back na i galad,” he whispered in Sindarin as he pressed the paste into the wound.

Y/N screamed, writhing on the ground in agony as steam curled up from the black, oozing wound. Thorin’s face turned as white as his knuckles as he held her down, brushing her brow with a finger and murmuring a quick string of Khuzdul. Gandalf was tempted to raise an eyebrow at the dwarf King’s...affections, but Y/N was still in danger.  

“ Y/N, Tul- back na i galad. Hear nin hu, tul- back na i galad. Hear nin hu, tul- back na i galad,” Gandalf whispered once more, fingers curling over the wound. He could feel that the darkness was deep and stubborn but he had to try to draw as much of it out temporarily or Y/N would not even survive the journey to Rivendell. “Hear nin hu, tul- back na i galad….Hear nin hu, tul- back na i galad...”

Gandalf was starting to fear trickle down his spine. He could still see her soul floating towards the darkness, barely heeding his call. Why would she not heed him? Why would she not heed his call?

Closing his eyes once more, Gandalf tried the last trick he had up his sleeve. “Here nin hu, tul- back na Thorin…..Here nin hu, tul- back na Thorin….”

He saw her soul pause and then suddenly, she was falling, he with her, falling, falling, fall-

With a scream that resonated both in the dream realm and the physical realm, Gandalf drew back just as foul black blood spurted out from the wound. Y/N thrashed about wildly, fingers clawing at phantoms none but her could see before she slid mercifully into unconsciousness.

“Gandalf?” Thorin asked, looking at her suddenly still frame in fright. “Gandalf!”

“We need to get her to Rivendell, to Lord Elrond. The darkness is only gone for now. It will come back even stronger and only he has the power to heal her.”

Thorin’s face turned a very dark shade of mauve before he visibly steeled himself, giving Gandalf a firm nod. Gandalf was a little shocked but this confirmed what he had suspected all along. What he had felt coming all along.  

He would have time to laugh at the both of them later, he thought grimly, if Y/N ever got out of this alive.

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Thorin’s POV

His heart ached as he lifted you with ease into his arms bridal style, your head knocking lifelessly in the crook of his arm.

You looked so pale, he thought. So….lifeless. He clasped a hand around your cold, lifeless one, hopelessly wishing that by some miracle you would squeeze back in answer.

“Which is the fastest way to Rivendell?” he snapped at the wizard who was still getting up on his feet. Before the wizard could answer, he heard a long deep mournful sound in the distance

Orc horns.

“Follow me!” Gandalf cried out, waving his staff like a flag before running out of the cave towards the north.

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

“Keep running! Just a little further!” Thorin heard the grey wizard shouting from somewhere far ahead. For an old man, he sure had a lot of stamina, he thought grouchily as he ran as light footed as he could be in order to not further aggravate your wounds. They had been running full speed for close to two hours now. The little hobbit had started to look so winded on the twenty minute mark that Thorin had barked at Fili in Khuzdul to piggyback him. Even for the dwarves and their ferosome stamina, this run was definitely taking a strain on the Company. He knew that they could not last much longer.

He was about to call to Gandalf when he heard a horn sound in the distance. Behind him, he could hear the wargs yelp in terror.

“Aidhe hin balch glamog o mín laind!”

Thorin didn’t understand a single word but he knew from the way the syllables moulded and cascaded out of the mouth like a stream that they had finally reached their destination.

Rivendell.

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

Gandalf’s POV

“ Mellon nín Lindir ,” he gasped as he skidded to a halt in front of a golden-brown haired dwarf. “ Mithrandir, mellon nín, gad-cín thûl ,” Lindir replied softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Gandalf felt Thorin skid to a halt beside him, breathlessly counting the Company.

“Lindir, where is Lord Elrond?”

Lindir inclined his head towards their direction just as horses burst into the fair gardens of Rivendell. Astride the tallest and the fairest was an elf with golden-brown hair and a thin gold circlet upon his forehead. He leaped off his horse and went straight to Thorin, gently raising his hand to touch Y/N’s brow.

“Watch your hand elf ,” Gandalf heard Thorin snap, all civility lost to jealousy. Gandalf was in half a mind to roll his eyes and at the looks of it, Elrond wanted to as well.  

“ Nin hén...iu ista? ” he whispered to Y/N’s unconscious figure. He closed his eyes and Gandalf knew that Elrond was probing her with his magic.

“We’re losing her. We have to hurry,” Elrond murmured, eyes opening slowly. Turning, he let loose a smooth string of Sindarin and a couple of elves darted off. “Come with me Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. Her body cannot be bore by any other, or we may lose Y/N forever,” he said mildly, ignoring the many emotions flitting across the dwarf’s face as he strode off into the distance.

