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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.

Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3... 💙💙💙 Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it! 💙💙💙

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#thorin oakenshield #the hobbit #fanfic #thorin x oc #richard armitage #thorin fic #hobbit fic #angst #love story #fanfiction #middle earth #tolkien dwarves

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middleearthpixie · 3 days

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Thank you for the tag, @laurfilijames!!! I love games like this. :) I,too, love horses, but sadly have not been near one in a looooong time! Maybe someday...

Anyway, here goes:

Sports - more specifically, the New York Giants (football), the New York Rangers (hockey), and the New York Yankees (baseball).

2. Bruce Springsteen - I've been a fan since 1984, when Born in the USA came out, have had a crush on him ever since. He is forever my favorite.

3. History - my BA is in History, my MA is in Global and Comparative History, and I am applying to the PhD program to get my doctorate in Early American History. My time period is 1760 - 1820, and I've also studied the European theatre of WWII, and especially the D-Day Invasion, in great depth.

4. Cars - specifically, old muscle cars from the 1960s. Even more specifically, Mustangs from the 1960s...

5. The Hobbit/LOTR - I'm still relatively knew to the fandom, but when I hyperfocus, I REALLY hyperfocus.

And now, the no pressure tags for:

@lordoftherazzles @sunnyrosewritesstuff @legolasbadass @lathalea @crazytxgradstudent

@inkededucatednnerdy @fizzyxcustard @asgardianhobbit98 @fantasyinallforms @sotwk

@littlesweetdressmaker and anyone else who'd like to play!

Rules! List 5 topics you can talk about for at least an hour without any preparation. Tag others to find out their topics.

Thank you for the tag @burntheedges

Theme parks

Pedro Pascal and his cinematic universe

Shows that have broken my heart like Lost and Westworld

Events and event planning

Kauai, Hawaii

NPT @inept-the-magnificent @laurfilijames @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @all-the-things-2020 @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain and whoever else wants to play!

#five things #tag game #my interests are... eclectic

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middleearthpixie · 5 days

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Silencing students is the ultimate in bad faith. Siding/identifying with the oppressor in a genocide, then denying the chance for debate by arresting the peaceful is truly despicable.

#columbia #palestine

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middleearthpixie · 5 days

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online communities are so strange because people slip away so easily. you can be on here for years, folding people you've never met into the fabric of your daily life, and then they disappear, leaving only ghost posts scattered across tumblr behind. or their blog stays dormant, for weeks, months, years, until you're only still following them because you remember that they love sunflowers or they were kind to you when they didn't have to be or the last thing they posted was sad and raw and you still worry about them sometimes.

and sometimes they come back when you least expect it, years later, even, and there's this sudden rush of relief like there you are, there you are, even though you barely knew each other.

there's a strange kind of love to it. i don't know you and i want to hold your hand across miles and time zones and oceans. i can still see the imprint of you in this community you left. you don't anyone will notice or care when you're gone, but we notice and we care and we wish you well.

i hope you're all okay out there. i hope the sun is shining on your face and you are breathing deeply. i miss you.

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middleearthpixie · 5 days

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Illustration of imagine: “Imagine Thorin insisting on cuddling with you on cold nights”

From: imaginexhobbit

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middleearthpixie · 7 days

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what's the first movie you remember seeing in theaters? don't try and be all edgy and cool and say like tetsuo: the iron man. be honest.

Go!!

#Grease

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middleearthpixie · 7 days

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Get attacked!! ✨🌈SEND THIS TO OTHER BLOGGERS YOU THINK ARE WONDERFUL. KEEP THE GAME GOING🌈✨

AW... thank you and right back atcha!! 💜

#legolasbadass asks #pixie answers #positivity #share the love

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middleearthpixie · 8 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

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo

@legolasbadass @lathalea @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically

@notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78

@ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972

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@sazzlep @night-ace

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

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.

#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here?#Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

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middleearthpixie · 8 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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#thorin fic #the hobbit fanfiction #fanfiction #thorin oakenshield x reader #love story #richard armitage #thorin #fanfic

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middleearthpixie · 9 days

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This is so wholesome

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middleearthpixie · 9 days

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@atomheartz 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

if you touch my feet i will do it..

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middleearthpixie · 9 days

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I promise...

