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v1olentdelights · 10 months

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Too Late For Tea?

Company x reader, bilbo x reader, kind of a little bit fili x reader. Female reader

TW: nothing? Let me know if there is, though!

Summary: Hopefully, being 5 minutes late qualifies as just on time for the group of ruffians.

a/n: Hopefully, this is written well! I hope you enjoy it, and please feel free to request anything! Also, I'm pretty sure the song is from HTTYD? I can't really remember

Knock, knock, knock

Bilbo had just gotten comfortable for his afternoon tea. It was 3:05

"I swear if it’s that Brandyfoot again…" Much to his surprise, it was not ‘that Brandyfoot’ but an old friend. The look of utter shock that crosses his face is almost hysterical.

"Y/N? What -" he lets out a scuff of disbelief."What are you doing here?" It had been many months since their trek to Erebor. You had been brought along as a healer. You had minor magical abilities, being able to mend gashes and such or help one hold on a bit longer when close to death. It also helped that you had been training and experimenting in natural healing processes.

It was a miracle that Gandalf had decided to bring you, seeing as you had saved the King and the Princes. Bilbo had practically jumped at you after Thorin began to breathe again. They all had been singing your praise, but Bilbo was the loudest of all. You had saved part of his newfound family.

Though they say they could never truly repay you, they did invite you to work in Erebor under the best conditions. To be the royals personal healer while providing you with the proper supplies and protection when you left to study new plants for antidotes.

It was in those early days that Bilbo and y/n would write to each other often, but soon 6 days between letters became weeks, which became months. And without contact for many a month, could it be possible that…

No, no, he couldn’t have. Right? Was Bilbo forgetting them?

"Well, you said tea time was at 3, and we were always invited. I hope the offer still stands and that we aren't too late." A timid smile crossed your face as you waited for Bilbo's response.

"Of course! I cannot believe we have lost contact, you must-" the realization crossed his face "we?"

"Surprise!" 13 other voices joined, causing the hobbit to step back a bit in surprise. Everyone pushed into the hobbit hole, hugging or patting his shoulder. Bilbo was stunned at the affection. He had forgotten what it was like to be surrounded by the lively group. You stood back watching all the men, for some reason it almost brought tears to your eyes, their little found family was back together.

A few of the dwarves - Bofur, Dwalin, Nori, and Gloin - stepped out to tug in a few large bags.

"We thought we would bring the feast to you this time.” Balin smiled as everyone began unpacking in the kitchen.

—- — —- —-

You all had gathered around the hobbits table, every plate full to the brim, ale (and tea) filled the cups. The loud laughter and conversations brought you back to that fateful night, though this time Bilbo was engaged and was actually laughing.

“So then we went to the forges, and there was this lass just standing there at my station!” Nori shouted with a hearty laugh. “And I was beginning to worry she was lost. But when I asked her for a name, she said ‘Dana, Dana Buffer.’ She is the best smith in Moria!”

All of the dwarves were catching up with one another and catching Bilbo up. It seemed as though nothing had changed. Then there was a sudden knock on the door, for a moment everyone stilled before Bilbo rose to answer it.

“To think I wasn’t even invited to the reunion of our dear group.” Gandalf the Grey had arrived fashionably late, just like always. He quickly took a seat next to Thorin, who was next to Bilbo, and tuned into all the conversations.

"So, Gandalf, where have you been off to? Learning yet another fashionable way to exhale your friend Old Toby?" Fili had joked.

"Why yes, and I was accompanied by a friend." He replied sincerely

"Friend? I thought we were your friends, Gandalf." Kili said, to an outsider it would seem he was truly hurt. Though you knew better, you all did.

"All have you know, I have many friends. Ones who are much kinder and wiser than the lot of you combined!"

Of course, the old man was joking, though you did wonder who exactly had kept his company after the battle.

The festivities carried into the late evening, which was then filled with songs, Fili and Kili on the fiddles, Nori and Ori on the flutes, and the rest filling the room with their voices.

"For the darling y/n," Bifur winked at you. The lot of them began a small jig, given the space of the living room (even with all the furniture moved).

My dearest one, my darling dear

Your mighty words astound me

But I've no need for mighty deeds

When I feel your arms around me

But I would bring you rings of gold

I'd even sing you poetry (oh, would you?)

And I would keep you from all harm

If you would stay beside me

And before you knew it, you were up singing and dancing alongside them. Linking arms while swirling around.

I have no use for rings of gold

I care not for your poetry

I only want your hand to hold

I only want you near me

To love and kiss to sweetly hold

For the dancing and the dreaming

Through all life's sorrows

And delights

To many of the company, you had become like a sibling. You couldn't help but laugh at the meaning behind the song you had helped craft for them to impress some dwarrowdams.Though your one saw you as something more, the both of you sneaking many glances throughout your dance.

I'll keep your laugh inside me

I'll swim and sail a savage seas

With never a fear of drowning

I'd gladly ride the waves so white

And you will marry me!

As the song ended you found yourself plopping on the ground, panting from the exertion of energy. Bilbo had been watching and humming along, though he noticed the stares between you and Fili. However before he could question you, the dwarves began another song.

