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louk419 · 1 month

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As it turns out, I *had* read parts 1 and 4, but at different times. 😕 I actually commented on 4, but under a different user name. I'm chalking it up to a poor memory and a subconscious desire to avoid the sadness of part 3 that blocked my putting all the parts together. 😢 Today I read/re-read them as one cohesive fic. Brilliant! 😊

Stolen Moments

Armitage Summer Splash # 12 ~ Thanks again to @lathalea and @fizzyxcustard for creating this challenge!

Trope: Oblivious to feelings

Quote: “How dare you?”

RA Character: Thorin Oakenshield

Relationship: Thorin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Some angst

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,936

Khuzdul Translations:

Mimûna - Little one (f)

Kunbûnaul - Son of a bitch

’Adad - Father

Raklûna - precious, darling one (f)

Kurduwê - my heart

***

There were times when you would cheerfully throttle Thorin blue and this was absolutely one of them. You rose onto one elbow to just stare down at him. “Are you mad?”

“What?” His eyes went wide as he tucked one arm up beneath his head. “Why would you ask me such a thing?”

“Perhaps because I think you might have gone mad?” You pushed up from your elbow, sitting upright. What had been one of the most wonderful afternoons of your life was all of the sudden coming apart. Instead of lying there on the soft skin, your head tucked against Thorin’s chest, your fingers trailing lightly through the dark hair that covered it, and your leg resting over his, while you fought off the delicious drowsiness that always followed a romp with him, you were now dealing with a bellyful of uncomfortable knots. Even the air around you felt different now. Minutes earlier, lust and desire, swirled through it, took away some of the early autumn chill to replace it with the heat of unbridled passion. You treasured these times with him, when the rest of the world faded away and you lost yourselves in one another.

But now, that air of romance faded into the trees around around you. You pulled your fingers thorough your hair to shove it out of your eyes, away from your face. “Why would you do that? Why can’t things just be as they are now? This is perfect.”

“Perfect?” He also sat up, then reached for his trousers, which lay in the soft grass where they’d fallen when you shoved them down his legs not quite half an hour earlier. “We sneak about, jumping at every sound, convinced at any moment, someone will catch us. That is hardly perfect, mimûna. I’d rather not have to worry about it. I’d rather not have to sneak about any longer, to pretend when I see you in the square that we don’t know each other like this. I’d far prefer being able to do something as simple as hold your blasted hand or steal a kiss and not care who might be lurking about.”

You would have loved the same, to be honest. Sneaking about was fun at first. You loved having the delicious little secret tucked away inside your heart, loved see him in town and being able to share a smile with him, while others wondered what it was you smiled about.

But as the summer went on and gave away to autumn, and the air grew chilled with the change of season, that secret lost some of its lustre. Snuggling under a skin with him was cozy. Having to emerge from it into the nippy air was not. You’d become quite adept as dressing without moving said skin, but the fact was, you were growing tired of sneaking and hiding as well. You would far rather fall into a soft bed with him than roll around on the ground, where an ill placed stone or stick could interrupt an otherwise lovely moment.

However, what Thorin suggested was nothing short of madness and could never come to pass. You understood that. Why didn't he?

Still, you felt a pang of disappointment as he stepped into his trousers and drew them up over his thick thighs. “We do not jump at every sound,” you told him, trying—and failing—to keep the sulkiness from your voice.

“We do, and if you’re honest with yourself, you will admit it. And can you honestly tell me you like skulking about and hiding us from everyone?”

“Well… no…” you hedged. “I don’t like it. But—”

“But nothing.” He shook his head without looking up while he fastened his trousers. Then he stretched one hand to snag your chemisette to hold out to you. “So, this is a solution. It’s the perfect solution and I fail to see why you don’t agree.”

“It would be the perfect solution,” you shot back, dragging the linen over your head, where from inside the bodice, you added, “if it wasn’t for the fact that I am not fit to wipe your boots, never mind marry you!”

He didn't reply, and when you emerged from the chemisette, it was to find him glowering at you. “What?” You tugged the wrinkled linen down and stood, then tried to smooth out at least some of the wrinkles. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“Not fit?” His voice lowered to an irritated growl, so deep, it sounded as if it might actually have risen from the soles of his feet. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it is the truth.” You gestured to the skin he’d spread out over the ground earlier, when you’d met up at your special glade by the river, down past the bend, where few people ventured. It was secluded and romantic and the only place you didn’t truly worry about being caught alone with your prince. In the summer, the grass was lush and vibrant green, the trees’ leafy canopies provided welcome shade when the temperatures soared, but those canopies were now red and gold and yellow as they prepared to drop with the cold weather.