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middleearthpixie · 9 days

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Brilliant Disguise ~ Chapter Twenty-Five

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: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.6k

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Previous chapters can be found here.

Thorin heard the laughter coming from the paddock before he reached it and as he drew near and caught sight of Heather astride a pony on her own, he stopped in his tracks. Her silvery laughter rang out across the open field, mingling with Fíli’s and for a moment, Thorin envied the peace, the innocence, that surrounded Heather. She never need know what happened to her father, other than he’d not frighten her again, that he’d not ever lay another angry hand upon her again.

He only regretted that he had not been the one to let Asharm know exactly what he thought of men who raised fists to women or children. Still, not being able to do that was a small price to pay, since Sophie had taken care of Asharm for once and for all. He would never trouble them again.

With that, he crossed to the fence, where he found Dís watching as well and she looked up as he leaned on the rail alongside her. “Is everything all right?”

He nodded slowly. “It is now.”

“Good.” The beads in her braids clicked against one another. “Dwalin said you went into Esgaroth? There was an accident on the Long Lake?”

“There was, and that is all I will say about it.”

Another soft clatter of stones. “So, will Mrs. Asharm be remaining with us here?”

“I think so, yes.”

“And will you make an honest woman of her?”

“Dís.”

“That little girl needs a father.” Dís nodded in Heather’s direction. “Are you prepared to step up into that role?”

“I rather thought I already had.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do, and yes.”

“Kíli is planning to depart for Mirkwood in the coming days. He plans to formally ask Tauriel for her hand.”

Thorin bit back his grin. “And how do you feel about this?”

“An elf, Thorin. She is an elf.”

“I know.”

“But she’s also the reason he is alive today.” Dís looked over at him. “How do I deny him my blessing when I know she truly cares for him?”

“I don't suppose you can.”

“So, it seems I will have an elf daughter-in-law and a sister-in-law who is of Man. Our family is growing interesting.”

He chuckled, his gaze going back to Heather, who was listening intently to whatever Fíli was saying. “Erebor’s princess is also of Man.”

“I like her, Thorin. I like both of them.” She looked over at him again. “And I think they will both be happy here.”

“I hope so. And do not worry about Kíli. He knows what he is doing. And Tauriel is a fine match for him. They’ll be happy.” He glanced over at Heather, and then turned back to his sister. “Would you prefer it if I went with him?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I think Fíli is going with him and they will be fine.”

“Have you spoken to Dwalin?”

“Thorin.”

“Oh, am I overstepping?” He turned to her, resting one arm on the topmost slat of the fence. “He’s miserable without you, you know. What did he do, that you’re angry with him?”

“He did nothing. And I thought we were discussing Kíli.”

“We were, and we’ve both come to the conclusion that he’s grown and of age to decide for himself who to take as a bride. And since we’ve straightened out my love life as well, that leaves yours as the only one in disarray. So, give over and tell me or at least tell him and put the lad out of his misery.”

“He told me about his outing with Mrs. Asharm, when she first came here.”

Thorin smiled even as his gut kinked as well. “It was nothing, you know. They shared not even a kiss.”

“I know, but…” She sighed softly, shaking her head. “She is stunning. How do I compete with that?”

“Dis, there is no competing with her. He is not interested in her.”

“Because of his friendship with you.”

“No, he knows who his One is, Dís. And it is not Sophie. So, now that you know this, will you at least talk to him?”

“I have spoken with him, Thorin. He wishes to marry.”

This was news to him. “He does?”

“Aye. He asked me last eve.”

“He never said a word to me.”

“I told him no.”

“Wait… what? The two of you have been dancing about each other since we returned here, both wanting the same thing, but neither one having the courage to speak up, and when he does, you turn him down?”

“I’m too old, Thorin. Too old and set in my ways and I have my boys to think of.”

“Nonsense,” he told her flatly, pushing away from the fence. “They are boys no more, Dís, and do not use them as your excuse. And as for being too old? You are an entire decade younger than me. Am I too old to think about a new life?”

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, you’re the king. Your duty is to marry and produce an heir.”

“Nonsense. Fíli is my heir since there is no guarantee Sophie and I will be blessed with children of our own. Again, stop making excuses.”

“Even so.”

“Do you love him?”

“What?”

He nodded. “Do you love him? Because I’m fairly certain he loves you, Dís. So, do you love him?”