----

By the end of the night, it was just you and Bilbo left in the living room. Gandalf had excused himself quite a bit ago, saying he had some business to attend to. The rest of the company had either fallen asleep or had simply drifted to their own rooms in a little guest hobbit hole Bilbo had made.

"Come y/n, I have something I want to show you." He gently grabbed your hand before leading you out the door and around the little hill in which his house was built. Nearby, far enough to not damage his hobbit hole, but close enough to enjoy was a tree. It had not fully grown yet, though it was still fairly mature.

"What is this?" You asked as you marveled at the beautiful leaves.

"It's the acorn. Or I guess from the acorn. It grew slowly and healthily. Now it is something beautiful." He had a knowing smile on his face.

"Well, I'm sure it took quite a bit of work and time to make sure it grew properly."

"That it did. Here I have a seat." He pulled you to sit next to him on a little bench next to the trunk of the tree. "Tell me." He said.

"Well, you knew about the feelings harboring about halfway through the journey." He simply nodded his head in acknowledgment."It was just that for a long time after… just feelings. But I knew it was more, I knew that he was my One after I felt the life leaving his body." You felt a shiver run down your spine at the mere thought of losing him. "After the battle, I found the courage to tell him." With that Bilbo’s face lit up.

You and the hobbit had formed a special bond due to you being outsiders to the company. There was no doubt in your mind that you both would be good friends even after the mission was complete. Therefore, you confided in him about these conflicting feelings. He continually urged you to tell the dwarf of your affection, but you held it in. You could never forgive yourself if it had ended up distracting him or, even worse, destroyed the friendship you had begun to make.

“And?” It was funny, Bilbo seemed almost more invested in your love life than you did.

“Well…” you reached up into your hair and pulled it aside to show off your courting braid. Then, the most surprising yet most wonderful thing happened. Bilbo giggled and clapped his hands before crushing you in a hug.

“You did it! I am so proud of you!” Your heart felt full. Bilbo rose and jumped a tiny bit with joy “We must make something to celebrate this!”

“NO!” The yell was a surprise to you. “I mean- we haven’t told the others yet. You can’t say anything.” You reached out to grab his hand, “Please.”

“Very well, but you know they are going to find out sooner than later, right?"

"Yes, yes, we know. Kili already knows, and I'm sure half them suspect it. Did you see the show they put on this evening?" You laughed.

"You make a fine couple. Both complement each other well. I'm happy for you." It was a simple statement, but since you hadn't exactly gone public with the whole thing, such a simple comment went a long way. He smiled at you warmly before patting your leg and standing up.

"Well, we best be getting to bed. And what a sad day it is that I happen to be short a bed for you, looks as though you must have to share with someone." Before you could comment he had skipped inside.

Oh, how you missed your family, and oh, how happy you were to be reunited.

#grace writes #lotr x reader #the hobbit oneshot #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fic #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit #fili x reader #fili and kili #the company x reader #lotr fandom #lotr imagine #fili durin #fili durin x reader #bilbo baggins x reader #lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine

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glitteringaglarond · 1 year

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'Do you think those halls are fair, where your King dwells under the hill in Mirkwood, and Dwarves helped in their making long ago? They are but hovels compared with the caverns I have seen here: immeasurable halls, filled with an everlasting music of water that tinkles into pools, as fair as Kheled-zâram in the starlight.

'And, Legolas, when the torches are kindled and men walk on the sandy floors under the echoing domes, ah! then, Legolas, gems and crystals and veins of precious ore glint in the polished walls; and the light glows through folded marbles, shell-like, translucent as the living hands of Queen Galadriel. There are columns of white and saffron and dawn-rose, Legolas, fluted and twisted into dreamlike forms; they spring up from many-coloured floors to meet the glistening pendants of the roof: wings, ropes, curtains fine as frozen clouds; spears, banners, pinnacles of suspended palaces! Still lakes mirror them: a glimmering world looks up from dark pools covered with clear glass; cities, such as the mind of Durin could scarce have imagined in his sleep, stretch on through avenues and pillared courts, on into the dark recesses where no light can come. And plink! a silver drop falls, and the round wrinkles in the glass make all the towers bend and waver like weeds and corals in a grotto of the sea. Then evening comes: they fade and twinkle out; the torches pass on into another chamber and another dream. There is chamber after chamber, Legolas; hall opening out of hall, dome after dome, stair beyond stair; and still the winding paths lead on into the mountains' heart. Caves! The Caverns of Helm's Deep! Happy was the chance that drove me there! It makes me weep to leave them.

'No, you do not understand,' said Gimli. 'No dwarf could be unmoved by such loveliness. None of Durin's race would mine those caves for stones or ore, not if diamonds and gold could be got there. Do you cut down groves of blossoming trees in the springtime for firewood? We would tend these glades of flowering stone, not quarry them. With cautious skill, tap by tap – a small chip of rock and no more, perhaps, in a whole anxious day – so we could work, and as the years went by, we should open up new ways, and display far chambers that are still dark, glimpsed only as a void beyond fissures in the rock. And lights, Legolas! We should make lights, such lamps as once shone in Khazad-dûm; and when we wished we would drive away the night that has lain there since the hills were made; and when we desired rest, we would let the night return.'