When he just stared, you rolled your eyes at his stubborn determination to remain blind to the truth of your romance. “My father is but a tradesman and my mother is of Man who chose to leave both of us. I am not worthy of the prince’s attentions, never mind being his wife. You know it and you are mad if you think you can change that.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed further. “Why do you spew such nonsense? You know I care not about your lineage and your father is a baker. There is nothing wrong with that. And of course I can change it. I can and I will and I alone have that power, remember.”

“You would never do that to your people, Thorin. You have too much respect for them and their opinions, and you know how they would feel about me becoming queen.” You shook your head as you slid into your own trousers and fastened them. This wasn't the first time you’d had this argument, but it was the first in which it came following his actually proposing to you. “This is all I can ever be to you, Thorin. And all we can ever have are stolen moments that no one else can ever know about. You cannot marry me. And even if you could, I would not say yes because it is a pipe dream at best. Should you ever ascend the throne, I cannot be queen.”

“What throne? There is no throne here.”

Your eyes stung as you drew your loose blue tunic over your head. Your hose, your boots, your sword, all lay in a row, where you’d shed them in your haste to be naked with him. You cherished the moments you had, each tryst a delicious secret you tucked away into your heart. You knew one day, those memories would all you would have of him. One day, he would marry, of course, but it would not be to you. No, he would take a full-blooded dwarrowdam as his wife and you would be able to do no more than watch from a distance as he settled into his new life, as he raised children with this now-nameless woman. It made your heart ache to think about, as you’d loved him since the first time he’d kissed you, so many months earlier. He was your first lover and would be your only lover, for no other could possibly compare to him.

“Thorin, you know what I mean. Just as you know this cannot happen.”

“Why? And if you tell me you are unworthy, I swear to Mahal, I will toss you in that river.”

You glanced over your shoulder at the river question. It was too wide to cross at this bend, the current swift and merciless, the blackish waters sweeping tree limbs and other debris by in the blink of an eye. “Perhaps you should do that,” you said without thinking, not looking at him. “Then you wouldn’t feel duty-bound to marry me simply because we’ve made love.”

“Duty-bound?” Anger threaded those two words together. “Is that how you see this? Is that what you think? That I only wish to marry you because it is the honorable thing because of this?”

You met his now-furious gaze. “Thorin, we both know this can never go beyond this. It simply cannot.”

“It could, if you would not be so blasted stubborn!”

“I am facing the truth, which you also need do. A match between us would never be allowed and if anyone discovered what we’ve been doing, I would be shunned and you know this.”

“I know I love you. And I want you to be mine. I want everyone to know you are mine. To know that I am yours.”

“You don’t love me, you love the idea of me.”

“How dare you?” He stalked past you to gather up the skins, the now-empty bottle of wine you’d shared when you first arrived in grove. He stowed them in his rucksack, then fastened said rucksack to his pony’s saddle. “How dare you think to tell me what I feel and why I feel it? Think you when I said I love you, I was lying? That I didn't mean it? Do you think I would say such a thing and not mean it?”

“It was the glow of the moment talking.” Why couldn’t you just stop talking? Your tongue seemed far more determined than ever to destroy your relationship with Thorin far sooner than it had to be done. Your heart ached. Your eyes stung. And yet, short of stepping on said tongue, you couldn’t seem to hold back your words. “Go find one who is better suited for you, Thorin. One who is fit to be your queen. For we both know she is not me.”

He shook his head, muttering, “Kunbûnaul,” beneath his breath as he swung up onto his pony’s back. “If that is what you wish.”

You just stared up at him, your heart aching as you knew this was how this had to play out, even as it broke your heart to utter your next words. “It’s what must be done.”

“Fine.” He nudged the pony’s side and your heart shattered into a thousand pieces as he rode off and left you in the suddenly thick silence. Not even the rush of water permeated that silence. Your eyes stung, but you managed to hold back your tears when you turned to walk down to the water.

You’d loved Thorin for so long. At first, you hated him. Just wanted to show him up and prove you were every bit as skilled and capable a warrior as he was. You did that, of course, but you also found so much more than just the satisfaction of making him eat his words where you were concerned. You’d never loved anyone except your father and that was hardly the same thing.

