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Of Kings, Crowns and Love (Thorin Spring Forge 2024 Entry)

accompanying art piece by @koyunsoncizeri here!! 😭🩷🩷🩷 it's gorgeous!

Summary: Thorin hears of Rohan’s king’s death, and how his son, moving back home from Gondor, is about to be crowned the new king of Rohan. Normally, Dwarves keep themselves out of the business of men. But something is stirring in the North, something dark and evil that seems to be connected to Gundabad and the fell lands of the East... and having some extra allies is not bad (as he’s learned on his quest to retake Erebor).

The King under the Mountain officially invites himself to the crowning of King Thengel, where he meets not just Thengel and a mysterious man called Thorongil, but also the new king’s sisters. Falling head over heels for the oldest of the two sisters, Thorin finds himself no longer on just a political mission, but also one of love.

Fandom: The Hobbit / Lord of the Rings

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield / original female character

Tags: everybody lives AU, Dragon Sickness, PTSD, First Love, Courting, First Kiss, Romance, Love Letters, Baking

Word Count: around 9157

Notes: I want to thank the lovely moderators from @thorinsspringforge for this event and the support they offered us all! This was so much fun :3

I also want to give a HUGE shoutout to my artist @koyunsoncizeri who created something so so beautiful (please go check out their art piece for this fic and reblog and give it love!!), which helped inspire me to keep writing when I struggled!! Their talent and kindness knows no bounds! Thank you love 🩷

AO3 link to the TSF24 collection

AO3 link to my entry but you can also read the full thing in this post

Tag list: @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @knittastically @heilith @lathalea @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @nowandthane

Part 1: The Coronation, Interrupted

Flower petals moved through the air like a gorgeous spring rain. Puddles of colours lay on the floor already. The people must have picked clean huge fields of flowers just for this very occasion, the newly ascended King thought to himself as he stared out over the sea of colours and smiles.

They would do such a thing too, for him. For today was a joyous and important day in the Kingdom of Rohan. Their wayward and lost prince, Thengel, had returned to take over the crown since his father’s passing. There were, in other words, not just one thing to celebrate, but two.

The crown, heavier than it looked both with burden and physical weight, rested atop his long, golden hair whilst he smiled at unknown faces that saw not him, but his father; who clapped not for him, but for their own relief at no longer being without king; who were happy not for his return, but for their own leadership not disappearing with the life of their previous king.

The colours, the beautiful sight of the petals, was all loathsome to Thengel. He had had a nice life in Gondor. Why, oh why, did his father have to die so soon? He’d hoped to die in some battle before him. But here he was, forced to take the crown because his annoying brothers had skipped town the second they heard their father was on his deathbed.

No one wanted this bloody crown, heavy as it was in so many ways… No one but potentially the faces smiling back at him now. He knew no one. He trusted even fewer people.

Aside from… Morwen. His beautiful wife, stood next to him bearing an equally as heavy crown. Yet, she seemed to carry it with ease. Her beauty, her love, her kindness… They, Thengel thought to himself, were going to be what ruled Rohan. And Morwen, his dear beloved darling, would do it too, even if she would rather spend her time with their children: Theoden and Theodis.

Just as they were going to sit down and start the feast and be one step closer to ending this dreadful day, the large doors to the hall opened. A wind gushed through the place, forcing the petals to blow away from the feasts, some falling into the large beacons of fire to shrivel into ash…

A silence fell over the hall, every gaze turned toward the doors now wide open...

Dwarves.

Uninvited Dwarves. Six of them too!

Slowly, the leader, the one and only Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, slayer of Smaug the Terrible, and defeater of Azog the Defiler, moved through the hall and up toward the thrones. He avoided all gazes sent his way, walking with intent, determined steps, and with a look on his face that was anything but kind, at least in the eyes of the humans.

“I thought Dwarves were meant to have longer beards-“ With a quick, reprimanding tug at her nephew’s shirt, Maerwyn silenced Theoden’s whispers which were far too loud to be called whispers in all honesty. She stood together with her niece and nephew to the side of the thrones, watching everything play out from the sidelines, yet with equal curiosity as Morwen and Thengel.

Maerwyn, sister to Thengel and born with the same beauty and blonde hair, had been in Gondor with her brother almost her entire life. She mourned her father quite little, having never known him. Thengel was more her father than anyone else.

Thorongil, their mutual, closest friend, stood to her side too, looking amused by Theoden’s words. As a friend and not Theoden’s family, the ranger didn’t have to reprimand the child. So he winked at Theoden, rendering Maerwyn reprimand useless, of course.

Theodis, at an age now that her mischievous brother embarrassed her as she wanted to be as graceful and grown up as her mother, glared at Theoden.

Once the six Dwarves reached the front, they each took a bow, staying down on one knee.

“We come to pay our respects to the new King of Rohan,” Thorin spoke. He, crownless as he was (and rumor had it he never wore his crown either), had a face everyone knew. He did not have to introduce himself. And he apparently wasn’t going to either.

Maerwyn glanced to Thorongil. As the older (though he didn’t look it) and wiser out of the two, she wanted to see what his reaction was to Thorin’s own invite to the occasion. He looked suspicious, but mainly surprised. Indeed, the ranger was right to be surprised. The Dwarves, as good of an ally as they could be, weren’t known to so openly approach Men for any sort of diplomatic meeting. This… well, this was certainly a surprise.

As Thorin raised his head to speak, his gaze flickered over to Maerwyn for a split second and she felt her heart do a somersault. No one had told her that the great Thorin Oakenshield was so… handsome.

“We come bearing gifts to rekindle a friendship between their people.” The Dwarves stood, upon which two younger Dwarves and one much older rounded Thorin to bow in front of the king and queen, presenting three boxes each. “Myrr from the people of Esgaroth. An embroidered Rohirrim symbol on a tapestry from the merchants of Erebor. As well as a divine set of new bracers and a dagger from the Dwarven smithies of Erebor. You could wish for no finer equipment, I can assure you,” Thorin spoke.

Morwen smiled and graciously bowed to accept the gifts.

Thengel, however… “So you have come to rekindle something ancient, indeed.” It sounded for a second as if this was his way of dismissing the Dwarves and denying a rekindling of allyship. But then: “Welcome.” And with that, Thengel sat down, with Morwen in tow, and the people in Edoras Hall continued to cheer.

The feast was grand. Tables laced with meat, mead, cakes and everything one could have hoped for had been prepared by servants for days before this, and it all looked as perfect as they’d hoped it would turn out to be. Before long, the lutes from bards filled the Golden Hall’s entire air with joyous music. People sung, danced, drank and ate to their heart’s content. It was a merry occasion once more.

The Dwarves stayed in their corner. All apart for Thorin’s nephews, who had found their way into the crowd of Men to sing and dance alongside them with ease. They’d found Theoden and Theodis, and had danced with the little children for a while before Morwen had sent them to bed. Now they were merrymaking with the adults instead.

The older Dwarves seemed less inclined to mingle or mix with the strangers. And it showed in their way of glaring and mumbling to each other each time someone had the ‘audacity’ of glancing their way or coming a little too close to their corner.

Thengel, watching his people’s merrymaking from the sidelines with a cup of untouched mead in his hand, found it only making him distrust these Dwarves’ intentions more.

“You look troubled, my friend.” Thorongil had appeared by Thengel’s side. “As new King, you should not have those frown lines on your face just yet. Leave that for your first duties.” A joke. But Thengel was far from a joking mood.

“They want something…” he muttered quietly. His gloves squeaked as he closed one hand into a fist. “I just know it. It’s just like those nobles in Gondor, Thorongil. They want things from me because I have power.”

Thorongil didn’t react at first, simply listening to the grumbling of his old friend. “Did I want something from you?”

Thengel scoffed. “No, but you are different.”

“Perhaps they are different too?”

Thengel narrowed his eyes at them, especially Thorin Oakenshield. Maybe he didn’t don his crown, but a crown he had. A whole kingdom that looked up to him and marvelled at his power. What could he possibly want from Rohan? Nothing good… It couldn’t be anything good…

Part 2: The Feast

Moving through the crowd, Maerwyn approached the Dwarves standing in their corner of the room. Her hands cupped a chalice of red wine, but it was not the reason for her seamless movement through the crowd. They parted for her, bowing respectfully. She was now no longer the daughter of the King. She was the sister of the King. Yet, that was not the reason for people to part for her so quickly and respectfully. Her importance to the kingdom had not changed. But rather, she, herself, was put on a pedestal by all who saw her, it seemed.

This, Thorin noticed as he caught sight of the woman approaching them. Her green eyes flickered between the vessel in her hands, and him, letting Thorin know her intent. Curious, he’d watched her, long since forgetting about the conversation at hand between his fellow Dwarves. Dwalin and Ori seemed oblivious to it. Balin was not, watching Thorin and Maerwyn’s looks to each other with curious dismay.

“It’s not worth it, Thorin-“ Maerwyn had interrupted a conversation as she approached, blinking innocently at Dwalin with an unsaid apology, to which the Dwarf only glared.

There was a moment in which Dwalin wanted to push forward and place himself in front of Thorin protectively, but Thorin was quick to stop that with a single hand gesture. Instead, he stepped forward to greet Maerwyn with a bow.

Maerwyn couldn’t tell whether Thorin had done so to be kind to the sister of the King Thorin clearly wanted something from, or whether Thorin truly had meant his kind greeting.

Approaching guests was unlike her. She stayed in the background, sister to great men, daughter to Kings, doomed to be of a gender that was given little space or power in the Kingdoms of Men. Yet here she was, approaching guests of the King, her brother, without a care in the world. Confidence bloomed through her body, driven on only by the pure infatuation with this one Dwarf’s attractive face, curious whether the Dwarf’s heart might be as attractive too.

“My lady..?” Thorin asked politely.

“Maerwyn,” she replied. “King Thengel’s sister.” She curtsied politely before offering the cup she was cradling in her hands.

Thorin looked confused. She smiled. He smiled. “It is an offer of kinship and generosity to share wine from the same cup.”

“And who else has drunk from this?” Thorin asked curiously, though his voice held a little edge to it.

Maerwyn blushed. “Me.”

Spurred on by this answer, it seemed, Thorin reached out and took a long sip, lips lingering on the cup as his eyes found hers… with intent. She watched with wide eyes, her blush gone but not because she was not feeling something. Rather, she was too surprised by the Dwarf’s obvious meaning to allow herself to feel anything-

Then before she could say or do anything else, Thengel’s hand suddenly touched her shoulder.

She was silently goaded to leave, and so she did, her head lowered but a smile playing on her lips.

“You seem happy.” Thorongil said as he walked with her through the crowd.

Surprised he had approached her, Maerwyn nodded her head in agreement. “I’ve never met a man with such reputation.”

“Yes, reputation,” Thorongil said with a little glint to his eyes. “I am sure his reputation was what just motivated you to act.”

She blushed.

“Be careful, my lady,” Thorongil added quickly. “He is a man who has seen much, been through even more, and whose heart is darker than it seems.”

“I see darkness,” Maerwyn was quick to say, as if defending her own choices. Though, she knew, that one needn’t defend one’s choices to Thorongil. He was kinder than most: a man who had seen much and been through more. A man who, perhaps, could understand Thorin better than most. “But I don’t only see darkness. He can get out of it.”

“Few can.”

“Indeed.” Maerwyn put the cup down and gave Thorongil a pointed look. “Sometimes, with a little help, a person can do surprisingly much.”

Thorongil bowed his head. “Just be careful. You’ve only just met.”

Thengel watched Maerwyn and Thorongil walk away for a little bit before turning his gaze to Thorin. “Few dare come uninvited to a Coronation of an unallied King.”

“Yet here I am,” Thorin replied.

“Here you are…” Thengel said, pretending to ignore the three Dwarves behind Thorin tensing up, ready to step in and help. “Might we speak in private? Outside, perhaps, on the balcony?” Before Thorin could even respond, Thengel was already leading the way through the crowds. With a look back at Balin, Dwalin and Ori, Thorin offered a disgruntled look at Thengel’s behaviour, before following the new King.

The balcony was positioned to offer a view of the vast fields that made up Rohan. Hills upon hills of green grass that had sickened into a beige colour now that autumn was here.

Far, far away, the outlines of mountains surrounded them. Helm’s Deep, Thorin recalled from his studies, was somewhere there. Among many Rohirrim dark secrets one needed to pass to get to the lands of Gondor the quickest.

Thorin had to admit that the vast openness of the lands of Men made him uncomfortable. Sometimes, Thorin thought to himself, when he stepped out of Erebor, he thought the Sky would fall down on him, or that he himself would float up toward it. It was strange not to have anything above his head.

So whilst he could understand how this was a beautiful view, he didn’t quite share in admiring it the way Thengel was.

Though, something told Thorin that Thengel was merely biding his time so he could gather his thoughts and speak his mind without… offending Thorin too much. A bitterness surrounded Thengel. No man should be too overjoyed by a crown burdening their shoulders, or they would become bad kings, but this much bitterness revealed more anger than a king should have.

“You come here… uninvited,” Thengel began, repeating what he’d said earlier but with agitation in his voice. Thorin joined the man by the railing of the balcony, eyes only just managing to peak over at the view. He tried to stare at it to keep his mind at peace, to try and listen rather than see what Thengel was feeling. To anyone who might catch a glimpse of them, it didn’t look like there was any tension between the two. But oh… there was. “And you demand things of me.”

“Demand?” Thorin asked, astounded and surprised. “I merely wish for a fellowship between our people.”

“Fellowship… Wish…” Thengel grunted under his breath. “People always want things from me. It is never a courtesy call.”

“The burden of a king-“

“The burden of Thengel,” he was quick to interrupt and correct, glancing down to the Dwarf beside him. Thorin raised his chin, eyes curious, and also slightly annoyed at being cut off. “No man ever simply speaks to me. I was and will always be my father’s youngest son, destined to bring news to him of lords and ladies who did good deeds and who would like, very much, to be invited to his court. I escaped to Gondor to try and find peace. Yet it was only worse.”

Thorin understood his meaning. “And now you are back here.”

“And with only more people demanding things from me.”

“I demand nothing,” Thorin tried to reassure him. “I merely wish-“

“Wishing is the lordly way of demanding, is it not?” Thengel muttered. He turned to face Thorin, eyes crueller than they had need to be in this situation. But his trauma spoke for itself, taking control over Thengel in this moment. And quite honestly, out of everyone to understand that, Thorin would be highest on the list. His past did not come without its fair share of trauma. To remain King under the Mountain meant dealing with the Dragon Sickness that never quite faded, a constant vicarious battle between reality and his own demise. Yet, he couldn’t say anything to help Thengel.

Because Thorin’s belief was that there was no one who could help Thorin but Thorin himself. And therefore, there was no one who could help Thengel but Thengel.

“I will think on it.” Thengel interrupted what had turned into a really long silence where both Kings had stared into each other’s eyes. “But I guarantee nothing.”

Then, with a sigh, Thengel waved his hand and offered Thorin and his company a place to stay whilst they recuperated, and to enjoy the feasts and blah blah… The man was done with niceties. He was no fit for a king, but there also was no sight of any of his brothers. No one, it seemed, wanted the crown.

As Thengel left Thorin’s side, Thorin thought hard on Thengel’s words. A troubled man, indeed. But not without cause. If only Thorin had the communication skills to offer his sympathies, but he had a feeling nothing would come of it but two stubborn men butting heads. He wished, for a split second, that his dear friend Bilbo might be there by his side to do the talking for him. Alas, he was enjoying a peaceful life in the Shire, away from politics and kings.

Good.

The Hobbit deserved as much.

“He is troubled, he means no harm.” The voice surprised Thorin, who turned and watched that curious ranger who seemed to be in the shadows during this feast, yet stand beside Thengel on his throne, approach him instead on the balcony. Hands behind his back, rugged black clothes and cape hiding a toned body, Thorongil remained a mystery to Thorin.

“And who are you?” Thorin asked, his voice a little too pointed to call it a kind question.

“Thorongil is the name people seem to use.”

“Yet it is not your name?” Thorin asked with a furrow brow of annoyance. It was a normal question to ask. Why not answer it?

Thorongil stayed quiet, an amused look appearing on his face. He pretended to watch the view as well. Men really were fascinated by these green open hills, weren’t they? Thorin doubted they’d offer his halls the same admiration, as cruel as that sounded.

“How do you know Thengel?” Thorin asked instead.

“We met in Gondor. We fought together during battles at the borders of Mordor.” Thorin’s spine shivered at the mention of that foul place. “We became friends, I suppose. I never asked much of him.”

There was something in his words that made Thorin tilt his head.

“It seems to be the way to his heart,” Thorongil added. He glanced down at Thorin with a pointed look.

“You mean to tell me I should simply not ask anything of him? Have no purpose for being here? And what, leave without an allyship?”

“Your purpose would be to welcome a new king to your neighbouring realm.” Thorongil gave Thorin a pointed look. “Support will take you a long way, Thorin Oakenshield. I suggest, for now…” Thorongil turned to glance over his shoulder. When Thorin did, he’d only caught sight of Maerwyn’s dress flowing as she rushed away. “For now, you simply enjoy the company.” With a knowing look, Thorongil left Thorin alone.

Men were confusing. Worse than Elves, it seemed.

These were going to be some long days spent in their company.

Part 3: Early Mornings, Baking and Courting – All Somehow Wrapped in One

The festivities died down a long time ago. Yet, Thorin could only hear noise. Noise from his own mind.

He tossed and turned in his bed, far too big for a Dwarf to begin with. He felt like he was being swallowed by some deep dark hole that would drown him in screams and anguish and growls and pain and dragons and gold-

Thorin sat up with a sigh, rubbing the thoughts and the gold away from his eyeballs.

Sleep would not come to him that night.

With a cold sweat shining on his skin in the faint glow of candles, Thorin stood and put on some clothes that would render him anything but royal looking. Dark robes and a large hood to pull over his head. He meant to walk the halls until morning. To occupy his body and get rid of the restlessness that persisted in his bones whilst his mind surged with dark thoughts.

Fili, his blessed nephew who seemed to always have a third eye for his uncle’s moods, awoke in his drunken sleep. He and Kili had enjoyed last night’s festivities to the fullest.

Groggily, Fili turned and glanced at Thorin. “Uncle…?”

“Go back to sleep, Fili.” How Fili could sleep with Dwalin and Kili snoring as much as they were, Thorin had no idea. But the vast amount of mead Fili had had most likely offered some help.

“Are you alright?” Fili pushed.

“I am just fine. I simply want to go for a walk.”

He didn’t convince his nephew. That much was obvious. But Fili gave in and put his head back down onto his pillow. He fell back asleep instantly. Most likely, Fili wouldn’t even remember this conversation come morning.

Heading out, Thorin wandered the halls, as he had planned. His mind was still clouded, dark, and he truly had no idea where his feet brought him. He found halls that were riddled with cobwebs, unused. He found basements and servant quarters and large libraries. A crypt, too.

But he didn’t explore any of the areas. He simply… wandered.

Until suddenly, he collided with something soft. In his half asleep state of panic and anxiety, Thorin had not noticed someone roaming the shadows, much like him, dressed in dark clothes, much like him, and collided with the figure upon both taking the same turn.

“I apologise- My lady?”

Her hood had fallen back as she’d stumbled against someone. Shocked, Maerwyn stared down at Thorin. “Oh! My Lord!” Her cheeks blushed. Pale skin tinted with emotions she was not used to. “I humbly apologise…” She curtsied.

Thorin smiled. “Please, I should be the one apologising. I was not looking where I was going. I was a fool for not seeing your beauty a mile away.”

Shocked by his words, her beautiful green, almost yellow eyes flickered hither and tither for a moment as she tried to compose herself. “I… I thank you for your kind words, my lord. But I must ask… what are you doing out of bed at this ungodly hour?”

A chuckle arose from Thorin’s chest. Oh… that felt nice. It had been quite some time since someone earnestly made him chuckle. “I might ask the same of you.”

She blushed again.

He liked seeing that blush.

“I was on my way…” She interrupted herself. Her eyes betrayed her as it was obvious she suddenly got an idea. “Might I ask you to accompany me, my lord? If I may be so presumptuous, but I feel you might gain quite a lot from this…”

That was mysterious.

Thorin always thought that he had had quite enough of adventures for a lifetime. He’d dealt with dragons twice too many times in his life; he’d travelled Middle-earth in search of a home far too much… Though, he never quite tired of visiting the Shire.

But Thorin had little else to do that night, and wanted nothing more but to bask in this lady’s beauty for a little longer. So he nodded and gestured for her to lead the way to this mysterious thing that would help Thorin.

Edoras Hall was built atop a hill, with a view over not just the surrounding Rohirrim fields, but also a view of the town itself. It was perhaps in no way the same beauty as Gondor, with its vast history and great, white walls; but it was, to Thorin, the most beautiful sight in the world. At least right now. He was biased though, as the town presented itself to him as a backdrop to lady Maerwyn. Anything would be as beautiful as Erebor’s halls to him when lady Maerwyn was present.

Her golden hair braided to the side escaped her large, black hood which was cast over her head to prevent people seeing her leave. Why the secrecy, Thorin had no idea. But he found it elicited some sort of youthful rebellion inside of him that only further made lady Maerwyn enticing.

He was unaware that, already, his mind was distracted away from the worries of trying to create a friendship with the kingdom of Rohan, and the dark nightmares that plagued him.

Down the steps they hurried, into the sleeping town with shadows cast over their faces. The sun was beginning to wake, and although there were already a couple of people awake, Thorin felt himself escape himself. As if a freedom permeated his surroundings, hidden as he was. As if for once he wasn’t King Thorin, or Thorin Oakenshield, but someone Thorin had missed being a great deal; a younger, less known Thorin who could stand beside his father and grandfather and not be noticed too much – who could wander the merchant stalls in Erebor with his friends without anyone treating him differently.

And as they approached a little house in the middle of town, and lady Maerwyn removed her hood to glance back at Thorin, eyes making sure he had kept up with her fast pace, Thorin felt that although he was no one with a special title at the moment, hidden as he was, Maerwyn still found him special.

He’d never felt that way before. Accepted for who he was. Even Dwalin, his closest companion, could not see him without his titles. And although that was not a problem in and of itself, Thorin felt… warm. Nice. When seen as just him for a moment.

Taking off his hood as they entered the house, Thorin found himself, to his surprise, in a little bakery. The sweet scent of freshly baked goods and bread was already all around them. Bakers were amongst the first to wake in most towns. Here it was no different.

However, Thorin found that the owners looked a little more stressed than bakers usually did. Still, as they saw lady Maerwyn, they took the time to pause and smile in a greeting.

“Oh how I’m glad you’re here, my lady.”

My lady. So they knew who she was. Thorin was a little dismayed that his anonymity might go away- “And who is this with you?” Oh!

Maerwyn gestured toward Thorin, and to Thorin’s surprise, she answered for him: “This is a dear friend of mine. He wished to help.”

“I’ve never had a Dwarf in my shop,” the owner, flour all over their apron in her hair, said. “Sorry, that’s a strange remark to make. Please! I need all the help I can get.”

Maerwyn smiled and led Thorin toward the back of the shop. Washing her hands in a little basin, she got straight to work. This woman knew what she was doing. Baking bread was no difficulty for her. Thorin found this curious.

But he didn’t comment on it just yet. Instead, he was focused on his own work because…

He might be a skilled blacksmith. He might be a skilled warrior. And on the road, he was not a stranger to hunting with a bow and making some good meat stews. But… baking was not something he’d done much of. Bread was not something Dwarves never ate, of course, but… it just wasn’t something he’d baked himself before.

And so as he awkwardly tried to mimic what Maerwyn was doing, he found his dough lacked… Well, it lacked everything. It wasn’t really a dough. More of a piece of slime.

And much to his dismay, he caught Maerwyn glancing at his work and giggle.

“It’s alright. Here… just add some more flour.” Thorin watched her, finding his gaze locked on her instead of what she was saying and showing. Her teachings went over his head, blinded as he was by… well, everything about her.

So once she glanced at him with expecting eyes, clearly waiting for him to try once more but with the addition of all she’d just taught him, Thorin stumbled once more and created, again, a slime.

She chuckled. And blushed, clearly aware what had just transpired. “How about you just knead the dough? Your strength will do you good here.”

He did not miss her eyes subconsciously glancing at his arms, the muscles which hid beneath his tunic.

And oh was he suddenly extremely motivated to show her that, yes, he did have strength.

He kneaded the doughs so keenly and with such motivation that he most likely looked a fool. Yet, Maerwyn smiled at him and only encouraged and praised his work.

Before long, another person entered the shop: that ranger who was always lurking around Thengel. Thorin’s heart sunk a bit, not because Thorongil would ruin anything, but because Thorin had enjoyed having Maerwyn’s complete attention.

And why was he always around where Maerwyn was?

Jealousy.

Thorin was quick to realise that what he felt was jealousy. Truly, it was unbecoming of him. This lady next to her, arm sometimes brushing up against his, sending shivers down his spine, awakened sides of Thorin that had laid dormant for so long whilst he had done nothing but try and survive. For decades, his life was all about the Dwarves under his charge. His people’s redemption. His people’s survival. His own throne’s return. Now, suddenly, he cared about kneading dough and a lady’s arm brushing up against his.

It was… a welcoming change of pace.

And he did not want it to be disturbed.

“My lady,” Thorongil greeted. Maerwyn smiled and greeted him back… “Sire,” he greeted Thorin.

And then, to Thorin’s surprise, Thorongil took off his rings, washed his hands, and began helping the both of them too.

A comfortable silence fell over them all, and Maerwyn’s little smiles and blushes toward Thorin never stopped. Thorin found it curious, and his mind suddenly realised that he had no idea why he was making bread.

“My lady, my good sir, might I ask of you… why we are helping the local bakery?” Thorin asked as kindly as he could. He’d learned from his nephews that sometimes he was a little too… gruff. Grumpy was actually the word Kili had used, but he hadn’t liked that. Grumpy was what one called someone old. And Thorin surely wasn’t old yet?

Maerwyn giggled when Thorongil blinked in surprise. “You’ve not told him?”

“I fear I quite forgot,” Maerwyn chuckled. “My brother wished for all the people to have freshly baked bread come morning, as a token of his gratitude and as a celebration for their new king. But I’m afraid my brother has always lived the life of a nobleman, even in Gondor or out on the road, so he didn’t quite realise how much work this would be on the bakers. Thorongil and I decided we’d help out. But working with one’s hands can have quite a therapeutic effect, and when I saw the look in your eyes, my lord, I thought I’d bring you here too.” Maerwyn, a bit of flour on her cheek, glanced at Thorin with sheepish, almost worried eyes.

Had she gone too far?

Thorin smiled. No, she had not. Perhaps he might have reacted differently in another circumstance. Perhaps he’d even reacted differently had it been anyone but Maerwyn who had said these words to him. But Maerwyn with her beauty was a welcomed person to dig deeper into Thorin.

And as a matter of fact, Thorin was a little surprised that she’d seen through him so well. He’d not even realised himself that during these hours, Thorin had not once thought of Erebor or its riches. He felt lighter. Lighter than he’d done since he’d taken on the burden of being King despite the Dragon Sickness in his heart. It felt… nice.

She felt nice. Too nice, for him. He didn’t deserve that after all he’d done. Yet, here she was, put on his path to offer her empathy.

He didn’t want to let her go.

“I thank you, my lady,” Thorin replied.

The Dwarf King caught a look between Maerwyn and Thorongil. A conversation Thorin had not been privy to seemed to suddenly come to an end. Thorongil bowed his head in defeat at her, and Maerwyn looked a little prideful. Thorin adored that look on her face. It made her glow. She should be proud all the time, Thorin thought. Someone should make her feel like a queen. He would, if only to see that look again.

The bakers had bowed and thanked the three of them so much that it had taken them five minutes just to leave the bakery. Once outside, all three of them put their hoods back on and walked back to Edoras Halls in peaceful anonymity.

By now, the morning sun was shining down on the town, and people had awoken. The bakery’s freshly baked bread was a scent that prevailed in the entire town. And when Thorin glanced back before beginning to ascend up toward the halls, he noticed young boys and girls, given a pretty penny to help out, deliver loaves wrapped in cloth to the people.

It was a good day for the townspeople. And, truthfully, Thorin found a newfound respect for the king. Despite Thengel’s demons speaking for him, causing distrust toward Thorin, a kind and well-meaning person was revealed to him through this very ordeal. No king would have thought of spreading food to his people as their first order. Most kings would have thought of themselves.

Thorongil walked ahead, offering Thorin and Maerwyn some privacy. Whether this was intentional or not was not difficult to read. Thorongil had offered a knowing look to Maerwyn before suddenly picking up his own pace.

“I hope you feel better, my lord,” Maerwyn said, breaking the silence between her and Thorin. “You looked so forlorn when we bumped into each other earlier. I wanted nothing but to help you.”

“Few would feel that way,” Thorin admitted.

“Why? You deserve help.”

Thorin grew quiet.

“You speak not very highly of yourself.” The walk up those steps toward the hall made Maerwyn slightly out of breath, yet as she walked beside him, skirts in her hand to keep from tripping, she took deep enough breaths to speak to Thorin clearly. She wanted him to listen. To hear. “You saved your people. You gave them a new home. You defeated a dragon.”

“There are details no one speaks of,” Thorin intervened.

Both paused as they reached the top, turning to face each other. Thorongil disappeared inside ahead of them.

“What details?” she boldly asked.

“I am not myself.”

“We all have darkness.”

“You should not grow comfortable around me. I have days I am no person. There are days I have to lock myself in my room as greed and desire are all I feel. There is, and always will be, a curse on the wealth of that Mountain. And my family, my bloodline, is its prey.”

Maerwyn’s brow furrowed in worry. Not disgust. Not fear. But worry. Worry for him and his wellbeing. Thorin almost wanted to wave it off and tell her to stop being naïve, as he did with Dis, Fili and Kili.

But it wasn’t naivety, and Thorin could see that much.

She meant it.

“Then I will endeavour to find more ways to help you.”

More?

“This was for me?” Thorin asked, gesturing back in the direction of the bakery.

“The baking was for the people. But letting you help was for you, yes. There should be more things that could aid you. I will figure it out. I promise.”

“You have no reason to promise anything to me.”

“And yet I am promising,” she persisted, smiling. “The stubbornness of Dwarves is true, it seems. Yet, the stubbornness of women is equally as true.” She stepped closer, as if wanting to reach out, but her confidence failed her.

Thorin had wished she’d done what she’d wanted.

“You have some flour on your cheek.”

Because it would have meant her touch his cheek.

“So do you, my lady.”

And it would have meant he’d been able to touch her too.

Thorin and lady Maerwyn did not have many more moments where they could speak in private. So they made their own time to do so.

Somehow, without saying a single word about it, both had found a routine in going to that very corner where they’d bumped into each other each early morning, for a stroll around the halls and some peaceful conversation.

Sometimes, Maerwyn came with some new ideas to distract Thorin from the darkness inside him. She presented painting to him, though he really did not want to even try his hands on that. He was a blacksmith. Painting was too delicate for him.

She also presented writing to him. He did try his hands on that and so one fateful morning…

“I have tried my hand on writing something.”

Surprised that Thorin had done this, not because she did not believe in his artistic abilities, but because she was truthfully not sure he wanted to help himself, Maerwyn had paused in their walk to turn to him. “Have you?”

She wore a nightgown underneath a thick, large cardigan. And she looked as heavenly as always, to Thorin.

With a nod, he assured her that he had indeed done some writing, before presenting a note from the inside of his coat. “I would like you to read it and let me know what you think.”

“I am no writer,” she was quick to say, shying away from the note.

“You do not need to be to see what can be improved upon,” Thorin reassured her.

Slowly, she took the note from him and opened it to reveal his writing. “I adore your writing style,” she praised him immediately. Thorin smiled and watched her. Maerwyn had this peculiar way of finding the positives in everything. The beauty. The good. The kind. And then she would also voice it, whether in praise or to alert someone to what they were good at. It was quite a beautiful thing, and perhaps it looked like nothing out of the ordinary to most – why a little praise was just kindness, and many had kindness! But to Thorin… when paired with her beautiful lips speaking the praise… it was perfection.

Those very words were what Thorin had written in that note of his. Those very words were what lady Maerwyn were reading right now, her green eyes dancing over the words with a speed that spoke of a well-read mind…

And then she blushed and shifted on her feet, not out of uncomfortableness, much to Thorin’s relief, but… joy.