“I’m following my King,” Dwalin said gruffly from behind. A chorus of “Me toos!” immediately erupted, causing Lord Elrond to stop in his tracks, the barest hint of a faint smile crossing his face.

“I cannot have so many crowding the room at any one time, sons of Durin. Fili and Kili, sons of Vili, nephews to Thorin, King under the Mountain; perhaps it is best you come, in hope that it will ease your bleeding heart or at the very least, be a source of comfort to your uncle. Mithrandir, you will come for I will need your help,” Elrond said before turning away and continuing back on the path.  

Gandalf closed his eyes and muttered a brief prayer to the Valar. They were going to need it.

Chapter Text

Your POV

“Cen i galad nin hén, ul- back na i galad.”

You paused almost dreamily. That voice sounded familiar, but you didn’t care. Almost in a trance like state you followed the black shadows ahead of you who were whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

“ Y/N, here nin hu, tul- back na Thorin…. tul- back est Thorin, ” the voice continued.

You paused.

Thorin.

Where was he? you wondered. The black shadows hissed and tugged but you were having none of it.   

The voice paused. Suddenly, thunder rumbled in the sky as you heard a silky midnight baritone reverberate through your very bones. “Y/N….hear my call. Please….wake up.”

Thorin. That was definitely him.

You started to pad your way towards his voice but then suddenly, your body was on fire, a thousand red hot knives searing their way into your soul. You dropped to the ground screaming. All you could feel was pain. You were drowning in it. All around you, the black shadows closed in.

Thorin Oakenshield will never love you.

You are better off dead.

Ahead lies relief, behind lies death Y/N.

Stop lying to yourself Y/N. He has always doubted you. Always has and always will.

Come with us.

You clapped your hands so hard over your ears till you could barely hear yourself screaming, yet the shadows only grew louder. An unbearable pain was beginning to tear through you at an excruciatingly slow pace, burning every fiber of your being. Above, you could faintly hear the panicky voice of the thunder above the caterwaul of the shadows around you.

“Y/N, please. Please…Amrâlimé….Come home to me.”

Don’t be heartbroken , you thought dimly through the fire and the pain as you shakily raised a hand to the skies.

I will always come home.

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

Elrond’s POV  

“Is she okay? Is she alright?” Thorin snarled, worry creasing his brow. Elrond opened his eyes slowly, leaning over to check the wound. Mithrandir had collected whatever foul poison that had spurted out from the wound and had proceeded to throw it into the fire. The crown princes still stood at the door brandishing their weapons as though they expected whatever that plagued Y/N to barge through the door at any moment. Dwarves, Elrond wondered. What strange and wonderful creatures they were. Gently pulling at the open flesh, he examined the wound before giving a curt nod.

“She will be fine Master Oakenshield. The poison has left her. All we have to do now is to patch up this wound and let her recover.” he said as his deft fingers quickly concocted up a balm which he then proceeded to apply thickly. He could almost hear a sigh of relief from the dwarf king who then proceeded to bury his face into Y/N’s dark locks.

Elrond finally allowed himself a faint smile before turning to address Gandalf in Sindarin.

“These two….She does not know yet, neither does he,” Elrond murmured as he wrapped clean cotton bandages around Y/N’s wound.

“ No, Lord Elrond, they both do not,” Gandalf replied, a smile threatening to twitch from his beard.

“It is not in my position to speak, but it seems that… Y/N is Oakenshield’s One, ” Elrond continued lightly. “And that she still has no idea about what the dwarves mean by ‘their One’, does she,” he continued.

Mithrandir’s beard twitched upwards in a quick smile.

Elrond let out a short peal of silvery laughter, causing the three dwarves in the room to turn around and stare at him, eyes as wide as saucers. “Oh my dear…. What has Y/N gotten herself into this time around,” Elrond continued in Sindarin, much to the dwarves annoyance.

“Hmm...she’s gotten herself a thick headed, stubborn, angry dwarf King who loves her more than whatever gems dwarves hold dear and is one of the best Kings regardless of species that I have ever met despite his short tempers?” Gandalf offered, eyes twinkling in laughter.

Before Elrond could respond, he heard the crown princes conversing quickly with their uncle in short, rapid bursts of Khuzdul. “Uncle, what are they saying? Do they mean us harm? Is Y/N okay?”

Elrond sighed before turning to respond to them in perfect Khuzdul, the short, guttural syllables of the ancient dwarven language falling out of his mouth as seamlessly as Sindarin did.

The look on the dwarves faces were priceless .

He could hear Mithrandir cackling away in the background with mirthless laughter, unable to hold back anymore.