And this. This right here is why Gimli has been one of my favorite characters ever since I was a child. There is a reason my tumblr url is glitteringaglarond, and it’s this passage right here.

Gimli has proved himself to be many things throughout this story - he’s a badass, he is witty and intelligent, he has a brilliant sense of humor and is the funniest character in these books - but one of the most important things about him is his love for beauty.

We saw it in his longing to see Moria, regardless of the dangers. We saw it as he couldn’t help but turn aside and gaze into the waters of Kheled-zaram. We saw it as he praised the beauty of Galadriel. Gimli is a character with a deep, artistic, soulful love for beauty. And it comes across most strikingly here, in this passage.

Because Gimli is out of his element right now, traveling through this strange, dangerous, magical wood. He is injured and weary from battle, and is once again riding a horse - something that he explicitly dislikes. This is the absolute last situation where somebody should be unveiling their poetic soul, and yet that’s what Gimli does.

Because to Gimli love for beauty is stronger than weariness and fear and uncertainty. And while being in this forest makes him fearful, only being forced to leave a thing of beauty can make him weep.

So he tells Legolas about the caves, using language so poetic that we can’t help but see the caves through his eyes and appreciate their beauty in ways we might never have done otherwise. And even Legolas is moved.

I cannot overstate how important his love for beauty is to me, and unlike Gimli I am not enough of a wordsmith to communicate exactly how deeply the beauty of his soul, expressed through this love, touches me. The best I can do is express my joy at having been taught appreciation for beauty at such a young age by such a teacher, and I can only hope that like Gimli, I too can help others find an appreciation for the beauty around them that they might not otherwise have seen.

#lotr newsletter #Gimli #my op #I have said it before and I will say it again… the fact that I consider myself an artist has its deepest roots in Gimli son of Gloin #he is so important to me #and to those who are curious... this is thee thing that solidified gimli as one of my top 5 faves #pinned

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ohnonotnow · 3 months

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when I don't feel like going out I like to listen to Wind Rose while getting ready and imagine I'm preparing to reclaim Moria

#the hobbit #wind rose #lotr #the lord of the rings #tolkien #jrr tolkien #thorin oakenshield #battle of the five armies #dwarves #erebor #metal #power metal

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rohirric-hunter · 2 months

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Thought this might be fun to do with the Springfest armor set --

I'm gonna have to do multiple polls for this one because there are so many dye colors but I have a plan that I think will work. Pick the option that has the color you want to vote for listed in it, and then when this poll is done I'll post another one to pick between those five. I will dye the armor set whatever color you guys pick. If the dye for it is currently inaccessible I will dye it the second most popular color while I run delvings trying to get the first most popular

(Note: the set appears to have a unique default color that is not equivalent to any dye, so I listed it as a separate color.)

#lotro #snarmour

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tathrin · 8 months

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A little moment that might take place between the pages of this Fellowship AU, featuring Celebrimbor's return to Moria after being re-embodied in the last years of the Third Age.

For the Whumptober prompt "Like crying out in empty rooms; with no one there except the moon."

The Fellowship slept around him, their breath echoing like drums off the empty stones of Khazad-dûm. Celebrimbor rose and crossed the room on noiseless feet, his heavy cloak clutched tight around his shoulders. He passed between his companions unnoticed by any save for Frodo, whose turn it was on guard; Frodo caught his eye quizzically as Celebrimbor paused on the threshold of the hall, but did not speak.

Celebrimbor was not sure how to explain, especially succinctly enough to avoid waking the others; and they needed their rest, after the swift pursuit of the wolves and the terrible thing in the water and the long, long march in the dark.

He hesitated, searching for the words by which he might answer Frodo's unspoken question; but before he could craft them, Frodo nodded in silent understanding and offered him a nod and a thin, sad smile.

Celebrimbor blinked, and managed somehow to force himself to smile back, although he knew it did not reach his eyes; then he turned his back on the Ring-bearer and stepped out into the darkness of the empty, echoing Mines.

It was so strange, to walk through Khazad-dûm in the dark. All the many times that Celebrimbor had come here before, the great underground caverns had been lit by clever mirrors that channeled sun- and moonlight down into the depths of the mountains; by great lamps of glass and crystal that hung from the tall stone ceilings and cast light of soft and marvelous color across the pale grey stones until one felt as though one walked within a geode or a rainbow.

Celebrimbor was not used to seeing these great halls dark, but he did not lose his footing; did not lose his way. Even lightless, he knew these rooms of stone too well to trip or stray within them.

He knew them well, and so he mourned them.

He mourned each crack that marred the walls, each chasm that broke the floors, each empty room where once light and life and noise had been. He mourned each dwarf that had ever walked here, every craft they had ever forged or might have forged in lost days that never came.

He mourned his friends.

He mourned his lover.

He walked into the dark, alone, and his broken heart screamed into the hollow silence.