“Are… Do you mean these kind words?” she asked him quietly. “Do you really find me…” She trailed off, blushing.

“I find you beautiful, yes,” Thorin said quietly, but confidently.

She brought the note to her chest, pressing it close to her heart to show her appreciation. A smile graced her lips.

And then both simply continued their walk. But they walked closer to each other…

And their morning walks turned into their own private courting.

Part 4: The Battle of Love (and Alliance)

“Good morning.” With a curtsey and a smile, Maerwyn, dressed in a green dress that flowed in seamless gentle waves from her waist down to the stone floor, joined her family at the breakfast table. Guests were offered breakfast in their rooms, so these moments were the only ones they had between just themselves.

Theoden and Theodis sat whispering to each other about their day’s plans, clearly looking mischievous. Something told Maerwyn that they were going to spend the day following Fili and Kili again. The two younger Dwarves had turned into the children’s favourite guests quite quickly. And Maerwyn was pretty sure Theodis had a little crush on Kili, which was adorable.

As they caught Maerwyn’s curious gaze, both began to giggle maniacally until their mother told them off. Thengel sat in pure silence, not even having acknowledged his sister’s presence.

Queen Morwen kept sending worried glances to her husband, but kept her head held high and pretended in front of the servants that nothing was wrong.

But Maerwyn was not like the Queen. Silence and patience were not her virtues. So, she reached a hand over to Thengel’s arm, dressed in a silk shirt. “Brother, what is wrong?”

A servant shifted between them, forcing Maerwyn to lean back again, missing the agitated clench of Thengel’s jaw. As more tea was poured into Thengel’s cup, Maerwyn pleasantly busied herself with buttering a piece of bread. A smile graced her lips suddenly, remembering her Dwarf King now each time she saw bread.

“That,” Thengel said. The servant had left, and Maerwyn turned her gaze to her brother again to find him staring at her with a less than pleasant look in his eyes. He was almost scolding her. “That is my issue.”

“What?” Maerwyn asked, her smile gone. It seemed to calm Thengel down.

Thengel did not elaborate on his words, he only quietly seethed in his seat as he said: “I will not agree on a partnership with the Kingdom of Erebor.”

“What?” Maerwyn asked once more, this time astounded at what she was hearing. “But brother-“

“They are here for their own purposes. I am not blind to the reports of darkness up in the north. Things are stirring. Changing. And I know they are here for our support. I will not sacrifice my own men for the sake of Dwarves.”

Maerwyn stared at Thengel in shock. “What has their race got to do with this?”

“They can bury themselves deeper into the mountains if they wish.”

“That-“ Maerwyn took a deep breath. Her brother was a kind and honourable man. Truly. But he was so, so broken and so unsure of himself… She’d hoped Thorongil’s presence would lessen that, but Thorongil was not here right now. “I don’t understand, my lord. There are also Men in danger in the city-“

“And you know this how?”

“I have spoken to the Dwarves.”

“You have spoken to one Dwarf, you mean.”

Maerwyn grew quiet. “I don’t understand your point.”

“You are my sister. You should be on my side. This is a political game. Everything is. No one wants anything from us unless it has something to do with what they can gain from it. Don’t you see? He does not want you. He wants soldiers. Protection.” At this point, Thengel had leaned in closer to hiss the words straight into Maerwyn’s face. “He does not care for you, only for his own skin. He is using you, Maerwyn.”

Promptly, Maerwyn stood up. The chair scraped behind her loudly. Servants paused and stared at her. Theoden and his sister watched her in surprise. Morwen looked sympathetic, but she stayed silent. And that hurt Maerwyn.

“I will not have someone tell me what is and what is not true in my own relationships,” Maerwyn said as curtly as she could, her voice barely above a whisper as she desperately tried to keep her emotions at bay. She’d not noticed how her hands had fisted parts of her skirts in desperation. “Especially not my brother. And not my king. You have it all wrong. You are too blinded by your own self-centred view on life to see how your hurt is hurting others. Not everyone wants something from you. And not everyone will use me to get to you.”

She turned to walk away.

“You will not talk to him ever again!” Thengel ordered angrily, his own chair scraping behind him as he stood but Maerwyn didn’t turn to show she’d heard him.

Tears flooded down her cheeks as she walked with her head held high, as far away from her brother as she could...

Her hands still clutching the skirts, Maerwyn found Thorin waiting for her in their usual spot later that day. A walk before lunch, around the small but still lavish garden that existed on the top of that hill, overlooking the Rohirrim fields like most views.

Yet, as Thorin bowed his head to greet her with a smile gracing his lips, he found she did not return a smile. In fact, she did not even pause her stride. She stared straight at him, well aware that he was there, but seemed to have arrived with a purpose and a determination that was not going to stop her.

It was part of what Thorin admired about her but-

He was not prepared for what was to come.

She strode over to him with such confidence and sad purpose he found no words. Nor did he find words as she leaned down and kissed him straight on the lips. Her fingers, which had clutched so tightly to her skirts earlier, held onto the sides of his face with a desperation yet gentleness that he’d never thought he’d feel before. Her touch seemed to activate some desperation hidden deep within himself, and he kissed her with a passion he’d never have used for their first kiss otherwise. It was on the brink of inappropriate.

But just as soon as they’d kissed, it was all over again as she recoiled in surprise at her own actions and stared at him with wide eyes.

“My lady?” Thorin asked, genuinely a little worried what might have prompted this.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered out aghast, before turning and rushing off.

It felt wrong to run after her, something in the way she’d looked at him told him so. So Thorin stayed put, trying his best to think of some reason for why this had occurred even if his mind was more on the kiss itself than anything else.

It was not until later in the evening, when Thorin sought Maerwyn out in her own chambers after not seeing her at any event during the day, that Thorin found out what was going on.

He knocked on her door and was let in by a maid who excused herself instantly, most likely on orders by Maerwyn. Said lady was sat in her windowsill, forlornly staring out over the Rohirrim fields and mountains. Curiously, her chambers were in the direction of Erebor, north.

“I apologise for this improper action, my lady, but when you did not attend lunch nor dinner, I worried for your wellbeing,” Thorin said, staying a courteous half a room away from her.

She at first didn’t react, nor did she turn her head to acknowledge that he was there.

She truly looked… sad.

“My brother is not going to agree to an alliance between our kingdoms,” she uttered monotonously.

Thorin sighed. “I know. He told me so earlier.”

Maerwyn turned to glance at him now, surprised at first, then even more sad than she’d looked earlier. Clearly, she’d hoped something she’d done might have changed his mind. “I am sorry. I think I am to blame.”

Now it was Thorin’s turn to look surprised. He crossed the room to reach her, gingerly taking her hand in his. “And why would that be?”

“I let myself get carried away. Thengel believes everyone is out to get him. Now he extends this anxiousness toward me.” She moved her hand away from Thorin’s. “He believes you are using me. I am sorry.”

Thorin soured a bit and grabbed her hand once more. “Then that is his issue and burden to bear. My original reason for being here is no more. I am here now, for you.”

A little smile graced her lips, but she didn’t dare to fully smile just yet. “But what of the darkness you spoke of?”

“Whatever is brewing in the North in those foul lands will brew no matter if we have extra support or not.”

“You might need us-“

“We will find some other way to beat it.” Before Maerwyn could try and say something anxious again, Thorin shook his head, “We will find some other way.”

She gave in and glanced down at their hands, letting her fingers intertwine with his. Two different people, two completely different sets of fingers, yet it felt so natural and perfect to hold onto him.

“I still am sorry.”

“None of this is your fault,” Thorin reassured. “Yet, you look sad not just because of this. Why did this hit you so hard, amrâlimê?”

“I wanted to help you…”

“You did.” Thorin smiled.

“And I’ve been trying to help my brother. But he is… If I cannot help, there is no purpose to me-“

“Do not say that,” Thorin was quick to interject. “My love, your purpose in life cannot be others. I appreciate what you have done and continue to do. But if you do not value yourself as highly as you value those that you help, you are going to go down a dark path.” He was quiet a moment, watching Maerwyn take the words in. “Disregard the King’s need for help. What is it you need right now to feel good?”

She squeezed his hand, staring deep within his eyes.

Thorin did not have to hear her words to know what she needed for herself, and from him to help her. With a smile, Thorin nodded his head. “Then come with me back to Erebor.”

…

Two Days Later.

…

Thorin kneeled in front of King Thengel. His nephews did the same a step behind him, whilst Balin, Dwalin and Ori were standing with their heads bowed. A public declaration of gratitude for the visit was occurring, and as King Thengel spoke his pre-practised speech, Thorin only half listened.

The tension that was in the hall was not just from everyone being fully aware that Thengel was going to publicly declare his denial to help Erebor and the people of Dale.

There was also tension because Thorin and Maerwyn would declare their own decision…

Secretly, Maerwyn’s maids were smuggling her luggage out through a back door and down to the horses and ponies. It was not like Thengel would or could force Maerwyn to stay. She was but a sister, so to speak, to the king and there were no laws granting him that privilege over her. However, Thengel might grow angry and Maerwyn’s kind heart would feel conflicted leaving on such notice. She and Thorin had already discussed it. It would be better to have the opportunity to simply leave whilst he was yelling at them rather than be forced to walk back and grab her belongings, giving Thengel time to use sympathy to make Maerwyn stay with him.

It sounded awful. Neither Thorin or Maerwyn wanted to talk like that about Thengel, truthfully, but his hurt and his trauma was evident in his actions. And they would be stronger than his love for his sister.

As silence fell over the hall, Thengel’s speech done, Thorin and his nephews stood back up again. The two kings bowed their heads at each other.

Then… “As for the proposed friendship between our peoples…” Thengel cleared his throat. Beside him, Morwen encouraged her husband with a smile. On the other side, Thorongil was peacefully watching.

Perhaps those two peoples’ reactions should have prepared both Maerwyn and Thorin for what was to come. But they were so adamant that they had all the information that they fell blind to what was happening right before their eyes.

“I publicly declare that the Kingdom of Rohan is now an ally of the Dwarves of Erebor and the Men of Esgaroth!”

A silence followed his words. Until he smiled and laughed at everyone’s shocked reactions, and people suddenly cheered and roared. Lords and ladies clapped their hands in ecstasy, because an allyship was always good.

And Thorin… Well, whilst his nephews elbowed him in the side with happy looks on their faces, Thorin still was not quite sure this was real.

Not until Thengel approached and offered his hand to Thorin.

Slowly, Thorin shook it, and the two kings nodded their heads at each other.

“What changed your mind?”

“People told me to weigh the consequences. I’d not only lose an ally, I’d also lose family.” He smirked. “You thought I wasn’t aware of your and Maerwyn’s plans? I am King of these halls. I hear everything.” He sighed, letting go of the handshake. “I am trying something new, King Thorin. I hope you can prove to me that this something new will not end up as bad as I think it will.”

Thorin bowed his head. That was a promise he could keep. “Thank you, my lord.”

Thorin glanced to the side where Maerwyn stood, stunned and with her hands over her mouth in shock still. But she looked happy. And so he smiled at her, along with Thengel who had turned to check what Thorin was looking at…

Hand in hand, Thorin and Maerwyn led the entourage of Dwarves down the steps from Edoras Hall. The towns people had gathered to clap and wave the guests and their new allies off. Most looked shocked at the sight of their lady Maerwyn going with the Dwarves. But it was a silent message to all that Thengel’s sister had found her home.

Before either of them took the reins of their horses from the two stable boys standing at the end of the steps, Maerywn and Thorin turned to each other and kissed in front of all. A gentle kiss to publicly declare the truth.

Behind them, Theodis was waving at Kili with a blush on her own cheeks. Kili played along and sent an air kiss her way.

With people cheering them on now, Maerwyn and Thorin turned to Edoras Hall standing proud on the hill, and waved one last time at King Thengel, Queen Morwen, their children and Thorongil.

Helping Maerwyn up on her horse, Thorin took the reins from the stable boy to his own pony, but paused to glance back to this Thorongil one last time, curiosity in his eyes.

But he found Thorongil was suddenly gone, nowhere to be seen. As if his goal had been accomplished and he’d left the scene to keep doing whatever a ranger did…

Shaking his head at that, for some reason thinking that this was not the last time Thorin would meet Thorongil, Thorin climbed up onto his pony. He reached out for Maerwyn’s hand and rode with her beside him down the town of Edoras. Maerwyn glanced back once to wave goodbye to her family. A big smile was on her lips.

“Will you miss them?” Thorin asked her.

“I don’t think so. I have all the family I need right here.” She leaned over to press a kiss to Thorin’s lips…

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❤️ - I loved it! 💛- Please write more for this pairing/fandom!! 💙- HOW DARE YOU?? /lh 🤍- don't reply to my comment, please (I'm shy/anxious/don't want to talk today/don't like the feeling of being acknowledged when reading on AO3) 🤎- showing support for this / extra kudos 💚- twas okay 🖤- meh... have read better

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knittastically · 4 days

Text

When Dreams Come True.

Summary: Brokenhearted over the deaths of her dream love Thorin and his nephews after watching BOTFA, a young woman of our world wishes she could’ve saved them. She soon finds out that wishes and dreams can be granted.

Fandom: The Hobbit.

Relationship: Thorin x ofc Brianna Hanson.

Rating: Teen

Warning: canon compliant flashbacks (two canonical deaths), battle violence, character death.

Content: some angst, typical violence, happy ending, romance

Word count: 3.3 k

(Chapter 1 can be read here.)

Chapter 2. “Fates Averted on Ravenhill”

Brianna blinked at the sudden burst of pale wintry light, then her eyes widened as she looked in silent shock around her. She was dressed in her usual winter clothes and standing amid vaguely familiar ruins of what was probably a watchout location atop a mountain. The faraway cries, roars, and metallic clang and crashes filled her ears while the cold, snow tanged breeze bit her nose and cheeks. Suddenly Brianna now remembered.

Ravenhill. I’m here, on the day the Battle of the Five Armies was fought. It’s still happening, judging from the sounds down there.

A blood chilling thought gripped her, freezing her to the core.

Where are Thorin and his nephews?

Hoping desperately that she wasn’t too late, Brianna raced away, heedless of the fallen stones. She knew how to save them, she had to find them first. The metallic ring of blades on armor and blades caught Brianna’s ear; the sounds came from ahead-

A huge ugly orc leaped before her, snarling, his sword raised to kill. Brianna screamed and slammed back against a boulder, shielding her head without much hope. She had no chance at all without weapons.

Two horrified youthful shouts rang out, followed by a deeper, angry roar, then there was the sickening sound of flesh and bone being slashed by steel, the squeal and hoarse sound of the orc’s last breaths, then a brief silence.

“My lady, are you all right?”

“Did that filth harm you?”

“In Durin’s name, if he did-“ ending in a deep rumble.

“Brianna?!” A large strong hand gripped hers gently, “Amrâlimê, it’s all right; that filth is dead.”

Brianna opened her eyes slowly. The slain orc lay not far away; averting her eyes quickly, she looked down at her rescuers. Tears of gratitude stung her eyes.

“Oh,” she murmured. Fili and Kili were standing not far away, curiosity and puzzlement visible on their faces; Dwalin was just stepping back with his blood stained axe; and Thorin -her Thorin- was standing close to her and holding her hand in his larger hand, with apprehension and recognition in those lovely blue eyes.

He was alive; so were the boys.

“Oh, Thorin!” Kneeling quickly, Brianna threw her arms around him, and was thrilled when he responded back by holding her closely. She buried her face in the crook of his neck. “Our dream finally came true.”

“Praise Mahal and Iluvatar for permitting us to be together at last.” Thorin was beyond thrilled; he was passionately happy to be holding his One for real and not in an ephemeral dream. Brianna hummed pleasantly as she nuzzled against him; inflamed by her soft touch and her fingers in his hair, Thorin began planting soft kisses up Brianna’s neck, jawline and cheek before capturing her lips in their second kiss. Mahal it was even better; Brianna was here with him for real.

“Uh, Thorin, it’s fine to be kissin’ yer One- seein’ as ye seemed to have finally found her- but we’ve still gotta find Azog.” Dwalin sounded a bit awkward yet grim.

Oh. Brianna’s stomach roiled uncomfortably as Thorin released her reluctantly. She’d nearly forgotten about the Defiler.

“Oh yes,” Thorin scanned the stony cliffs and walls of Ravenhill before racing off to the river’s shore, Dwalin following him. Brianna watched him anxiously, her heart pounding. She didn’t doubt Thorin loved her, but for the moment Azog had taken up his thoughts.

Then- “So you must be Uncle’s One; he’d spoken of you before to us.” Kili stood before her, a mischievous yet warm smile lighting up his face. “Only you were in his dreams. He said he hated it when they ended.”

“It was actually funny, like he was frustrated something didn’t happen in them, he was that grumpy,” Fili added.

“Yes, that is true,” Brianna blushed brightly. She loved the boys already too.

“Thank Mahal you weren’t here when he was under the influence of that dragon sickness; he wasn’t himself,” Fili was grave. “He almost killed our Burglar- Bilbo Baggins- for stealing the Arkenstone and giving it to Thranduil, and he wouldn’t go out to aid Dain, at first.”

“Yes, it was a terrible time,” Kili chimed in.

Brianna remembered her night at the theater, but wisely said nothing. She’d seen Thorin’s madness unfold and experienced just a little of his obsession in their shared dream, but she wasn’t about to say so. Thorin was all right now, and things would end well; she’d make sure of it. She watched as the two brothers keenly scanned the massive, ruined watchtower and signal machines. All seemed empty and deserted.

But Brianna knew better.

“Uh, Brianna? What did you mean by your and Thorin’s dreams coming true? Did you use some kind of magic to come here?”

Oh oh. Now Fili was asking the major questions. Brianna was pondering how to answer without sounding crazy when Thorin came running back.

“Where is he?” He inquired of his nephews.

“Looks empty. I think Azog has fled!” Kili replied.

No, no! A chill of fear rippled through Brianna’s blood. She willed away the tragic images that appeared in her mind; this wasn’t going to happen to them!

“Thorin,” she started.

“In a moment, Amrâlimê,” Thorin assured her, then turning to his nephews he continued “I don’t think so… Fili, take your brother. Scout out the towers. Keep low and out of sight. If you see something, report back, do not engage- do you understand?!”

It was now, or personally endure the heartbreak of really watching the Line of Durin die.

“Thorin, no! Don’t send the boys over to those towers!” Desperation edged Brianna’s voice. “Please don’t! Azog is hiding there in one of the towers; he’ll kill Fi- them both!” She cut herself short, realizing she’d almost said too much. They were not supposed to know that part about Fili being the first to be killed!

Silence fell, heavier than the wintery fog, over the four as they stared at Brianna. Fili and Kili looked completely baffled, Dwalin looked a mixture of shock and confusion, and Thorin looked almost shocked and angry.

Then- “What did you mean by Azog killing me?” Fili’s voice shook. “Especially, why me first?!”

“Azog will be slain first!” Kili was furious as he instinctively moved nearer to Fili.

“That is madness! How do ye know which lad that Orc scum is killin’ first?!” Dwalin demanded furiously.

“Brianna, I came to kill that piece of filth; he may have escaped by now!” Thorin wasn’t too pleased.

“Please listen,” Brianna summoned her courage, then continued desperately “I know what’s going to happen to you all, especially you and the boys, Thorin. If you send the boys, he’ll kill Fili first; you’ll see it happen. Kili won’t survive; Bolg, his killer, is already coming with more Orcs from Gundabad. You’ll be the last to die, Thorin, even though you will kill Azog.” A shocked gasp came from the other three, or two; Dwalin chose to growl in anger.

“Please don’t send them to that tower! Do you seriously want to meet them again in the afterlife?” Brianna’s voice broke as tears choked her.

“Brianna, we haven’t time!” For all he knew, Azog might’ve escaped while they stood here arguing, Thorin thought with an understandable yet stubborn irritation.

“You have time enough to not walk into a death trap!” Brianna managed between sobs. “Thorin, please listen to me! Back in my world, I saw you and your nephews die; Fili was the first to die.”

An icy feeling of threatened loss and rage settled heavily over Thorin’s soul at this. Fili, his sister’s eldest son, his heir, the almost-son he’d been there for since the golden haired prince was a little one, was going to die first.

Then an image slowly grew in his mind as the past memories from his previous life, before Manwë had graciously allowed his return, came flowing through his mind.

Azog held up a bloodied Fili, declaring how he would kill each member of Durin’s Line, one at a time; Fili’s frantic shouts for his kinfolk to run pierced the wintery air, before Azog impaled him and let him drop to the base of the tower before everyone’s shocked eyes. Mahal, how that brought back all the terrible memories of Thror’s own death to Thorin!

For a grief stricken moment, he stood there, absorbing what he’d just witnessed before running to stop a grief maddened Kili from sharing Fili’s fate. Then Azog and the other Orcs came between him and the youngest Durin, and he fought with every bit of his strength and rage, hoping that Kili would live.

Thorin barely survived (thanks to the blond Elf who’d thrown Orcrist through the body of the Orc who was about to kill him) and after a fight on the ice, finally sank Azog, or so he’d thought till the cunning filth had wounded and pinned him down. Then came the terrible choice; either keep holding Azog off till Thorin’s arms gave out from exhaustion, or draw Orcrist away for a fatal blow, avenge Thror, Thrain, and Fili, and end Azog’s bloodthirsty career. But the last choice would exact a terrible price…

“Brianna.” For a moment, Thorin pushed back strongly against Azog’s blade as Brianna’s beautiful face appeared in his mind. He had to live for her and Kili, and his people; he had to!

Brianna would be heartbroken if he died now. He hadn’t even braided his bead into her hair, told her he loved her, nor even sealed everything with the first kiss, let alone bringing her into Middle earth somehow. He had to live!

All in vain; his tired arms were trembling despite his massive strength, under the weight of Azog’s pushing down on Orcrist. There were no other choices left now, save the last one.

“Brianna, I’m sorry. I love you.”

He drew Orcrist away…*

Thorin shuddered at the last memory; there was something surreal and blood chilling about revisiting those memories of his past life.

Then came Mahal’s words, soothing as balm:

“She will aid in preventing your deaths from happening; do not question everything she says, even if it seems like madness! Trust her.”

“It’s madness, yes.” Thorin mused. “And yet Master Baggins’s mad plan helped us escape King Thranduil’s dungeons. Surely she is no more mad than he.”

It was now clear to him. “Fili, Kili, stay here. If Azog is still here on Ravenhill, he will show himself.” Thorin said. “Better than encountering him in some dark hall in the tower and being trapped,” he added firmly when Kili started to protest.

“Aye, if he’s still there,” Dwalin growled.

“He’s there; he’s set his trap and is lying in wait for us. However, we’re denying him his pleasure in ending Durin’s Line.” Thorin said firmly.

A cold shiver shook Brianna; Thorin had unintentionally described how she’d watched Fili getting trapped by Azog in the film. Not trusting her legs, she sat down quickly.

Thorin was swiftly beside her. “You’re cold, Amrâlimê,” he observed, putting his arm around her shoulders and drawing her close to him, “ ‘tis a pity that you came here at this time, rather than sooner and within Erebor’s halls. Though Mahal knows, I wouldn’t have believed you,” he added almost regretfully.

“You wouldn’t have.” Brianna’s voice tapered off in a sigh of contentment. Despite all his layers of chain mail, leather, and velvet, Thorin’s heat wrapped her in its comforting embrace, warming her on this icy mountain top. She snuggled closer; despite the sounds of battle, she felt safe. Definitely safe; the boys and Dwalin were close by, and even as Thorin gathered Brianna closer, he kept his sword close by.

As if out of the thin air, a winded Bilbo appeared amid the ruins. Brianna, who’d been looking that way, started. Thorin looked too. “Bilbo!”

“Mr. Baggins!” Fili and Kili exclaimed simultaneously.

“We thought ye’d left!” Dwalin rumbled.

Thorin stood up quickly, but he gently assisted Brianna to her feet, just as Bilbo came running to the Dwarves and the young woman.

“We need to leave here, now!” Bilbo spoke rapidly between pants. He started at Brianna’s horrified gasp, but continued. “Azog has another army attacking from the north; the watchtower will be completely surrounded. There’ll be no way out.”

Mahal and Durin help them; they were in a literal death trap, Thorin realized in horror. “Dwalin, we’re leaving this place; no reason to stay and be slain by Bolg and his army. We’re too outnumbered.”

“Aye, if only we could’ve gotten that Orkish filth first!” Dwalin growled.

“We’ll find him soon enough. Brianna, stay near us; we’re leaving for now.” Thorin’s tone gentled as he spoke to Brianna. “Fili, Kili, come along. Bilbo,” with an almost humbled tone, “stay close to Dwalin.”

Brianna felt a pang of sadness at this. No doubt Thorin couldn’t trust himself around the Hobbit after the business of the Arkenstone and the dragon sickness that’d nearly caused Bilbo’s death. She vowed to ask Thorin to pardon Bilbo and ask his forgiveness once they were far away from Ravenhill.

They didn’t make it far from the watchtower. Suddenly there was a harsh bellow, followed by the clatter of armor and weapons, and the swift advance of iron shod feet behind them. Thorin turned around quickly; a savage Khuzdul curse escaped him.

Brianna turned too- her heart dropped into her boots. “Oh no, no,” she whispered.

Azog, frustrated and finally impatient with waiting for his victims, was swiftly pursuing them, his Orcs at his back. Already he was halfway across the courtyard.

“Bilbo, stay with Brianna! Protect her!” Thorin ordered as he raced back to meet his enemy. Mahal help him, he would slay Azog and so avenge Thror. He couldn’t forget that haunting memory of his heir’s death from his past life none too soon.

Yet even as he shouted the old Khuzdul war cry and crossed blades with the grinning Orc, Thorin found himself hoping that he would actually survive, not only for his kinfolk and people’s sake, but also for his One. They’d been blessed with a second chance, a lifetime in Middle Earth together, and he didn’t want to leave her behind in heartbreak and grief!

Brianna crept out from behind the ruins where Bilbo had encouraged her to hide before he went out to meet Bolg’s troops. She was grateful for that; the Gundabad Orcs looked far more ferocious in the flesh. Then the dreaded fear returned, chilling her to the core. “Thorin! What about him and his nephews?! And Bilbo!”

Swiftly she looked for Bilbo; her heart froze when she saw that he was unconscious not far away. Then she remembered that Bolg had struck him with his mace as he ran past. “Bilbo should be fine now,” she told herself after checking his pulse and staunching the wound on his head. “I must find the boys and make sure they’re okay. Then I must find Thorin, and fast.”

Both boys were fine; Fili and Kili were together battling Orcs close to the watchtower, while Dwalin wasn’t far away fighting. Brianna sighed with relief, then hurried away to find Thorin.

Somehow that feeling of dread wouldn’t leave her when she remembered Thorin running to meet the Defiler…

Thorin knelt down slowly to pick up Orcrist whence he’d dropped it in order to throw Azog’s own rock mace at him; he was exhausted beyond belief. Mahal, the Defiler had been nigh impossible to take down in their fight on the ice! It had been worth it to watch the horrified Orc go under the icy water.

It was time now to go find the rest, find Brianna, and leave Ravenhill; clearly the newly arrived Eagles were turning the tide in the Free People’s favor…

He paused; there’d been a faint movement, something or someone drifting along under the ice. It looked like- yes, it was a drowned Azog floating with the current. Slowly, as if in a dream or daze, Thorin stood up and followed the drifting Orc. Strange how he seemed so real and breathing.

This isn’t real. Azog sank to his death; I saw him sink. This is like the vision of Smaug under the gold floor in the Hall of the Kings. It’s a vision, it’s just a vision.

Then through the daze, he heard Brianna’s terrified shrieks…

Thorin!!! Thorin, get off the ice! Run!!

Her screams pierced through the daze, clear and sharp amid its haziness. It was precisely at that critical moment that Azog blinked…

Despite his exhaustion, Thorin ran hastily to the shore where a horrified Brianna stood; a split moment later, Azog burst through the ice with a frustrated roar and a shower of ice shards and cold water. He glared about for his escaped would-be victim, and his eye fell upon Brianna first. An evil grin crossed his pallid face.

Oh no…

Brianna could not will herself to run; terror had seized her limbs and will in their frigid grip. She could only watch in speechless terror as the Defiler slowly approached her, blade raised to impale…

An enraged battle yell split the wintery air, along with Azog’s own roar of pain.

Thorin had wasted no time despite his exhaustion; the moment Azog turned his attention to a terrified Brianna and slowly approached her, he rushed into the unguarded, unarmed right side, and plunged Orcrist deeply into the Orc’s side. Azog swung his deadly blade around, trying to reach the Dwarf, but in vain.

Using his strength and weight, Thorin drove Azog down onto the ice. Red and rage darkened his vision; the Defiler had nearly slain his Brianna, his long-awaited One and future Queen! She hadn’t been sent back in time to save him and his sister-sons from death, just to be killed by Thror’s murderer.

He bore down harder with all his strength and weight on Orcrist till the breaking of ice and the Defiler’s last harsh gasps reached his hearing, and even through the redness, he saw the Orc’s eyes dim…

“Thorin…” Brianna’s thready voice broke the cold silence. Guilt smote Thorin; he’d been so intent on watching Azog’s demise that he’d nearly forgotten his One. Standing up slowly, he made his way across the slippery wet ice towards her. She knelt there in a heap, trembling violently in a way that wasn’t just from the biting cold air.

“Brianna!” Thorin gathered her into his arms. Mahal, but she shook so! He wished he had his long lost fur pelted coat to cover her. “Brianna, forgive me! I thought he was a vision under the ice, like Smaug under the gold. I didn’t know he’d lived, or I’d have killed him the sooner. Forgive me!” If his voice did crack the tiniest bit, he blamed his exhaustion.

“Thorin, don’t apologize; you’ve lived to see another day, and to rebuild your kingdom. Azog won’t ever hunt for you again.” Brianna curled up against Thorin’s chest. His solid strength and warmth seeped through her, chasing away the deadly chill of fear and the memory of Azog’s triumphant look.

“Thanks be to Mahal for interceding for me, and for sending you to us.” Thorin murmured into Brianna’s hair. She snuggled closer, sighing deeply. He was battered and bloodied, and the scent of death, iron, and blood mingled harshly with his own masculine scent. But Thorin was alive. His nephews were alive. She couldn’t be more happier or content.

Then Thorin was clasping her chin and raising her face gently until her eyes met his. “Brianna,” he murmured, “I didn’t have enough time with you.”

“We have all the time now,” Brianna replied, lost in Thorin’s silvery blue eyes. “I can’t return back to my world- nor do I even want to now.”

“Amrâlimê…” The murmured endearment had barely faded on the breeze before their lips met again in a gently passionate kiss, their second one on Ravenhill’s stony heights. This time, there was no haste, no fear of death, and the relief and joy of reunion and the brightness of a future together

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knittastically · 5 days

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Entangled 3/10

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit) Rating: G (subject to change) Warnings: ANGST Summary: Arranged marriages are common among the dwarven nobility. After reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, the Kingdom Under the Mountain needs to be rebuilt. Thorin agrees to marry a lady from the Blue Mountains, securing a mutually beneficial alliance with the Broadbeam Dwarves. Lady Mista is said to be a practical and hard-working dwarf-woman, willing to give him an heir who would secure the line of succession. A decent queen material, his advisors say. If only Thorin could let go of his past… You can find this fic on AO3 (search for lathalea). ✨ Chapter list: Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3...

Khuzdul:

Azsâlul'abad - the Lonely Mountain (both the mountain and the dwarven kingdom known among Elves and Men as Erebor)

Tumunzahar - Nogrod (my headcanon for this story is that the dwarven city of old had been rebuilt and populated by the Broadbeams)

‘Urdêk - local name of ‘the Lonely Mountain’ (referring to the dwarven Halls within the mountain), used by its inhabitants

Zabdûna undu ‘Urd - Queen Under the Mountain

‘Urd - local name for Lonely Mountain (referring to the Mountain itself)

Later that night

Mista sighed, finally freed from the weight of her crown and royal garments by Katla, her new maid. The girl knew her duties well and quickly helped her change into her sleeping gown. As soon as Katla curtsied and left the bed-chamber through a gilded door, wishing her queen a “fruitful night”, Mista – who did not feel like a queen at all at that moment – poured herself a glass of water. Her throat was parched, and her whole body felt stiff. She glanced at the other door in her chamber; the dark walnut door that led to the King’s chambers, but it was still closed, and no sounds seemed to come from the other side. Apparently, she still had some time for herself.