Elrond smiled gently. As much as he liked to tease this particular group of dwarves, he didn’t need a dwarven King to fall over in shock, much less in his home.  

“I was friends with Durin the Deathless many years ago. He taught me,” Elrond continued mildly as he switched back to Common language.  

The explanation that he hoped would suffice only caused the dwarves eyes to widen even further before the two princes proceeded to jump on him in perfect synchronisation and began peppering him with questions.

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

Thorin’s POV

It had been two moons since his sister’s sons had managed to thoroughly embarrass the entire line of Durin in one move. Two moons since you had been unconscious.

Thorin never left your bedside, only eating whenever food was brought in, never taking more than a step away from you. He knew that the rest of the Company would’ve started making deductions about how he reacted to your near shave with death. In his heart, he knew it to be true what they suspected.

He knew that you were his One.

What he didn’t know was if you felt the same.

It was only on the morning of the third day did you wake.

Chapter Text

Your POV

You opened your eyes blearily, frowning as the ceiling swam into view. When did goblin prisons look that exquisite, you thought, frowning suspiciously at the beautiful pale green stone with tiny veins of gold leaf running through it. You tried to move, except that you found that your right hand was trapped under something. Lifting your head slightly, you craned your neck to see what was holding you down.

Your breath stopped short in your throat as your eyes roamed down the raven black locks that were tumbling deliciously over your right thigh. “Th-Thorin?” you said- or at least you tried to say, your voice coming out more like a croak.

“Y/N?” the smooth baritone voice came. Thorin had shot up at the sound of his name, leaning close towards you and as he spoke, you could smell a sweet, musky, masculine smell. His smell.

“Are you feeling better?” Thorin rumbled, his hair falling over you both like a curtain. You could feel your heart skip a beat as you looked into those midnight blue eyes. Your brain decided to take leave of your senses right there and then.

“Thorin...” your slurred slightly. Before you could stop yourself, you had raised a hand shakily to one of those luscious braids that had partially settled in the hollow of your collarbone, tugging gently at it, wanting him to come closer.  

Above you, Thorin froze.

You removed your hand from his braid as though you had been burned by fire, thoughts running wildly through your head. Stupid stupid stupid! What were you thinking? you panicked. “I-I-sorry-” you stammered stupidly, wishing that the darkness could take you back once more. Stupid, stu-

Your thoughts were cut off abruptly by the feel of rough, yet gentle lips tentatively brushing across yours. His scent was everywhere, filtering through your nose, embedding itself in your skin. You felt the soft rasp of his beard on your chin and you drew a ragged breath. His tongue gently traced the outline of your lips, exploring the unfamiliar terrain.

And then suddenly, his mouth was gone all too soon. You blinked in confusion.

“I-I am sorry Y/N- I- I didn’t mean to-to do that without your agreement,” he stuttered, eyes wide in shock and horror at what he had just done.

Your heart swelled in an almost painful mixture of love and amusement. “Silly dwarf,” you muttered as you reached up and tugged at the ends of his braids. “Kiss me Thorin,” you whispered into his ear.

He didn’t need any further coaxing.

His lips pressed down on yours as his tongue parted your lips almost desperately. You let yourself get lost in his musky scent which enveloped you, kissing him back almost fiercely. Is this real, you thought to yourself, lost in the warmth of the moment.

Just like the first, his mouth was gone all too soon. His eyes were twin sapphires, a lovely medley of deep blue and midnight.

“Amrâlimé,” you heard him whisper into your ear as he brushed his finger pads gently against the curve of your neck. His body was like a furnace and you basked in the warmth. “What did you say Thorin?” you teased lightly. His lips ghosted over your cheekbones, leaving a trail of heat where they touched skin before he gently pressed his forehead against yours. “Amrâlimé. My love. You...are my One,” he murmured, hot breath against your skin.

My love.

My One.

Your heart just wanted to stop there and freeze the perfection of the moment in time. “What do you mean by your One, Thorin?” you asked softly as you trailed your fingers through the silky soft beard that covered his jawline. He paused before he got hold of himself, laughing gently, a deep musical rumble that you immediately loved. “I forgot that you won’t know about dwarvish culture Amrâlimé. Forgive me.”

You smiled, cupping your hands over his cheeks. “You are forgiven. Tell me, my love.”

“Our creator, Mahal made another being for us, someone who would love you and be loved in return in this life and beyond. If the time is right, we will come to recognise our One without a shadow of a doubt.”

“If?” you asked questioningly.

You could see Thorin’s eyes grow sad. “Not all find their One. Some die young, in war or sickness before they could find the one who belongs to them.”