On the far side of the lightless hall a doorway stood open, its wood long gone to rot or scavengers. Celebrimbor stepped across the threshold and stopped, staring, at the sight before him. A single shard of mirror remained somewhere in the walls above, tilting a sliver of cold moonlight out upon the floor, and by its feeble glow Celebrimbor could see the empty workshop that had once rung with laughter and with hammers and with song.

He moved forward as though in a dream, his feet carving a shallow path through the dust that carpeted the smooth stone floor but making no sound; he moved like a shadow, like the ghost of one already dead, and he left nothing but sorrow in his wake.

He had been dead for so long, now; dead, while all he loved was dying for his sins and for his folly and his love.

He had loved Ost-in-Edhil, and he had invited its murderer to come within its walls; had welcomed the Enemy to make himself a home there, in their city and in their hearts. He had loved Khazad-dûm, and he had not been here to help guard the Doors he had helped craft; the Doors that had not been enough to keep it safe. He had loved his smith-craft, and had allowed his pride and grief and folly to turn that skill to darkness and to evil; had forged things of beautiful destruction with his own two hands, like his grandfather before him.

He had loved Narvi, and been able to do nothing but watch and weep as mortality stole that one true and good bright love from him; he had loved Narvi, and yet his love had turned to grief so bitter that it could only be classed as a betrayal.

He had loved Annatar, and in so doing he had doomed them all.

Celebrimbor sank to his knees before the worn stone workbench where he had once annealed starlight into silver; where Narvi had once forged moon-silver into magic. He pressed his hands against the stone, feeling the chips and pockmarks left behind by all their tools; but he could not feel the warmth they had once conjured there. The forges here had long gone cold; and Narvi was longer dead.

Narvi was so long dead.

And Celebrimbor was, once again, alone.

He folded down low upon the floor and pressed his face into his hands and he wept and wept until his voice gave out, and still he was alone. The pale sliver of reflected moonlight swam before his eyes like a band of bright ithildin, but there was no one here to forge the metal; and no words that could ever do justice to the weight of grief upon his heart regardless. It mattered not what he might say: Narvi was dead, and could not hear him.

Narvi was dead, lost to whatever dreams Mahal kept for his dwarves; lost to Celebrimbor now and to the breaking of the world. Narvi was gone, and a sliver of Sauron's soul called to Celebrimbor now softly from within that terrible band of gold that Frodo bore. Narvi was gone, and Sauron was here, and Celebrimbor was alone with no comfort but the cold and careless eye of a distant moon. Tilion did not look down on him in mercy; Tilion did not look down on him at all. He was alone.

There was only the darkness of once-bright Khazad-dûm, and the aching sorrow of Celebrimbor's shattered heart as he wept into his empty, shaking hands.

"Celebrimbor?"

The voice was soft, little more than a whisper; for a moment, it sounded like Annatar, and Celebrimbor froze, his tears choking-off wetly in his throat. His tattered soul twisted, cold and sharp against his bones. His spirit reached out, yearning still for the remembered comfort so often offered that lovely voice; it recoiled, fearful and burning with hate, from the memory of its own destruction at the speaker's hands.

"Celebrimbor, are you there? Are you all right?"

Celebrimbor drew a shuddering breath and lowered his hands. It was not Annatar—Sauron—who spoke now, he realized; was not the architect of his destruction, but rather Frodo, the small Hobbit who had all the bravery that Celebrimbor lacked and who had volunteered to carry the Ring that Celebrimbor could not dare to touch. The Ring that had destroyed him, once; that Ring that now he must destroy.

"I am here, Frodo," he made himself say. His voice cracked on the words, brittle as overheated steel or ill-carved stone. He swallowed another sob and wiped at his streaming eyes.

Frodo padded forward across the dark room on his quiet, furry feet. Celebrimbor watched the small figure of the Hobbit cross the sliver of moonlight and settle to the floor in the shadows before him. He looked up at Celebrimbor, his little face drawn tight with worry and compassion.

"Are you all right?" Frodo asked again.

Celebrimbor opened his mouth to reassure the Ring-bearer, but what came out instead was: "No."

Frodo smiled at him. There was no joy in that smile, but a great deal of kindness. "I didn't think so," he said simply. "Would you like to tell me about it?"

"No," Celebrimbor said again.

Frodo's smile did not waver. "I didn't think so," he said again. "That's all right. Can I sit with you anyway, for a while?"

No, Celebrimbor meant to say for a third time, but instead: "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, Frodo, thank you. I would like that."

Frodo nodded, and reached out wordlessly to take his tear-damp hand, and Celebrimbor let him.

They sat there together, the Ring-bearer and the Ring-maker, in the black darkness of Khazad-dûm and watched in silence as the faint sliver of moonlight moved across the floor.

In the back of both their minds, the Ring was laughing.