Mista took off her glasses and squinted, looking into the mirror in an opulent golden frame. This sumptuous object hung on the wall in her new chambers in the royal wing of the dwarven kingdom of Azsâlul'abad. The reflected image was blurry, and so she squinted harder, stretching her neck forward. Finally, she made out a dwarf-woman, plain and far from being a beauty, her mousy hair unbraided — except for her marriage braid – and still adorned with scores of diamonds. Diamonds are the bride’s best friends, an old saying claimed. Yes, she was a bride and she was wearing a luxurious, crispy white sleeping gown. Why? Because, by a turn of fate, on this very day she fulfilled her dearest, her most secret wish: today she wedded the only Dwarf she loved.

Mista became Thorin Oakenshield’s wife – and the Queen Consort of Azsâlul'abad.

And now she was waiting for her lord husband to fulfil his marital duties.

A knock on the door — the dark walnut door — jolted her from her reverie.

“Come…” She cleared her throat and tried again, hoping her voice did not tremble too much, “Come in.”

She had barely enough time to stand up and straighten the silks of her sleeping gown. It was hard not to notice that her fingers were trembling more than her voice.

The King Under the Mountain, Thorin II Oakenshield, entered the room. Gone were his crown and his opulent wedding attire; he wore plain bedclothes, but his dark, wavy hair streaked with silver was braided only with his marriage braid, exactly like hers, just as the tradition dictated. She couldn’t stop herself from admiring his strong shoulders, his lush beard pleated into two thick braids, and his regal profile. Years passed since their first meeting in Tumunzahar, and yet her heart fluttered as if she were that girl hiding behind a statue again. “Good evening, My Lady.” He stopped by the fireplace, slowly taking in the room. Surprised, Mista could not help but notice the tension in his movements. Surely, he could not be nervous, was he? Not him, not now, away from the prying eyes. He was the fearless hero of Azanulbizar, after all, and she was only a bookish, unremarkable girl. It simply could not be. “Good evening, My Lord,” she replied and stole an apprehensive glance at the four-poster bed beside her. “Are your chambers to your satisfaction, My Lady?” Her newly wedded husband asked, putting his arms behind his back and taking in the room as if he was seeing it for the first time. Was he? Impossible, Mista scolded herself. Princess Dis informed her that he hadoverseen the renovations himself to ensure they offered the utmost comfort to his new wife.

Mista cleared her throat and took a deep breath.

“Indeed, they are, My Lord. I am very grateful. These rooms have exceeded my expectations by far,” she admitted truthfully. She was used to the comfort and splendour of Tumunzahar, but Azsâlul'abad’s opulence was unmatched.

“I am glad to hear it. If you are ever in need of any one thing, please do not hesitate to ask for it. As the royal consort, Lady Mista, you shall receive only what is best in my kingdom.” He spoke in a steady tone, his low voice slightly hoarser than before.

“Thank you, My Lord, for your generosity,” she lowered her head, wondering whether he was just as uneasy as she was. He thanked her with a nod and observed her silently for a few moments. Mista knew very well how she must look in his eyes and swallowed in embarrassment. Her figure was not what they call “statuesque”, her bosom was too small to be considered enticing, and so, if anyone asked Mista, the low cut bodice was a waste of the tailor’s skill. Besides, she was a bit on the stocky side, and not in that feminine way that was so highly admired among dwarves. As her mother had pertinently put it, “curvaceous” was not the word that described Mista’s figure. Apparently, she resembled a stone slab the most. Crude, angular, and plain. To put it simply, she knew well that she was not the most graceful nor alluring woman in the dwarven kingdom of Azsâlul'abad. Therefore, she felt a bit of relief at the fact that her new lord husband’s gaze did not stray below her neck.

“Let us sit down for now.” He pointed at the two armchairs standing nearby, “and talk.”

Mista hid her confusion at this statement, and joined him quickly by the fireplace. Talking meant that the moment she both dreaded and hoped for would be delayed.

After a few moments of silence, the King finally spoke, his voice solemn, “We have found ourselves in quite unusual circumstances, My Lady. We have been joined in the eyes of Mahal and our people, and are expected to consummate our union. I believe, however, that the best course of action would be for us to wait until we… are better acquainted with each other.”

“Oh, I see…” she replied, taken aback. Something stung in Mista's chest. Was she that unalluring to him? She mustered all her strength to appear unmoved and quickly added, “That is very… thoughtful of you.” “I gathered that you may not feel too comfortable,” his throat bobbed as he looked away, “sharing your bed with someone you have only met for the first time yesterday.”

A surprised, nervous chuckle escaped her, but she stifled it quickly, “Are you jesting, My Lord?” “I am not certain I take your meaning.” He frowned. “We met for the first time in Tumunzahar, at the feast in honour of your family’s arrival to our city,” she explained, cheerily at first, and then — not so much as the signs of puzzlement became more pronounced on his face. The King, her newlywed husband, knitted his eyebrows together. A ball of ice began to grow in her stomach.

Mista added, her voice barely audible, “And you… you asked me to dance.” “Did I, My Lady?” he tilted his head slightly and looked above her head, perhaps attempting to recall the event. “That must have been… eighty years ago?”

“One hundred and three,” she interjected quickly and then felt her cheeks burn instantly. “I wore a blue gown adorned with sweetwater pearls and you asked me about them. We discussed pearling; I believe you wanted to try it yourself in order to find a pearl for your sister.”

Recounting those long-gone events she treasured in her memory for so many years, she saw an absent expression on his face and the enthusiasm in her voice slowly died off. Mista had hoped that the King, Thorin, would easily recall how he laughed at her silly dragon story or the moment when he showed her how to make a raven out of her dance card to her mother’s utter bafflement. Sadly, the handsome features of his face said the opposite.

“My apologies, My Lady,” he replied, shaking his head slowly. “I am ashamed to say it, but I must admit that I cannot recall that particular event. It seems that too many years have passed since then.” Silence fell after his words and she lowered her gaze, clasping her hands on her lap to prevent them from shaking. Suddenly, in her well-warmed-up room, she felt cold.

“Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten my manners,” Thorin Oakenshield stood up swiftly and made a small bow. “I did not mean to imply that your age…” “No offence taken,” she swallowed the lump in her throat as he sat back down. “We are not younglings any more. You were correct, My Lord. That feast happened long ago. Anyone could have forgotten.”

Anyone. But not Mista. She kept on cherishing the memory of that meeting, and when she first heard about the offer of marriage, she could not believe her ears. She thought that perhaps Thorin Oakenshield remembered her fondly for all these years and… nevermind. It was clear that she was mistaken. He did not recall Mista at all. Why would he? She was simply one of the many uninteresting maidens he had danced with. Plain and easy to forget. So unlike her stunningly beautiful sister Adla who never learned the bitter taste of rejection; whose husband waited impatiently for their wedding night – and with whom Adla now had three sturdy sons.

Thorin Oakenshield drummed his fingers on the armrest of the chair but remained silent. Mista stared at the elaborate pattern of the carpet under her feet. Somewhere deep in the bowels of the mountain the mine bell struck for the third time since midnight when the King poured wine into two goblets that stood on the nearby table. Only then did he finally speak. “As you know very well, My Lady, this… marriage,” he said that last word with a hint of uncharacteristic hesitation, “was to serve several purposes. Did your father inform you about all the clauses of the contract before sending the proposal to me?”

Her eyes widened.

“Before…? I do not understand. Were you not the one to offer the alliance between our houses, My Lord?” Thorin II, the King Under the Mountain, frowned, “The offer came from your father.” “Oh… I see,” her throat tightened. Her eyes pricked. “Were you not aware of this?” The King’s eyes searched Mista’s face. “Father spared me the details,” she admitted, trying to ignore the dull ache deep inside her that seemed to come in waves. It was not the first time Lord Tair, her father, did something of this sort, but she promised herself it would be the last time. The Lonely Mountain and the kingdom beneath it was beyond his reach.

“I have been informed of the cornerstones of the deal: you give the Broadbeams of Tumunzahar the trade licences and I…” Mista swallowed. “I give you heirs.”

Somehow, she managed to keep her tone of voice casual. Her voice did not tremble this time. What a relief. Perhaps she was not as alluring as Adla, perhaps her husband — unlike Adla’s — was set on delaying the consummation of their marriage, but at least she kept her dignity intact. She would only need to hold in the tears until she was alone again.

“That is indeed a very straightforward approach,” the King offered with a nod. “I understand that this must sound to you like a soulless contract, but rest assured that I aim to follow all the clauses of the agreement. And as the Queen Under the Mountain, Zabdûna undu ‘Urd you will be treated with the utmost respect due to the royal consort.” “Of course, My Lord, I did not expect anything less of you,” she uttered. He had been a true gentledwarf when they had met for the first time, after all. One hundred and three years ago. “Your reputation is that of an honourable Dwarf. That is why I agreed to this marriage.”

“Then I will strive to maintain it. May I reciprocate by saying that although I do not yet know you well as a person, your conduct gives you great credit. I admired how composed you were during the ceremony, but perhaps that is not a surprise, knowing that you come from such an ancient and noble house. And I have heard of your admirable work in the Blue Mountains. All those traits are exactly what the kingdom of ‘Urdêk needs from its Queen,” the King gave her a small smile.

“I am happy to hear it, My Lord,” she whispered, looking at her hands on her lap. Your admirable work. Warmth spread in her chest. “May I ask what ‘‘Urdêk’ means? I don’t think I am familiar with this word.”

“Forgive me, this is how we call this kingdom – our home within the Mountain,” he offered. “We do not often use it when talking with outsiders. But now, you are one of us, My Lady.”

Mista’s throat tightened, but she was somehow able to utter a handful of words. “Thank you, My Lord.”

“The task before us both,” the King continued, unaware of the sudden wave of emotions that washed over her, “is to serve the Kingdom Under the Mountain to the best of our ability. Our people will rely both on you and me now.”

Our people. You and me. Those words rang in Mista’s ears like the loudest mine bells after a discovery of a new gold deposit would.

“I will strive to learn my duties as fast as I can and help you with your work, my king,” she replied, feeling his gaze on her face, but unable to meet it.

“Perfect. Time is of the essence, so Lord Balin has taken the liberty to find a capable secretary for you. She will introduce you to the way things are run here. And if you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask him. You can trust him – he taught me most of what I know about ruling this kingdom. He will be more than happy to offer his advice to you as well. There is a lot of work ahead of us; my wish is to make the Mountain fully habitable to our people as soon as possible.”

“You can count on me, My Lord,” she replied enthusiastically. “The people of ‘Urdêk, the Longbeards, the Broadbeams, and everyone else — our people — are returning and they deserve to find new homes here.”

“It brings me great joy to hear you say it, My Lady Mista,” the King took a goblet in his hand and raised it, as if to toast her, before taking a sip. “Once again the proverbial generosity of the Broadbeams turns out to be worth its weight in gold.”

“As you know, I have never visited Azsâlul'abad before, but I have heard many tales of its greatness of old. What I have seen so far only confirms these tales — and I wish to help return the Lonely Mountain to its former glory if I can.”

She looked timidly at the King from under her eyelashes and saw a flicker in his eyes as he peered at her.

“And I will do what I can for you to feel at home here, My Lady,” he gestured at their surroundings. “This kingdom is now yours as well.”

“You are very kind, My Lord,” Mista bowed her head reverently.

For a moment, they sat in silence.

“Well, this was a productive conversation, My Lady,” he clapped his hand against his muscular thigh and then rose from his chair. “I will not impose myself upon you any further. You must be exhausted after today’s ceremonies. Allow me to bid you good night,” King Thorin, her husband, made a hasty bow and returned to his chambers.

The sound of the closing door echoed dully in the silence of her bedchamber.

For a long while, Mista stared blankly at the dark wooden surface behind which her newly wed husband disappeared, without even once addressing her as “wife”. She was barely aware of the tears that fell from her face onto the soft fabric of her nightgown. Even this elegant piece of clothing was not enough to make her alluring in the eyes of the King. If she only were as enticing as Adla…

It was Mista’s wedding night and she felt like the greatest fool in the world.

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knittastically · 9 days

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Knock Before Entering

Chapter 13

Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader

Summary: Thorin will have to exercise a great amount of restraint to not maim Kili and Fili, and when it comes time to grace the Wandering Widow with an encore performance you will have to find a way to take the stage with the rest of the company being none the wiser.

Warnings: no use of y/n, angst, 18+, NSFW, minors do not interact, brief descriptions of bloody wounds/injuries, mentions of sex work if you squint

Author's Note: This chapter ended up being waaaaaay longer than anticipated so I've broken it up into multiple sections. Which means the next one is already mostly done🥳 Thank you all so much for the love for the previous chapters and the cockblocking nephews😂

Word count: 2505

“Sooo,” Kili tries to suppress a smile as you pull the last shards of glass from the cut on his hand. “How long has this been going on?” He looks over his shoulder at his uncle, who is sitting in a chair across the room. Arms crossed over his chest and a scowl etched on his face, Thorin hasn’t said a word since you were cock blocked by his nephews. Instead, he elected to just pull his shirt back on and remain in the room, brooding in the corner while you patched up Kili.

Fili still remains in the doorway, refusing to step foot in the room as if that will help save him from his uncle’s simmering rage.

“You know I have some sewing supplies,” you remind Kili. “If you irritate me enough I could decide this wound is in dire need of stitches.”

“He only wants to know whether we won the bet or not,” Fili sighs from the doorway.

You lift a brow in question, not lifting your gaze as you continue cleaning his brother’s wound. “The entire company placed bets on how long it would take the two of you to jump into bed together.”

Your head snaps up, immediately looking over at Thorin. He doesn’t meet your gaze, he just tips his head back to the ceiling with a heavy sigh.

“When did this happen?” you scoff.

“In Bag-end,” Kili winces when you start to apply the salve to his palm. “The others will be relieved to hear the wait is over.”

“The others don’t need to know,” you warn him as you reach for the roll of gauze beside you. As you do you catch Thorin’s gaze. Finally falling back on you, his eyes are filled with an emotion you can’t quite place.

You had expected him to agree with you. But instead, he looks…surprised. Like he hadn’t expected you to be so adamant about hiding your complicated relationship from the others.

Everything is still so messy and new. You don’t even know what you would call it yet.

You’re certainly not courting. Thorin could never be formally involved with someone from your background. He is a king. And a king is meant to marry a proper lady of good standing. Not a rebellious half-dwarf such as yourself. If there’s one you know, it’s that you are not meant to be his queen.

So does that make you… lovers? The term makes you cringe. It implies a much longer relationship than the situation will allow. This will only last as long as the journey to Erebor. Thorin will marry another and you will be on your way with the mountain at your back once again. This is all meant to be a temporary arrangement. If anything, it feels more like you have stumbled across an alternative way to tolerate each other’s presence.

These days it feels like the two of you only get along when you have your limbs are tangled together in secret.

And Thorin hasn’t exactly gone out of his way to make your relationship known to the others. He isn’t the kind of person to indulge in any kind of public displays of affection or to insist on putting a label on whatever it is the two of you have. Perhaps you misinterpreted his desire for privacy as an agreement to keep your relationship a secret.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost say Thorin looks hurt that you want to hide it. The look he gives you brings a stab of guilt into your chest. Tearing your gaze from him, you busy yourself with binding Kili’s hand. Whether you misread things or not, Thorin still takes your side regardless.

“What either of us do behind closed doors is no one else’s business,” he grumbles at his nephews. “Let this be a lesson to the both of you on the courtesy of knocking before entering.”

“Did uncle knock before entering you?” Kili whispers with a smirk and Thorin jumps from the chair so quickly it clatters to the floor. Fili leaps from his place in the doorway fast enough to block his path to Kili.

You quickly tie off the bandage and rise to your feet, inserting yourself between Fili and Thorin before they can start throwing punches.

“That’s enough,” you hiss at the both of them. Thorin still has murder in his eyes as he towers over you, glaring at his nephews.

“He was only joking,” Fili defends his brother, who’s now come to stand at his shoulder.

“I don’t want to hear either of you speak about her in such a manner again,” Thorin growls at them.

“Please forgive me,” Kili looks at you with a genuine nod of remorse, before stifling a laugh when he whispers “auntie” under his breath.

Thorin goes to take another step towards him as the two start to snicker. You bring a firm hand to his chest before he can make it past you. “Quit it,” you hiss as you shoot a warning look his way. You can feel the barely suppressed growl in his chest beneath your fingertips, but he does as you say and remains planted firmly in place. Keeping your hand on his chest, you turn to look over your shoulder at the boys.

“We’re done here, so you’re both going to go back to your room and go to bed.” You instruct. “And neither of you will breathe a word of this to anyone. Otherwise, those eagles will send you back to your mother in pieces. Understand?”

They both nod their heads grimly. Knowing better than to test you when you’re this close to resorting to violence. They silently turn to leave.

You walk them out. Latching the door firmly closed behind them and sliding the lock in place.

Letting your hand linger on the rusted metal, you dread turning to face Thorin now that it’s just the two of you again.

This time being alone together doesn’t carry the same implication. The moment has officially passed. The previous mood dead and buried.

With a steadying breath, you turn to face him. And just as you predicted Thorin is looking at you with an expression you’re all too familiar with lately.

“Care to explain what that was about?” he crosses his arms over his chest again.

“You’re the one who didn’t lock the door,” you deflect as you brush past him to the bed. Beginning to pick up the discarded supplies and tossing them back into your bag.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he grumbles. “Why didn’t you want them to tell the others?”

“Why is that so wrong?” you turn to face him again, a hand on your hip. “Are you obligated to keep the company informed on everyone you sleep with?”

“No, but I don’t feel the need to go out of my way to hide it.”

“If you want to be the one to answer the endless tirade of questions about us, be my guest Thorin,” you roll your eyes. “Questions that I’m not sure either of us even have the answer to.”

“Only because we haven’t discussed it,” he reminds you.

“Is that really how you want to pass the time now that they’re gone?” you set a hand on your hip with a scoff. “Talking?”

He clenches his jaw, taking a step closer to you.

Your breath catches in your chest as you look up at him towering over you.

“I can’t help how much you infuriate me,” he growls, bringing a hand up to run through your hair. “No one drives me as crazy as you do.” His hand slowly comes to the side of your face, caressing your cheek.

“Every time you open your mouth I lose control.” He starts to trace your bottom lip with his thumb, watching in awe as you wrap your lips around the digit, beginning to suck. He growls as you gently scrape your teeth over his skin.

His other hand wraps around your waist, beginning to pull you in closer to him. You bring your hands to his chest, sliding them up the hard planes of his pectorals.

As your hands slide up, his starts to slide down. He grabs a handful of the soft flesh of your ass, eliciting a moan from you around his thumb.

Knock knock

You both groan and turn to glare at the offending door yet again.

“Not now,” Thorin shouts but the knocking persists.

Reluctantly stepping away from you with a huff, Thorin stalks over to the door. Unlatching it and yanking it open roughly.

Gandalf stands in the doorway. “Apologies for the interruption,” he says. Not looking the least bit sorry as his gaze bounces between the two of you in a knowing look.

“Can this wait?” Thorin grumbles at the wizard.

“I’m afraid not,” he replies, “we need to discuss the path we’re going to take for the journey ahead. The others are already gathered down in the kitchen for supper.”

“Very well,” he huffs, looking over his shoulder at you. “Shall we?”

“Actually,” Gandalf raises a hand to halt you both before you can head out the door. “Your assistance is needed in the tavern.”

He gives you a pointed look and you sneak a glance out the window behind you. The sun is already going down. You had promised Bertram you would put on your encore performance at sunset tonight.

“Ah yes,” you clear your throat, “I…promised one of the barmaids I would help her with some… lady troubles.”

Thorin raises a brow in confusion. “Can’t it wait? You’ll miss supper.”

“Oh, I’m afraid lady troubles never wait. I’ll join you all later.”

You shoulder your way past the two of them, Thorin looking confused at your abrupt departure.

You shoot Gandalf a pointed look as you head for the stairs and he gives you a small nod in understanding. You can only hope that he fulfills his promise to keep the company occupied long enough for you to secure the night's lodgings

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

“You’re late,” Bertram grumbles from behind the bar. “The crowd’s starting to get antsy.” He nods to the restless patrons filling the dimly lit room. The musicians are already tuning their instruments and drunken folk from the nearby towns gather around the stage impatiently.

Considering it was on such short notice, you’re quite impressed word traveled this quickly. You already recognize many regulars in the audience from when you would take to the stage on a nightly basis.

“Apologies,” you mumble while pulling up the sheer fabric at your chest yet again. “I had some wardrobe troubles.”

Either you’re misremembering how uncomfortable the costume was or it’s somehow become tighter and itchier since the last time you wore it.

There are several loose layers of fabric over your hips and chest that are meant to be removed with a flourish throughout the performance. But it’s the pieces underneath that cling tightly to your body. They cover the only parts that will be left to the imagination so you don't want to risk them slipping off.

“Pretty sure this is the only profession where wardrobe malfunctions work to your benefit sweetheart,” he scoffs nodding to the musicians on stage to signal your arrival.

“Now break a leg, and make me some money,” he waves you off and you saunter away towards the stage.

The musicians begin to strum the opening of a familiar melody and the crowd starts to hoot and holler as you slowly climb the steps to center stage.

Blowing a kiss and waving to the crowd your feet tread a familiar path as your hips start to sway, seemingly of their own accord.

Muscle memory kicks in as you let yourself get carried away by the music. Swaying and twirling, smiling and winking as the onlookers cheer.

The music rises to a crescendo and with a roll of your neck and a flip of your hair, you begin to ever so slowly slip the fabric off of your shoulders.

It flutters to the ground, leaving nothing but a long strip of fabric covering your upper body.

Everyone cheers, and you lift your arms above your head with a dazzling smile. Maintaining the pose just long enough for them to drink in the sight.

Continuing your path across the stage, familiar patrons start to clamber closer to the edge of the stage. You’ve done this routine so many times they know the grand finale is drawing near.

With another spin, you quickly slip the tie at your hip free. Holding it taut in your hand your eyes quickly scan for a volunteer.

A big burly man with a long beard calls out your name with a cheer, holding his drink high overhead in a toast. You extend the piece of fabric out to him and he gladly accepts.

“Hold on tight,” you instruct with a wink and he does exactly that. Holding the end of the fabric in place, you begin to twirl away from him in a whirlwind, the skirt unraveling around you as you do so.

The crowd goes wild as the rest of the fabric disappears, sliding down your legs to pool at your feet as you strike another pose showing off your now bare legs.

Gingerly stepping over the pile of fabric you resume your dance, twirling to the other end of the stage.

Your next move is to reverse the movement and travel in the exact opposite direction. But before you can, a strong pair of arms reach around your waist from behind, dragging you backwards off the stage.

With a shout, you are abruptly set on your feet in front of the absolute last person you want to see right now.

“What are you doing?!” Thorin growls, keeping a firm grip on you as his eyes take in the very small amount of fabric in such a public place.

“I’m a little busy right now,” you hiss. The crowd has already started to shout in protest and the musicians have stopped playing, looking at each other in confusion.

You’re more than a little pissed they let someone just grab you from off the stage but that’s a conversation for another time.

You try to pull yourself from his grasp, if you get right back up there and finish the performance you’re sure you can remedy the situation.

Bertram is already pushing through the crowd, red in the face with his sights set on you.

Thorin’s grip only tightens on your arms, a muscle in his jaw tensing. He releases you for a brief second, and you foolishly think he's letting you have your way. But before you can climb back on stage, he is suddenly wrapping his cloak around your bare skin and tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"You and I are going to have a little talk," he growls as he carries you out of the tavern kicking and screaming.

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knittastically · 11 days

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Entangled

The first question I'd like to ask you today is: Do you remember a little fic called The Best Day of My Life I wrote a while back? Don't worry, me neither ;) It simmered in my head and what started off as a standalone ficlet, grew into something bigger. Back then, it was written in the first-person narrative, but as it grew into a longer story in my head, I decided to change the subsequent chapters to the third-person perspective. This story was born from an inspiration I found when researching certain medieval traditions, especially when it comes to arranged marriages in royal families, and the role women played in these arrangements. It inspired me to wonder what it would look like in Dwarven societies of Middle Earth. I hope you enjoy it! Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit) Rating: G (subject to change) Warnings: ANGST Summary: Arranged marriages are common among the dwarven nobility. After reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, the Kingdom Under the Mountain needs to be rebuilt. Thorin agrees to marry a lady from the Blue Mountains, securing a mutually beneficial alliance with the Broadbeam Dwarves. Lady Mista is said to be a practical and hard-working dwarf-woman, willing to give him an heir who would secure the line of succession. A decent queen material, his advisors say. If only Thorin could let go of his past… You can find this fic on AO3 (search for lathalea). Special thanks for @legolasbadass for all your help and support 💙

Khuzdul: Azsâlul'abad - the Lonely Mountain (both the mountain and the dwarven kingdom known among Elves and Men as Erebor) Uzbad ra zabdûna undu ‘Urd - King and Queen Under the Mountain

TA 2942, one year after the Reclamation of Azsâlul'abad

“Your Majesty, My Lady, brothers and sisters in stone, we have all eagerly waited for this moment,” The High Priest’s sonorous voice rang out in the festively decorated Great Hall of the Lonely Mountain. “May the Pleating Ceremony commence!”

It was happening.

Mista swallowed. It felt as if the eyes of every single person present in the cavern were on her. As instructed earlier, Mista took off the veil that had covered her hair which was unbraided and adorned only with minuscule diamonds, and stepped stiffly towards the King. Her hands were clammy, and she tried not to stumble. The slippers and the opulent ceremonial gown she wore were incredibly uncomfortable and heavy. What a blunder it would be if she landed on the floor face down at that very moment! The court etiquette did not forbid her to wear her glasses, so at least she could see her surroundings clearly… including the crowds that gathered for the ceremony in the Great Hall.

Closing her eyes, she focused on her breathing, then something brushed against her temple. Mista flinched like a startled pony.

“No need to be alarmed, My Lady.” A low, rumbling murmur reached her ears. It was the King’s voice; she could have recognized his calm, confident manner everywhere. “Allow me to choose a suitable lock of your hair.” “By all means, Your Majesty,” Mista mumbled, feeling how close he stood to her, his arm brushing against hers, and how his fingers slowly ran through her hair. She did not know that a male touch could be so gentle. The only people allowed to touch her hair before this day were her mother, sister, and personal maid.

“Thank you, My Lady. Would you allow me to compliment you?” the King said and, not waiting for her reply, he added. “I do not think I have seen such exquisite hair before.”

“I… thank you, Your Majesty,” she whispered, attempting to calm herself. Did the King himself truly think her hair was exquisite? A realisation dawned upon her. Of course not; he must have referred to its uncommon length, that was all. It was the only source of Mista’s pride — perhaps the colour of her hair was plain and common, but she had always kept it long, and currently it reached almost to her knees. And now, the King’s nimble fingers ran through it, once, twice, and then began pleating her hair slowly, each of his movements deliberate. It was a surprisingly pleasant sensation, but even then, she did not dare to open her eyes especially when the tips of his fingers lightly brushed against her cheek, making her tremble at the sensation.

“It may help you to imagine that there is only you and me here.” His quiet voice reached her again.

“Pardon?” Mista’s breath hitched.

“During straining official functions I tend to imagine that there are only stone statues around me, carved in amusing poses. It helps to tackle the nerves.”

Mista’s eyes fluttered open and met the King’s azure gaze. An encouraging smile danced on his lips moments before he returned to braiding.

“I did not know someone like you could feel… nervous, Your Majesty,” she heard herself say.

“My coronation felt ten times worse than facing the enemy during the Battle of the Five Armies.” His reply made Mista chuckle. His smile widened, making his handsome face even more alluring. For a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe, simply staring at him.

Click.

The King clasped his bead around her new braid. Gold encrusted with onyx contrasted with the plainness of her mousy hair, but the pattern made it somehow more refined. She took the braid into her hand and admired its even, elegant weaves.

“It is beautiful, Your Majesty,” she whispered.

The King gave her a thankful nod. Mista felt his intent gaze on her. His Durin’s apple bobbed. Something was not right… Why were his features so tense?

It took her a moment to understand. With her cheeks burning, she took a step towards him. How could she have forgotten that now it was her turn?

“May I…?” Her voice failed her, but no words were necessary. The King lowered his head towards her, his hair flowing freely in front of her eyes.

With trembling fingers, she picked a thick lock of hair on his left temple and divided it into four parts. His hair was smooth and thick, making her think of a wolf’s fur, but it smelled like sweet oils from faraway lands in the South. Mista wanted to keep on braiding it for as long as she could. She thanked Mahal that she knew her personal pattern by heart — otherwise, she would have surely entangled his hair or ended up with a bunch of knots instead of the braid. Focused on plaiting it, she forgot about everything around her — there was only the King, Thorin, the Dwarf who unknowingly captured her heart a long time ago. Now, with every weave, she was willingly bestowing her whole self upon him.

Her bead was made of bronze and tiny sapphires from the Blue Mountains. For some reason, it refused to close around the King’s braid, making Mista sigh, but then one of his large, warm hands encircled her fingers that held the bead, and pressed it harder together.

Click.

It was done.

Mista’s heart beat faster and faster as the King Under the Mountain took her hands into his. They were facing each other in a way that allowed everyone gathered in the Great Hall to see them from the side.

“Foreheads,” the High Priest whispered, barely moving his lips, holding something in his hands that glinted in the light of hundreds of lanterns.

The King squeezed her hands gently and lowered himself towards her once more. Mista took a deep breath and stood on her tiptoes so that their foreheads could meet.

His skin was pleasantly warm against hers, his nose brushed against hers, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. Instinctively, she closed her eyes, but the last thing she saw were his lips, slightly parted, and so close, so very close to hers, and there was his beard too, and she wondered how it would feel if…

“What Mahal has joined over the marriage anvil, no power shall break apart until the end of days,” the High Priest exclaimed, his voice loud and clear, like the sound of a gunmetal bell, drowning all of her inappropriate thoughts.

“Thorin, son of Thrain, Mista, daughter of Milva, you are now husband and wife. Uzbad ra zabdûna undu ‘Urd!”

Loud cheers filled the spacious cavern as the white-bearded priest bound their hands together with a thin but unbreakable mithril chain — a symbol of the eternal bond they forged a moment ago. This was one of the most revered traditions of Mahal’s Children: Dwarves married only once. Mista read a treaty once that explained the origin of this ancient tradition: one of the oldest Dwarven legends said that each of the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves had one spouse, and that each couple was made from one piece of stone, destined to be always together, as one mind, body, and heart. A long time had passed since Mista was an overly romantic lass who believed that each Dwarf had their beloved Other Half somewhere in the world. Now she was over one hundred and thirty years old, and during her lifetime, she saw too many dalliances, clandestine affairs, and broken promises to believe that her people were capable of loving only once and only the right person. Dwarves were a fiery race, with molten lava running in their veins rather than cold pieces of rock. Nevertheless, their marriages were the cornerstones of society, crucially important to every family, and so a wedded couple was supposed to be like a rock: steady and unbreakable. That was Mahal’s will, as the priests said. Therefore, the dissolution of marriage was impossible. If a Dwarf broke their marital vows — which, as dishonourable as it was, happened from time to time — they would still remain married to their spouse. Even death did not end it, as her people believed that they would remain married even in the afterlife, in the Halls of Awaiting. That was why Dwarven courtship would often last many years so that the future spouses had ample time to know each other well before they made this irreversible decision.

Mista’s courtship lasted one month. That was how much time Lord Tair, her father, needed to finalise negotiations with the King Under the Mountain. During that time, she never saw her future husband. That was to be expected — the Blue Mountains were almost half a world away from King Thorin II’s kingdom, Azsâlul'abad. Instead, his envoys arrived with the marriage contract signed in his own hand and a chest filled with customary gifts for his future bride: jewellery, hair combs, and a traditional courtship cloak. There was also a letter addressed to her. It contained all the obligatory niceties along with His Majesty’s apology for his absence due to the fact that his kingdom was being rebuilt and needed all of his attention at the moment. He assured his bride, however, that he was looking forward to meeting her in person and offering her as much hospitality as he had received in Tumunzahar years ago.

He remembered.

