why are ppl always so mean about taz :(

hiii can i request a matt murdock angsty fic where he either comes close to or actually does cheat on the reader w elektra? i can see matt rlly struggle w the temptation of elektra and ig i’m a sadist who likes getting heartbroken lmao

A Fall From Grace

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Cheating topic. Catholic guilt.

Author's Note: I've gotten a serious case of the blues in the past two days, so here's a very fitting prompt for the mood. I hope you’ll enjoy this 🖤

GIF is not mine

------

It was late, much later than it should be, and Matt wasn't home, as he should have been. He took shelter at Clinton Church instead, in the quiet, idle atmosphere of the night. There was no visitor other than him, and Matt was grateful for the calmness of it, for it provided a stark contrast to the storm brewing in his head.

He couldn't come home to you, despite the anguished claw at his heart for something that was missing. You. Your warmth. Your voice. He was due home to hear the sound of you sighing softly when you sunk into his tight embrace, to feel the way you hugged him to welcome him back. The way your breaths tightly entwined in a passionate exchange of lips, tongues and teeth in an intricate pattern that only you and he knew like the back of your hands, like a poem that never entirely left your head. It was more profound than a piece of knowledge. It was a feeling, driven by the heart instead of logical and rational instinct. Wasn't that always the best thing about being in love? To be so sure of oneself, about who they loved, about their feelings, that they could let go without fear?

Matt loved you. Which made the thing he did, the crime he committed, even more loathsome.

How it began didn't matter. What mattered was that it happened, and in the end, Matt did it. He had no one to blame but himself. Elektra was the past, and it was where Matt should have let her be. But, by letting her in, letting her scent fill him, letting her crawl under his skin, their bodies intertwined in the heat of passion, she was no longer belong there. Elektra had woven into his conscience, tapped into something he had long forgotten. Matt got lost in her warmth, in the way her body fitted underneath him, like the old days. He let himself indulge in the feeling of the nostalgia, of the days he was madly in love with Elektra. Nothing else mattered but her.

If she was fire, you would be that soft lull of wave against him. You were the peace that would bring him home, carrying him to safety. You were his present, his future, but now that future looked dim with the shadow of what he had done looming over. And here he was, at the footsteps of God's house, at an utter loss for words and clarifications of what to do.

Matt tuned everything else out, letting the guilt choke him, taking on the punishment his mind had laid out. It hurt worse than a broken bone, a torn stitch, a gaping wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. The silence surrounding him was like a mirror, forcing him to look at himself, and the horror that couldn't be hidden with clothes or the pair of his red glasses. His blindness only allowed him to better see the decay underneath his high moral standards.

It was his fault. It was his doing.

People tended to ask for help from their Gods when they were lost, when they were at their worst, when they committed an atrocity. They all had one thing in common: looking for guidance, a way out. Matt understood how his God would forgive him if he genuinely felt remorse and sought penance for the thing he did, and he would be absolved of his sin. It was that easy, wasn't it?

But what about the person who would be affected by this the most? No amount of guilt he felt, no form of punishment he might take upon himself, could make what you might feel any less painful had he decided to reveal the truth. He knew that. He knew you. It was only the beginning of a cycle of pain that he put both of you through. You were innocent. But he shed blood, and the sinful crimson fell upon your head anyway. He tainted you the moment he cheated on you.

A smaller but more insistent voice sounded at the back of his mind, one he tried to ignore. He could go home to you, pretending as nothing happened, and you would be none the wiser. He could live with the guilt. He could bear its burden, so long as you wouldn't have to take the brunt of this unwanted truth. He loved you, after all, and when you were in love, you would do anything for them, anything to protect them. Whatever it took. What you didn't know wouldn't hurt you.

Matt sighed; a tear fell onto the curve of his cheek, following down to his clenched jaw. He knew God couldn't help him; this was something he had to figure out for himself. He was on his own. Matt stood up, reaching for his cane. He walked out of the vacant church, with his mind made up and heart in a crippling mess.