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myrkmadr · 11 months

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Hela & Personal Correspondences [ The Path to Morrow ]

K E N N I N GS S && E P I T H E T S Mother of the Forgotten Sister to the Lonely Lady of Dires Lady of Secrets Harbinger of Final Breaths She who Summons Silence She of Broken Bone Lady of he Mirror-Self She of Rot and Gore

A N I M A L S Moths and Butterflies Maggots Caterpillars Corvids Shrikes Carrion Birds Wolves Juncos Roadrunners Hummingbirds Wolfhounds Bombay Cats Ragamuffin Cats

P L A N T S Roses Yarrow Queen Anne’s Lace Lilies Spider Lilies Fungus Molds Nightshade Fallen or rotten tree bark Yew Birch Clusters of dried/preserved flowers

S O U N D S Ambient noises in the background Water drops in the distance Light rain showers Slow violins Distant middle-tone drum beat n an ominous manner Static/Noise Creaking of very old wood Deep humming

M U S I C Helvegen by Warduna People are Strange cover by Johnny Hollow Koudou by Dir en Grey True by Akira Yamaoka Room of Angel by Akira Yamaoka Clint Eastwood by the Gorillaz

F O O D S Panes Dulces y Panes de Muerto Conchas Churros Plain doughnuts Meat stews Green chili Oatmeal Farina/Cream of Wheat Muffins Dark Chocolate Chocolate Pudding Dark Coffee with only a little sugar Espresso

S T U D I E S Taxidermy Pathology Psychology History of old buildings, even local places The stories of the elderly Stories of people who have passed on Nursing Machiavelli Oscar Wilde Fairy Tales & Nursery Rhymes Gothic Literature Dark Satire Treating and taking care of graves and bones Ancient History Her history The history of wherever you live, where you have gone, etc Woodworking Carving The varieties of funeral rites in other places

B O D Y Skull & Bone Jewelry Vintage Old lace Dried Flowers Large blotches of Vitiligo Silver, Black, White Antique White/Yellow Pale Pastel Pink Tinge of pale mint green Hematite Spinel Onyx Thin Black Spiders Black Widows Length

M I S C Stone Stone walls & pillars Stone & Wooden kitchenware Water damaged Books Books falling apart Old, creaky buildings People forgotten in the past Cemeteries Graves & Graveyards Old Dirt Mines of Moria Sorrow & Sadness Calm before and after storms Numbness Kindness Newborn children Elderly people Piles of carrion insects Dead Trees in the midst of forests Plague

#heathenry #norse paganism #norse polytheism #crown and stone

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middleearthpixie · 10 days

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Something in the Night ~ Chapter Twenty-Five

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: 3.9k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @legolasbadass @fizzyxcustard

@xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being

@knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell

@jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc

@msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98

@way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep @night-ace @lyl1pad @mistresskayla-blog1

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

Previous chapters can be found here.

Nina squinted in the brilliant sunshine, lifting her hand to shade her eyes as Erebor loomed above them, but Thorin gently steered her to the left of the fortress’ entrance. “So, where are we going?”

He smiled down at her. “There’s something I wish to share with you, mesmel. And trust me, it will make sense when I do.”

“If you say so.”

His hand tightened about hers and perhaps it was but her imagination, but it felt as if his palm grew damp as they navigated the stone steps—some of them with bits crumbled away—that ran up and around Erebor’s façade and along the city’s labradorite western wall. The soft rush of water reached their ears as they climbed, growing louder with each step.

At the top, the scene before them was equal parts desolate and welcoming. As Erebor had been built into and beneath the Lonely Mountain, rocks and debris littered the somewhat broken flagstone and obsidian walkway to their right. But to their left stretched a field, the grass mostly green with only a few brown scrabbly patches remaining from winter, and beyond that, a wide river rushed softly by.

In the distance, rose a dark gray stone tower and as she studied it, the fortress beyond it came into view as well, one of stone mottled pale gray into near black that blended with its surroundings so well, it disappeared unless one concentrated upon it.

“Thorin?”

“Ravenhill,” he replied, pointing to the gray stone tower. “This is where I confronted Azog for the last time. He’d pursued us—me, Fíli, and Kíli—from one end of Middle-Earth to the other and I’d had enough. I’d tried to end him just outside of Goblin-town, and had failed. This time, I would not fail.”

She gazed first at him, then back at the tower that grew larger with each step. The river wound out of sight, most likely snaking about Ravenhill itself. “Why did he give such stubborn chase?”

“I have no idea. I never knew. My guess, however, is that we’d defeated him and his orc army at Khazad-dûm andin the process, I took his arm. I thought I killed him there, but I was wrong.”

She paused, turning to him once more. “Khazad-dûm?”

“Moria. One of our most sacred of places. They defiled it and we fought to reclaim it. In the process, I found myself with a price upon my head.” A hint of a smile lifted his lips. “Which I believe you are familiar with.”

Heat crept into her cheeks. “Can we just never discuss that again?”

“Nina, without that price, you would not be here now. While I’d rather that not be the reason, it is, and for that, I cannot be entirely ungrateful for it.” He caught her free hand in his and squeezed both gently. “I had no idea at the time, how my life would change when I made my way up here, as determined to end that filth as he was to end me.”

“What happened up here? I was in Dale when the Battle of the Five Armies took place and spent my time battling those who marched through there. All we knew was a great battle had been fought and you had been mortally wounded, or so we thought.”