Over one hundred years had passed, and he still remembered his visit to her home city. Precisely like Mista. She never forgot how gallant and handsome he was, how his words dried her tears, and how he made her feel as if she, the ugliest girl at the feast, were the only woman in the whole world.

Perhaps that mawkish idea of Dwarves finding their Other Halves was not true, but she was certain of one thing: she still loved the same Dwarf as she did all those years ago. Her heart belonged to Thorin Oakenshield.

And now she was his wife. Her eyes were still set on the glistening links of the mithril chain that joined her hands when she heard the High Priest’s words.

“My King, My Queen.” He bowed with reverence, “It is time for your wedding feast.”

The only thing she could think of at that very moment was how good her hand felt in her lord husband’s reassuring hold.

***

The feast that celebrated their nuptials was an event like no other. Mista had never seen any revelries that were full of equal splendour. Countless guests from all seven dwarven realms were entertained by minstrels, musicians, dancers, and other performers. The food was delicious; wine and other liquors flowed endlessly, like the River Running, and everyone was merry. Mista sat on a grand chair placed on the King’s right hand. Now, both of them wore their crowns and royal insignia, and together, as the newlywed ruling couple of the Kingdom Under the Mountain, they accepted countless toasts and congratulations from the well-wishers throughout the evening. Mista tried her best to act with decorum worthy of the queen she had become hours ago, and she even managed to appear unflustered whenever the customary “May Mahal bless your union with countless heirs!” reached her ears.

From time to time she managed to steal a glance at the King’s – her new husband’s – majestic profile, struggling to believe that this day was not a dream. But then she remembered the marriage braid hanging at her temple – and a similar braid in his hair. She truly was the great Thorin Oakenshield’s wife.

It was two bells after midnight when the weariness started to creep up on her.

“Is the feast to your liking, lady Mista?” the King turned to her, clearly noticing her attempt at stifling a yawn.

“Indeed it is! Forgive me, the celebrations took a toll on me, I’m afraid,” she explained, feeling the growing heaviness of her crown on her temples.

“It is perfectly understandable,” Princess Dis, the King’s sister, said. “It has been a long day. Perhaps it is time for you to repose.”

“May I…? Does the protocol allow it?” Mista took a hopeful look around the Great Hall where the feast was as lively as it was at its very beginning.

“May I remind you that now you are the Queen?” the King offered. “You may leave whenever you wish to do so.”

“And my brother will accompany you,” Princess Dis interjected, and then addressed the King. “Tonight you are only allowed to leave together.”

Mista caught a strange look they exchanged, and – after a noticeable pause – King Thorin said, “Very well.”

“Shall we, then?” He rose from his chair and held out his hand to Mista.

Leaving the Great Hall was not as easy a task as Mista expected. They had to endure another round of the official farewells, wedding toasts and felicitations from their numerous guests.

“Have a wonderful night!” Princess Dis exclaimed in a sing-song voice as they were stepping over the threshold.

“Aye, and a long one, too!” Dwalin, the King’s Captain, added, and they both laughed.

Their words sounded innocently enough for Mista at first, but they made the King clear his throat in visible embarrassment.

And then it dawned on Mista. One more thing awaited her.

The wedding night.

Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | ... 💙💙💙 Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it! 💙💙💙

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knittastically · 11 days

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Something in the Night ~ Chapter Twenty-One

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory.

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it.

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.1k

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Previous chapters can be found here.

The infirmary at night was a quiet and lonely place. Especially in the royal chambers, which were closed off from everyone else. Oh, the chambers themselves were lovely, well-lit, with comfortable beds and although she knew the dwarves prided themselves on their gem work, she still gaped at the beautiful stones inlaid in the labradorite walls. Nina wagered her room alone was worth more than the entirety of Esgaroth at its peak, and that gave her such pause. Erebor was built on the riches of the mountain, literally and figuratively, and it boggled her mind just how much wealth it truly held. She’d never seen so much wealth, and certainly not in so small a space.

But to look at Thorin, one would never think him to be a king. Oh, like every other dwarf she’d ever seen (which, of course, wasn't many until recently, and even now, in the infirmary, they kept their distance from her and she from them) he favored jewelry, and adorned his fingers and hair, as they all did. But he wore no crown, nor any fancy robes. Instead, he dressed almost exactly as he had been dressed when he and his Company first arrived in Esgaroth. A most down-to-earth king, indeed.

Her only experience with any man of power was the Master of Esgaroth, who was practically a caricature in his love of what hie considered finery. Truth be told, he was one of the most physically repulsive men she’d ever seen, with his stringy, red combed-over hair and over-fed body stuffed into shirts and trousers that were at best a size too small. He flashed his wealth, mostly stolen by way of taxes on the denizens of Esgaroth, without shame and yet when one stood close to him, as she’d had the misfortune of doing once, it was apparent bathing was not a favorite activity. Not only that, but he tried to hide the smell of unwashed skin with perfumes that were cloying and sickening. He was, as Lenna once said, a poor man’s idea of a rich man, and that summed it up perfectly as far as Nina was concerned.

However, Thorin was not like that. In fact, he was as far from that description as possible. His dark hair shone when the light hit it, the silver streaks highlighting the glossy black curls, and when he passed by? She smiled into the darkness. He smelled of leather and earth and summer nights and she bit back a sigh now just remembering what it was like to be engulfed by them, engulfed by him.

Narnerra had told her she could leave come the morning and while she was impatient to get home and assure Sigrid she was all right, Nina also did not want to leave. She knew that when she did, she would likely not lay eyes upon Thorin again.

She didn't want to think about that. Now that he was no longer furious with her…

She frowned into the darkness. She didn't want to think about that, either. It was best if she didn’t.

The soft knock at the door gave her pause, for in her time in Erebor, aside from that first night, no one knocked on the door past suppertime.

It had to be a mistake, so she ignored it.

Then it happened again.

“Nina?”

Her heart leapt at Thorin’s whisper, her stomach fluttering as she kicked back the covers and rose from her bed to pad to the door. “Thorin?”

“Did I wake you?”

She tugged open the door. “No, but what are you doing here?”

He emerged from the darkness to step into her room. “Narnerra told me you were leaving come the morning and since I’ve a meeting in Esgaroth first thing, I will not have another chance to see you.”

“To see me?” She reached for her wrapper, draped across the foot of her bed and drew it on. “Does your girlfriend know you’re here?”

To his credit, Thorin blushed, which unnerved her to a certain degree. It was confirmation of his relationship with the beautiful dwarrowdam, and it was confirmation she dreaded hearing. Up until right now, she could fool herself into thinking that maybe—just maybe—she and Thorin were on the verge of something.

But that blush changed everything.

OF course, it was silly, not to mention downright foolish, to assume he’d not have another woman in his life. Despite his protestations to the opposite, Thorin was strikingly handsome. And kind. And gentle. And everything any sane woman would want. She’d come so close to be the one he called his… so very close…

Don’t think about that.

“Nina,” he closed the door behind him, leaning back against it, “I had not expected to ever lay eyes upon you again. And I certainly expected to remain furious with you for the rest of my days.”

“So why are you here, then?”

“Because I needed to see you. Before you left.”

“Does she know you’re here? Because judging by how cold she was to me, I doubt she would be happy with you’re being here.”

“No,” he shook his head, “she doesn’t know. And she is not my girlfriend.”

“What is she, then?”

He sighed softly. “At one point, I thought to ask her for her hand.”

That confession was like a punch to the stomach and Nina was thankful for the low light, otherwise he’d see how she blanched. And it had to be terrible, for she actually felt the blood drain from her face. “I see.”

“At one point,” he repeated, stepping up to her. “But I am not so certain that is the case now.”

“Thorin, do not tell me what you think I wish to hear bec—”

“I’m not. I’m telling you the truth.” He caught her face in his hands, his palms warm and his thumbs gentle as they grazed along her cheekbones. “I told you how dwarves do not take lovemaking lightly, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Those thumbs moving along her cheeks made thinking clearly almost impossible for her. Her eyelids grew so heavy, her thought grew just as heavy, and sluggish and she just wished to lean into the gentle caresses.

She forced her heavy eyelids to open and found him smiling down at her. A pleasant warmth came to her cheeks at the heat in his blue eyes. “Why do you stare at me like that?”

“Do you remember what abnâmul means?”

Nina swallowed hard. “I do. Beautiful.”

“You are beautiful,” he whispered, tilting her face to his. “So very beautiful, indeed.”

With that, he bent and as his lips touched hers, Nina melted against him, easing her arms about his waist, parting her lips to receive his kiss wholeheartedly.

He bent her slightly back, his tongue slow and teasing as it caressed hers and for the first time since that wonderful night in Mirkwood, Nina’s spirits soared and happiness radiated through her.

She tightened her arms about him, her fingers curling into the rough fabric of his henley to tug it up from the waist of his trousers. He sucked in a sharp breath as her fingertips brushed along the swath of skin she’d bared, and she smiled when he shivered against her.

He broke the kiss, smiling as he pressed his forehead to hers. “Do that again,” he whispered, and his eyes closed as she did it again.

His eyes slowly opened to meet her gaze once more. Her heart picked up its pace, trebled it as she managed to whisper, “Why are you here, Thorin?”

“Because I’ve missed you.”

“Missed me? Or missed this.”

He straightened up then. “This?”

“Yes, this. The feelings. The pleasure. That.” She managed to pull free from him, and looked up.

“Do you suggest I’m here only for that?”

“Are you?”

“Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Why?” She shook her head. “Well, for starters, you planned to ask another woman to marry you.”

“At one point.”

“Thorin.”

He drew in a deep breath and slowly nodded. “Yes, Nina. I had—at one point—thought to ask Elisin for her hand. But that was before. And now, I find I do not think a match between her and I would be a good one, for I am afraid my heart belongs to another.”

Nina’s pulse throbbed through her temples. “Thorin.”

“And although I had reason enough to be angry with her, this other woman has far more reason to hate me for the rest of her days.” He stepped closer to her.

She took another step backward. “How can you say I have your heart after everything that has happened?”

He moved toward her once more. “Because you have?”

A step back and she found herself flush against the wall, which was lumpy and rough from the gems running through the labradorite. “That isn’t possible.”

“Why?” He brought both hands up to press his palms against the stone on either side of her shoulders. “Who has decided this? Who do you think does my thinking for me?”

“Well, I—I don't think anyone else does your thinking for you, but remember… you are a king and I am a nobody.”

“So?” His eyes softened. “I am only recently a king and you are not a nobody.”

“Very well then, I am also not a dwarf.”

A hint of a smile played at his lips. “Nobody’s perfect, mesmel.”

“You are mad, you know.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been mad.”

“Thorin.”

“I love you, Nina. Now, we can keep fighting about this, or you can just tell me you love me back and then we can make use of that very comfortable bed or the floor, or anywhere else in this room you’d like.”

“I don't even like you at the moment, dwarf. In fact, if I had my steel…”

“You would do nothing, just as the last time.” He leaned in then, and this time, when their lips met, he flattened against her. Not in a dominant way, trying to prove to her he could do whatever he wished to her if the mood struck, but more in a need to feel her against him sort of a way.

At least, that was what she told herself.

Because the truth was she needed to feel him that way. And when he pulled away and she met his heated gaze, she whispered, “You love me?”

He nodded slowly. “I love you.”

“But, I was going to collect on Azog’s bounty on you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I was going to.”

“But,” he brushed her lips with his, “you didn’t.”

“But—”

“But you didn’t,” he cut her off gently, and this time, he kissed her more deeply. He lowered his hands to catch hers, to lace his fingers with hers and brought them back up to press gently into the stone.

Her eyes closed slowly as the delicious sensations swirled through her, tilted her head back when he swept his lips down over her chin, along the side of her neck. He nuzzled her, whispering, “Maralmizi, Nina.”

Her head spun as the sensations grew stronger, tingling along her neck, through her belly, to slightly lower, where delicate knots of desire formed to tighten within her. “What does that mean…” she managed to whisper, her fingers tightening about his.

He kissed back up toward her ear, his lips brushing it as he replied, “I love you…”

“Mmmm….” She smiled, then bit down on her bottom lip as the tip of his tongue swept over a surprisingly sensitive patch of skin just below her ear. “I love you back, dwarf…”

His thumbs grazed hers, his lips swept down into the hollow of her throat. He trailed soft, teasing kisses down into the hollow of her throat once more, each one playful and tender at the same time. When he lifted his head again, it was to regard her with blazing blue eyes and his gaze never wavered as he reached for the lacings of her tunic. The leather laces gave easily, the cotton parting slightly, and heat swept through her as he let go of those laces to part the throat of her tunic even wider.

He held her gaze, sliding his hands down along her body, over the rise of her breasts, to the hem of her tunic, and then he swept up, whisking it over her head. His gaze burned hotter as it swept over her, and he murmured, “Abnâmul, mesmel…”

As he spoke, he traced the tip of his finger along the inner curve of her left breast. Fire whispered through her, gentle at first, but it grew stronger as he brushed inward, toward its crest. Her nipple beaded in anticipation of his touch, poking up through the thin muslin of her chemise. He brushed it, slowly circled it, and as the sensations rippled through her, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, but couldn't hold back her sigh.

“Oh, amrâlimê,” he whispered, his voice husky and his eyes smoldering as they met hers, “I have missed you, you know…”

Despite her sluggish thoughts and that delicious heat swirling through her, Nina nodded slowly. “I’ve… oh, I’ve missed you as well…”

The tingles grew sharper and steadier now as he swept lightly over her nipple, and it took every bit of will she possessed to not simply melt into a puddle. His smile spoke of promises she knew well, and her entire body trembled with anticipation of him.

He leaned in to capture her lips in a soft kiss as as their lips met, no more words passed. His hand came fully over her breast, kneading and teasing until the heat threatened to devour her. Her back bowed, pressing her breast deeper into his palm, a breathless sigh bubbling to her lips at the sensations running riot through her now. Those knots in her lower belly returned, sweet and tight and dropping lower, where the dull ache of arousal bit into her.

His lips caressed hers, and as she slipped her arms about his neck, he pressed firmly against her, then gently drew her away from the wall, turning to guide her back until the backs of her legs bumped her narrow bed.

Thorin urged her down into the soft mattress, and as she sank into it, she smiled at the sight of him above her, dark hair tumbling forward almost as a curtain to keep out the rest of the world. He looked almost feral, his eyes blazing sapphire, filled with desire that mirrored her own, and those eyes devoured her as he caught the hem of her chemise to gently sweep up along her thighs. Heat burned through her as the linen skimmed up over her hips. She waited for him to sweep it over her head, but instead, he bent and pressed heated lips against her lower stomach, which sent fire arcing through her.

Without thinking, she reached for him, shoving her fingers into his hair and as he moved lower, her fingers tightened. The tip of his tongue swept along her hipbone, following by a teasingly soft kiss. Those knots tightened further.

Thorin crept higher now, feathering kisses up along her ribs, taking care around the bandage, pushing linen out of his way, until he found what he sought and his lips closed about her aching nipple. The tip of his tongue did a slow, almost lazy swirl about the taut bead, her back bowing of its own as fire tore through her now.

“Thorin…” His name leaked through her clenched teeth, her fingers twisting tighter in his hair now as he oh-so-sensually tortured her. The ache between her thighs spread slowly through her, her legs parting of their own to let him settle between them.

She couldn't hold back her sigh as he came firmly against her. She’d forgotten just how amazing he felt like this, how much she absolutely loved being surrounded by him, how the rest of the world simply fell away and left them in peace. She had missed him, had missed everything about him and as his lips claimed hers, she lost herself in his kiss.

Still, they were in the infirmary and she had no doubt that any strange noises coming from the royal ward would bring Narnerra or one of her assistants running and the last thing Nina wanted was for anyone to burst in on them.

The bed let out an ominous squeak as Thorin rolled onto his back, tugging her atop him as he did. He grinned even as she froze. “What’s the matter, mesmel?”

“What if someone hears?”

He reached up, catching a wayward curl to tuck back behind her ear. “No one will hear a low squeak. And even if they did, no one would come in here. This is reserved for my family.”

“Which is exactly why someone might, if they thought you were in here. They might think I’m killing you.”

“We both know you wouldn’t, though.”

“We do, yes. They, however do not.”

He trailed his fingertips along her back, which brought a shiver along her spine and had her catching her bottom lip between her teeth even as her eyelids grew heavy. She managed to keep them open, smiling at his murmured, “I’ll take my chances.”

The air stirred, skittering cold across her bare back. “Thorin?”

“What?”

“Why are you still dressed?”

His laughter rang out and when she clapped her hand over his mouth, it did little to dull the reverberation. Peeling her hand from his face, he replied, “You needn’t worry. You and I are the only ones down here this night. And as for your question…”

He gently eased out from beneath her and slid to the edge of the bed to stand. “I won’t be much longer.”

She bit back another sigh as he whisked his henley over his head. Without thinking, she also slid to the edge of the bed, then rose to stand before him. She drank in the sight of him, the flickering candlelight dancing along the swells of muscle along his arms, shoulders, and chest and without thinking, she laid her hand along the curious scars dotting the left side of his chest. “What are these?”

“Reminders to avoid being caught in the jaws of a warg.”

She looked up at him. “What?”

He nodded. “A warg grabbed hold of me, just outside of Goblintown, when I was making my way from the Shire to Erebor.”

She trailed her thumb along one of the nearly perfectly round divots in his swarthy skin. Some were barely visible through the black hair spread wide across his chest, but she could still make them out. Small. Round. White. “And how did you pull yourself from the jaws of a warg?”

“Master Baggins came to my aid.” He must have seen the confusion in her eyes, for he smiled as he laid his hand over hers. “The hobbit who made up the fourteenth member of our company. He came to my rescue with the smallest blade ever forged, but pried me free. It was only one of the times he saved my hide, the last one being after my confrontation with Azog.”

His voice grew so soft, she could barely hear him, and as she brushed her thumb along the tooth mark, she whispered, “You need not tell me if it troubles you to think about.”

“Perhaps some day I won’t mind regaling you with what happened. But there was nothing glorious in any of it. I was a mad king, and warmonger, and I cost many people dearly, as you well know.

“But,” he caught her beneath the chin with a finger, tilting her face to his, “I will spend the rest of my days making it up to you, mesmel. I give you my word.”

He didn't offer her a chance to respond, but bent to her and as their lips met, her questions died on her lips. They no longer mattered and would wait. All that mattered was his warm, bare skin against hers, his arms tightening about her waist, and his lips also warm against hers.

Her hands went to the falls of his trousers, and a moment later, the heavy fabric pooled at his feet and with a soft laugh, he pulled away to remove his cumbersome boots and hose, then stepped from that puddle of fabric on the stone floor.

Her mouth went dry and her belly came alive with a million butterflies as he caught her around the waist once more and lifted her easily. Her legs, of their own accord, wrapped about his waist, and when their lips met, it was like a match to dry kindling. One spark, and embers became flames. Flames became an inferno and within moments, he was pressing her down into the bed once more, pinning her beneath him, and when he slid inside her, she was ready and welcoming and melted around him. There was nothing gentle or tender as he drove into her, but pure need and desire fired his powerful thrusts and she clung to him, her thighs tight against his sides, her arms tight about his neck, her body tight about his.

With swift precision, he brought them both to the edge of madness, every fiber in her body tensed and begging for relief. She pulsed about him, her fingernails biting into the warm skin of his back, and when it was his turn to tense, he crushed her against him, gave a powerful thrust, and shuddered as he came. Nina surrendered to the fiery bliss he sent spilling through her, her body tingling and trembling as his climax triggered hers and she savored every last pulse, every last shiver, every last knot coming undone at his touch. And when he sank against her, breathless, a fine film of sweat along his back, she smiled as she nuzzled him. “I’ve missed you, dwarf,” she whispered, her voice thready and airy as her heart raced and her head still spun madly from the force of their combined release.

He said nothing at first, a hot, husky laugh skimming the curve of her shoulder as he fought for breath. Then, he nuzzled her, and managed to whisper, “Amrâlimê…”

Her fingers slipped through his soft hair, traced along the braid at his left temple. “I don’t speak your language,” she murmured, trailing her fingertip along his cheek as he lifted his head once more. “Teach me?”

“Of course.” His eyes were sleepy, heavy-lidded and seductive without his even trying. “Amrâlimê means my love. And you are, Nina. You are my everything. My kurduwê, my amrâlimê, my mesmel.”

“Thorin…”

“My heart, my love, my jewel of all jewels.” His eyes glittered like perfectly cut sapphires. “And you know how dwarves regard jewels, so… you are my ghivashel, Nina. My treasure of all treasures.”

Nina swallowed hard as her throat tightened and unexpected tears stung her eyes. “I was so certain you would hate me for the rest of your days.”

He carefully eased off her to stretch out alongside her. “I admit,” he began softly, gathering her to curve against him, “at first, that was what I thought as well. But, the more I thought about it, the more time I spent with Elisin—and before you ask, I did nothing with her, not even a kiss—the more I realized I missed you, Nina.”

“Not even a kiss?”

He smiled. “Not even that. I love you, and you are my One. Once a dwarf finds his One, all other women cease to exist as far as he is concerned.”

“But isn’t your One supposed to be another dwarf?”

“Well, yes, but we both know things don’t always go as planned.”

She smiled as she curved against him, tucking her head against his chest, her fingers sweeping lightly along the black hair covering his belly. “I am so very sorry, Thorin. If I could do it over again, I would never have gone to Tarog. I never would have thought harming you would do anything other than make the world darker than it already is.”

“Let’s not speak of it any longer,” he whispered, then pressed a kiss into the top of her head. “We have much to make up for and plenty of time for doing so.”

With that, linens schwiffed softly as he eased over her once more and she lost herself in another magical kiss.

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knittastically · 12 days

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Something in the Night ~ Chapter Twenty

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.2k

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Previous chapters can be found here.

Nina couldn't remember the last time it hurt to breathe, and she was ever so thankful when the healer at Erebor made the pain stop. The tube was only slightly more comfortable, but at least she could breathe.

The first two days she was in the infirmary were a blur, as she slept more often than she was awake. But from what she recalled, the healer’s name was Narnerra and she was a dwarf with blonde hair and blue eyes and an easy manner. She didn't seem at all concerned with having a daughter of Man in her infirmary, and neither did her partner, Óin. They treated Nina with courtesy and kindness and Narnerra especially reminded her of her mother, which brought tears to Nina’s eyes her first night there.

The most surprising part of the entire ordeal was Thorin. He’d been to see her several times and there was no sense of anger about him any longer. He made no mention of what happened at Mirkwood, no mention of the bounty, no mention of any of it, which confused her to a certain extent.

But she tried not to dwell on it, and instead concentrated on healing, so she could go back to the flat in Dale, as Sigrid had to be worried about her, and Harald had no idea what had happened, only that she’d stopped coming to work. She only hoped she still had a job when she returned.

Narnerra, however, was not about to let her leave until she was satisfied Nina wasn’t about to drop dead. And that meant remaining in the infirmary until further notice, despite the fact that Nina was so impatient to leave.

On her third day, Nina was relieved to have the blasted uncomfortable tube removed from her side. “I was going mad with that, you know.”

Narnerra smiled as she bandaged the small incision she’d finished sewing. “I know, it’s not the most comfortable thing in the world. But, it’s better than not being able to breathe.”

“That I will agree with. So,” Nina tugged her tunic back down, “does this mean I might be able to return home today?”

Narnerra shook her head. “Not quite yet, I’m afraid. I want to keep an eye out for infection. Another day or so should be time enough.”

Biting back an impatient sigh, Nina offered up a long look. “I really do need to go. It feels as if an eternity has passed since I last saw the sun.”

“Another day won’t hurt.”

“Narnerra.”

“It won’t. But, if you are so impatient to see sunlight, why not go and sit in the courtyard for a bit?”

“A courtyard? You mean to tell me there’s an actual courtyard here?”

“Yes. Come and I will show you.”

Nina slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was still achy, from the battle, from the wound, from the treatment for it, but as she got to her feet, it eased a little. Then it eased more with each step as Narnerra led her out of the private chambers and through the infirmary’s main room.

Several dwarves were there, and she felt their stares as she passed them by. Narnerra led her down the narrow corridor to the door at the end, which opened into a sun-splashed courtyard shaded in one corner by towering oak trees.

“You won’t try to run off now, will you?”

Nina slowly shook her head. “No. I won’t. I give you my word.”

“Very well. Enjoy the sun.”

Nina smiled, pulling away from the healer to step out into the middle of the courtyard. In the distance, a tower of black and gray mottled stone rose toward the sky, but that was the only other structure around her.

The sun wrapped warm arms about her and she lifted her face to it, letting her eyes close as the gentle breeze wafted through her hair. For the first time since Smaug destroyed Esgaroth, she felt at complete peace.

With that, she moved to the wall, sinking onto the warm stone. As she sat back against a stone pillar, she thought she could actually remain right there and be perfectly happy about it.

Thorin stepped out into the courtyard. “There you are.”

“You sound as if you’ve been hunting for me. Where else would I be?”

“Fair question.” He crossed over to where she sat. “How do you feel this morning?”

“Better. Narnerra took out the infernal tube, so now it’s only a bit sore instead of very sore.” She shaded her eyes with one had to look up at him. “And how do you feel?”

“I’m fine. I told you, I had not a scratch on me, thanks to you.”

“I apologize. My memory of that night and the first days here isn’t so clear.”

“Worry not. It seems I owe you my life yet again. I had no idea I was being followed.”

“You owe me nothing,” she said after a short silence, lowering her hand to fold it with her other hand in her lap. “I owe you. I can never make up for what I’d done. What I tried to do.”

With a soft groan, Thorin settled beside her. “No, you don’t. I’ll admit, I was furious, as you know of course, but…”

“But you are no longer?” She turned to him. “Why? By all rights, you should hate me until the day you die. Or until the day I do.”

“That was what I thought at first, but since then, I’ve had plenty of time to think and in truth? You should hate me as well. You have even greater cause to do so. I am responsible for the deaths of your family members, for the loss of everything that you held dear. And when I thought of it that way, I realized, I could not fault you for trying to collect the Defiler’s bounty.”

She could only stare up at him, as if seeing him for the first time. He looked far more serious than she’d ever seen—which was saying something—but it was more than that. As his pale blue eyes met hers, her heart gave a leap. “Thorin?”

“So, why don’t you? Hate me, I mean. I cost you everything. All you did was try to avenge that.”

“I did hate you. I hated you for a very long time and that was why I thought to try to collect Azog’s bounty. I thought it would—that it—” she shook her head—“I don't know what I thought it would do, but I thought it would make it, I don't know, hurt less, perhaps?”

The wind stirred again, riffling through her hair, sending his fluttering as well. She managed a slight smile. “But, in the end, it wouldn’t have. It still hurts. It will always hurt. Killing you wouldn’t have changed that, nor would it have brought them back. And besides,” her smile grew easier to show, “I’ve grow fond of you.”

“Fond of me.” A hint of amusement crept into his voice and the corners of his lips turned upwards.

“All right, perhaps a bit more than fond,” she admitted. “Either way, I couldn’t do it. I just… I couldn’t. But, at the same time, I think I—”

His hand came to rest atop hers. “You think what?”

“I think I might have led the orcs to you. I—I went to see Tarog, Azog’s heir apparent, to try to claim half the bounty up front.” Heat crept into her cheeks, swirled through her entire body as she met his gaze again. He said nothing, his expression remained neutral, but she felt so very guilty for everything that happened up to that point.

Still, she went on, “It was arrogant of me, and foolish and he let me know he shared that sentiment. He laughed me out of his camp and that was that. I thought nothing of it, but now, I think he most likely set that orc pack after me, thinking I would lead them to you.”

“You’ve much to learn in being a bounty hunter.”

He said it softly, but with a smile, and it was so unexpected that she couldn't help but laugh, only to clap her hand over her mouth as she stared up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? You said nothing wrong. It’s true.”

“I know, but,” she lowered her hand, “I have no desire to be a bounty hunter any longer. I’m not very good at it, you know.”

His eyes softened.”Is that so?”

“It is, yes.”

“Then what would you like to be?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.”

The hand that had been resting against hers came up to curve against her cheek. As he leaned in, her heart sped up, and when he nuzzled her, her eyes closed of their own. His touch was so gentle and yet, it shot through her like a lightning bolt.

She turned toward him, her lips seeking his, his whispered, “Nina…” making her heart beat faster still.

“There you are! I’ve been going mad searching for you.”

Thorin jumped back at the unexpected female voice and Nina swallowed hard at the dark-haired dwarrowdam in the doorway. It was the same woman she’d seen with him at the tavern and although she smiled, Nina saw the definite coolness in her dark eyes. “Oh, well, good afternoon,” she said, her voice warm and almost syrupy sweet. “I don't believe we’ve met.”

Nina almost smiled at the fact that the woman did not remember her from only a few nights past, but then thought better of it. “No,” she replied, “I don't believe we have.”

“You might introduce us, Thorin,” the woman told him pointedly.

Thorin rose and turned toward her. “Elisin, this is Nina Carren. Nina, this is Elisin of Ered Luin.”

“A pleasure,” Elisin said.

“Likewise.”

Looking up at Thorin, Elisin said, “I thought we were going to have luncheon together?”

“Ah, yes, I apologize. I just came to check on Miss Carren. She came to my aid on the road from Dale the other evening.”

“She is the one?”

“I am, yes.” Nina replied, also rising. “And if you will both excuse me, I think I will go and lie down a bit. My incision is beginning to ache.”

She forced a smile as she looked over at Elisin. “It was lovely meeting you.”

The smile she received in return was just as frosty. “Likewise.”

Nina brushed by Elisin and as she reached for the door handle, she’d swear she could feel the dwarrowdam’s eyes burning into her back. What was more? She could almost feel the daggers in the woman’s stare.

“You traveled with her all the way from Rivendell?”

Thorin nodded, turning back to Elisin as the door swung shut. “We crossed paths on the road leading to it, when she came to our aid.”

“Your aid? A lone woman?”

He nodded, not at all inclined to give more details than was absolutely necessary. “She was quite impressive, really. So, when she offered to accompany us back, Dwalin and I saw no reason to turn her offer down.”

“No, why would you?” Elisin’s voice remained light but he did not miss the darker undertones. “Why do I feel as if I’ve seen her before?”

Before he could answer, she waved off her own question. “Oh, never mind. It hardly matters as I assume she will be leaving before long. I’m actually quite surprised Narnerra did not put up a fuss over having her here.”

He was as well, although he assumed it was because he was the one who brought Nina to Erebor’s gates, to its infirmary, and no one in their right mind was going to question the king about it. He almost smiled at the memory of how Grelber’s eyes went wide at the sight of him, streaked in Nina’s blood, ordering the gates of Erebor be opened at once.

“She is a healer and looks beyond a body’s origins. In the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies, I’m told we had elves, Men, and dwarves in the infirmary and all received the same standard of care.”

“Of course they did. I expect no less from her or Óin,” Elisin replied, tucking her arm through his. “I certainly didn't mean to imply otherwise.”

He nodded. “Of course not. So, you said you were looking for me?”

“Oh, right. I was. I thought we might go—”

“Thorin?” Balin appeared in the courtyard doorway. “We’ve a bit of a problem in Esgaroth and Bard has asked we meet to discuss it?”

“A problem?” Thorin pulled away from Elisin. “What sort of problem?”

“The missive did not say.”

“Very well.” Thorin let out a slow sigh as he turned back to Elisin. “I do need to tend to this, I’m afraid. Can what you wished to ask me wait for a bit?”

Elisin didn't look at all happy even as she nodded. “Of course it can. Go. A king’s work is never done.”

“We will talk later, when I return.” He started toward Balin.

“Yes, but Thorin—”

“Later. I promise.”

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knittastically · 13 days

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Brilliant Disguise ~ Chapter Twenty-Four

Summary: Speech therapist Josephine Asharm has been brought into Erebor to work with Bifur, but trying to find her place among people who eye her suspiciously would be difficult enough under normal circumstances, but when Sophie finds herself caught between the king, his most trusted lieutenant, and the dwarf she’s there to help? She’s certain no good can come of it. Being of Man, not only does she stand out in the dwarf kingdom, she’s not entirely certain she’s actually welcome there at all.

Thorin only agreed to allow Sophie to live amongst them out of a sense of duty to Bifur, who is recovering from an odd head injury (is there any other way to describe having an axe blade lodged in one’s head, only to have it later dislodged during the Battle of the Five Armies?) Before the battle, he spoke only khuzdul. But since it? He’s regained the ability to speak Westron—if only he could but remember any of it. As for Thorin? He’s trying his damndest to ignore the speech therapist, not to mention his own growing feelings for her, even as he is also recovering from his near fatal wounding in the same battle.