And it wasn’t only the physical pleasure that you loved, although you did absolutely love all that went with making love with him. However, it went so much deeper than that. You could and did talk about everything with him, from the utterly serious to the absolutely absurd conversations that left you both in tears from laughing so hard. There was no one else in the whole of Middle Earth you wanted to share things with as you did with him. He was the first person you wanted to see each day and the last one you wished to speak with each night. Thorin knew you better than anyone else ever could.

With him, you felt complete. You felt whole. He didn't try to change you, didn't try to make you feel as if you were wrong for not being like the other dwarrowdams in Ered Luin, for being hopeless where the more feminine arts were concerned—you had far more skill with a blade than a sewing needle any day of the week. He tried to convince you being only half-dwarf was perfectly acceptable to be with him.

Except you knew it wasn’t. Not in the end, any way. And when he’d first brought up the subject of marriage, you laughed it off. Afterglow talking, since it came about after a very romantic tryst beneath a full moon and under a sky filled with glittering stars. But then he kept bringing it up, and each time, you tried to gently steer him the other way. How could he not see that you were unfit to be his bride? Why did he refuse to accept it? He was far more sensible than that, and not normally given to flights of fancy.

But this time, as he sank against you, his body trembling, his lips gentle as they swept along the side of your neck, he whispered, “Marry me, mimûna… marry me so we might spend every night this way. So I can hold you as we drift off to sleep and when I wake up, your face is the first thing I see each morning.”

It was the first time he’d actually proposed to you. Your heart ached so badly as you shook your head.

“You know I cannot do that.”

“You can. You need only say yes.”

If only it was as simple as saying yes. You would do so in a heartbeat if it was, but the world did not work that way. Not for you, anyway.

You picked your way around the rocks, around fallen trees, through the reeds, to the sandy bank at the water’s edge, where you sank into the chilled earth and drew your knees in and wrapped your arms about them, watching the river rush by. It flowed by swiftly, a wide brownish-black ribbon that cut through the earth and disappeared around a bend not far from where you sat. More than once at the height of the summer heat, you and Thorin splashed in the river, melting into one another, bodies entwined, lips locked, as he tried to show you things he couldn't necessarily put into words. You wished so badly to believe that your love for one another would be enough for any of the obstacle you were sure to face, should you be foolish enough to accept his proposal. But you were a realist and knew the truth—it was nothing more than a pipe dream at best.

The sun sank low in the western sky and as dusk crept in, so did a hint of a chill. You’d lost track of the time and when you finally returned home, your father was nearly apoplectic with worry.

“Where have you been?”

“I beg your pardon, ’adad,” you said, shrugging out of your light coat to hang on the peg by the door, “I went for a walk and got myself a bit lost.”

He didn't look as if he believed you, but merely shrugged and ladled a bit of stew from the pot over the fire into a bowl and passed it to you. He filled one for himself, then you both sat at the small table, where you’d shared so many meals, just the two of you. A fire crackled low on the hearth in the sitting room as well. Winter was creeping in and it wouldn’t be long before every hearth would be ablaze to ward off the chill.

It was only unfortunate that nothing could removed the chill of loss that seeped into your bones.

“I had an interesting visitor earlier,” he said, dipping his spoon into the thick broth.

“Really?”

“Thorin Durin.”

You froze, and looked up to meet your father’s worried eyes. “What—whatever did he need you for?”

“He came to ask me something. About you.” He lowered his spoon into his bowl, letting it come to rest against the side of it with a soft clink. “He wished for me to give him my blessing to court you.”

“What?” The blood drained from your face, leaving you cold and numb. What did he think asking your father would accomplish? It would still change nothing where the rest of the clan was concerned. “When did he do this?”

“Not quite an hour ago.” His eyes narrowed. “Have you struck up a relationship with him, raklûna? Be honest with me.”

You paused, using the bowl of your spoon to push a bit of turnip deeper into the thick, peppery broth. There was no sense in trying to lie. Your father would know. He always did.

Looking up, you swallowed hard and nodded. “I have, ‘adad, yes.”

“And do you wish to marry him?”

“I would in heartbeat. But—”

“But what?”

“I cannot be his wife and we know this and he knows it and—”

You went to shove back from the table, only to have him grab your by the hand to hold you still. “Why? He told me he loves you and he sounded so very sincere that I do not doubt him. Do you love him back?”

“Does it matter? I am not full-dwarf and not worthy—”

“Balderdash!” He shook his head. “You are every bit as worthy as any full-blood dwarf and I’ll not listen to you spew such garbage as to tell me otherwise! Have I not raised you to be proud of who you are? Of where you come from?”