“So I thought as well. But, Thranduíl had been here, and with him, it seemed half of Mirkwood followed. Elven magic is a wonderful thing when one is mortally wounded.”

“I’ve heard that, but have never seen it myself.”

“Nor had I, until that battle. But, without it, I am not here now and while recovery was long and slow and painful, I did recover and that is the important thing.” He drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he turned to gaze up at the fortress. “Come. There’s more I wish to show you.”

“You don’t have to, you know. I can’t imagine this place holds good memories.”

“You’re not wrong in that the memories are not pleasant ones, but I think it’s something I need to do as much as I need to share it."

“You don’t have to, you know.”

“I know. And I’m fine, mesmel, honest.”

He might claim to be fine, but his face grew paler, which suggested he was anything but fine with it. Still, she did not wish this to devolve into a fight, and so she kept that to herself as they began walking once more. The stone staircase’s condition worsened as they climbed up it, steps missing huge chunks, crumbling into dust along their edges and sides. The air up there was colder, the wind a bit sharper, and the steps themselves had layers of frost in some spots. The chill bit into Nina, who eased her hand from Thorin’s to wrap her arms about herself. “I didn't know it would be so cold,” she murmured. “I would have worn my heavier wrap. There is nothing springlike about this place at all.”

Without hesitation, Thorin swept his own cloak from his shoulders to drape about hers. “I should have warned you. For that, I apologize.”

Hints of earth and leather and soft musk rose from the cloak to tease her nose as the cloak settled gently about her. “Are you not cold?”

“I’m not, actually. Remember, dwarves are bred for the cold. I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” He caught her hand in his once more, linking their fingers, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “And we’re almost there.”

There was where the river widened, flowing behind Ravenhill, where it ended in a high waterfall. It was like being at the edge of the world, and Nina wondered if going over that falls would lead to toppling from Middle Earth itself.

It was so tranquil now, so peaceful, that if she hadn’t known firsthand a battle had taken place anywhere around Erebor, she never would have believed it.

But when she looked more closely, the evidence showed itself in the scarred earth all around—craters from war machines, armor and weapons left behind either because their owner retreated or died, broken arrow shafts, broken blades—all served as reminders of what had happened up here.

“Here is where the battle took place,” Thorin murmured, releasing her hand as he moved closer to the water. “The river was frozen over. Or it was until Azog split it with his flail. Have you ever done battle on an ice floe?”

He said this over his shoulder, as she remained where she was, watching him as he moved closer to the water. His shoulders were stiff, his entire body suggested he wasn't at all comfortable with being there.

So why had he brought her there?

“No, I can’t say I have. We were in Dale when the orc army arrived and you saw what damage it did. They turned trolls into war machines in some of the cruelest ways I’ve ever seen, and I’d never even seen a troll until that point.” She turned to the east, where she could make out Dale just beyond the purple peak of the Lonely Mountain. The city had come so far from that day as well, but as she stared, she could hear the battle sounds that erupted when the orcs set upon them. “They rampaged through the city, as if we weren’t already on our knees to begin with, slaughtering everyone and everything in their paths.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Thranduíl and his army were there as well, but there were just too many orcs. I didn't know elves could die until that day.”

Thorin nodded slowly. “They paid a heavy price as well. We all did.”

“And for what?” She shrugged, falling into step alongside him once more. “I never even knew why the war was being fought. I’d never seen an orc before your company passed through, although I’d heard tell of them over the years.”

He turned toward her. “Like you, they pursed me.”

“You were very popular.”

That earned her a wry laugh and he caught her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “I’d rather not be so popular, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Well, they gave me my first taste of battle, so to speak. One fell through the roof of our house and I brained him with a skillet.”

“He deserved it.”

“You’ll get no argument from me on that.”

His fingers tightened about hers again, but now he turned back to the river, its surface sparkling like the gemstones deep within Erebor under the brilliant sunlight.

“I was so tired of all of it at that point,” he murmured, only barely audible over the rush of water. “We’d been from the Shire, battled trolls before reaching Rivendell, chased by orcs while trying to get to Rivendell, fought with legions of goblins, only to get lost in Mirkwood and imprisoned by the wood elves, before we reached Esgaroth.”

She joined him on the riverbank, slipping her arm through his. “You had to be exhausted by then.”

“We were. Beyond exhausted, even.” He smiled down at her. “And you know what happened after that—we passed through Esgaroth and brought orcs in our wake.”

“I’m very well acquainted with that, but not with what happened here. All we knew was that the army marched your way.”

“I was such a coward,” he replied softly, shaking his head as the breeze picked up to lift his hair away from his face. “Dragon sickness, you know. It caught me and refused to let go of me. My kin had come down from the Iron Hills, only for me to hide in my fortress and refuse to honor my word.”

She’d known this. Everyone in Dale had known, for Thranduíl and Bard had confronted Thorin at Erebor, demanded he honor his word and his promise, only to have him refuse. That was when she’d decided he had to pay for what he’d done to her family, to her friends, to her village.

“I told you about it, remember?”

“I do, yes.”