Both Sophie and Thorin are haunted by their pasts and are uncertain of their futures, but sometimes, chances must be taken…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Josephine (Sophie) Asharm

Warnings: Some violence (nothing graphic)

Rating: T

Word Count: 3k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-mer-6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @buckybarnes-thorin @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep @night-ace

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Previous chapters can be found here.

Although it had been a year since she’d been on the Long Lake, Sophie felt as if only days had passed since she lived there, in the drafty house with its leaky roof and rooms that all pitched to the left.

Roughly half of Esgaroth had been restored, and while none of the buildings were inhabited, according to both Thorin and Bard, Sophie knew she would find Sten and knew exactly where she would find him as well.

Their house had been at the southern end of Esgaroth, tucked between the fish market where Sten sold his catch, and another house and it was there that she stood, staring up at the new structure, finished save for windows. The scents of cedar and pine mingled with the cold, somewhat brackish smell of the lake water, and had she not been so nervous, she might have heard the gentle lap of the water against the new pilings and bulkheads. Instead, all she heard was the thundering of her heart.

A toolbox stood just to the side of the doorway, although the house had no door yet. Still, as she stepped over the threshold, she heard the sounds of someone moving about. The houses were all the same, the first floor was normally a mudroom of sorts, a place where oilskins, boots, winter coats and the like would be stored. A narrow staircase to her right would take her above, to the main floor. There, she would find a kitchen and great room combined, a small privy, and toward the rear of the house, two small bedrooms.

It took every bit of will she possessed to force her feet to obey and propel her up those narrow stair treads. As she emerged into the kitchen, she saw a familiar pair of boots in the doorway. Battered, scuffed, one held together with a strip of leather wound about it.

Sten’s boots.

Of its own volition, her hand found its way into the small satchel she carried, her fingers curling about the knife handle. She slipped it free, drew in a deep breath, and called, “I know you’re here.”

“Why?”

Her blood ran cold at the familiar, softly menacing tone of Sten’s voice. She’d learned that the greater his fury, the calmer he sounded, and while he didn't exactly sound calm, she was wary just the same.

“I could ask you the same.”

“Come here.”

“No.” She tightened her grip on the knife. “You come here.”

He appeared in the doorway between the great room and the short hallway that would lead to the bedrooms and she fought the urge to gasp at the sight of him.

Tall and handsome and blond and I thought he was utterly perfect. That was how she’d described him to Thorin and once upon a time, that had been true.

Once upon a time.

Now, however, Sten’s once-handsome face was lopsided, no doubt from its meeting with her cast iron pan a year earlier. He bore distinct burn scars on his face as well, although, in a darkened alley to a frightened little girl, they might not have been noticeable.

“Surprise to see me, are you?”

“Why are you here again?” She took a step closer, but made certain to remain beyond his reach. “What do you want from us?”

“I want my wife. My daughter.”

“Your wife and daughter. Don't make me laugh, Sten. You were going to kill me that night, weren’t you?”

“I was wrong, my love. So terribly wrong.”

“Do not call me that, for we both know it to be a lie. I don’t believe you, not a single word of what you say.”

“You should, for I speak true.”

“No.” She shook her head, trying to will her arms and legs to stop quaking so badly. She didn't want him to see any hint of fear for if he did, he would pounce. “You need to leave us alone, Sten. I want you to leave us alone. I want you to give me a divorce and go on your merry way.”

“So you might continue thinking you’ll be queen of Erebor?” A chilly laugh followed his words. “Think you I didn't hear about that? That I didn't hear about you and the Mad King. You’ve exposed my daughter to that madman? I could not, in good conscience, leave Heather with you. Who knows what the mad king would do to her if I did.”

The very thought of Thorin ever harming Heather was a laughable one, but Sophie kept her expression neutral. She would not give anything away to him. Not any more. “The mad king? Hardly. We both know the only madman here is you, Sten. You need to let us go.”

“No. I will not let you go so you can go running back to that runt!”

“Why? You’ve made yourself perfectly clear in how you see me, in how you see Heather.”

“She is mine. You are mine.”

“No, Sten,” she shook her head slowly, “we are not yours. Heather deserves better than a father who does not trouble to hide his disdain for her.”

“So the dwarf can not only slip into your bed, but into my role as her father?”

“Thorin is good to her. He doesn’t yell at her for doing what children do, for laughing too loudly or being afraid of something. He makes time for her and treats her as she should be treated. Can you say the same?”

“She is weak and addled, like her mother.”

“See? And do you honestly wonder why I want out of this marriage? Because I do, Sten, and I will be free of you for once and for all.”

Some of the ice left his pale eyes and he took a step backward. “I’ve really ruined things, haven’t I? I—I don't even know why I said the things I did, or why I did the things I did…. I just… I just loved you so much, Sophie. And it always seemed that I could never give you what you truly deserved, the life you should have had.” He shook his head. “Do you know how that feels? To know the person you’re with deserves so much more and you’ll never be able to give it to her?”

For a moment, she almost believed him to be sincere. He certainly looked and sounded it. At least, he did to one who didn't know him. But Sophie knew him.

And believed not a word he spoke.

“It’s too late, Sten. I am not so trusting as I once was.” She drew in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and said, “I want a divorce and you will grant me one.”

He stared at her for a long moment, but then slowly shook his head. “I don't think I’ll be doing that, Sophie. In fact, I think I will come by Erebor ’round sundown and collect my daughter as well.”

“We are not going anywhere with you. And the idea of you forcing the gatekeeper to do your bidding is laughable.”

Sten offered up a slow smile. “Think rather highly of yourself, do you? Did you fail to notice I mentioned Heather and not you?”

With that, he stepped closer and she instinctively stepped back at the same time. “You are not getting within a league of her, Sten. So, whatever insane idea you have about how this will end will never come to pass.”

“It’s a funny thing about this lake, love,” he replied softly, shaking his head as if filled with regret. “People have a way of falling into it and never being seen again. Isn’t that what you told people? That I went out on the lake and simply never came home?”

He kept approaching and she kept backing up, mindful of the narrow staircase directly behind her. “You have no idea how I wished that would actually happen.”

“You tried your best.” He gestured to the misshapen side of his head. “But you failed. You’ve failed at everything you’ve tried to do, haven’t you? Failed as a wife. As a mother. As a woman.”

She slipped the knife from her pocket. “Do not take another step.”

He glance down at it, then looked back up, a laugh coming to his lips. “You haven’t the nerve.”

“Do not test me. I will do what I have to, to keep Heather safe, to keep her away from you.”

“Is that so?”

He dove at her, and she swung, the tip of the knife’s blade catching him in the shoulder. Not that it mattered, as he drove his shoulder into her stomach and sent her reeling backward. The knife clattered to the floor as Sophie made a frantic grab for the moulding about the doorway. Her nails scratched along the wood to no avail as she crashed down along the risers, pain bursting through her shoulder and her hip as she crumpled to the floor at the foot of the staircase.

Pain radiated through her, starbursts erupting before her eyes as she fought to keep them open. Above her, the stair treads creaked as Sten descended toward her. “You little fool,” he said, his voice low and flat. “A more worthless woman never lived.”

Her head ached. Her vision swam. Slowly, she untangled herself and tried to sit, scooting back across the fresh, smooth wood toward the front door. Sten held her knife loosely, but she had no delusions that she would be able to wrest it from him again.

Pulling herself up to her feet, she bit back a cry as pain burst through her right ankle and when she placed that foot on the floor, it refused to bear weight. She gripped the wall, sweat breaking out across her back as she stared at him.

“Why won’t you just leave us be?” Her words came more easily as her head slowly began to clear. “If I am so worthless, why are you even troubling with me?”

“Because you are mine and no man, not even the runt king, takes what is mine.”

The knife blade glinted as the sun reflected off the water and as Sten shifted to lower it, Sophie lunged for the toolbox, her fingers brushing, then curling about the somewhat rough handle of the hammer laying atop it.

She came up swinging with every bit of might she could muster and Sten let out a howl at the sickening crunch of the hammer’s head striking his. She caught him along the jaw, pain flaring through her hand, her wrist, but she held on, tightening her fingers about that handle as he stumbled back into the stairs, a hand clasped to his chin, blood dribbling over his bottom lip.

Footsteps thundered along the wood to the north and while she ignored them, Sten must have expected her to turn to see who was coming, for he dove at her once more.

Without thinking, she spun to her left and he shot past her, reeling forward to topple into the lake with a loud splash.

“You bitch!” he sputtered, swimming back toward the bulkhead. “I will kill you this time.”

He grabbed the edge of the bulkhead, but as he tried pulling himself up, she swung again. And again. And again. She kept swinging even as both Thorin and Dwalin came around the corner.

Thorin caught her by the wrist with one hand and around the waist with his free arm to pull her back. “Easy, amrâlimê,” he whispered as she tried to fight him, tried to keep swinging, “it’s over, love… it’s over…”

The hammer hit the wood at their feet and she collapsed against him, her tears infuriating but unstoppable as she buried her fingers in the fur of his coat and clung to him as if for life itself.

“Get her back to Erebor,” she heard Dwalin growl. “I’ll take care of what’s left of him.”

Sophie’s stomach clenched and curdled at the same time, a sour taste flooding her mouth. She fought down the rising nausea, shaking her head as she whispered, “He was going to take Heather… I—I could—I couldn't let—let him get h—her…”

“Shhh…” Thorin swung her easily into his arms and moved away from the edge of the bulkhead. “You’ve nothing to worry about now, mesmel. He cannot hurt either of you again…”

Exhaustion and pain wound together to make keeping her eyes open impossible, so she let them close as she tucked her head against his chest. A sense of relief swelled, taking some of the edge off her pain.

It was over.

Finally.

Sophie sucked in a sharp breath as Narnerra gently prodded her swollen left ankle. “I beg your pardon,” the healer said as she looked up, “how did this happen?”

“I fell down a flight of stairs.” Sophie clenched her teeth as Narnerra continued her examination. She was so tired, all she wished to do was sleep, but Thorin was insisted that Narnerra look her over and told the healer so in no uncertain terms before leaving the infirmary.

He would not say where he was going, but he didn't have to. She knew. Esgaroth. Any moment now and Bard would be coming looking for her.

This time she had no doubt at all that she’d killed Sten. She might have failed the first time. She did not fail this time. And if she was honest with herself, she was not the least bit sorry, either. It had to be done. She had to protect Heather.

She had to protect herself.

“I don't think it’s broken,” Narnerra said, straightening up. “But rather a nasty sprain. We’ll splint it and I’ll recommend you remain off your feet for the next fortnight.”

Sophie nodded. “I can still work with Bifur, then.”

“No, you will rest, Sophie. I daresay Bifur and the others will all understand.” Narnerra moved to her supply cupboard, returning a few minutes later with what she needed to splint Sophie’s injured ankle.

“How are you otherwise?” the healer asked softly as she set to work.

“I’m… tired… and—and sore.” Sophie replied slowly, wrapping her arms about herself as a chill settled about her. “And I’m so cold… I can’t seem to shake it.”

“The stress of the moment.” Narnerra crossed over to the cupboard once more, this time returning with a blanket she draped about Sophie’s shoulders. “What happened?”

“I’d rather not say.”

Narnerra’s blue eyes were sharp. “He had it coming, Sophie. Do not think for one moment you did anything wrong, for you didn’t.”

She shot the healer a look. “I’m afraid I don't know what you mean.”

“You do. And if I were there, I’d have helped you.” Narnerra bent back over her ankle and no more words passed between them as she finished wrapping it.

“How does she fare?”

Sophie’s heart skipped a beat as Thorin came into the room that served as the royal family’s quarters in the infirmary. Narnerra looked up and nodded. “She’s shaken up, but in one piece. Nothing is broken or fractured, just bruised or sprained.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Narnerra crossed to the door. “I’ll be back in a moment to give you something for the pain, Sophie.”

Sophie managed a smile. “Thank you, Narnerra. For everything.”

Narnerra bobbed her head. “Of course.”

As the door swung closed behind Narnerra, Thorin came around to face her. “How are you truly faring?”

“I’ve had better days,” she admitted softly.

“I know.” He reached out to smooth her hair away from her face. “I’ve been to see Bard. It seems there was a terrible accident out on the Long Lake. I’m afraid Sten Asharm fell into the water and drowned.”

“Thorin…”

“He’s gone, mesmel,” he murmured, curving his hand against her cheek, his thumb brushing gently along it. “This time, for good. He will not trouble you again.”

“I thought that once before.”

“Trust me. He is not coming back this time.”

Sophie pulled the blanket more tightly about herself. “And will I face any charges?”

“For his accident?” Thorin shook his head. “No. As Bard said, sometimes accidents cannot be avoided. And the lake doesn’t always give up its dead, so in all likelihood, no one will ever know exactly what happened to him.”

“Give up its dead.” She squeezed her eyes shut at the iciness that filled her with those words. “How do I live with knowing this?”

“You had no choice, Sophie,” he told her, his voice low and stern. “He would have killed you, had he gotten up on that dock. You did what you had to do. No one would fault you for that.”

“Still…”

“No,” he shook his head, “no still. You did. It’s that simple.” As he spoke, he caught her face in his hands, tilting it to his. “You had no choice, mesmel. None.”

“I know, but—”

“No. No but,” he cut her off gently. “You had no choice. And if you hadn’t have done it, I most definitely would have. No one lays a finger on you while I live and pays no price for it. No one.”

Tears stung her eyes at the quiet ferocity in his voice. “Thorin, I—”

“Let’s get you back to your chambers, mesmel. Heather is out in the paddock with Fífi, but they will be coming in for supper soon. What do you wish to tell her?”

“I don't know yet. I—I have to think about it.”

He nodded as Narnerra came back into the room. “I told her to remain off that ankle for a fortnight, Your Majesty.”

“And I will make certain she does.”

“Good. You need to rest, Sophie. You’ve earned it.”

“I will. I will.” Sophie managed to smile as her shock slowly eased. Thorin was right. Narnerra was right. She’d had no choice.

She’d done what she absolutely had to do and that was that.

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knittastically · 13 days

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Better Days ~ Chapter Nineteen

A/N: If you or a loved one is in crisis, or experiencing suicidal thoughts or suicidal ideation, help is available 24/7/365. Call or text the Suicide Crisis Lifeline at 988 or visit their website at www.988lifeline.org.

Summary: Frerin Durin had the perfect life, until he found out his wife was cheating on him. Now, he’s navigating uncharted territory as an about-to-be divorced single dad. Dating is a mess, he’s dealing with the fallout where his kids are concerned, and really, he would just love a vacation away from all of it.

Elena Madison is new to Sidleburg, and also navigating life as a newly single parent. The last thing she needed was for her daughter to come down sick, when she hasn’t even had time to unpack the moving boxes, never mind find a pediatrician. And the last thing she ever expected was to meet a man like Dr. Frerin Durin…

Neither Elena nor Frerin were looking for anything, but fate has a way of messing up even the best laid plans. However, both have been hurt and both aren't at all sure they trust themselves, never mind trusting someone else...

Pairings: Modern!Frerin x ofc Elena Madison

Warnings: Spontaneous kitchen sex, attempted suicide

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.2k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-mer-6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @ggfamert @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @buckybarnes-thorin @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep @court-jobi @masterofhounds

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Elena rubbed her eyes as she waited for the Keurig to brew her much-needed coffee. Alyssa had called her near midnight and it was almost two by the time she got off the phone. Although she enjoyed being at her grandparents’ house, Alyssa was homesick and thought she was getting sick again and it took Elena that long to get her to take a wait and see approach to how she felt and reminded her that there were doctors in Florida if she needed one.

She’d originally planned to go to the gym, but when the alarm went off at seven, she turned it off and promptly fell back asleep, only to wake up an hour and a half later groggy as anything. And that was why the coffee was so desperately needed.

She was halfway through that cup when the doorbell rang. With a low sigh, she rose from her chair, padded into the living, to the front door and when she peered through the peephole, she was shocked to see Frerin on the other side.

She unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Frerin, what’re you doing here?”

He offered up a smile that was beyond tired and she tried not to notice the purplish smudges shadowing his eyes. “I just got off work and I wanted to see you.”

“You should just go home and get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, then rubbed his face with both hands, “I probably should, and I will eventually. But, I know you’re pissed at me and I don't blame you, and that’s why I’m here.”

“I’m not pissed.”

“Really?” He lowered both hands. “Because you haven’t asked me in yet.”

“You’re not the only one who had a long night.” She stepped back. “Come on in. No offense, but you look dead on your feet.”

“I just got out of surgery.”

“Surgery?” Elena closed the door as he stepped into the apartment. “Since when are you a surgeon?”

“I’m not.” He shrugged out of his jacket to drape it across the back of the armchair. “I was keeping a twelve year old with an ectopic pregnancy company.”

“What?”

“Yeah.” He followed her into the kitchen and gestured to the Keurig. “Mind if I steal a cup?”

“No, not at all.”

“Thanks.”

She returned to her chair as he stumbled over to the counter to brew himself a cup. “A pregnant twelve year old?”

“Yep. Her dad died at Sidleburg a few months ago and she and her mother were terrified, so when she asked me to stay with her, I did.”

“You’re allowed to do that?”

“The doc doing her surgery is a friend as well. We were in med school together. Reese was pissed, but he’ll get over it.” Frerin turned toward her, leaning back against the counter as he lifted the cup to his lips. “And even if he doesn’t, I don't give a shit.”

It didn't surprise her in the least, that he’d chosen to stay with a frightened child and risk the wrath of his boss. In the short time they’d been seeing each other, that they’d known each other, really, Elena had seen how he cared about his patients, and his job as well. “I’m sure it meant a lot to the little girl.”

“Yeah. Well, I like kids. It’s why I went into Pediatrics to begin with.” He lowered the cup and met her stare. “And I’m sorry I stood you up again. You should only know how much I wanted to tell Reese to go to hell.”

Thinking of the lingerie she had tucked away in her underwear drawer, Elena smiled. “Not nearly as much as I wanted you to.”

“I swear, I will make it up to you.”

“Frerin—”

“No, I will.” He set the cup on the counter. “I don't know when, but I will.”

Elena rose once more, moving over to stand before him. “You can’t promise it, Frerin. We both know the odds of you being pulled in to work a double shift are far too great.”

He let out a low sigh. “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

“So, why don't you go home and get some sleep? You look almost dead on your feet.”

“I don't want to sleep and if I push through, I’ll sleep tonight instead of totally screwing up my system by going to sleep now.”

With that, he reached for her hand and gave a gentle tug to draw her up against his chest. He bent to her, his lips warm and soft as they caught hers and when they met, Elena slid her hand up along his neck to tug him closer still.

That was all it took. Fire met kindling and as his tongue met hers, her fingers went to the top of his button-down and as nimble as anything, flew down the column of buttons, then tugged the wrinkled cotton from his shoulders while he just as hurriedly swept her tank top over her head.

Her head fell back, her skin prickling from his beard as he swept a hot kiss along her neck, and down into the valley between her breasts. There was nothing slow or teasing about those hot lips, and he wasn't at all gentle when they closed about her beaded left nipple to suck hard at it, and that was just fine with her. He caught it between his teeth, flicked the tip of his tongue over it, and she couldn’t hold back her gasp, knots already twisting deep within her core.

His hands curved about her ass, cupping her cheeks to pull her hard against him and when he thrust against her, the firm ridge of his erection ground into her mound, the damp heat between her thighs erupting almost at once at the sensation. Almost of their own volition, her fingers caught his belt, tugged to unbuckle it, and as he caught her tongue to draw into his mouth, she unbuttoned his trousers, slid her hand into the dark heat of his boxer briefs, and when her fingers curled about his cock, he exhaled hard into her mouth and shuddered against her.

She slipped her fingertip over his slit, caught the silky fluid bubbled there to stroke it along his heated, veined length, then wrapped him in her hand to offer up a slow, teasing stroke that had him moaning into her mouth now.

With each stroke, he met her, and in response, he slipped a hand into her sleep shorts, into her heat, and when those thick fingers slid through her dampness, through her slick, it was her turn to moan into his mouth. A shower of tingles rained over her at his touch, at the sensations he sent rocketing through her.

He played with her, his fingertips teasing as they moved along her aching, damp flesh, dragged his thumb roughly over her clit to sent a jet to fire streaking through her. She gasped, that gasp becoming a moan as he then circled her clit with a slow, teasing stroke. Her body hummed from the pleasure thrumming through her, her desire for him growing into a ravenous hunger, that had her digging her fingernails into his shoulder, tightening her grip on his cock, as he teased her and tortured her in the most sensual way possible.

She shivered with each lazy circle, with each rough sweep over her clit, her head spinning like crazy and her entire body begging to have him inside her. Her fingers teased along his shaft, swept lightly along the ridge, back to his slit and toward his body once more.

He thrust a finger inside her. Fire burst through her, her body tightening about him a little more with each slow stroke. Her body hummed with pleasure, hot and sweet, and his kisses grew hungrier with each thrust. She rocked to meet him, that humming growing even stronger as he crooked the finger inside her and stroked over the sweetest, most sensitive part of her body.

She clamped down on him, her back arching as the knots erupted and tingling white hot bliss flooded her body. He teased her with that finger, tortured her in the sweetest way possible as she rolled her hips to meet him, his name a breathless cry on her lips.

“Fre-Frerin… oh… God…” Her moan rolled through the kitchen, her orgasm hard and sharp and making her head spin like crazy as fire flooded her.

He slid his finger free, but before she could protest, he lifted her onto the counter, crouched down to fish his wallet from his trousers with a sheepish smile. The smile made sense and made her smile as well as he fished a condom from it. “I was optimistic.”

“You are wise, Dr Durin.”

His smile went from sheepish to sinful as he tore open the packet and unrolled the condom over himself. She shivered at the fire in his eyes, the promise in his smile, as he pushed between her thighs, and a moment later, he breached her and offered up a powerful thrust. Then another. And another. He surged hard. He thrust deep. His moan mingled with hers as she wrapped her legs about his hips and rocked to meet him, a second orgasm building as the dark, coarse curls at the base of his cock ground hard against her already too-sensitive clit to offer up a delicious sensation that was half-pleasure, half-pain and had her melting all around him as he pumped into her.

The kitchen grew hotter by the moment a fine mist of sweat rising along Frerin’s back as she dug her fingernails into his slick skin and surrendered to the moment. The knots were back, tighter and hotter than ever, and her throat felt raw from her cries but she couldn't hold them back. Each thrust fired her desire hotter still, fed her arousal, her need to come yet again and as she reached the summit, Frerin growled low in his throat, “Squeeze me, baby… squeeze my cock… just like that… oh, yes… oh, baby.. oh, holy fuck, Elena, yes… yes!”

He thrust hard, arched deep, and she clung to him as his released triggered hers and they came together, his pleasure feeding of hers, her body devouring his. She dragged her fingernails across his back as she shuddered and pulsed about him, as she tightened her thighs, to pull him deeper still. Her head spun. Her heart threatened to erupt from her chest. Stars burst before her eyes as he surged one last time, then sank against her, his body trembling as he whispered, “Oh… holy fuck… Elena…”

He wasn't the only one trembling. Black dots danced before her eyes as she clung to him, the pleasure swirling through her still so hot and sweet. She couldn’t breathe. Didn't trust herself to speak. She just wrapped her arms about his neck and pressed her cheek into his soft hair, whispering, “Oh, my God…”

A soft laugh brushed her shoulder, followed by an even softer kiss and he murmured, “I love you…”

The spinning in her head subsided, her vision cleared, and when he drew back and she met his blue eyed gaze, she whispered, “What?”

A hint of a sheepish smile came to his lips. “Yeah… I didn't mean to blurt it out like that, but… damn… Elena, I do.”

Her stomach fluttered at the low purr of his voice, and the soft heat in his eyes, and the aftershocks of her orgasm still rippled through her as she whispered, “Frerin… I—”

“It’s okay if you don't love me back,” he broke in gently. “I know it’s kind of sudden and I’m kind of a mess of a man, but—”

It was her turn to cut him off and she did so by gently pressing her hand to his lips. “Hush.”

The outer corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled and nodded and she lowered her hand to say, “And you are only a little bit of a mess, you know. But, you’re also in the middle of a divorce, so, are you sure that’s not just the post-fuck euphoria speaking?”

“It could be,” he admitted with a nod, stepping over to the trash can, and then coming back to her, pausing only to reach for the towel on the kitchen table. “But, I don't think so. I think about you all the time, Lena. When I’m with you, the time just flies by, and when I’m not, it drags. I want you to meet my kids.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the seriousness in his voice and she met his serious blue-gray eyes. “Frerin, are you sure? I mean, we haven’t been seeing each other all that long.”

“I know. That’s my one hesitation.” He eased his boxer briefs and trousers back up and fastened them. “I’ve proven I’m not that great at relationships, either. I got married when I probably shouldn’t have and stayed married long after we should have split up. And I—”

A hint of color swept along his cheekbones and she waited for him to continue. When he didn't, her stomach gave an odd lurch. “Frerin?”

“Toni wasn't the only one cheating. I had an affair after I found out about her and the kid. It was short and purely physical, but… I did it. I’m not proud of it, but I have to be honest with you.”

Elena swallowed hard as she carefully eased down from the counter. “With someone you work with?”

He nodded. “Yeah. She is one of the hospital social workers. I met her when I called her down for a consult and bumped into her a few days later at my brother’s bar. Next thing I knew… well… it was only that once, but I felt like such a shit over it. The neighbor kid had been going balls deep into my wife for months at that point, so I thought what was good for the goose and all.”

Elena stepped into her shorts to pull them up. “So it was only that one time?”

“Yeah. I was pissed off at Toni and envious of my brother, because he and his then-girlfriend, now-wife had just gotten together and I thought the world owed me. It was a waste of time, though, because once it was over? I hated myself for it. But, Lena, I swear to you, I don't normally fuck around and I will not fuck around on you. And I—I don't know where this is going to go, and I don't know if you’re seeing any other guys, but I’m not seeing anyone else and I don't want to see anyone else.”

Elena’s tank top skimmed softly along her as it fluttered down. “I’m not seeing anyone else, either, Frerin. And I don't really want to, but…”

“But…” He caught her hands in his. “But what?”

“But… you’re still in the middle of what sounds like a messy divorce, Frerin. And I guess I’m a little gun-shy myself. My ex-husband was a serial cheater and—”

“I’m not a cheater, Elena. In twenty years with Toni, it was one time. I swear to you, it isn’t something I make a habit of.”

With that, he stepped up to her, catching her face in his hands, and she bit back a sigh as his thumbs swept lightly along her cheeks. “I promise you, honey, I am not going to fuck around on you. And it’s not post-fuck euphoria, either. I love you.”

She wanted to believe him. She so wanted to believe him and in her heart of hearts, she did, but at the same time, she couldn’t help her hesitation.

His eyes softened. “Elena, you can trust me. I swear to you, I am not going to hurt you. And if you want to slow it down, or throw me out of here, I won’t stop you, but I’m hoping you won’t.” A hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Because I have to admit, sex with you is the best sex I’ve ever had and I really hate to give that up.”

She stared at him for a long moment, but then she smiled. “Are you serious?”

“I am dead serious, Lena. I mean, about all of it, but definitely about the sex.”

“Frerin!”

He slid his arms about her waist and lifted her to meet his gaze. “Sex with you is amazing, honey. No sane man would want to give it up.”

“You are terrible, do you know that?”

“I’m tired and not in my right mind.”

“So, then you don't love me?”

“Oh, no, I meant that.”

She curled her legs about his waist. “How do I know that?”

He offered up a sinful—if tired—smile. “I’ll find some way to prove it to you.”

“You asleep?”

Elena smiled as Frerin nuzzled her, her eyes heavy lidded and her entire body gone to mush. “Not yet, no. I’m just very cozy.”

He lifted his head. “Cozy, eh? Cozy is good.”

“Cozy is wonderful.” She trailed a fingertip lightly along his bearded cheek. Her body still tingled from his attentions. “I am a lucky girl…”

He shifted to stretch out alongside her, and she sighed softly, curving up against him to rest her head against his chest. “You should get some sleep,” she murmured, slipping her fingers through the dark gold hair sprinkled across his chest. “You’ve had a long day.”

“Yeah. I know.”

His fingers moved slowly along her hair, then down over her shoulder and along her arm. Little by little, they slowed and his breathing slowed as well. Rising slightly to gaze down at him, she whispered, “Frerin?”

“Mmmm?”

“I love you, too.”

He didn't open his eyes, but he did smile. “I knew it.”

His arm tightened about her and he pressed a kiss into the top of her head when she settled back alongside him. With a soft sigh of contentment, Elena let her eyes close and drifted off to sleep in Frerin’s arms.

****

The buzzing of a cell phone roused Elena from sleep and she lifted her head to see Frerin’s phone dancing across her bedside table. “Frerin? It’s yours.”

He sat up. “What? Who?”

“Your phone.”

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he grabbed the skittering phone with his other and brought it up to his face. “”What is it, Toni?”

Elena came more awake at his growl, smiling when he said, “Yeah, it’s kind of a bad time. What is it?” A brief pause, then an incredulous, “What? When? Yeah… I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

With that, he tossed the phone down and bolted up from the bed to snatch his pants and briefs from the chair in the corner. He practically jumped into them. “I’ve got to go, Elena.”

She sat up. “Why? What happened?”

He looked up, the blood drained from his face and what could only be described as fear in his eyes. “It’s Jake… my youngest… Toni’s in the ER with him. He… uh… he tried to hurt himself.”

Her stomach kinked. “What?”

“Yeah. He—uh—look, I’ll call you when I can, okay?”

She jumped up from the bed. “Why don’t you let me drive you, Frerin?”

“I’m fine. I just… I have to go.”

“Yeah, okay. Call me when you get a moment.”

“I will.” He tugged his shirt over his shoulders, snatched up his shoes, brushed her lips with a kiss and then was gone. A moment later, her front door slammed and an eerie silence filled the apartment.

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knittastically · 17 days

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Brilliant Disguise ~ Chapter Twenty-Three

A/N: I apologize that it's taken me four months to update this, but between school and trying to figure out just how to work Sophie facing off with her husband, well... it's been a time. But, if you've stuck it out, thanks so much for your patience!

Both Sophie and Thorin are haunted by their pasts and are uncertain of their futures, but sometimes, chances must be taken…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Josephine (Sophie) Asharm

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.3k

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

As she neared Erebor’s main gates, Sophie’s heart sped up. The sentry smiled down at her. “Morning, Mrs. Asharm. Off to Dale?”

“I am, yes.”

“Just let me send word to Dwalin. His Majesty has let it be known he does not wish you to be traveling to Dale unaccompanied.”

Her gut twisted sharply and sent a sour taste into her mouth, one she swallowed hard against. “He—he has?”

He nodded. “Aye. He said it’s not safe and that if you must leave, you are to go with Dwalin.”

“Oh, but I’m sure he has far more important things to do than to keep watch over me.”

“Be that as it may, Mrs. Asharm, I have to fetch him. His Majesty was very clear in his instructions.”

Impatience seared her insides, but she tamped them down as she peered over her shoulder. No sign of Thorin yet. “Very well. But, please hurry. I’d planned on doing a bit of Yule shopping for His Majesty and I want him to be surprised.”

“It won’t take but a minute or two.” He smiled as he started past her. “I’ll be back as soon as I find him.”

“If you insist.”

He didn't reply, but made his way down the corridor toward the Great Hall and as soon as he rounded the corner, she turned and made haste to slip through the door and out into the wintry air.

Dale was busier than normal, as the Yule holiday was only a week out and more than once, Thorin found himself being knocked off to the side by an impatient man or woman, who then offered up an automatic, “I beg your pardon.”

He paid little heed to those he passed as he hurried along the walkways toward Stone Street. He wanted to find Jora as well as Sten. He had a score to settle with both of them.

A hint of snow hung in the air once more, the breeze crisp and cold as it stung his cheeks. He ignored it at he neared Lucy’s. From there, he walked to the end of the street, and turned toward the alley Jora had taken them down. His heart beat faster as he drew near the door with the peeling black paint. Asharm was not taking him by surprise this time, so Thorin carefully drew the Orcrist and moved closer to the building itself, close enough that he felt the cold of the stone through his leather and fur overcoat.