“I—I don't know. Perhaps. It’s been a long time, Thorin. I don't know… I don't know if I can open myself to that again. Vili was—he—he was… I thought he was my One.”

“I thought Elmaya was my One,” he replied softly. “I think perhaps even Mahal might make a mistake every now and again.”

“You did not have children with her, though.”

“No. I did nothing with her, aside from a few stolen kisses. But, Vili also would not want you mourning him if you had a chance to be happy, either.”

Dís turned her gaze back to Fíli and Heather, now both trotting back toward the stables on their respective mounts. “She’s quite the horsewoman. It won’t be long before she’ll be asking for a pony of her own.”

“Yule is coming.”

As if on cue, the first snowflakes of the season began to fall and Dís smiled as she looked up at him. “I do love him, Thorin. But… it’s frightening.”

“It is,” he nodded as Fíli and Heather disappeared into the stable, then he turned to his sister, “but it’s worth it in the end. Go talk to him. Before too much time passes and you end up regretting your silence.”

“Now I know why you hate when I butt in,” she told him with a smile. “But, thank you. And will you be taking your own advice?”

“I will,” he replied. “But first I need to speak with a certain little girl and see how she feels about my asking Sophie for her hand.”

Dís’ pale blue Durin eyes sparkled. “What if she says no?”

“I’ll bribe her with chocolate cake until she says yes.”

She chuckled with him for a moment, but then her expression grew serious. “You will be a wonderful father, you know. To Miss Heather and to any children Mahal sees fit to bless you and Sophie with. I’ve always thought so, and now I look forward to seeing it.”

“Thank you, Dís. That means the world to me.” He leaned over to press his forehead to hers. “And I think you and Dwalin will surprise each other to no end when you finally both stop being so blasted stubborn.”

“Rather like you and Mrs. Ash—I mean, Sophie?”

“Exactly.”

“Mister Thorin! It’s snowing!”

He grinned, stepping away from the fence as Heather bolted toward him, catching her easily when she launched herself at him. “Mimûna, you will not be happy until to knock me over, will you?”

She let out a peal of silver laughter, wrapping her arms about his neck. “That’s silly! You’re a giant!”

Dís offered up a knowing smile. “You don't hear that often, do you, Thorin?”

“I do not. And it’s fine if Miss Heather thinks so.”

Heather leaned away from him to turn her pearly smile to Dís. “You look so pretty today, Lady Dís.”

“Why thank you, love,” Dís replied, tweaking one of Heather’s curls. “You are turning into quite the horsewoman.”

“Indeed she is,” Fíli replied as he joined them, tousling Heather’s hair gently. “I volunteered you to ride with her whilst I’m gone, Uncle. I told her you are almost as good a horseman as I am.”

“That was generous of you,” Thorin replied dryly.

“Kíli is going to the woods.” Heather turned back to him. “Where is that?”

“Mirkwood? It’s not far from here. Across the Long Lake and down the river a bit. Perhaps when you are older, we can travel there and I can introduce you to their king, Thranduíl. A fussy little wood sprite with leaves in his hair.”

“In his hair?”

Dís chuckled. “A fussy little wood sprite, indeed. Very well, Thorin, I will leave you and this lovely young lady to talk. Fíli, would you walk me back? There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

“Of course. Until tomorrow, Miss Heather.” Fíli caught one of Heather’s hands in his and brushed the back of it with a playful kiss.

She giggled and drew her hand back. “That tickles! Bye, Fífi. Bye, Lady Dís.”

“Enjoy the snow,” Dís replied, tucking her arm through Fíli’s to allow him to escort her away from the paddock.

Snow swirled harder around them now and Heather blinked like mad as she peered up into it, her cheeks already rosy from the cold. “Can we play in the snow, Mister Thorin?”

“Perhaps later. There isn’t quite enough on the ground for playing just yet.” He shifted her slightly. “And there is something I needed to speak with you about. Something very serious.”

Her eyes widened. “Serious?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Am I in trouble?”

She asked it so earnestly, her expression suggesting she feared his answer would be yes. He smiled, shaking his head. “No, Miss Heather. You are not in trouble. I promise.”

“Good. I thought I was.”

“Not at all.”

She leaned away from him, bringing her hands up to curve against his cheeks. “Is something wrong? You look sad.”

“Nothing is wrong, mimûna and I am not sad. It is simply I am in a serious sort of mood at the moment.”