------

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@sad-planet we barely know each other but it was your reply on my post that made want to write this. so about 3k words later here we are. this one’s dedicated to you ig. (i’m not a very good writer but i hope you still like it.)

it’s been about 2 weeks since white has touched down in bangkok, and he still hasn’t found p’black yet. asking father was no help — that bastard probably didn’t even think about the brother he had ripped away from white — and black seemed to have little to no online presence. so that avenue was out too. 

maybe… he could get hurt? trigger the bond? no, no. he had given up those habits a few weeks before landing in bangkok. p’ would be heartbroken to see him like that. 

maybe he should take a walk. yes! he’ll think about how to find p’ on the walk. it’ll be great. 

he takes the bus towards the shopping district and maybe it’s the nostalgia of being in thailand after so many years but everything reminds him of p’. he sees p’ in the little kid helping his brother cross the street, hears him in the laugh of the teen behind him. sees him in every smile the university kids send his way when they catch him staring.

p’ is everywhere and white misses him so acutely.

he catches sight of the markets and decides to walk through them. maybe he’ll buy something as he strolls through them. 

it’s been about and hour and white is tired and ready to go home when some voices catch his attention. just down the alley up ahead of him is another market. this one a little less populated, a little shadier. he almost doesn’t check it out when he remembers how p’ used to make fun of him for not wanting to take risks. 

(“but p’! it’s scary! all the men glare at me.” white pouts.  

p’black just nudges him with his elbow laughing. “what’s so scary? p’ is here. or what, do you not trust me?”  

“what? of course i do! it’s just… i’m worried.” 

“worried about what? i’m here. c’mon i’ll take care of you, scaredy-cat”)

before his mind can rationalize this decision, his feet have taken action. he briskly walks down to the market and immediately starts looking at the first stall he comes across. it’s a fruit stall.

as he’s looking through the persimmons the stall lady is so persistently trying to get him to buy,  he hears someone shout his brother’s name. whipping his head up —  p’black is here? where? — white sees a large man with a menacing frown on his face stomping through the market towards him. 

in a blink, the man is in front of him grabbing his collar, yelling, “you bastard! you fucking cheated me out 10,000 baht yesterday, didn’t you? give me back my fucking money!” 

white stammers, “w-what? no, you have-” 

“w-what?” the man mocks “give me back my money shithead.” 

“i don’t have any money. i’m not who you think-” 

pain. sudden, blinding pain erupts out of his left eye. 

“what the hell?” white yelps “you fucking punched me!” 

his hands have come up to cup his eye. the man drops him on the floor and white lands with a grunt. spitting on the ground in front of him, the man says, “take this as a lesson fuckhead. if i ever see you around here again, i’ll do much worse.” 

white stumbles to his feet and runs out of there. blindly, he puts one foot in front of the other and runs to the nearest bus stop. getting on the first bus that comes by, he shoves a coin at the bus driver and rushes to the back. Buddha must be smiling down on him, for it seems to be the bus that goes by his house.

white’s still on autopilot as he gets off at his stop. numbly he walks down the road to his house, hands still cupping his eye. toeing his shoes off at the door, he brushes past his dad, excusing his eye saying “sorry, a man accidentally bumped into me as i was helping an old lady.” 

his dad just hmms and says, “make sure you cover that up before we leave for tonight’s dinner.”

white says nothing as walks towards his room. closing the door behind him, he drops the composure and scrambles to his bathroom. fumbling to lock the door behind him, white catches sight of himself in the mirror. his left eye looks bloodshot and the skin under it is already purpling. hurts like a bitch too.

slowly he raises his hand to press at the skin. he hisses at the bolt of pain it sends through his eye. 

they’re in the same country now, right? hopefully even in bangkok together right now. so maybe- maybe the bond works again? maybe it’ll lead me to p’? it has to. it must.

white feels the barest stirrings of hope rise in him. it has to. it will. p’ will feel it and he’ll come running. he will, he will, he will.

a choked sob rises from the back of his throat — god if p’ could see him now — and he raises his hand to press at the bruise more insistently, ignoring the migraine building at his temples. he’d almost forgotten what pain had felt like. had it always felt this good? the bruise almost makes him feel like he’s 7 again and p’black is standing in front of him, gently touching his bruise and apologizing. 

he can almost hear p’black’s voice saying, “i’m sorry white. i didn’t mean to bruise you. i should’ve taken better care of you.” 

and 7 year old white would respond saying, “silly p’! you’re barely older than me and plus, i egged you on, didn’t i? if mae asks, it’s our fault okay?”

and p’black would just shake his head and laugh fondly before ruffling his hair. white misses his brother the way one would a limb. he sinks to the floor crying softly, hands still pressing at the black eye. he hopes it conveys everything he wants to say right now.

where are you? i’m here, i’m here, i’m here

*****

black, halfway across bangkok, is currently having a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad morning. for starters ghumpa had pulled him aside this morning to scold him.