At the door with the peeling paint, he paused, drew a deep breath, then grabbed hold of the handle, although he didn’t expect it to actually be unlocked.

But to his surprise, the door wasn't locked and instead swung open with only a soft whine of somewhat rusted hinges, which immediately put him on his guard. He carefully stepped over the splintering threshold, into the dingy main room. The air felt stale and cold, the room giving off an absolutely abandoned feeling.

Still, the hair along the back of Thorin’s neck prickled and stood up, which made him even more aware of his surroundings. He held the Orcrist at the ready, carefully moving along the room’s perimeter toward the kitchen.

It was empty—no dishes in the drainer, not even a drop of water in the sink basin. There was no sign of life at all anywhere in the flat. If it weren’t for the fact that he still sported a small lump just above his temple and the healing cut above his eye, he’d swear he’d imagined what happened the previous night.

“Wherever Asharm is,” Thorin muttered, “he’s not here.”

“Thorin?”

He jumped, jerking the blade clear as he spun about to see Dwalin in the doorway. “Are you trying to make my heart stop?”

“Sorry,” Dwalin pushed the door wider and stepped over the doorsill. “Is Mrs. Asharm with you?”

“No.” Thorin shook his head as he slid the Orcrist back into its scabbard. “She’s still in Erebor.”

“No, she isn’t.”

“What?” He looked up to meet Dwalin’s worried expression. “Of course she is. Where else would she be? I left clear instructions with Lon that she was not to leave Erebor unless she was accompanied by you.”

“What?”

“You heard me. She wanted to confront Asharm and I told her we do so together. But, instead, I decided to keep her safe and in Erebor.”

“So, you lied to her.”

“Do not look at me that way. I would have to be mad to let her come with me, to let her get anywhere near Asharm, and if that means telling a harmless lie, I’ve no qualms about doing so.”

“She’s not in Erebor, Thorin. Lon did as you told him and came to get me and when we got back to the front gates, there was no sigh of Mrs. Asharm.”

“Did you check her apartments?”

“Thorin, she left. She was no where to be found.”

“Did you look—”

“She isn’t there.”

A sour taste flooded his mouth as his heart splashed into his stomach. Had she done to him what he’d done to her and set out to find Asharm on her own?

His initial reaction was anger, but then fear replaced it. Was that why Asharm’s flat was vacant? Had Sophie already found him, and had he done something to her?

“So, where are they?”

Thorin moved to the single window along the south wall. There the alleyway opened to a wider road whose name he did not know, and beyond it, was the Long Lake and then Esgaroth. “Take a guess,” he replied softly, squinting through the snowflakes sifting this way and that at the new structures on the bulkheads and docks that made up Esgaroth’s foundation.

“I hope you will take no offense, Thorin,” Dwalin growled in a way that made Thorin fairly certain he would absolutely take full offense at what he was about to say, “but I thought she had more sense than this.”

“We don't know that she confronted him,” Thorin replied softly.

“She snuck out of Erebor after already planning on confronting him with you, Thorin. Only a fool would think she did not take it into her head to do it alone.”

He continued to stare at Esgaroth as if he’d somehow be able to see where she was and that way know she wasn't in too much danger.

But that was foolish. Of course she was in danger. And he had no idea where to begin searching for her. Esgaroth wasn’t exactly a big city, such as Erebor was, but it was big enough that searching for someone could be a nightmare. And that it was still under construction meant it was also a bit of a dangerous nightmare.

However, all was not lost because he knew where to begin after all. “We need to pay Bard a visit. I think he might have an idea of where we can look for both Asharm and Sophie.”

“And when we find her?”

“Don’t you worry about that.”

Snow fell to create a near white-out as they hurried back toward the center of Dale and the Provincial House. Snow covered the streets, the walkways, and roofs and showed no signs of stopping as it settled in Thorin’s hair and beard and on his shoulders as well. He shook it off as they mounted the steps to the Provincial House and he rapped firmly on the door.

It opened with a squeak and he found himself eye to eye with Sigrid, Bard’s eldest daughter, who narrowed her dark eyes at him. “What do you want?”

He smiled, quite used to her blatant hostility toward him. He had the feeling she would never forgive him for what happened when he and his Company unleashed Smaug upon Esgaroth, no matter how much time passed or how much restoration or reparation he offered. “Is your father home?”

She nodded, tugging the door wider. “Come in.”

He and Dwalin thumped into the man hallway, stamping snow from their boots and brushing it from their coats as Sigrid called, “Da! King Thorin is here.”

A chair creaked, boots thudded dully across the floor and Bard came around the corner from where his study was and smiled. “Thorin, I was wondering when you would arrive. And then I was beginning to think perhaps you weren’t and that left me at a bit of a loss.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Mrs. Asharm is in my study and I was running out of ways to stall her.”

Thorin glanced at Dwalin and then, without a word, shoved past Bard to march into the master’s study, where Sophie whipped about from the front window to stare at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I might ask you the same, Sophie. I thought we were to meet at the front gates,” he replied, his calm tone belying the irritation that now bubbled in his gut. Never mind that he planned to do the same thing—to go after Asharm without waiting for her—he knew she’d have gotten herself into serious trouble, had Bard not been of a mind to stall her.

“I just came to do some shopping.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He shook his head. “It insults both our intelligence. You knew you were to wait for me or for Dwalin—”

“And you were supposed to wait for me,” her eyes swirled with pewter anger as she looked from him to Dwalin and back, “and yet, you did no such thing, either, did you?”

“If you think I was about to let you get anywhere near Asharm, you are mad.”

“Why? I know him, remember. You were running off to confront him without knowing a single thing about him.”

“Sophie, tell me, how would you have defended yourself when he attacked, because if you think he wasn’t going to, you—”

“I would have been just fine.” She reached into her satchel and withdrew one of the knives from the Great Hall. “I am not entirely stupid, you know.”

He looked down at the knife in question and it was all he could do to hold back his laughter. “You would not have stood a chance, you know. Not with that.”

“I bested him with a skillet, remember.”

“And for this, you would have to be up against him for that blade to be effective.”

She stared at him. “I could still use it, if need be.”

“If need be?” Dwalin growled. “Are ye serious, lass?”

“That’s enough,” Thorin said, holding up a hand in Dwalin’s direction. Then, he turned back to Sophie. “And why would think you would even have a chance to use it?”

“Because I—that is, I mean…” Her shoulders slumped and she sighed. “I’m tired of being afraid, Thorin. And I do not want Heather to always be looking over her shoulder. And you were going to go without me, so you have no right to be angry with me, you know.”

He sighed softly. “I do not want you anywhere near him at all, so yes, I was going to go without you and I’ll not apologize for that. I want him out of our lives and I want him out for good and I care not what I have to do to make that happen.”

“Do you wish me to take her back to Erebor?” Dwalin asked.

“No,” Thorin said softly, shaking his head, “I don’t.”

“Thorin, ye aren’t thinking—”

“Thorin,” Bard broke in, “it’s madness to even consider it.”

“Thorin,” Sophie’s voice was low and steady, “let me do this.”

He brought his hand to his forehead, rubbing it as a dull headache took root behind his eyes. “Sophie, it is too dangerous.”

“I lived with him for years,” she replied without hesitation. “And I lived to tell the tales. I want to talk to him. Perhaps he will be reasonable.”

“And think you he will?”

“I don't know for certain. But it’s possible. Let me speak with him and if he refuses to be reasonable, he is all yours.”

“All yours?” Bard looked from him to Sophie and back. “Thorin, you aren’t thinking of doing anything rash?”

“Bard, you should probably step aside now,” Thorin told him, “for I cannot say what I will do, but know this, he will have it coming regardless.”

“You cannot simply kill the man.”

“I won’t, unless provoked. But, I absolutely expect to be provoked.”

Bard sighed, his shoulders sagging a bit. “I had the feeling you were going to say that.”

“He is no man, but a worm,” Thorin told him, ignoring the look Sophie shot him as he added, “He raised his hand to Sophie, to Heather, with full intent to do harm. Killing him would be too good for him.”

Bard looked over at Sophie. “Is this true?”

A hint of color came to her cheeks as she nodded. “It is, yes. He was—is a cruel man and what’s more? He enjoys being such.”

Bard let out another sigh with that. “I cannot condone it, Thorin. You know this.”

Thorin nodded slowly. “I understand.”

“But, if I neither see nor hear it, there is nothing I might do about preventing it, either.”

“Good.” Thorin replied softly. “Because there is nothing you could do to prevent it at all.”

Dwalin folded his arms. “So, where do ye think ye’ll find him?”

Sophie cleared her throat. “I know where he’ll be. But,” she looked directly at Thorin, whose gut twisted with apprehension as she went on, “I’m going alone. You can follow after, but he must think I’m alone.”

“Sophie—“

“I’m not asking you, Thorin. I’m telling you.”

Continuing to debate it would be pointless. He’d come to know her well enough to know that. And despite the uneasy feeling he had at the thought of her meeting Asharm by herself, he nonetheless let out a slow breath and nodded. “Very well. But we will be right behind you.”

She didn't respond at first, but then, it was her turn to nod. “As you wish.”

“I don't like it, though, Sophie.”

“I know. I don’t like it, either.”

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knittastically · 18 days

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😂

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knittastically · 19 days

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Something in the Night ~ Chapter Seventeen

Something in the Night

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.4k

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Previous chapters can be found here.

Spring in Erebor was only discernible if one was out in the courtyard just off the infirmary, where wild roses of all shades grew along the walled off courtyard. Thorin smiled down at the pretty dwarf maid on his arm. He’d forgotten just how pretty Elisin was, with her wide dark eyes and lustrous nearly-black hair. Like Dís, she’d woven beads into her equally dark beard, tiger’s eye mostly, interspersed with silver runes. No braids adorned her hair, however. That would be left to him, when he proposed to her, which he thought he might do at Midsummer.

He didn't love her, but she would make a fine queen and a good mother and maybe—just maybe—she would help him forget Nina Carren ever existed.

He tried to ignore the thoughts of the red-headed temptress that continually crept into his mind, tried to dredge up that same anger he’d felt upon learning of her betrayal.

He tried.

And failed each blasted time.

Nina haunted him far more than any other ghost could. So perhaps marriage, and its permanence, would put an end to the torture. Perhaps knowing he belonged to another would finally make him forget Nina ever existed.

Or so he hoped.

“You seem far away today,” Elisin said, peering up at him, her head pressed now against his arm.

Fortunately, he did not jump despite the jolt from his thoughts. “I am a bit tired. We were up far too late last eve.”

She smiled. “A party is always worth being a bit tired the next day.”

“This is true, but I’m not so young a dwarf any longer.”

“You are young enough, Your Majesty.”

He bit back the sigh bubbling to his lips. No matter how many times he told her it was quite all right for her to address him by his given name, Elisin insisted it would not be proper, and so would not do so.

“Thank you for that.” He smiled down at her. “So, where would you like to go on this glorious day?”

“What is that up there?”

He turned in the direction she pointed, his stomach knotting as he found himself peering up at the gray and black stone tower of Ravenhill. His mouth went dry, his tongue feeling fused to the roof of his mouth. The sight of the tower unnerved him, although the orcs who had befouled it were long since dead or dispersed.

“Ravenhill,” he said.

“Where the last battle of the five armies was fought, wasn't it?” Her dark eyes went wide, sympathy flooding them. “You fought up there, didn't you?”

“Aye. And nearly died there.”

“Oh, how awful.” She release his arm to move to stand before him, then to his surprise, slid her arms about his waist to embrace him. “I am so sorry you went through that.”

“Thank you. I think. I’m afraid I rarely know how to reply to that,” he told her, glancing down as her head came to rest against his chest. A hint of lavender rose from her hair to tease his nose.

“You need not reply at all.” She lifted her head to gaze up at him. “I only wish I had been here when you were brought in. I would have taken wonderful care of you, you know.”

“I know.”

“Still…” She turned her head toward Ravenhill once more, “I would be lying if I said I was not curious about seeing it. Would it trouble you to take me up there?”

He hesitated, looking at the gray stone once more that blended so perfectly with the mountains around them. He had not been up there since the day of the battle. The thought had crossed his mind, but he could never quite get his legs to obey his mind’s order to bring him there.

But even at this distance, his gut burned, the memory of being run through by not one, but two blades, as fresh now as it was the day it happened. Freezing cold at first, but then scorchingly hot as his blood spilled from the jagged wounds.

He swallowed hard as his free hand went of its own to his lower belly, his fingers damp as that blood soaked into his henley, then bubbled over his fingertips, the spattered against the ice. Drip. Drip. Drip.

At Ravenhill, the spatters were spaced apart when he’d pushed up and away from Azog after dispatching him on the ice floe. He’d staggered back, his knees threatening to go to sponge, and the spatters became actual puddles as the blood poured from his wounds, spilled over his hand. None of it mattered. He’d redeemed himself for his people, he had avenged his nephews’ murders. His life was a price he’d been willing to pay.

He would never forget the feel of his life slipping away, droplet by droplet, until the droplets became a stream and the stream a puddle. The cold of winter at Ravenhill was nothing compared to the cold of death as it crept slowly along his legs, up along his belly, his chest, until his eyelids grew too heavy to remain open and a tiredness unlike any he’d ever felt sank into him.

“Thorin?”

He glanced down, almost surprised to see no blood spattered at his feet, and the frozen creep of death receded as the sun warmed him again.

“Would—would you be terribly disappointed,” he swallowed hard against the nausea, “if I would rather not go back there?”

“No, of—of course not,” she assured him, her hand coming flat against his chest, heat from her palm sinking into him. “I would never wish you to relive something if you’d rather forget it.”

“I would much rather forget that.”

“Then why don’t we go into Dale and have a nice, romantic supper away from everyone?”

“That sounds far preferable.”

“Good.” Her eyes sparkled like onyxes as she smiled up at him. A hint of a blush crept across her cheeks. “Would I be terribly wanton if I admitted how much I wish to kiss you right now?”

“No,” he shook his head, “you would not.”

With that, he bent to her and when his lips met hers, another face slid into his mind. Green eyes sparkling up at him in a semi-dark room, a hint of jasmine clinging to her glorious, fiery red hair, her body engulfing his to introduce him to a pleasure he’d never known existed before, but beyond that, Nina introduced him to an intimacy he’d never known before and with her, he’d discovered a closeness he didn't know could exist, one he wasn't at all certain he would ever find with another woman.

One he was certain he didn't want to find with any other woman.

He pulled back then, more sharply than he’d intended. “I beg your pardon.”

“There is no need,” she assured him. “I find no fault with your kiss, Your Majesty.”

There was simply no way for him to explain why he’d broken away from her with as much force as he had. At least, no way that wouldn’t end with him being slapped for his effort. It would be a slap he’d deserve, but if he could avoid it, even better.

“I’ll meet you by half-five at the main gate,” she told him softly.

“Half-five it is.”

They parted then, with Elisin making her way back into Erebor, while he sank on top the edge of the low stone wall ringing the courtyard.

More than anything, he wanted Nina to stop haunting him. He wanted to transfer that yearning he felt for her to Elisin, wanted to desire Elisin the way he had Nina. He wanted to love her the way he loved—

Don’t.

How could he possibly love Nina, after what she’d done, after she’d betrayed him the way she had? No, it couldn't be love. Lust, yes. Love? Not possible.

Or so he tried to tell himself.

He turned back to Ravenhill. That filth Azog was dead and yet he still had the power to make Thorin’s life miserable. And for what? He never did learn just why the Defiler was so determined to end the line of Durin.

“Uncle? What are you doing out here?”

He blinked back into the present and turned to see Kíli, Dís’ younger son, limping toward him. “Why are you limping? What happened?”

“I’m fine.” Kíli waved off his concern. “I took a spill from my pony this morning. Although,” he gimped over to sit beside Thorin, “don’t tell ’Amad. She doesn’t think I should be doing things like riding just yet.”

Thorin nodded slowly. “I won’t say a word, although I agree with her to certain extent.”

“Uncle, it was a year ago. I’m well beyond needing to be coddled. Even Narnerra tried to tell ’Amad it was perfectly safe for me to ride.”

“And what did your ’Amad say to that?”

“She told Narnerra to mind her own matters. Which,” Kíli shrugged, “is how I know she agrees with Narnerra in spirit if not in practice.”

Thorin sighed. Kíli had been run through, just as he and Fíli had, and had come a long way since that terrible day. But unlike him or Fíli, Kíli was ready to settle down and planned to do so with Tauriel. They’d not set a wedding date yet, but when Thorin was in Mirkwood, he’d overheard her talking to Legolas about Kíli and she mentioned wanting an autumn wedding, but when he’d broached the subject with Kíli, his nephew said they were still discussing it.

“She worries for you.”

“She doesn’t wish me to marry Tauriel,” Kíli replied, his voice flat. “And I’m not giving in to her wishes, so you can imagine how that conversation goes each time.”

“I can, indeed. But, your mother’s heart is in the right place and she has not quite forgotten how close she’d come to losing you.”

Kíli shook his long dark hair away from his face. “She is smothering me. She smothers Fíli as well. Doesn’t like to let us from her sight. And before you say it, I understand why, but that doesn’t make it any less suffocating.”

“No, I don't imagine it does. But, the only advice I can offer is to be patient.”

“Which is not my strong suit.”

“It is not the strong suit of any of us.”

“Ah, there you are!”

Both he and Kíli groaned softly as Dís strode toward them. Rising from the wall, Thorin said, “Which of us did you seek?”

“My son.” She smiled. “I understand you and Elisin are going into Dale this evening?”

He nodded. “A night away from here would do us both some good.”

“Should we expect you back?” A cheeky smile accompanied her words.

“Mind yourself, little sister.” He patted Kíli’s shoulder, adding, “Patience.”

“Easier said than done, Uncle.”

“I know.” He patted his shoulder once more, then stepped about Dís. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my chambers for the next hour or so, then it will have to wait.”

“We will be fine. Go and enjoy your evening out, Thorin. Anything that might come up, unless it is of utmost urgency, will certainly keep until tomorrow.”

For Nina, the worst part about working at The Black Swan were the hands. It seemed that no matter how many warnings a body received, their hands still found their way to her backside. Fortunately, Harald, the owner, wasn't at all shy about tossing the bodies from his tavern if they became too handsy.

Other than that, she didn't mind the job at all. Harald, for all of his show some skin nonsense was a fairly decent man, she got on well with Margrete, and she was very happy working alongside Sigrid, who showed her the perfect way to deal with the owners of wandering hands. A good, solid cuff to the ear usually did the trick.

A month had passed since she’d left Mirkwood and at first, Nina was certain she’d have forgotten all about Thorin Oakenshield by then. But, it seemed to her that the more time that passed, the more she found herself missing him. It made no sense. Why should she miss someone she hated? Someone who hated her in return?

Because you don't hate him, you fool. That’s why.

“Nina, can you take the table in the corner?” Margaret asked as she bustled by with a tray laden with empty tankards and goblets. “Harald’s put me in the back room and they are driving me mad with their requests.”

“I can, of course.”

“You’re a lifesaver!”

Nina smiled as she made her way to the table in question, but then stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Thorin Oakenshield at said table.

And he was not alone.

Her mouth went dry, her heart plummeting into her stomach at the sight of him and the dark-haired dwarf woman smiling at one another across a table softly lit with flickering candles. She didn't know what they were saying to one another, but judging by the slow smile Thorin offered up his companion, he wasn't miserable.

Her eyes stung, which was stupid, really. He’d moved on. Of course he had. She’d betrayed him. And it wasn't as if they’d had a relationship, even. It was one night.

One amazing night.

Stop it.

With that, she cleared her throat and approached them. “Good evening. What can I get for you this evening?”

Thorin visible stiffened with her first word and she wondered if his companion noticed. Nina didn't think so, as the woman smiled up at her and said, “What is the special this evening?”

“Venison with whipped potatoes and glazed carrots.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful. I’d like that.”

“Very well.” Nina wrote the note into her pad and then, heart hammering her ribs, turned to Thorin. “And you, sir?”

He looked up and as their eyes met, Nina almost stepped back from the crackle of electricity that snapped the air between them. “I think that sounds good, actually. I’ll have the same. And a bottle of wine as well.”

“Red or white?”

“Red.”

“Of course.”

She couldn't get away from the table quickly enough, taking their order into the kitchen, and then promptly avoided that section of the restaurant until their order was ready. And when their food was up, she grabbed the tray, steeled herself to approach them, and then did so as if she had no idea who either of them was.

“There you go,” she said, setting each plate on the table. “Might I get you anything else?”

Thorin looked up and her heart skipped a beat. She’d somehow forgotten how beautifully blue his eyes were. She pasted her smile on, waiting for him to speak, and when he did, it was to say, “Thank you, but no. We are fine.”

“Very well. Enjoy.”

She managed to keep her smile in place and her step light as she moved away from them and to her next table, but from the corner of her eye, she saw him look back to the woman sitting across from him. He smiled at whatever she said, and that sank Nina’s spirits like a stone.

“Are you all right?”

She looked over at Sigrid, who’d come into the galley where the prepared meals awaiting pickup were kept, and nodded. “I think so. Why?”

“I saw who you had to serve. I’d heard he’d died in the Battle of the Five Armies last year.” Sigrid’s gray eyes narrowed as she looked in Thorin’s direction. “I’d spit in his food if I had to serve him.”

Nina bit back a sigh. “At one time, I’d have agreed with you, but… well… much has changed. Unleashing Smaug was not his intention.”

“Intention or not, he did so. And look where we are as a result.”

“Again, a year ago, I’d have agreed wholeheartedly with you. But now…” She peered around the corner into the dining room. “I don't have it in me to hate him any longer.”

How could she, when she knew the side of him he did not present to the world? When she knew the man he was under that rough, somewhat fierce façade. She’d known him to be fierce and violent, but also to be kind and gentle, even when he thought her no more than a wayward boy. “He’s actually quite spec… decent.”

Sigrid offered up a queer look. “I didn't think you knew him.”

Nina smiled. “I traveled with him for a bit… met up with him outside Rivendell and we parted ways at Mirkwood.”

“You did this of your own free will?”

She nodded. “I did, yes. He really is not so terrible. And he is making good on his promise to share Erebor’s wealth. I hope I’ll be able to move back to Esgaroth in the coming year.”

Sigrid shook her head. “Don’t be so certain. I’ve heard the houses are going to cost three times what they had. Only the wealthy Men will be able to afford them. At least, that’s what Da told me.”

“Isn’t he one of the wealthy ones, though?”

“He is, but I’m not and I won’t ask him to pay my rents for me. Not when I’m trying to prove I need no husband to support me, since I’m capable of supporting myself.” She smiled and draped an arm about Nina’s shoulders. “But, I’ll wager that with a roommate… we could afford something nice and not too shabby.”

Nina smiled. “You’ve a deal, Miss Sigrid. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Table Three looks as if they could use more drinks.”

“Thorin?”

He jumped as Elisin waved a hand before his eyes. “Yes? Sorry, I… my mind wandered off for a moment, I’m afraid.”

“I was asking if you were ready to go? I’m afraid I’m growing terribly tired.”

“Oh, of course.” He wiped his mouth and then rose from his chair, coming around to off her his arm as she also stood. Another server had brought them their bill, but he hadn’t missed how Nina cornered the woman across the dining room to whisper something to her.

In fact, he knew where Nina had been all through supper and once he’d gotten over the shock at seeing her, he couldn't help but keep an eye out for her.

He thought he’d been surreptitious about it, that Elisin hadn’t noticed, but now he wondered if he was wrong, as she offered up a look that wasn't quite a glare, but was damn close to it.

“Do you know her?” She asked this as he let his hand come to rest at the small of her back to guide her toward the front doors.

“Know who?”’

“Our serving girl. Do you know her? I caught you watching her more than once.”

They stepped out into the cool evening air and he nodded slowly. “I know her, yes. But it was a while ago. I had no idea she was here in Dale.”

Elisin looked up at him. “How do you know her?”

“She lived in Esgaroth. I met her the last time I was there,” he offered up a pointed look, “before I set an angry dragon upon the town.”

“Oh. I see.” Elisin tucked her arm through his. “I thought perhaps you had a relationship with her at one point. I didn't know she was of Esgaroth.”

He didn't miss the sneer in her voice and his gut kinked. “You say that as if it was something unacceptable.”

“Well, of course I don't mean it that way,” she told him as they made their way along the wide, rock-strewn road leading out of Dale and across the plains between it and Erebor. “But they are mostly fishermen.”

“They lived on a lake,” he pointed out, “and people need to eat.”

“I’m not judging them, mind you. I’m simply surprised, is all.”

“Well, I know a few of them. Bard is now the Master of Dale. And Nina is apparently working at The Black Swan and that is all we need discuss about it.” He glanced up at the Lonely Mountain, which was a bit too far away for his liking, as the rumors of orcs moving closer to Ravenhill had begun to swirl about Erebor.

“Very well.” She tucked her arm through his, leaned her head against his shoulder, and made nothing but small talk as they made their way back toward Erebor.

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knittastically · 22 days

Text

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Sixteen

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.1k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @legolasbadass @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

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Previous chapters can be found here.

His first few days back were far busier than he’d anticipated, as he had much to catch up on in his absence. But he had no complaints about what had been left for him, as Dís had done a more than competent job in managing things in his stead. Even so, she was also very willing and happy to turn his duties back over to him.

He had been back in Erebor for almost a week when Dís rapped on the door to his flat. “Thorin, do you have a moment?”

He’d been on his sofa, head back, eyes closed, and lifted his head to call, “It’s open. Come in.”

The door swung open and he braced himself for the whirlwind that was his sister as she barreled into the room, the beads woven into her beard clacking with every step. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d decided to take the day off.”

He smiled. “No. I was up late last eve with Balin, catching up on the progress at Esgaroth and Dale. Men built at a far slower pace than dwarves, it seems, and they like to pad their bills as much as possible.”

Dís’ forehead wrinkled slightly. “Are we being cheated?”

“No more than usual and with Balin’s keen eyes keeping close watch, we catch each and every mistake before the bill is paid. It’s amazing how many mathematical errors find their way into invoices.”

“Perhaps we should rethink—”

“No. I gave my word, Dís.” He shook his head slowly. “And I went back on it once. I cannot do so again, but I also will not let them take me for a fool, either. Balin is far more diplomatic than I will ever be, and so when he calls them on their nonsense, they rectify it at once.”

“You’ve more patience than I would, I’ll have you know. I do not look kindly on those who think to steal from me.”

“Nor do I, but in all honesty, I think Bard is honest as well and if we didn't catch it, he most likely would.”

Dís hardly looked convinced even as she replied, “If you say so.”

“Either way, you needn’t worry about it.” He sat up, hands clasped between his knees. “Now, I know you came here not to be bored with construction news that you’ve already been privy to.”

“You know me well, brother.” She skirted the stone table before the sofa to settle alongside him. “There is something I wished to ask you and I hope you’ll not think I am meddling too much.”

“Which of course means you are about to meddle.” He said it with a smile, for no matter how much meddling Dís did—and she could be quite meddlesome when the mood struck—her intentions were of the best where he was concerned and he understood that, even if it threatened to drive him into madness time and again.

“Yes, it does.” Her hand came to rest on his knee. “Did you still wish me to see about inviting Elisin to come stay for a bit?”

He sighed softly. Elisin was the woman he’d at one point planned to court. She was a distant cousin, and one he’d known most of his life. He wasn't madly in love with her, but they got on well and should Mahal see fit for them to have children, she would be a fine mother.

But that was before Nina Carren came into his life.

Nina.

His stomach curdled with fury at her betrayal. Why couldn’t he simply forget about her? She’d played him false, pretended to care, all the while plotting to end his life.

For five thousand in gold.

Trouble was, he couldn't forget about her and no matter how busy he tried to be, she was always there, lingering in the back of his mind. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't shake the memory of her, and as more time passed, he found himself on the verge of pining for her and that was the last thing he wanted or needed.

“Thorin?”

“Yes, please. By all means, invite her to come stay for a bit. There is still much to be done here, but she will be comfortable enough. And, as you reminded me before I departed for Rivendell, I am growing no younger and should think about taking a wife and giving Erebor a queen.”

“And you wish to do this now? You told me at the time to mind my own matters.”

“Things change.”

“What things?” She gave his knee a squeeze. “Did something happen whilst you were in Rivendell? A romance with an elf that went sour, perhaps?”

He chuckled. “No, our relations with the elves are better than they were, but they will never be that good.”

“So what is it, then?”

“Nothing. It is only that I’ve traveled far and nearly died and realize that my life is passing and I’ve little to show for it in the way of personal matters.”

“Are you certain that is all? You haven’t seemed like yourself since you returned. And I know you hate when I pry, as you like to call it, but you just… you seem unhappy, Thorin. And I hate seeing you unhappy and you know that. So, is that all?”

A knowing look accompanied her words and he braced himself for her to ask about Nina—or the mystery mercenary, as Dís kept calling her. When she said nothing more, he offered up a silent prayer of thanks and shook his head slowly. “I am tired, is all. It was an adventure, both getting to and coming from Rivendell. We crossed paths with a determined orc pack just beyond Rivendell’s borders and I am fairly certain we met up with them again outside Mirkwood’s.”

“I told you that you should take more than just Dwalin.” She squeezed his knee again. “But don't tell him I said that.”

“I won’t. And you were probably right. But, rest assured, I have no plans on leaving Erebor to go any further than Dale or Esgaroth for the near future.”

“Good. Then I will extend an invitation to Elisin and perhaps we might have a party of sorts to welcome her?”

“I think that sounds doable.”

“Then I will see it done and posted before luncheon.” She rose, then peered down at him, her face lined with concern, her blue eyes, so like his own, troubled. “Are you certain nothing else troubles you?”

“I’m positive.”

“Very well.”

She bent to press a kissing the top of his head, and then with a soft clacking, let herself out and silence fell upon him once more. As the door closed behind her, he let his head fall to the back of the sofa once more. All he wanted to do was forget Nina. Forget the magical night he’d spent with her.

Forget that he was on the verge of falling in love with her.

Perhaps Elisin’s arrival would help him do just that.

A low sigh leaked through his teeth. Somehow, he knew he was just lying to himself.

“Yer Sigrid’s friend, ain’t ye?”

Cold grey eyes alit on her and while those eyes sent a shiver along her spine, Nina managed to keep that to herself as she smiled and nodded. “I am, yes. She told me you needed serving girls and I’d like to apply for the job."

The tavern proprietor, Harald narrowed his eyes as he gave her a long up-and-down appraisal. “Sigrid told ye I needed help, did she? Ye have any experience?”

Drawing in a deep breath, she slowly shook her head. Although her fever had broken several days ago, after the doctor Sigrid brought to the flat treated her infected wound, Nina still felt a bit unsteady and tired easily. Hopefully, Harald hadn’t noticed. “No, but I am fast learner and I’m quick on my feet.”

He didn't look at all convinced or inclined to offer her a job, but then he shrugged and with a heavy sigh, said, “I’ve nothing to lose, I s’pose. Business is still slow, and Margrete’s been complaining about needing help. When can ye start?”

“When do you need me to start?”

“Can ye be here this eve? ‘Bout half-six?”

“Done.” She held out her hand.

He looked down at it, then up at her once more, then slowly reached to clasp that hand. “Don’t be late, girlie.”

“I won’t be.”

“And try to dress up a little,” he advised, his smile becoming a bit of a leer. “Show some skin. Ye’ll thank me.”

The thought turned her stomach, but she managed to nod. “Of course.”

“Go on, then. Go home and change.”

“I will see you at half-six.” She turned and made her way back out into the warm sunlight to go home.

Home.

It had been so long since she’d had a home—a true home—but now she did, as Sigrid had told her she was welcome to remain with her in the small flat at the end of the alley. Nina had her own small, cozy room, and as she recuperated, her friendship with Sigrid picked up where it had left off, with late night chats filled with laughter and gossip, although Nina had no idea who had the people Sigrid mentioned were. And it didn't matter. She would come to know them in time. As the days passed and her wounds healed, she was the one who insisted she needed to find a job. Sigrid told her to take as much time as she needed, but Nina couldn't bear the thought of being a burden for any longer than was absolutely necessary.

So, that was when Sigrid suggested Nina come talk to the Black Swan’s owner, sure he would give her a job. And now, as she strolled along the alley toward the flat, she managed a slight smile. She was becoming adept at beginning her life anew. And that’s what this was as well, another chance.