“So, am I your One?” you murmured, still unable to wrap your head around how you of all people were created to be soulmates with such a wonderful being.

Thorin laughed lightly as he rubbed his nose against yours. “Without a shadow of a doubt, Amrâlimé.”       

You heard loud chortling from somewhere behind Thorin, causing you both to quickly break apart. Thorin pressed himself against the nightstand, his face turning a light shade of red as the rest of the Company barged in, Fili and Kili at the forefront.

“AUNTIE!” both of them yelled as they threw themselves on you in a flurry of arms and legs. You choked slightly as the princes wrapped their arms around you and squeezed hard. “Fee-Kee….I…. can’t breathe -” you managed to gasp before their weight was suddenly gone. You looked up gratefully to see who had saved you, finding yourself face to face with Dwalin. “Y/N. Feeling better?” he growled, a smile breaking out across his face.

You smiled lightly as you nodded, clasping your hand with the warrior’s large one.

Just over his shoulder, someone else came into view.

“Lord Elrond!” you shouted, voice hitching up a couple of pitches in happiness.

“Y/N. Urúi dan cin nin hén,” Elrond said quietly as he knelt down by your bedside. You looked at the glint of mischief in his eyes and grinned evilly before replying in perfect Sindarin.

The room became as silent as a tombstone.

Kili was the first to speak. “Auntie-but- you…..Numenoreans speak Elf?” he choked out, looking as though he was about to fall over in shock. You giggled slightly as you shook your head. “No Kee, not all of them do. I was brought up by Lord Elrond for the first couple years of my life before I requested to move back in with my human adoptive parents. They had allowed me to stay with Lord Elrond to learn the art of healing as they saw my love for it. It was in my years spent in Rivendell where I learnt Sindarin,” you recounted, thinking back in the days of your youth. “And, you, Kili, son of Vili , ” you continued, cuffing Kili over the ear, “ don’t ever call me Auntie again. I’m not that old,” you laughed.

“Sure... Auntie ,” Kili and Fili chimed together mischievously before dashing as fast as their legs could hold them out of the room, their cackles echoing down the corridor. The whole room burst into laughter, with Thorin even giving a derisive snort as you rolled your eyes.

“I will need to check your wound nin hén ,” Lord Elrond said as he gestured at your shoulder. With a look from Thorin, the rest of the Company filed out, promising that they would see you later at dinner.

“Thorin...how long was I out for?” you wondered.

“Two moons. Today is the third day amrâlimé ,” came the reply.

You sighed as Lord Elrond gently wound your arm out of the shirtsleeve and began taking off the bandages. Two moons. That’s too long, you thought. What if they missed Durin’s Day because of you?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a satisfied grunt from Lord Elrond. “Your wounds have been healing well, mellon nîn . I think you should be fit for travel tomorrow.”

“ Hânna-da my lord,” you murmured back as he set about rebandaging your wound. Elrond smiled as he finished up, patting your arm kindly. “It is good to see you Y/N.” “It is good to see you too my lord,” you smiled. “I will have to take my leave for now. Dinner will be served in the Hall for tonight we feast in blessings for your journey. Until then, I will inform the rest not to disturb you...both,” Elrond said, winking at you before he turned, gave a slight nod to Thorin and swept out of the door, shutting it gently.

“ Amrâlimé ,” Thorin whispered as he sunk into your bed, one large calloused hand gently cupping your face. Faint sparks of desire sparked through the points of contact, warming you all the way down to the depths of your heart.

“My love,” you breathed, tracing your fingers over his cheekbones as you leaned in to kiss him. This time, the kiss was more frantic, his mouth heady against yours, beard rasping across your chin, eliciting a soft moan from you. This may be just a little too fast , you thought mildly to yourself in amusement. Just half an hour ago you had thought Thorin didn’t love you and now you wanted every part of him already, his body, his spirit, his soul. You suppressed a giggle, thinking about the look on your mother’s face if you ever told her about this.

The flames of desire were ripping at you and the temptation of succumbing to that beautiful being in front of you was just way too much.

“Make love to me Thorin,” you gasped as his mouth made his way down your jawline, peppering it with tiny kisses. You could feel him stop before he pulled back. His eyes were nearly black with desire, pupils blown wide. “Are you sure about this Y/N?” he asked tentatively, his tongue flicking out nervously to wet his lips. “ Yes ,” you breathed, “ yes, make love to me Thorin. Make me scream. Make me yours .”

Chapter Text

Sorry guys but you’ll have to wait for an update after November as I’m currently preparing for my upcoming International Baccalaureate examinations! Apologies for not informing earlier but thank you all for your support thus far :-)