“Well, I came out of it and decided not only was I not going to go back on my word, but I was going to rid the world of that filth and be done with all of it. I’d betrayed my people, my kin, and those I’d promised and I had a lot to atone for. That was how I’d begin. So, I took my nephews, and Dwalin and went to confront Azog and his son and put an end to their pursuit for once and for all. And here is where that happened.”

“The river was frozen over, but it didn't remain that way. And,” he peered down at her, “have you ever done battle on ice?”

“I can’t say I have, no.”

He lifted his head to turn his gaze back to the water. “The ice shifts constantly beneath your feet once it’s broken up. And I had to use that to my advantage even as it wore me down.”

“But you did.”

He nodded slowly. “I did, but that was because I had decided to give Azog what he wanted. I’d thought he’d already slaughtered Fíli. I didn't know Kíli had even been wounded, never mind as seriously as he had, and I thought that if Kíli lived, that would be enough. It would have to be enough. I owed far too many people far too great a debt.”

“What did you do?”

Thorin eased free from her grasp. “I let him run me through.”

Her belly kinked sharply. “The scars on your stomach?”

He nodded. “It gave me the time I’d need to throw him off and return the favor, which I did, and sent him to his maker. And until now, I’ve avoided coming here. In fact, I’ve tried not to think about what happened here if at all possible, for doing so only makes the nightmares worse.”

“Nightmares?”

He nodded. “What happened here haunts my sleep from time to time, although,” he offered up a hint of a smile, “they tend to leave me in peace when you are asleep beside me.”

“It’s nice to know I’m good for something.”

His hint of a smile becomes a full blown one as he caught her face in his hands. “It goes far beyond sleeping peacefully, you know. And I suppose that I actually owe that filth thanks, for without him and his bounty, you are not standing here now.”

Her cheeks grew hot. “Thorin, you should only know how I regret ever approaching him about that bounty.”

“You shouldn’t,” he told her softly, his thumbs moving lightly along her cheekbones, “for I am thankful you did. I love you, Nina. And I would not change how it’s come to that for anything.”

Her throat tightened at the soft emotion in his deep voice, at the soft emotion swirling in his blue eyes. “Thorin—”

“And that is why I wanted to bring you here,” he interrupted gently, his hands falling away from her face as he took a step back. “Remember when you asked me about the rune, the one from my father?”

“I do, of course. It was only last evening, after all.”

“Well, I was supposed have this last evening, but Balin took a bit longer than anticipated.” As he spoke, he drew a small teak box to press into her grasp.

The box was heavier than it looked. “Thorin?”

“Open it, mesmel.”

Her heart sped up as she lifted the lid, which opened without a sound, its hinge perfectly oiled, and as her gaze fell upon the small silver and emerald cube nestled on a bed of rich moss green velvet. “Thorin?”

He smiled. “I know your customs are not ours and mine are not yours, but when a dwarf proposes marriage, he does so by braiding an ornament into his intended’s hair to let everyone else know she is taken. And so, I brought you here, Nina, to ask if you would accept my proposal and allow me to braid this into your hair.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes misting over as she nodded slowly. “I will, yes…”

He smiled as he carefully plucked the cube from the box. It was delicate-looking and exquisite, silver melding with emerald, and inscribed with lettering she couldn’t read, but knew was khuzdul. “I wanted something that matched your eyes,” he said softly, “and found this emerald in the absolute sea of treasure still in Erebor. But, if you don't like it, we can wade out into it and find something else.”

“Bite your tongue, Thorin. This is beautiful and perfect and I love it.” She looked up to meet his gaze. “What does it say?”

“Amrâlimê on one side and nalish on the other. They mean my love and forever. Now,” he traced his fingers along her hair just behind her left ear, “where should I braid this?”

“Is there a specific spot you’re supposed to braid?”

“No. It’s where you wish it to be.”

“Then right there is fine.”

His eyes sparkled like the surface of the river. “Have patience with me, mesmel,” he murmured as he separated the lock in question and began slowly braiding her hair, “for I have never done this before.”

“Really?”

“Really.” His fingers moved with slow precision, the plait in their wake smooth and straight, and when he wove the rune into it, she barely felt the gentle tug on her hair, barely felt the added weight when he stepped back.

She caught the sleek plait in her hand, cradling the rune woven three-quarters of the way into the braid. The sunlight glinted off the silver, threw flashes of light this way and that as she turned it over. “It’s beautiful, Thorin.”

He leaned in to sweep her lips with a gentle kiss, and as he drew back, he whispered, “I’d rather this place hold a good memory instead of the terrible ones.”

A soft laugh bubbled to her lips, her neck bowing when he brushed his lips along the front of it. “Glad I could help?”

A low laugh danced along her skin, his lips warm and soft and slowly moving down into the hollow of her throat. His hands slipped beneath the hem of her tunic, skimming lightly along the curves of her waist, up toward her breasts.

As his thumbs swept along the outer curves, Nina pulled back. “Here? In the open?”

Thorin drew back, his eyes smoky sapphire. “No one ever comes here, mesmel, and this would make for the sweetest memory I could have of this forsaken place.”