The alley ended at a low stone wall that overlooked the Long Lake and what would one day again be Esgaroth. As her ability to get around returned, Nina found herself out there, at the low stone wall, more than once, just gazing out at what had been her home.

She sighed as she reached that wall and sank onto the wide flat top, her back against the stone building it met. Day after day, she sat there, just gazing out at the city under construction. Despite her distance from Esgaroth, she could hear the faint sounds of men working to rebuild, watched as new pilings replaced the charred, ruined ones. Watched as the walkways and bulkheads and platforms were erected and houses framed out upon them.

It was bittersweet, seeing the rebirth of Esgaroth. Her life there had been difficult, but happy. She loved her family, they loved her, and although they were not wealthy by any means, thanks to her father’s disappearance and the Master’s greed, they had still been happy.

Until the dwarves of Erebor arrived. They changed everything.

And one of them had changed her forever.

She never regretted anything as much as she did going to see Tarog. What a fool she was, thinking she could be a cold-blooded killer, no matter how angry she’d been with Thorin. Truth be told, by the time she spied him in the tavern, her anger had faded, her grief had not run its course, but had become manageable. When she’d spotted him, she felt an initial burst of fury, but by the time she caught up to him in the clearing and took the arrow meant for him, it had begun to fade.

He’d seen to it she was cared for, and allowed her to join them.

By the time they’d shared their first kiss, she knew she was in trouble.

And now?

Now she sighed, gazing out at the Long Lake as the sun burned across it to make its surface shimmer like fire.

“Show some skin,” she murmured, smiling at the shimmering lake. “Somehow, that isn’t very likely.”

****

In the year since Erebor had been reclaimed, restoration had been at a steady pace. Day after day, the city reverberated with activity and Thorin had no complaints with how Dís had run things in his stead. If he and his nephews had succumbed to their injuries, she would have made as fine a ruler as their cousin Dáin, who would have inherited the throne. He’d often thought about naming her his heir, should something else befall both him and her sons. He still hadn’t ruled it out entirely.

He stood at the landing that overlooked the treasure hoard of Erebor. It had been depleted some since they reclaimed the mountain, and while it had pained him at first, now, it no longer troubled him in the slightest. He had much to atone for and rebuilding both Esgaroth and Dale were a small price to pay.

Even with what the treasury of Erebor had parted with there was still a sea of gold. An ocean of gemstones of every cut and color. As he leaned against the railing of pure gold, against the wall of labradorite so green it looked almost black and had been polished to a mirror finish, and gazed out at that sea, a low sigh came to his lips.

A feeling of restlessness came over him, and he pushed away from the wall to make his way down the one intact staircase leading to the hoard. In time, the second one would be refurbished, but for now, the one was more than enough.

The stones and coins and other treasures shifted slightly beneath his bulk as he picked his way around all of it, wading into the center of the chamber. He didn't know what he looked for, only that he would know when he found it.

And find it, he did. A beautiful emerald the size of his fist. He scooped it up, the facets glittering under the torchlight as it rolled in his palm. The deep green stone reminded him of a pair of eyes almost that same rich shade. Eyes he’d lost himself in. Eyes he wished he could always lose himself in.

The eyes of a traitor.

He scowled at the stone and drew his arm back to fire it deeper into the chamber when Dís appeared on the landing. “What are you doing?”

His arm lowered of its own. “I’m bidding some old ghosts farewell.” He tucked the emerald into his trouser pocket. “What brings you here?”

“Elisin arrived earlier. I sent her to freshen up from her journey.”

“She made good time.”

“I think she was in a hurry to make certain no one else claimed your heart first.”

He forced a laugh to his lips. “Tell her there is no danger of that happening.”

“Isn’t there?” Dís came down the stairs, then carefully stepped into the sea of wealth. “You’ve been moping about here for the past fortnight as if someone has died. Now, give over and tell me. It’s your mystery mercenary, isn’t it?”

Annoyance bubbled through him, but he tamped it down as he shook his head. “No. It isn’t and there is nothing to tell, Dís.” He crossed over to her, holding out a hand as she stumbled over a jumble of gold plates.

She caught it, her fingers tightening about his. “Thorin, do not lie to me. I know you better than you think.”

He sighed. “Dís, please… I’ve no wish to discuss it.”

“Very well. I’ll not press, but if you ever wish to—”

“I know,” he replied, offering her his arm. “Why don't we go above and I can reacquaint myself with Elisin?”

She looked as if she didn't believe him, but thought better of trying to force the issue. Instead, she nodded. “Very well.”

They crossed back to the staircase and once they were on the main floor, Dís pulled her arm free. “I’ll go fetch Elisin. You try not to look so broody. You’ll frighten her off.”

He scowled. “I do not brood.”

“I do not brood.”

“Thorin, you were staring off into the dark forever.” Nina affixed him with a long look. “That’s brooding.”

“I was thinking.”

“You were brooding. It’s all right. You can admit it.”

Why couldn't he stop thinking about Nina? She betrayed him. She was going to end his life for five thousand pieces of gold.

So, why did thinking of her hurt as well as make him angry? In fact, why was the hurt overtaking the anger a little more with each passing day?

Because hurt was the only description he had for what could only be described as an ache in his heart.

“Thorin?”

He started, jolted from his reverie. “What?”

Dís offered up a queer look. “Where were you?”

“Nowhere,” he waved off her concern, “so, go and fetch Elisin. I look forward to seeing her again.”

He hoped the smile he forced to his lips didn’t look so forced to his sister. She had an uncanny knack for seeing through any and all facades when it came to her sons and her brother. But the truth was, he cared nothing for seeing Elisin. In reality? He wanted to go and find Nina, to ask her why she’d chosen to hunt him. Why she instead stepped in front of that arrow for him, why she put herself between him and an orc’s blade, if she wanted to kill him? And had she truly attempted to kill him that last night?

But he had no idea where he might look for her, and even if he found her, there was no telling that his anger wouldn’t get the best of him. It might have faded some, but it hadn’t gone entirely. Not yet, anyway.

“Are you certain?” Dís asked.

“I am, indeed,” he assured her.

“Very well. Try not to brood too much longer.”

“I will do my best.”

He watched her leave, then turned back to the hoard, withdrawing the emerald from his pocket. It lay in the palm of his hand, glittering in the flickering torchlight. For a moment, he thought about hurling it back into the sea of gemstones, but then instead slipped it back into his pocket.

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knittastically · 26 days

Text

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Fifteen

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @lathalea @legolasbadass @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

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Previous chapters can be found here.

“Are ye certain ye dinna want to discuss it?”

Thorin rolled his eyes as they boarded the barge that would sail them past the skeletal frames of Esgaroth to the city of Dale on the opposite side of the Long Lake. “How many times must I say it? No. I dinna want to discuss it.”

“All right the. Have it your way, then. There’s no need to get pissy.”

He glared at Dwalin, who leaned against the side of the barge, arms folded, heavy iron-gray brows pulled low. “I’m not pissy, thank you very much. I am angry and there is a difference.”

“Are ye still thinking about her? Even after what happened with her? That’s madness, Thorin. She deserves not a single moment of thought and yer wasting yer time broodin’ over her.”

The bargeman barely bit back a smile as he guided them along the lake’s calm waters. Somewhere in the depths, lay what remained of Smaug the Terrible, and Thorin tried not to think about that as Esgaroth loomed before them. The last time they’d seen the city on the lake, it had been mostly engulfed in orange flames that seemed to reach the midnight black winter sky.

Now, the charred remains had been torn down and fresh wood frameworks had been erected on the floating walkways that connected the city and formed what would be canals once construction was complete.

When they had set out for Rivendell, the first buildings had just been framed out. Now, they were just about finished with the majority of them. Little by little, the town was being reborn and as they glided past it, Thorin tried to shove down the regret surging forward at the memory of the last time he’d passed through. Driven by the need to reach the Lonely Mountain before the last light of Durin’s Day, Thorin had let his desire to reclaim the treasure, the Arkenstone, and his throne blind him to everything else around him. The need to possess that treasure grew stronger until he could no longer ignore it. Dragon sickness would follow, and that was what led him to look the other way while Smaug incinerated Esgaroth, what led him to turn his back on the people whose lives he’d upended, what led him to choose war over anything else.

And eventually, what led Nina to seek revenge.

He winced, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't want to think about her now. Her betrayal was too fresh, too raw, and his heart felt as if it had been raked over with razor-sharp claws, leaving it shredded and dripping both blood and regret. He felt sick, his gut roiling like the Long Lake during a storm, and a sour taste flooded his mouth, one that he fought back. He didn't want to be sick, didn’t want to give Nina that power over him. She was nothing to him. As low as Azog had been. Perhaps lower.

At least, that was what he told himself.

Either way, he had no desire to discuss it with Dwalin, to look at the smug expression Dwalin was certain to give him to go along with his I told you so.

“I’ve no wish to speak of it,” he replied slowly. “And I am not brooding over her.”

“Thorin, you were staring off into the dark forever.” Nina affixed him with a long look. “That’s brooding.”

“I was thinking.”

“You were brooding. It’s all right. You can admit it.”

He didn't want to think about Nina. In fact, he wished he could forget ever crossing paths with her.

Some of the irritation left Dwalin’s normally cold eyes. With a low sigh, he crossed over to sink onto the bench alongside him. “I’m sorry, laddie. I had the feeling she was trouble and I tried to tell ye.”

“Aye, she was.” Thorin couldn't keep the sigh from his voice. “And I should have listened to you.”

“It matters not now,” Dwalin told him. “It is all water under the bridge.”

It was, but it wasn’t. He’d never felt for anyone what he’d begun to feel for Nina, and that made her betrayal even worse and his pain almost untenable. He was fairly certain he was falling in love with her and he hated everything about it.

But he certainly couldn't say that to Dwalin. He’d never hear the end of it. Would never hear the end of those I told you sos.

And right now, all he wanted was to go home. To go back to Erebor and lick his wounds and to never be so bloody foolish again.

***

Dale was far busier than it had been the last time he saw it, but Thorin paid little heed to it as he and Dwalin made their way down Stone Street, past new shops and cafes that were not entirely renovated, but were still open for business. He had no interest in shopping and while his stomach did growl, he wanted only what awaited him back in Erebor.

Finally, they were on Dale’s outskirts and all that lay between him and home was a rutted road across the plains. He and Dwalin said little as they crossed it and it wasn't until they were at Erebor’s gates that he let relief surge through him.

“Your Majesty!” The gatekeeper called down. “Welcome home!”

“Thank you, Fait. It’s good to be back.”

The gates opened and he and Dwalin stepped into welcoming darkness of home. They parted ways at the Great Hall, with Thorin heading down into the depths of the city, where his recently renovated apartments were, down at the end of a dark corridor, lit only by the torches in sconces mounted high above in the labradorite stone walls.

The door opened without a sound and when he closed it, he leaned back against it, eyes closed, a sense of utter weariness sweeping through him. Normally he craved the silence and the solitude. But at that moment, it felt odd, almost suffocating to him. He couldn’t help but wonder where Nina had gone, and how she fared, and despite his utter fury with her, he had to admit he was worried as well. She was wounded and had been turned out like a common criminal, left to the mercies of the woods and anyone she might encounter.

The price on his head remained and orcs knew she hunted him. If they still followed her, they might not necessarily know that she no longer traveled with him. And that would not bode well for her.

His first instinct was to go and search for her. But that was impossible. He couldn’t trust her. She had betrayed him.

“Thorin?”

He bit back a groan at his sister’s voice. “What is it, Dís?”

“Are you all right? I just bumped into Dwalin and he said you wished to be left to your thoughts.”

“And yet, here you are, not leaving me to my thoughts.”

“Don’t be cross, Thorin. I’m concerned. He looked concerned.”

He thunked his head back against the door, his eyes closing again. Dís meant well. He knew she did. But at the same time, he’d gladly throttle Dwalin if given the chance.

“Thorin?”

With a sigh, he turned to tug open the door and gazed down at his sister. “I’m fine, Dís. Truly. I am.”

“Good. He also said you’d run into trouble. More than once.”

His gut curdled. “It was nothing we could not handle. A persistent orc pack.”

Her eyes, the same blue as his, narrowed. “Is that all?”

“It is, yes.”

“Thorin.”

“If you want to know, go ask Dwalin, since he seems ever so willing to discuss my life.”

She moved by him and into his apartment. “He is concerned for you. He said he’s never seen you this way. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Dís. Nothing is going on.” He closed the door behind her, making a mental note to let Dwalin know just how much he appreciated his misplaced concern.

“He said you traveled with a woman?”

As she arched one narrow brow, Thorin’s mental note went from words to actually pummeling Dwalin when he had the chance. “We did, yes. A mercenary who thought to accompany us to Mirkwood.”

“A mercenary?”

He nodded. “That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

“And her name?”

“Her name matters not and this discussion is over. I am tired and weary from travel and wish only a soak in my tub and a rest in my bed and I’ll not answer any more questions.”

To her credit, Dís looked contrite. But only for a minute. Then, she said, “You’re in love with her, aren’t you? This woman with no name.”

“In love with—” He snorted to let her know what he thought of that. “Don’t be daft. I told you, she was a mercenary. I paid no mind to her.”

“Of course not. Thorin, please, I know lovesick when I see it.”

His insides twisted far tighter now and the discomfort made him more irritated by the second. “I’ll not keep repeating myself, Dís. And you know nothing of which you speak, so I beg you, leave off.”

She pressed her lips together and slowly nodded. “Of course. But, know, all you need do is send word to Mirkwood and—”

“I said, leave off,” he snapped, his patience gone. “Go find your sons if you wish to mother someone, for I do not need it. And if that is the only reason you’ve come, take yourself off.”

“I’m only concerned.”

“I understand and appreciate it, but enough is enough and I’ll not ask again.”

“Very well. I apologize for overstepping. Now, why don't you come up to the kitchens and eat something and not talk about this mercenary over tea?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to turn her down and send her on her way, but food and drink did sound like a good idea, so he nodded. “Very well, but I’m having ale.”

“Suit yourself.”

****

Icy rain soaked into Nina’s hair, her tunic, and her leggings. Her boots actually squished with each step. Her thigh throbbed, heat wafting from the wound in a way that made her nauseous. Infection. Her worst fear had come true and there was nothing she could do about it.

Dale was quiet due to the weather, the stalls in the town square covered by brightly striped canvas canopies that had been unrolled and tied down to keep the wind and rain from lashing the goods within. Shops were open, as were cafes, but she knew better than to enter any of them, for any shopkeeper would take but a single look at her and send her on her way.

“Nina? Nina Carren?”

The voice was vaguely familiar and as she squinted through the rain, at the young woman hurrying toward her, a relief so powerful it brought tears to her eyes swept through her. “Sigrid?”

Sigrid, daughter of Dale’s current Master, Bard, was a welcome sight. Nina knew her from the times she and Bard would come to their stand in Esgaroth and thought she was a bit younger than Nina, over time they’d become friends.

“Oh, goodness, Nina, what happened to you? Come and let’s get you out of this terrible weather.”

As she spoke, Sigrid looped an arm about Nina’s waist, which made Nina’s eyes tear up and her throat tighten from the power of the relief sweeping through her. She could barely put any weight on her leg, it hurt so much, and the heat radiated through her from the wound. “Thank you,” she managed to whisper.

“What happened? Oh, you know, forget I asked. We can talk about it once we’ve got out of this weather.”

Nina’s stomach lurched with the thought of explaining to Bard why her bedraggled self had latched onto Sigrid. “Where do you call home now?”

“I moved into my own flat a few weeks ago,” Sigrid replied, leading her down a narrow alley toward the northern end of town. “I have a job as well, at a tavern. If you like, I can see about getting you in to speak to Harald. I mean, if you need a job, that is.”

“I will, but first, I think I need a doctor.”

“What happened?”

“I crossed paths with an orc pack. It wasn’t a morgul blade, but still did its damage.”

“Let’s get you inside and I will take a look and then I can send for the doctor if need be.”

Nina nodded and that was the last they spoke until Sigrid unlocked a door at the street-level of a white stone building at the very end of the street, overlooking the lake. Sigrid helped her over the threshold and over to the lone sofa in the room, and Nina was never so thankful for anyone’s kindness as she was for hers.

“You rest,” Sigrid told her, drawing a colorful quilt over her. “I’ll fetch Mr. Mathews. He’ll know what to do.”

“I promise, I won’t move a muscle.”

The last thing she remembered was Sigrid’s gentle smile, then she gave into her exhaustion.

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knittastically · 29 days

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Something in the Night ~ Chapter Fourteen

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: Angst

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.7k

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Previous chapters can be found here.

The gentle knock on the door brought Nina out from a light sleep and she sat up, rubbing her eyes with one hand as she called, “Yes?”

“It’s Thorin.”

Her hand fell away from her face at the stiff coolness in his voice. Perhaps it was only her imagination. Perhaps Thranduíl had told them they could not remain in Mirkwood and had to leave immediately. Either way, her stomach knotted as she replied, “Come in.”

The door handle turned without a sound and as he came into the room, one would have to be an utter idiot to not see the storms in his eyes or the scowl tucked into his beard. An uneasy feeling swept through her. “What is it?”

“I don't know,” he said slowly, as if still gathering his thoughts. “I’ve heard some rather disturbing news.”

That unease grew worse and she tried to ignore it, gingerly getting to her feet. Her stitched leg ached, and stung, and that only made her feel even worse now. “What sort of disturbing news.”

“You tell me.”

He met her gaze then and she almost backed away from him at the fury in his cobalt eyes. Her mouth going painfully dry, it took every bit of will she possessed to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth in order to say, “I’m—I’m afraid I don't know what you mean.”

“Is that so?” He thrumped past her, out onto the terrace, his voice growing hotter as he continued, “A prisoner was taken from the battle. An orc. He spoke of the bounty Azog had placed on my head.”

She was going to be sick. No. Surely it was anything but what she thought.

Please. Let it be anything but that.

“Thorin,” she limped out onto the terrace, where she found him staring off into the forest, hands clasped behind his back, “I’m not following you. I told you about it, about how it remained in place. So, why are you upset?”

“I think you know the answer to that.” He slowly turned to her. “Don’t you? Tell me again, how you knew I was going to be in the clearing at Rivendell?”

“I told you. I was following you.”

“That’s right. You were following me.” His eyes grew colder, his voice devoid of all emotion now. “But, you never said why you were following me. And don’t play me for a fool, Nina. Admit what I already know to be true. Tell me why you followed me.”

A sour, brackish taste flooded her mouth, her pulse pounding through her head with such force, black dots danced before her eyes and the thumping almost hurt. “Thorin… “

“You weren’t there watching over me,” he growled, his voice low. “You were hunting me.”

“No.” She shook her head, her eyes stinging now. “No, I can explain. Really, I—I can.”

“Is that so?” He folded his arms over his chest and affixed a steely gaze upon her. “I am listening.”

“Yes, I—I admit I was in that clearing with the intention of being the one to collect the bounty on you. I was—I was just so angry with you for unleashing Smaug, or because I thought you’d done that intentionally. All I could think about was what you’d cost me and I—I thought it only fair.

“But, then I met you and came to know you and—and I wasn't going to harm you. I wasn’t. And—and I wanted to tell you—I tried to tell you, but then Dwalin appeared and…” Her throat squeezed shut on her and she swallowed hard against the lump rising in it. “You were never in any danger.”

“Or you were but biding your time,” he growled.

“Thorin, if I was going to do it, I had ample opportunity. More than once, in—including last eve while you slept, and in fact, I—”

She caught herself, but it was too late. His eyes widened and his, “You what?” was a growl so low, it was only barely audible.

“You have to believe me, Thorin. I wouldn’t do anything to harm you. Not now.”

“What were you going to say? What did you think about doing that I should be thankful you didn't do?”

She felt the slow, painful cracking of her heart as he continued to stare at her through eyes that were little more than slivers of silvery-blue ice. The eyes that had gazed upon her with such tenderness only hours earlier now regarded her with a frigid contempt she’d never had directed at her before. He knew. She didn't have to tell him because he already knew. He just wanted to see if she had the courage to admit it.

So, in actuality, what more did she have to lose if she admitted everything to him now?

“Thorin,” she reached for his arm, only to pull back when he stepped out of reach, “I wasn't going to do it. I couldn’t. Not now.”

“What couldn't you do? Enough already, Miss Carren. Tell me the truth for once.”

“I’ve not lied to you about anything.”

“Except that you planned to take my head to Tarog. Tell me, what was he offering? How much is my life worth to him or to you?”

Now fury crept into his words, the embers glowing brighter with each one. She swallowed hard, shaking her head. “I wasn’t going to do it.”

“Do not lie to me any longer, Nina!” His fury erupted, his voice reverberating off the walls around them, echoed through the forest behind him. “I am not stupid nor am I mad! Now give over and stop lying to me!”

“I’m not lying! I’ve told you everything. Why and why I didn’t. And I tried to tell you, Thorin. I did. But I knew you’d be furious, and rightfully so. But that’s it. Yes, I followed you toward Rivendell with the intention of collecting the bounty, but then I couldn't do it and I didn't want to do it any longer. I tried to convince myself that I did and that it was all right to want revenge because of what I’d lost.

“But then… then you were not the Mad King. You weren’t the greedy dwarf who lied to us and promised us a share in the riches of your mountain if only we’d help you. You weren’t the one who unleashed Smaug with the sole intention of destroying my home. And I realized that I didn't want to do it because I didn't hate you. Because I lo—”

“Do not dare,” he growled, shaking his head sharply. “Do not stand there and tell me you care for me when you hunted me as if I were some sort of animal.”

“I wasn't hunting you. I was—I don't know—avenging the loss of my sister. Of my brother. Of my home. Take your pick.”

“By planning to collect a bounty placed on me. And you’ve still not told me what my life is worth.”

“Does it matter? I stepped in front of an arrow for you. I put an arrow between the eyes of an orc coming up behind you today! Would I do that if I didn't care for you?”

“You lied to me, Nina,” he told her flatly. “Now, for the last time, tell me what it was you didn’t do.”

She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling and forced her gaze somewhere over his right shoulder. Her throat squeezed so tightly, it hurt, and it matched the relentless stinging in her eyes. But she didn't want to break down now, not in front of him. She swallowed hard, and when she trusted herself to speak, said, “While you slept last eve, I took my sword and held it to your neck. And it was then that I realized I could never do it. Not ever. I could never harm you nor could I allow anyone else to do so. And I know you don’t believe me,” she shrugged, “but I speak true. Because I do care for you, Thorin. And I know you don’t believe that, either, but it is also the truth.”

“You’re right,” he replied slowly. “I don’t believe you.”

“And I cannot fault that.”

“Your services are no longer required, Miss Carren.” He stepped around her and strode to the door without looking back.

“Five thousand.”

He paused, his hand just above the handle, and glanced at her over his left shoulder. “I beg your pardon?”

“That was what Azog offered and what Tarog would pay. Five thousand in gold.” She shrugged again. “And the bounty is still on your head, you know, so please, do be careful from here to the Long Lake. Or perhaps even all the way to Erebor. I’ll wager the rest of that orc pack still lurks just beyond these borders.”

“I will be fine,” he told her flatly. “I know who I can trust and whom I cannot.”

His figure blurred as her eyes filled with tears and without another word, he pulled open the door and disappeared through the doorway, not troubling to close it behind him. She wanted to go after him, to somehow try to make him understand why she’d done what she had, but it was pointless and she certainly couldn't fault him. She’d betrayed him in the worst way. There was no coming back from that.

The knots in her belly tightened, the sour taste rising once more and she swallowed hard against it as she sank onto the railing and just stared at that door.

“You damned coward,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut at the sharp pain stabbing their backs. “You should have told him the truth, but no… you were too stupid and arrogant enough to believe you could get away with this, that you could just wave this away as if it was nothing.”

Her heart hurt almost as much as her head did, and as she leaned back against one of the supports holding up the canopy above her, Nina gave up trying to hold her tears back.

By the time he reached Dwalin’s chambers, some of Thorin’s fury had abated, replaced instead by a cold numbness he had not felt in years. He rapped on the door. “Dwalin!”

“What?” Dwalin tugged open said door, then stepped back. “What happened? Ye look angry enough to take on that orc pack with yer bare hands.”

“Thirty minutes ago, I would have agreed with you. But now? Now, I just wish to take our leave.”

“But I thought we were waiting for Nina to—”

“Do not speak her name in my presence,” Thorin snarled, scowling at him. “Never again will you utter that—that kunbûna’s name in my presence.”

“Thorin?” Dwalin’s forehead wrinkled. “What happened?”

“I was a fool and I should have listened to you.”

“What? I mean, of course ye should have, but what?”

Thorin leaned back against the closed door. “She was planning on collecting the bounty the Defiler put upon my head.”

Dwalin’s eyes nearly popped clear from their sockets as he said, “She what?”

“You were the one who said I couldn't trust her, why do you sound so surprised?”

“I thought she might try to relieve us of coin, perhaps. I had never thought she might want to kill ye.”

Thorin’s gut twisted angrily at hearing it aloud. “I never thought so, either. And yet… she admitted it to me.”

“Admitted—how did ye think to ask?”

“That was what Thranduíl wished to see me about. They took an orc prisoner and he was the one who explained it. I confronted her and she did not deny it. Five thousand in gold is what I am worth, apparently, to that… that kunbûna…”

Dwalin let out a low whistle. “Oh, laddie, I am sorry.”

“As am I,” Thorin told him softly, shaking his head. “I… I let myself care for her… more the fool am I, I suppose.”

“No, laddie. Yer not a fool.”

“Of course I am,” he replied, trying, and failing, to smile. “But I will not dwell on it. We will be taking our leave within the hour.”

“And what about… her?”

“She can rot for all I care.”

****

It came as no surprise to Nina when two of Thranduíl’s captains appeared at her door and informed her that she was no longer welcome in Mirkwood. In fact, they stood over her as she packed her belongings and then each took hold of an arm and bodily escorted her out of the palace and to the edge of the forest itself. Then, without a word, they left and she stood on the wide pathway that would follow long the Forest River, where only hours earlier, orcs lay in wait for them.

She should never have gone to Tarog in an attempt to receive half of the money up front. If she’d thought better, she would never have made it possible for anyone to know what she planned. But at the time, she was desperate. Although she managed to find work here and there, the jobs were sporadic at best and paid little and by the time she made her way to Mount Gundabad, she had but pennies to her name.

But Tarog laughed in her face at her request and sent her on her way. Later than night, two orcs attacked her meager camp, and it was only through utter blind luck she was able to fend them off. From there, she tried to teach herself everything she could when it came to fighting, and whenever possible, sought out people who would be willing to teach her as well.

It never occurred to her that any orcs might follow her in order to get to Thorin and she felt so stupid now that it hadn’t occurred to her. She knew Tarog would never willingly part with the bounty if anyone other than another orc brought him Thorin’s head. She should have known it was but a matter of time before one of them thought to follow her. So much stupidity and in the end, it cost her everything.

So there she stood, on the rutted road leading from Mirkwood, her wounded, bandaged leg only barely holding her up, and the only person she’d let herself care for in a long time now hated her to the core of her being.

And with good cause. She couldn't even be angry at him. How could she? She had betrayed him, even if she’d made no attempt on his life.

Unforgivable.

With no where else to go, Nina limped her way down the road toward the Long Lake. She made it less than a mile down the road when she heard the sounds of approaching footsteps, and so she shuffled off into the woods on the western side.

She held her breath as the orcs tramped past her, willed herself to blend into the foliage for she was in poor shape to defend herself now. For the time being, she forgot her self-pity, far too concerned with not being discovered.

But to her horror, they diverted from the road, also into the western woods not far from her. To make matters worse, clouds slowly enveloped the sun and a while later, rain began to fall. It began as a soft mist, but quickly devolved into a steady downpour that soaked into her clothes and hair and as the afternoon gave way to evening, and the temperatures dropped, Nina found herself unable to halt the shiver that permeated her. She couldn't move for fear of alerting the orcs to her presence and even if she could, where was she going to go?

The hours stretched out into one of the most miserable nights of her life. The rain refused to let up. The wind picked up, howling through the treetops, whipping through the bushes to send sheets of rainwater splashing over her. Her leg throbbed. Her heart ached. She was almost ready to just jump out and let the orcs slaughter her.

But as the dawn arrived, the rain slackened and the winds died down. She drew the back of her hand across her forehead for what had to be the hundredth time, then slowly stretched her aching legs. Leaves rustled, but if the orcs remained nearby, they must not have heard.

What surprised her more was they didn't hear the involuntary gasp she’d made when she stretched her wounded leg and a sharp burn tore through her. Clamping her teeth upon her bottom lip, Nina clutched at the her thigh with one hand, tears stinging her eyes as she fought to control the pain rippling through her.

Breathing grew difficult, shorter and more shallow as she tried to will the pain away. All she could think about was being found by the orcs, and what would happen to her if they did. Her heart hammered her ribs, her fingers bit into the muscle around the stitches. Wave after wave of fiery pain swept through her.

But then, mercifully, it ebbed. Her fingers eased. Breathing became easier. She sank into the damp earth, swallowing hard as an icy sweat prickled across her back. Her eyes closed of their own. Exhaustion sank into her every fiber.

In that moment, she hated herself more than she ever hated anyone else. If the orcs got her, it would serve her right.

She lay there for a long moment, staring up at the pink and gold sky, where pale morning light broke through the thick grayness of the rainy dawn. Somewhere high above her, birds began to sing and she remembered something her mother told her once, about why the birds sang in at dawn.

“Mama, do all birds sing?”

“They do, love. And for a very important reason. It’s to reassure the ones they love that they made it through the night.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Nina smiled. She made it through the night, not that she had anyone to sing to about it. But she’d made it and she would keep on doing so. And in time, she would forget Thorin Oakenshield had ever even existed.

She managed to sleep for a bit and when she opened her eyes, the sun had banished the clouds completely and she heard footsteps and voices and a shiver went down her spine.

Thorin and Dwalin. They’d taken their leave of Mirkwood.

They didn't know the orcs lingered still.

As quickly as she could, she got to her feet, swallowing hard as the movement sent a flaming arrow of pain through her leg, one that had her pausing and clinging to a skinny stick of a nearby tree.

A hint of dizziness rose, one she tried to fight off as she moved through the trees, toward the thicker, sturdier trees. The orcs must have heard the dwarves, for she heard them up head, gathering their things, organizing their weapons.

She moved as close to the orc pack as she dare, then steeled herself for the fresh fireball that would burst within her leg as she gripped a low tree branch, bent her wounded leg, and began to climb.

It was slow going, but she made her way up into the cradle of branches, high enough above the pack that she had a clear view of them, but they most likely could not see her, thanks to the new growth of leaves.

A fresh sweat broke out over her body, but she ignored it as she eased her bow free and set herself in position to keep watch over the roadway. The pack was down to roughly half a dozen orcs. If she was quick enough, she could take out enough that Thorin and Dwalin would be able to defend themselves, should Thranduíl not send any of his guard out with them.

From where she perched, she saw only the two dwarves and while that didn't necessarily mean there were no elves nearby, she was going to err on the side of caution and so slipped an arrow from her quiver and set it on the rest.

As Thorin came into view, her heart skipped a beat, and then broke all over again, the shards painfully slicing into her. More than anything, she wished she could go back in time, to confess to him why she was there to begin with, before anything else happened between them. Perhaps then…

Perhaps then what? She was of Man. He was the King Under the Mountain. That one night together was all they could ever have. No matter how she looked at it, this would have ended in heartbreak for her.

Or so she told herself.

But the fact of the matter was that she’d hurt Thorin. She’d betrayed him. He felt he could not trust her and she couldn't fault him one bit. Had she only been honest…

It no longer mattered.

“Move out!”

She didn't know which orc said it, but they moved as a unit toward the road. Nina watched without blinking, drawing the bowstring back as she tracked their movement.

Just as they’d done the previous day, the orcs attacked at once and although Thorin and Dwalin seemed ready for it, that didn't stop her from aiming and firing as an orc swung its axe at Thorin.

She hit the orc between the shoulder blades and he dropped like a stone. She waited for the elves to burst from the trees, but this time, Dwalin and Thorin were on their own. However, they must have anticipated trouble as well, for they were ready and it wasn’t long before what remained of that orc pack had been decimated.