“Well, yes, but— ”

“I told him he has my blessing, raklûna, for he does. If you love him, then you should be with him. And you are every bit as worthy as any other woman in Ered Luin. Even more so, for you’ve proven yourself time and again where he is concerned.”

“‘Adad, it is of no matter now.” Your appetite drained and you pushed your bowl away. “I’ve already sent him away. He doesn’t love me, but rather loves the idea of loving me.”

“Sent him away? You sent him to our front door, is where you sent him, you know.”

“Which he shouldn’t have done.”

“Why?” Your father shook his head, his expression graver than you’d ever seen. “Raklûna, do not be so foolish as to think you know his mind better than he himself knows it. To do so would be a colossal mistake. One you will regret making and very soon.”

“I know, but it changes nothing.” You pulled your hand from beneath his, sat back, wiped your mouth, then rose from your chair. “Excuse me, ‘adad, I have a bit of a headache.”

He didn't argue with you, but let you leave and once you were safely ensconced in your small bedchamber, you slid down along the closed door, buried your face in your hands, and gave into the tears that had plagued you since Thorin rode out of the glade.

You lay there in the dark, unable to sleep, just staring up at the ceiling. You had no idea what time it was, but your father was still awake, moving about the sitting room, judging by the creak of the floorboards. He was right. It was a colossal mistake to assume you knew Thorin better than he knew himself.

And now you’d ruined everything.

For a few short months, you’d been so happy with him. You’d allowed yourself to believe there could be a future with him. And when the time came when you were faced with that future becoming reality, what did you do?

You ruined it.

“Blasted fool,” you muttered, swiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “You absolute idiot. You had all you wanted and threw it away. And for what?”

The knock at the front door made you jump at first. But then your heart leaped into your throat and your pulse pounded through your head when you heard Thorin’s deep voice. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”

You could almost see your father shaking his head. “Not at all, son. She is in her room.”

Footsteps drew near and you held your breath until black dots danced before your eyes, your heart racing so madly, you wondered which would make you faint first.

He didn't knock, but just opened the door, filling the doorway like an avenging angel of sorts. Rain spattered his dark green traveling cloak, covering it with dark splotches. He said nothing at first, but glowered at you as he’d done in the glade.

“Will you hear me out?” he finally growled, coming fully into the room to close the door behind him.

You nodded. “I will.”

“Good. I love you. And I care not what anyone might say or think about that. And I am not so foolish to think that it will be a smooth journey, should you accept my proposal. But, I am foolish enough to believe that together, we will find a way to get through it, that we can and will make it work and in time, it won’t matter.

“But know this, there is no one else I wish to be with. There will never be anyone I will wish to be with, either. If I cannot have you, I will not have another.”

“Thorin, are you certain this is what you want?”

“How can you ask me that?”

“I have to know.”

He crossed to you, catching your hands to draw you up and into his arms. “I am yours, as I have been since the first time we were together. I love you, you know. I love you and I care not how hard I might have to fight for you. You are worth that. We are worth that. I wish I could make you see that’s truly how I feel.”

“I do see it,” you told him softly, easing your arms about his neck. “And I am so sorry for what I said, for my foolishness. I do love you back, you know. So very much.”

“So, will you have me? Just as I said the first time we were together.”

You smiled and drew him down to meet your lips. His arms tightened about your waist, his hands sliding down over your backside. He backed you toward your narrow bed, gently pushing you down onto it and as he covered you, you smiled up at him and whispered, “My father is just in the next room.”

Thorin smiled, his eyes dancing with mischief as he said “So be very quiet, mimûna.”

“Thorin!”

“What?” He bent to kiss you, his lips teasing and gentle. When he drew back, his eyes glittered in the low light of the candle flickering on the small desk by the windows. “Will you marry me or do I have to compromise you right here and now.”

“I’m fairly certain you’ve already done that.”

“I’ll do it loudly enough now to leave no doubt in your father’s mind what I’m doing to his daughter.”

Your cheeks grew warm. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Do you wish to find out? Or will you simply stop being so blasted stubborn and say yes?”

You sighed as you smiled up at him. “Ask me again, kurduwê,” you told him, tracing a finger along the edge of his beard. “Ask me to marry you.”

He brushed your lips with his, murmuring, “Will you marry me?”

You slid your arms about his middle and pulled him flush against you. “Yes."

***

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