He carried her away from the paddock, toward the walled courtyard off the infirmary. Snow fell harder now, softly swirling this way and that to coat the trees, the ground, in a layer of pure white that glowed as if lit from a moon hidden behind the clouds. The silence accompanying it was some of the most peaceful silence Thorin had ever heard and for the first time since learning of Sten Asharm’s existence, Thorin felt the weight lift from his shoulders. Sophie was free.

He glanced down at the little girl in his arms. Heather was safe. They were both safe.

“Mister Thorin?”

“Yes, mimûna?”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“You’re very quiet. Mama gets quiet when she is sad.” Heather leaned away from him. “But you said you aren’t sad.”

“Just the opposite, love. I’m not sad at all. I’m actually quite happy.” He drew several wayward curls away from her face and then traced his finger along her cheek. “What about you, mimûna? Are you happy?”

She nodded. “I like it here.”

“And I like having you here. You and your mother. Would you be happy living here?”

Another nod. “I would. I’d miss Gimli if I had to go. And Mister Fífi. And Lady Dís.” Her eyes grew serious. “And I’d miss you, too…”

“I’d miss you as well, you know,” he told her softly. “Might I ask you a serious question?”

“A serious one?” Heather’s eyes went round. “How serious?”

“Very serious.”

She thought about it for a moment, then slowly nodded. “You can.”

His stomach tossed slightly, and he would have laughed at his own nervousness, if not for the fact that he genuinely valued what this one little girl would think about what he asked. “You know, I’m glad you and your ’amad came here, right?”

She nodded. “And I’m glad we did, too.”

“Good.” He smiled, giving her a gentle squeeze. “In the time that you’ve both been here, I’ve… I mean to say that I… well… Well… I love you. Both you and your mother. Very much, in fact. And I’d like you to both stay. Would you like to stay here, Miss Heather?”

She nodded again. “You just asked me that, Mister Thorin.”

“Right, I did, didn't I? I’m so sorry, mimûna, for I am nervous.”

“Nervous?”

He nodded. “Nervous.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like scared.”

“But you’re a king. Kings don't get scared.”

“They do indeed get scared from time to time. And you would be amazed at the reasons why.”

“Why are you scared?”

He gave her another gentle squeeze. “Your mother has become very important to me, you know. But you are also important to me. And I was wondering how you feel, if I were to ask her to marry me.”

Heather’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“Would you be upset if I did?”

His heart beat faster as she stared at him for a long moment, but then she smiled and shook her head. “No, Mister Thorin. But—”

She clamped her lips together, her brows pulled low as if something very heavy weighed upon her mind. He held her away slightly. “What is it, mimûna?”

“Would that make you my… how do you say it?”

His heart sped up again. “’Adad?”

“Is that papa in dwarf?”

He nodded slowly. “It is, yes.”

“Would you be mine?”

“Would you like me to be your ’adad, raklûna?”

“Yes.”

She said it softly, but for Thorin, it was like being punched in the gut in the nicest way possible and unexpected tears pricked the backs of his eyes. “I’d like it as well, uzbadnâtha.”

Heather slipped her arms more tightly about his neck and hugged him and in return, he wrapped her tighter as well. When she whispered, “We’ll be a real family,” Thorin would swear he felt his heart actually melt.

“We will, indeed,” he told her, giving her yet another squeeze. “But, can you do me one very large favor?”

She leaned away from him again. “What?”

“I want to surprise your mother, so don’t let her know we’ve had this conversation until I’ve been able to ask her as well. Can you do that?”

“Keep a secret?”

He nodded. “Just for another day or so, though.”

“I can do that, Mister Thorin.”

“I knew you could.”

She beamed at him. “Mama will be so happy.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“She will. I promise.” Heather brought her hands to his cheeks, her fingertips moving lightly along his beard. “Bristly.”

“So you’ve said,” he chuckled.

“Mister Thorin, does this mean I can have a baby brother or sister?”

“Perhaps one day, mimûna. First, I need to ask your mother and we will take it from there.”

“I’d really like a baby brother.”

“We will see, love. We will see. But first, there’s one more thing I need to ask you.”

Heather’s eyes went wide. “What?”

He smiled. “Will you help me?”

She nodded, more serious than he’d ever seen her look. “I will.”

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Richard Armitage

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