Nina sank against the branches, her leg throbbing from being in one position and bearing more weight than it should’ve, and wished she could simply lower herself to the ground and collapse into Thorin’s arms, where he could cradle her for a moment, then spirit her back to Mirkwood, as he’d done when she was wounded yesterday.

But of course that was impossible. She could do no more than lay there, her head tucked into the small vee, propped on her arm, and watch as Thorin and Dwalin dispatched the last of the orc pack, and continued on down the road toward the Long Lake until they rounded a bend and vanished from view completely.

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knittastically · 1 month

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Covert Eyes (24)

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language, sexual references, angst, smut, heartbreak, gunshot wounds and recovery, abduction, hostage situation.

Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. Amy is now working for MI-5, after being recruited by Ros. But will her involvement with Lucas cause even more problems and heartbreak?

When Amy's parents get involved, how will things pan out for Amy and Lucas?

Official soundtrack list: here

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in.

This fic does have an ending in sight...finally. :)

Feedback, comments and suggestions are always very valuable. My messages and ask box (including anons!) are open.

It had been a month now since Amy had returned to Coventry, and every day felt listless and lifeless. She’d had long conversations with Ros, who was technically her direct manager and would have been in charge of all HR work. Amy had explained everything and had been met with the words, “We can’t keep the position open for you for long. You’ll need to make a definite decision on this. You’ve been compromised in a serious way.” It all felt like it was her direct fault, the more that Amy mused on it.

Amy’s brother in law had been kind enough to do a run to the flat back in London, taking a rental van, to pick up her belongings. Matt had been told what to pick up and Lucas had made himself scarce ahead of the visit after Amy’s notice.

After Amy’s departure from the flat, she had not spoken with Lucas at all. The only communication had been through texts, and this was to organise Matt’s arrival for her belongings. Lucas had agreed to keep the tenancy of the flat in just his name.

Furniture remained behind. But all of Amy’s personal items such as remainder of clothing, her television set and DVD player, books, ornaments and even some of her cooking utensils and crockery, came back to Coventry. The majority of it was now back in her old room. The guest bed that she had shared with Lucas over new year was now her bed, and opposite it on a small bookcase was her Samsung flatscreen television.

The last month had been a whirlwind of feeling depressed, numb, anxious and angry. Most of her dreams were her sitting in a dark room, trying to scream, but no sound came. She often woke with a tension headache, and ibuprofen had become a friend of late.

However, as Amy entered the fifth week of being with her parents, she noticed that her period was late. Normally she had been like clockwork, always being on time and maintaining the same number of days for the period portion of her cycle. Maybe the stress of all the recent upheaval had caused it? She was sure she had heard that before, that stress and anxiety could mess with menstrual cycles. Just to be sure, Amy made her way into town one morning. Partly she needed to get out of the house and breathe. Ever since being home, her parents had been overly generous with her and kept treating her like she was a child again, and it was beginning to make her uncomfortable.

She used up all three tests, and all of them came back positive. Amy was pregnant.

The realisation didn’t hit her immediately, and she sat with the thought for a couple of days, trying to comprehend what was happening. Finally, two days after finding out, she approached her mum. It was an overcast Saturday morning, and her mum was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee.

“Do you want me to get you a drink?” Sharon asked.

“No. I…um…I need to talk to you about something.” Amy sat down opposite her mum and as soon as she looked into Sharon’s dark gaze, she broke down into tears.

“Love,” Sharon cooed. She grabbed Amy’s hand from across the table. “You’ll get through this, darling. You’ll heal, I promise.”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words were like lead, heavy. Sharon was stunned, rendered rigid in her seat. “A…Are you sure?”

“I took three tests and they all came back positive. I was on the pill, but you know they reckon it’s not one hundred per cent effective. But…I’ve wanted a baby for a while now. It’s just….why now? I need to tell Lucas.”

Sharon’s eyebrows furrowed. “Amy, you need to keep as far away from him as possible.”

“He has every right to know, Mum. I’m not going to keep him in the dark about it, and if he wants to visit…”

“No, Amy. I’m putting my foot down there. Before we know for absolute certainty that you’re pregnant, as tests can sometimes be wrong, say that you are…If you let him have any contact, think of the risk. I know you love him, but you need to let him go and make a life of your own with the baby.”

Amy wept at the table, feeling so utterly consumed by sadness, frustration and confusion. “When will you and Dad let me have any control back?” she muttered. “You made me leave Lucas and now won’t let him have anything to do with his own child. When will you both allow me to actually make a decision for myself?”

A flash of anger passed across Sharon’s face. “I know you, Amy. No one knows someone better than their own mother. You are besotted with that man. I don’t know what kind of hold he had over you…”

“Hold?” Amy asked, her eyebrows knotting. “He had no hold over me. He’s the only man I’ve ever truly been in love with.”

“And you’ll find someone else.”

“Mum, I can’t carry on with this conversation because I’ll say something I regret,” Amy spat. She got up and shoved her seat back, the wooden legs screeching across the flooring. Amy stormed to the doorway and then turned back, glaring at her mum. “Imagine being rock bottom, and you feel like no one would ever look at you twice. You know you’re not beautiful and there’s very little about you that a man would want, but somehow one man sees you. I mean he really bloody seesyou. And he finally helps you to see that maybe you’re not as bad as you always thought; he helps you to actually feel loved. Would you want to throw that away?”

Sharon remained quiet, feeling a lump rise in her throat at Amy’s words. Of course she knew that Amy felt that way. She had seen it; the pain on Amy’s face, the loneliness in her posture, the desperation for love in her eyes. Sharon had felt all of that, too.

***

Lucas was at work, sat at Amy’s desk when he heard his phone ring. Amy’s number flashed across the screen and immediately a whole array of emotions that he couldn’t fathom seemed to spread through his chest. His hand began to shake and he accepted the call, whispering her name.

“Lucas. I’m sorry for bothering you. I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important,” she said.

Her voice wrapped around him, holding him so snug.

“Are you alright?” Lucas asked, immediately concerned for her wellbeing.

“I need to tell you something, and maybe it’s best we meet in person. Mum won’t like it, but I don’t care anymore. I’m sick of both of them telling me what to do…”

“Amy they’re keeping you safe. They’re not telling you what to do.”

“Why are you siding with them? Am I that bad that you’d happily just see me leave and we never…”

“Amy, for fuck sake,” Lucas growled. “I am not going over this with you again.”

“Okay, I’m pregnant. There you go! Happy? I’ll go and you never have to hear from me again.”

“Amy? Fuck….Amy?”

The line dropped.

Lucas’ head was spinning. He dashed out of the main office space and into a hallway, feeling heat rise high in his head. His heart was thundering so hard in his chest and he paced the same ten feet of hallway as he tried to call Amy again, but each time it just rang out and then went to her voicemail.

Up in Coventry, Amy grabbed her handbag and stormed out of the house. She tried so desperately hard not to break into tears, but it was too much, and she sobbed in the middle of the street. With her back against a tree, Amy bent her knees and hung her head, sobbing.

“Are you alright, dear?” a kind old lady asked, who was staggering past on a walking stick, while walking her small dog.

Amy looked at the kind lady through tears and nodded her head. The lady’s dog, a little black and white Jack Russell terrier sniffed Amy’s feet, its tail wagging in curiosity and excitement. Amy extended her arm down and stroked the dog, while smiling.

“See? He always has that reaction with people. He made you smile.”

Amy finally gathered the small slither of strength inside her and continued walking, passing one last smile to the dog and his kind owner. Trudging up the street, Amy pushed the tears away and head towards the small bakery and café which was on the corner of a small backstreet which joined on to the main high street.

The café was quiet, with the only sound being a radio playing from somewhere in the back room. Amy ordered herself a chai latte and a piece of lemon drizzle cake, then sat at the very back of the café, slipping out of sight.

On her phone, Amy found ten missed calls from Lucas, and three text messages. With a sigh and a sudden snap of her frayed self-control, she called him back.

“Aim, listen to me,” he begged frantically. “Please, angel.”

Hearing him call her ‘angel’ brought forward those horrible tears again.

“Why do you keep thinking I’m pushing you away because I want to? That’s the furthest thing from the truth. But a baby? Are you sure you’re pregnant?”

“I took three tests and they all showed positive. Lucas, we need to be together. I can’t be a mum without you. Don’t make me do this alone, please. I need you.”

“I know, angel.” He sighed loudly down the line. “Your parents won’t let me near you and the baby, we know that. And they have good reason.”

“This is our future. Not theirs.”

“I can’t risk the pair of you. I can’t.”

“So what are you saying? You’re abandoning me? You’re going to make me go to every scan on my own, bloat to the size of a whale and then give birth in agony, all on my own? Fucking hell, Lucas, I thought you were more of a man than that.” Amy was seething at his attitude. “You’re going to make me be a single mother?”

“Don’t you think I know what I’m saying, Aim?” Lucas growled. “Don’t you think I know that by doing this I’m making you go through it alone? But making you go through it alone will make sure you at least go through it and get out the other side alive.”

“I hate you, Lucas. I never thought you’d be this fucking cold!”

A lady with a severe bob placed Amy’s drink and cake down on the table, her eyes wide upon hearing her customer’s side of the conversation.

“All anyone does in my life is control me, and I’m sick of it. You’ve made the decision that we can’t be together without even considering me at all. My parents have got me back at home, treating me like a pathetic child. No one will let me stand on my own two feet and make my own decisions.”

“Because this is putting your life at risk, and now a child’s,” Lucas spat. “What kind of a man would I be to just let all these things keep happening to you? You’ve already been shot and taken hostage because of me and being connected to me.”

“And now you have a baby, Lucas. You don’t get to just walk away from that. I am not putting ‘father unknown’ on my baby’s birth certificate. I refuse to do that.”

“I’ll make sure you have enough money…”

“It’s not about the fucking money, Lucas!” Amy cried out. “I need you in my life. The baby needs you. Can’t you see that? I grew up with a dad, and I thank God every day for that. I can’t let my baby not have a dad. Lucas…” Amy began to weep. “I can’t carry on without you. Please. I still wear my engagement ring because I can’t face that this is over. It can’t be. Sarah and Simon got what they wanted: revenge. They wanted us apart, and they got that. They can’t hurt us any more than they already have.”

“Angel, we can’t.” Lucas voice was quiet but firm. “You have your family who’ll look after you. I’ll come to the scans and birth, but we can’t be together again.”

“Fuck you, then. Keep away. I’ll do this alone.”

Amy threw her phone down on the table and sobbed.

The lady who had served Amy looked on confused. “A…are you alright?” she asked.

***

Lucas sat with his head in his hands a short while later, gaining the attention of Ros who came onto the main floor. She approached him and perched on the edge of the desk. “What’s going on?” she asked, folding her arms.

With a sigh, Lucas rubbed his mouth with his hand and looked up at Ros. “Amy’s pregnant. I can’t put them at risk, no matter how much I want to be with her and raise the baby. I don’t think she realises how much danger I’ve put her in.”

“She does. Don’t underestimate her, Lucas. In the little time I’ve known her, I can see that in her. And can I be frank with you? I think you see her as immature to a degree, but she’s got a wise head on her shoulders. Far more than you know.” At that, Ros was staring straight at Lucas. Her gaze was piercing. “You’re like a lot of others in her life and you’ve taken advantage of her people pleasing nature, but when she kicks back, you see her as immature and not knowing what she wants.”

“No…”

“Yes. I’ve been in this job long enough now to know how people work. She’s let you take control for the entirety of the relationship and now she’s trying to do something for herself, you judge her as not knowing what she wants. You did it when we recruited her.”

“But she did do what she wanted in the end,” Lucas argued.

“With a little input from me, to try and help her make the right decision for her. Stop telling her what’s best, and let her make up her own mind.”

Ros disappeared into a side office and picked up her mobile, calling Amy.

“Hello, Ros,” Amy said softly. Then sniffed.

Ros immediately knew that Amy had been crying. “Is now a good time to talk?”

“Yes. I’ve just got home and I’m in my room out the way of anyone overhearing me.”

“How are you doing?”

“I’d be a complete liar if I said I’m doing well. I’m guessing you’re calling me because Lucas told you I’m pregnant.”

“You’re very perceptive,” Ros chuckled. “Yes, he told me. I believe congratulations are in order, despite the circumstances.”

“Thank you. I’m still considering the position, Ros. It’d be unfair of me to come back and then leave again. Maybe now that a baby is on the horizon, it’d be best for me to re-consider any future with MI5.”

“Don’t make a rash decision now. I know I said we can’t keep the position open, but there is the option of maternity leave and pulling that forward so you take leave earlier. Your role would only ever be analysis, so please don’t be concerned that field work might be something you’d have to do. Maybe we could have a face to face meeting in the next week or two. I can come and meet you so you won’t see Lucas.”

“How is he?”

“Quiet, although flies off the handle easily at times. Doesn’t like to be challenged. He misses you, Amy. He even sits at your desk and uses your mug.”

“I miss him, too,” Amy whispered. “I wish he’d let me come back.”

“Amy, you can come back. Your parents and Lucas don’t own you; you’re your own person. I know why he’s doing this, but he needs to give you control.”

“Everyone treats me like a child.”

Ros sighed. “I’ve noticed.”

***

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knittastically · 1 month

Text

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Thirteen

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: Description of battle and wounds

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.1k

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Previous chapters can be found here.

They departed Mirkwood less than an hour later, and followed along the Forest River. In the distance, the Lonely Mountain rose pink and purple in the late morning sunlight and she gazed upon it, Nina couldn't help but feel a hint of urgency. They would be arriving within a day or so, and that meant she had to do what she set out to do soon.

But, as she sat astride her pony, watching Thorin astride his ahead of her, the sunlight dancing along his long black curls, glinting off the silver clip at the back of his head, she realized she no longer hated him. Perhaps she’d never hated him, but only hated what had happened. Although he had unleashed Smaug, it was never with the intent of setting him upon Esgaroth.

Instead, as she watched him, she found she wanted to know more about him. Last evening, in the low light, she’d seen the thin white scar running diagonally from his right temple toward the inside of his eyebrow and found herself wondering where he’d gotten it. The same with the various other scars she’d seen on his body—what looked like bite marks across his back and chest, and two curious wounds lower on his abdomen amongst others. She wanted to ask him about Esgaroth and the restoration of her hometown, about his childhood and what led him to his quest for Erebor.

More than anything, she wanted another night with him. She no longer cared about revenge, no longer cared about the bounty. Neither one mattered. Not only would they not give her back what had been stolen from her, but she found for the first time in a long time, she looked to the future.

Looked to the possibility of a future with Thorin.

Dwarves do not take this lightly, Nina. It’s not in our makeup to leap from bed to bed, you know.

Did that mean he thought there was the possibility of a future with her as well?

The trouble was, she had to be honest with him. Absolutely honest.

And that terrified her. She had no idea how to tell him, no idea how he would take learning such a thing. It might be an unforgivable matter as far as he was concerned and she wouldn’t be able to fault him if it was.

They were just beyond the easternmost border of Mirkwood, with the River Running in their sights when the first arrow split the air with a sharp whistle. Without thinking, Nina leapt from her mount and as the pony bolted, she yanked her bow and an arrow from her quiver and readied to return fire.

Both Thorin and Dwalin had their weapons at the ready when the first orcs appeared from the trees and all three turned to face them as more arrows sliced their way.

As if to remind her about the damage an arrow could do, Nina’s shoulder throbbed for the first time since the wound had been inflicted upon it, and she fought to ignore it as orcs seemingly poured from the trees, swords drawn, arrows resting and ready to be fired.

“There’s too many of them!” Dwalin’s roar was only barely audible above the sounds as he swung his axe to cleave an orc in half.

“Retreat back into Mirkwood!” Thorin shouted back before being accosted by two orcs.

Nina raced to close the space between her and Thorin and as she neared, he hollered, “Get down!”

Without thinking, she did as he ordered, and a moment later, sticky black orc blood splattered across her face and upper body, while the head Thorin had just removed from its shoulders hit her squarely in hers.

As he moved, another orc came up behind him and Nina fit an arrow between his eyes for his trouble. Thorin grabbed her arm. “Mirkwood, now!”

Before last night, she could have just let her bow fall, grabbed her sword, and dispatched him right then and there. No one would have been any wiser. Dwalin was fifty yards ahead of them, clearing a path back to Mirkwood. Orcs wouldn’t care. They would still try to cut her down regardless as they might even be seeking the bounty on Thorin’s head amongst themselves.

But everything was different now. And so, her sword remained in its sheath and she jerked free from him, spinning around to fire another arrow as she yelled, “Go! I’ll catch up with you!”

Two more orcs descended upon them and Nina couldn’t hold back her yelp as the tip of a blade sliced cleanly across the front of her right leg. Her leg buckled. She went to one knee, grabbing the cut with one hand. Her stomach clenched as blood oozed from the wound, soaking into her trousers.

A shadow fell over her and without thinking, she let the bow hit the ground and held the arrow she’d been readying to fire straight up. Thanks to the power of his own momentum, the orc impaled himself on it and with a low oath, slid down it to slump against her.

Between the fiery hot pain in her leg and the stomach-churning rancid stink of the orc, Nina gagged. Thankfully, Thorin tugged her from beneath the putrid body and as she let go of the arrow, the orc sank into the earth where she had been.

“Thank y—oh!” The breath rushed from her body as Thorin swept her up and basically threw her across his shoulders, then took off at a run. With each pounding footfall, fire tore through her. Hot tears stung her eyes. Her belly churned like mad, even worse than it had when the orc collapsed on her. This pain was just as hot as the one that followed being struck by an arrow. Just hot, and almost as strong, and it was only through sheer will that she kept her head clear and her eyes open.

A horn sounded and when she lifted her head to look, Nina saw the Mirkwood elves, led by Tauriel, come thundering out of the woods. As they crossed back into the woodland realm, Thorin slowed down and Nina managed to grit, “I think I can walk.”

Somewhat out of breath, Thorin set her gingerly on her feet and the moment her right foot touched earth, the muscle in her upper thigh shrieked in protest and a hot sting scalded its way from her hip to her knee, which buckled once more.

Fortunately, Thorin caught her before she hit the ground, easing his arm about her waist. “Lean against me.”

“Thorin!” Dwalin hurried toward them. “Are ye injured?”

He shook his head. “I’m fine. Nina was not so lucky.”

Although she expected it, Dwalin’s look of concern faded. “She looks fine to me.”

“Looks fine?” Thorin replied dryly. “She’s leaving a blood trail.”

She thought he was being sarcastic but when she looked down, she saw she was doing just that. In her wake, she’d left a trail of blood droplets as if she thought she’d need them to find her way out. That made her dizzy and she sagged against Thorin, muttered, “I don’t feel so good…”

“We’re almost there,” he told her. “Can you make it?”

Bells clanged about inside her head, her thoughts sluggish and thick and slow. Words refused to form, so she shook her head and gave into the need to close her eyes.

Her belly whooshed as he easily swung her into his arms once more. “Hold on to me.”

She managed to drape her arms about his neck, rested her head against his shoulder, and once more let her eyes close. “Where are we going?”

“Grainne is the Mirkwood healer. That’s where we’re going.”

“Another elven healer?”

“Before much longer, you’ll be an expert on them.”

“Wonderful.”

A low rumble shook her and she forced her heavy-lidded eyes open as she said, “Are you laughing at me?”

“No. Not at you. At your tone.”

“I’m glad I amuse you.”

The throb in her leg ebbed and flowed with her heartbeat and she fought to ignore it as he brought her down past the throne room, into the depths of Mirkwood, and an unfamiliar voice said, “What have we here?”

“I found myself the path of a sword,” Nina said, sucking in a sharp breath as Thorin set her down on the high, narrow bed in the infirmary.

Like every other elf Nina had ever seen, Grainne was tall and slim and stunning, with high cheekbones, almond-shaped blue eyes, and long, sleek hair the color of honey, pulled away from her face. She did not smile as she looked from her to Thorin. “You’ll have to leave now.”

Nina bit down on her bottom lip, both from the wave of pain that swept through her and the blush once more more deepening against Thorin’s skin. He cleared his throat. “Of course. I need to speak with Thranduíl as it is anyway.”

“I’ll be fine,” Nina told him, managing to hold back her grin. “Just don’t leave without me.”

“Of course not.”

The healer waited for Thorin to leave, then helped Nina carefully strip off her trousers. Her stomach clenched sharply at the ugly wound. Most blade cuts were clean, but the blade that hit her was not finely honed, but almost serrated, judging by the jagged edges it left behind. She gritted her teeth, holding back her cry as Grainne carefully cleaned every last bit of debris from the wound, flushed it to be certain, and then just as carefully stitched the edges together.

A cold sweat prickled down along her spine, between her breasts, and her fingernails left half-moon imprints in her palms when Nina finally relaxed and unclenched her fists. Grainne offered up a sympathetic smile. “I am sorry to have hurt you, Miss Nina, but I must tell you, you are far more stoic than any elf I’ve ever had to sew before. They howl like demons.”

Swallowing hard against the hint of nausea rising in her throat, Nina managed a slight smile back. “Thank you. I think.”

“Keep the wound dry if at all possible and keep an eye out for any sign of infection. Redness, swelling, weeping, red streaks, that sort of thing. If you see any of those, some and see me at once.”

“I will.” Nina gingerly slid into her trousers and winced as she put weight on her injured leg. “How long will it be sore for?”

“A few days at least. It should resolve a bit more each day. Just baby it as much as possible.”

“I will.”

“I’m sure my lord Thranduíl will allow you to remain here a few days longer.”

“We shall see. If not, I’ll be limping my way to Erebor with the others.” Nina offered this over her shoulder as she moved to the door. “But I do thank you for your efforts.”

“Of course.”

Nina limped her way out of the infirmary to find Thorin pacing in the walkway just beyond. “Why are you still here?”

He jumped, whipping about to face her. “Are you supposed to be up and walking on that leg?”

“I’m supposed to favor it, but otherwise, it’s fine.” She limped over to him, surprised to see the relief spread across his face. “Were you worried about me?”

“Not so much worried, no.” He shook his head. “Just a bit concerned, is all.”

She offered up a long look, resisting the urge to chuckle. “That’s worry, Thorin.”

For a moment, she thought he was about to argue it, but then, he smiled. “Very well. You have me there, Nina. Yes, I was worried. Orc blades can inflict far worse injuries than ordinary blades if one is not careful.”

“Grainne cleaned it out, trust me. I can still feel it and it isn’t a pleasant thing at all.”

“Here, allow me to help you, then.”

Before she could protest, he eased an arm about her waist, and walked her toward the woven vine staircase. “Can you manage the stairs?”

“I think so.” She looked up, swallowing hard at how steep that staircase appeared. How had he carried her down them with seemingly no effort? She knew dwarves were strong, but those steps would have tried the strongest of legs.

“I can carry you.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

He stopped and turned to her. “I don’t mind, you know.”

“I’m sure you don’t. But, you carried me down, you needn’t carry me up as well.”

He smiled. “You weigh practically nothing, Nina. It was not difficult.”

“Even so.”

“You said you’re to favor it.”

“I know, but I’ll be fine.” She carefully stepped back and caught the banister with one hand.

But as she tried to take the step, a hot burst of pain exploded within her thigh and she stumbled back as she sucked in a hard breath.

He caught her before she could fall, and easily swung her up into his arms once more. “Let me help you.”

She didn't argue, but nodded and reached down to gingerly rub over the bandage on her thigh. “Thank you.”

As easily as he’d carried her down, he carried her back up and on the main level, when he set her carefully on her feet, he said, “See? Hardly an issue.”

“I know, but—“ She looked up. “I’m supposed to be helping you, not the other way around.”

“You were injured once more in my defense.”

“I need to learn to move more quickly.”

“You do not.”

She glanced down at his huge hands still resting on her hips, then looked back up at him. “You can let go of me now, Thorin.”

“I can, of course. But I’d really rather not,” he murmured. “Unless, of course, you wish me to.”

Nina gazed up at him, and although her heart was heavy with what she knew she had to confess, she wasn't quite ready to ruin things just yet. Warmth sank into her from his hands, and his eyes grew soft as they held her. Her heart sped up at the way his blue eyes darkened to almost sapphire.

Without looking away, she shook her head. “You don’t have to just yet.”

“Good.”

He bent to her, their lips meeting in a kiss so gentle, she forgot about her pain for a moment. Although she wasn’t an expert at kissing by any means, Thorin knew what he was doing. He might have claimed to have as little experience as she did, but she wasn't at all certain she believed him. His lips moved so softly against hers, that his kiss was truly a caress, and when those lips parted…

She shivered.

He drew back, a hint of a smile playing at his lips, and he pressed his forehead to hers, whispering, “We should get you back to your chambers.”

“I think that would be wise.”

“Thorin?”

He drew back and turned. “What is it, Dwalin?”

“I beg yer pardon, of course. But Thranduíl would like a word with ye.”

He nodded. “I’ll be there in a moment. I said I would help Nina back to her chambers.”

Over Thorin’s shoulder, Nina saw Dwalin glare at his king’s back, and so she carefully pulled out of Thorin’s arms. “You should go. I’ll manage on my own.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am. Do not keep our host waiting. It’s rude.”

“He had me thrown into a dungeon cell,” Thorin replied even as he stepped away from her. “Making him wait a few minutes more is hardly comparable.”

“Even so, you should go.”

“Very well. And you go rest. I promise,” he offered up a smile, “we will not leave without you.”

“I know.” She limped away from him. “Go and see what His Highness wants. I’m going to lie down.”

“I will see you in a bit.”

“Of course.”

With that, he turned and strode off with Dwalin, while she sank against the railing. Her leg throbbed now, and all she wanted was to go and lie down, so she slowly limped back down to her chambers.

“What are ye about, Thorin?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” Thorin growled as he and Dwalin made their way toward the throne room.

“Dinna be a fool where she is concerned. A pretty face is not worth losing yer life for.”

“Losing my life?” Thorin couldn't hold back his laugh. “That’s a bit dramatic, don't you think?”

“Ye know nothing about her. Nothing at all. And didn't ye just tell me this morning that ye complicated matters that needed no complicating?”

“I did, but…” Thorin looked over at him, shaking his head. “I cannot possibly put it into words and explain it. There is… she is… I…”

“Well, that certainly clears matters up.”

“I know, I sound like I’ve gone mad again, but I haven’t. It’s simply… I have never felt this before. And I don’t even know what it is, but I like it. I don't want it to fade, but there’s something…”

“Something?”

He nodded. “Something. And don’t ask me what, because I cannot possibly answer it. But know this, you needn’t worry. She poses no threat, Dwalin.”

Dwalin looked decidedly ill. “I do not need to hear why ye are so certain of this, ye know. I know what ye were doing, remember. Details are neither necessary nor welcome. But, she is a liability now.”

Thorin peered at Nina’s retreating figure over his shoulder. Her limp was far more pronounced now. “She is good at masking how serious it is. But we really should allow her some time to rest. It isn’t as if we’re on schedule, as we were the last time.”

“Some of us would just like to go home.”

Thorin offered him a long look. “So, go home then.”

“Ye know I’m not about to do that, so it’s fool’s talk.”

Thorin tried to ignore the irritation bubbling in his gut. No, Dwalin was not about to leave him in Mirkwood, no matter how safe it might be now. “It’s only a few days.”

“So ye hope.”

“Yes, so I hope.” He stepped around Dwalin.

“Thorin, let’s let her rest and go on to Erebor without her. We’re almost there and we—”

Thorin threw up a hand. “Stop. Enough. I know you’d don’t care for her, but I am not about to simply dump her off.”

“I don’t care one way or the other for her, yes. But more importantly, I dinna trust her. There’s something about her and don’t ask me what, for I can’t put my finger on it. But something tells me we should get away from her.”

“Something. But you cannot tell me what. You don’t trust her, yet she’s given no reason for us to not trust her.”

“She’s also given no reason for us to trust her.”

“If she meant to do harm to either of us, she’s had ample opportunity and yet, look,” Thorin made a grand sweeping gesture with both hands, “here we are, alive and well and in one whole piece.”

“Thorin—”

“We are finished here, so spare me any further lectures, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Thorin.”

“I mean it,” Thorin growled, resuming his stride away from Dwalin. “So enough already.”

“It will be enough when ye think with the right head and ye know ye aren’t right now.”

“I said, enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He didn't wait for Dwalin to reply, but continued on, his gut churning with irritation that was only slightly misplaced. He knew this was not what they needed at the moment, that a romantic entanglement of any kind was only going to cause trouble. And he also knew that Nina was in no condition to continue on with them. Especially with an orc pack between Mirkwood and the Long Lake, as he was certain still some remained.

Although he couldn’t exactly fault Dwalin for his misgivings, he also had no desire to hear about them. Yes, they had only known Nina a short while and yes, it was possible she could cause either of them harm. But, if she could and she planned to, why hadn’t she? She’d had plenty of opportunity to do so. He’d lain asleep beside her for hours, giving her ample opportunity right there.

Yet, she did nothing.

But at the same time, Dwalin was not one to leap to conclusions, either. He thought everything through and did so with the utmost of care. If there something about Nina that troubled him, Thorin knew he would do well to at least entertain the notions.

So why didn't he?

This was one of the very reasons why he tried to avoid romantic entanglements altogether. He had enough to worry about, without also having to contend with the worry that came with opening oneself up entirely to someone else. And he had not lied to her about the importance most dwarves placed upon physical relations. It absolutely was far more meaningful than just the pleasure one felt, as it created a bond between the couple, one that more often than not led to marriage.

Well, he wasn't there yet. Sometimes he wondered if he’d ever be there, if a wife and children were part of Mahal’s plan for him. He didn't know.

But what he did know was that there was something between him and Nina. At least, there were the beginnings of something, or so he thought.

At the entrance to the throne room, Thorin was stopped by an elf page. “My Lord Thranduíl asked that I bring you to the dungeon.”

A hint of apprehension fluttered through him. The last time he saw the eleven dungeon, it was because he’d been shoved into a cell. “Why?”

“An orc was taken prisoner,” the page explained as he gestured for Thorin to follow him and as they made their way along the walkway, he added, “and he told my lord something he thought you might be interested in knowing.”

“Something I might be interested in knowing?”

“Yes, Your Highness. It seems he knows something about the woman with whom you travel.”

Thorin’s gut kinked. “He knows Miss Carren?”

“Not exactly.” The page paused at a closed door, reaching for the handle. He tugged it open and stepped into the room. “My lord, King Thorin.”

“Thank you, Brannion.”

The elf bobbed his head, then took himself off, while Thorin, a sudden apprehension twisting his insides, stepped into the chamber.

Each orc was uglier and more foul than the last and the stench of one announced their presence long before any visual evidence did so. Still, Thorin paid little heed to the smell or the abomination of putrid evil that stared at him now, his movements checked by the gleaming blade Legolas held at the creature’s throat.

“What’s going on?” Thorin asked, looking from the orc to Legolas and then to Thranduíl.

“Tell her, filth,” Legolas said to the orc.

The orc just stared with dead black eyes that looked like river rocks set in their sockets. His grayish, decayed flesh gave his round head a misshapen appearance, like a gourd that had begun to rot and caved in on itself in places.

Thranduíl sighed. “He claims to know your traveling companion. Miss Carren.”

A sour taste flooded Thorin’s mouth and breathing became harder to do. “How is that even possible?”

“Tell him,” Legolas growled through gritted teeth.

The orc flinched as the blade bit into his neck. “The price on your head remained in place,” he finally rasped, those beady eyes locking with Thorin’s. “And she sought to claim it.”

“How do you know?”

“She led us here. My master sent us after her. She would lead us to you, and we would kill the both of you.”

“That means nothing other than you—”

“She came to see him. Wanted half of the price up front, the fool, and my master laughed in her face. Told her to bring him your head and only then would the bounty be paid. She wasn't happy, but she agreed to the terms.”

Thorin felt sick. His stomach churned. His vision swam. But, all he said was, “You lie.”

“Ask her yourself, runt.” The orc let out a low, gurgling laugh. “You let yourself be fooled by her face and now, you will pay—”

A flash of silver and the orc’s body slumped to the floor, leaving Legolas holding a now-lifeless head, which he dropped with no little contempt.

Thorin looked up at Thranduíl. “He’s wrong. She fought alongside us against them. I know not where his information comes from, but he is wrong.”

“You should speak with Miss Carren. And let me know if you wish me to banish her.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Thorin growled. “Excuse me.”

He waited for no response, but spun about and stormed from the dungeon. The orc had to be lying. Because if not…

He didn't want to think about it.

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