Nina smiled, heat flaring through her as he swept her tunic over her head and let it fall to the grass behind her. Her teasing response died on her lips, her hands tightening against his back, pulling him toward her. It was a small sacrifice to make.

With the breeze having died down, near the river was no where near as cold as it had been earlier, and the sun’s rays warmed over Nina’s skin as she curled around Thorin, her right leg thrown over his, her arm about his waist, her head resting against his chest. They lay atop her cloak, covered snugly by his and the birds singing softly in the treetops along the far bank, along with the water’s soft rush, were white noise that added to her contented drowsiness. She cared not if anyone happened upon them, as nothing could possibly disturb the peacefulness of lying there entwined with him.

Thorin’s fingers swept lightly along her hair, his heartbeat slowing beneath her ear as he murmured, “Maralmizi, mesmel.”

She smiled, her fingertips sweeping lightly through the soft hair layered across his warm skin. “Maralmizu,” she whispered back. She continued her perusal of him, letting her fingers brush lower still, along his hip.

Back up.

A low laugh rumbled through him. “We should be heading back.”

“Must we? I like it here.”

“As do I, for the first time in a long time. But,” his fingers went still, “I should like to share our news. And it will grow far too cold to be comfortable before much longer, as spring seems to forget at times that it’s arrived.”

She pulled away to sit up. “People will wonder, you know. And if someone should find out the truth about me… wouldn’t that be disastrous?”

Grass rustled softly and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth as Thorin snaked an arm about her waist and his lips brushed over her right shoulder blade. “We will cross that bridge when we reach it,” he murmured before the tip of his tongue brushed her skin to send a shiver along her spine.

She fought off a shiver, the sensations he sent rippling through her heady and sweet, and she let her head loll back against him when he kissed along her shoulder. Her eyelids grew heavy, her breath harder to catch with each successive caress. He trailed those teasing kisses along her shoulder, along the curve of her neck, easing her down into the grass once more as his lips met hers.

Nina eased her arms about his neck, her lips parting to allow his tongue to tease hers, her legs parting to allow him to settle between her thighs. The sunlight warmed their skin, the light breeze danced in its wake, and she didn't care one bit if anyone happened upon them now, didn't care if anyone ever found out the truth about her past, about how she came to meet Thorin. None of it mattered when he now moved down along her throat, down into the valley between her breasts.

His beard scrape sensually against her skin, his lips gentle as they closed about her left nipple to draw into the wet heat of his mouth, Her back bowed at the fire ribboning through her, her hips rocking up to meet him, her inhale quick and sharp as he slid into the dampness of her arousal. The silken glide sent tingles rushing through her, made the gentle ache of desire stronger.

“I love you,” he whispered, lifting his head to regard her with blazing sapphire eyes that held more than a hint of mischief when he flicked the tip of his tongue against the tight bead of her nipple.

“I love you—oh!” She couldn't hold back her gasp as his fingers slid along her inner thigh and he eased one inside her. She tightened about him, her body humming with each teasing stroke, each delicious swirl.

Her eyes were so heavy lidded, but she forced them to remain open, to hold his smoldering gaze as he moved lower now, spreading teasing kisses along her belly. Down over her hip.

His finger slid free and she sank her hands into his hair as his mouth closed over her, his tongue slipping into the delicious ache between her thighs where his fingers had been only moments ago.

Fire erupted, wound and twisted through her as he teased her, as he swept his tongue along her aching flesh, swirled it about the bead nestled within. Her hips moved of their own, meeting him, her body trembling as he brought her to the edge of sweet madness and held her there, relief so close and yet so far from her.

Her finger twisted in his hair, the knots deep within her core so tight and fragile, she knew they’d shatter at any moment. Heat swept through her, tingling and powerful and threatening to drive her completely insane if he didn't shatter her already.

Then he did.

“Thorin!” Her cry rang out loudly enough to send the birds skyward in a flutter of wings and song as those knots burst and wickedly sweet fire poured into her entire body. She throbbed around him, hips snapping forward to grind against him to increase her pleasure, to draw it out until her mind went blank and white lights danced before her eyes.

Everything inside her turned over, and when he drew away and a moment later, breached her to thrust hard, she melted around him.

His thrusts came swift and powerful and unrelenting, the sensations almost more than she could bear as he quickly brought her back to the summit, leaving her clinging to him, breathless and pleading for him to shatter her again.

He obliged, his low moan rolling across the meadow, across the river, as he shuddered, arched hard, and came with her, each feeding the other, pleasure feasting on pleasure to surge through them at the same time.

Peace reigned then, as Thorin sank gently against her, his heart thundering, the reverberations thrumming through her as well. His breath came in hot blasts against her neck, his voice husky as he whispered, “Amrâlimê…”

She smiled, letting her eyes close for a moment as she tried to catch her breath as well. “Thorin…”

“I care not what anyone thinks about how we met,” he whispered after a few minutes, lifting his head to smile down at her. “Because it no longer matters.”

“Perhaps not to you, but—”

He cut her off with a slow, deep kiss that had her toes curling and her blood warming again. And for the moment, it didn't matter. Hopefully it never would, but Nina had the feeling her hope was misplaced.

#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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