(“you’re gonna get yourself killed out there acting recklessly like that. what the fuck were you thinking?”

black sneers, “i’m thinking that i’m willing to die for my cause.” the unlike you remains unspoken.

“and what about us? what about gram? what about yok? what about me? do you think you’re good to us dead? what about sean? you promised him you’d help avenge his father. can you do that from the spirit world? huh black? and i don’t know if this has ever crossed your mind but you’re no good to the cause dead either!” ghumpa yells

lowering his tone at black’s answering glare, ghumpha continues, “look black, has it just- just ever crossed your mind that there are people who want to see you come home? that maybe there’s someone waiting for you to come home?”

“there’s no one to come home to. the only one i want, well he’s- they’re not here anymore. so shut it.”

ghumpa sighs,” black please-”

tapping his foot impatiently, black cuts him off, “look whatever man. i gotta get to class. save the speech for someone who fucking cares.”

on the drive to the university, black desperately tries not to think of white.)

secondly, sean — that fucker — has been messing with his bike. he swears it! the whole thing was off. the ride today was bumpy and the bike wouldn’t start. when class is over he’s gonna fucking kill that shithead.

thirdly, he has professor saetang’s poli sci class today. that fucker is the most piece of shit liberal centrist he’s ever seen. god, would it kill the man to have a backbone? and to top it all off, he’s about 100 words too short on his essay. at least gram’s taking the class with him. 

so yeah, that's his terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad morning in a nutshell. 

and so there he was, waiting at the back of the lecture hall 10 minutes before it started when it happened. 

gram was half-laughing, half-recounting one of yok’s latest misadventures when- 

pain. sudden, blinding pain erupts out of his left eye.

black’s head tips back immediately as he yelps. hand coming over to cup his left eye.

“what the fuck?” he mutters

gram is half out of his seat looking alarmed when black turns his good eye on him and glares. 

gram’s hands go up defensively.

“what the fuck gram? did you just punch me? the fuck i do to you today?”

“what?” gram asks confusedly “dude i didn’t do anything. you’re the one that just got magically punched in the eye. maybe the spirits have it out for you or something. i don’t fucking know.”

black’s hands come down from his eye as his anger fades to annoyance, “what do you mean you didn’t punch me-”

gram cuts him off with a sharp hiss, “how the hell do you have a black eye already? nobody fucking punched you. i was right here. how the hell-”

gram’s ramblings fade into nothing. his mind feels like it’s working a hundred miles a minute. blood roars in his ears. his pencil falls to the ground. it’s loud. nobody punched him but he has a black eye. why does he have a black eye? bruises randomly appearing hasn’t happened in over a decade. 

not since, “-white”

“white.” he says a bit louder.

this hasn’t happened since white. not since their shitty parents had separated them and put so much distance between them that they couldn’t feel the bond anymore. not since he was 7. there’s no other explanation. white’s back. white’s here. white’s here, here, here. does that mean white’s close by? who gave him the black eye? some fucker put his hands on black’s baby brother. he has to find white. white, white, white.

“-ack. black. black!” as he comes back out of his head, he sees gram waving his hand in front of his face “what’s going on man? you just zoned out. everything okay?”

black’s up and out of his seat before gram can say another word. “i have to find white.”

“white? who the fuck is white?”

running out of the classroom, black starts running down the hallways yelling for white “white? white! where are you?” 

the people around him shoot dirty glares at him. and he gets it he really does, it’s 10 in the morning and no one wants to be disturbed by a student with a black eye yelling. but don’t they see that he’s so close to happiness? that his brother, his twin, might be right around the corner waiting for him. that maybe if he turns down this hallway and yells loud enough, white might come out. and black can soothe away the tears he knows will be at the corner of white’s eyes. and he can hold him close to his heart and never let white out of his sight again. and he can sit white down and make him beam his megawatt smile and maybe if white’s feeling well enough he can figure out the jackass who did this to his baby brother and beat the shit out of them.

by the 10th hallway black’s turned down, it's becoming apparent that white’s not at his university. and maybe he never was. but he’s in thailand, black knows that much. and if he has to crawl through all 513,121 square kilometers of land then so be it. as long as black knows that white’s in thailand, there is no stone he will leave unturned. 

black’s breaths are coming quickly. his usually measured breathing turned into quick pants as his mind desperately sees white in every hallway. 

he has to find white. please please please let him be down this hallway. please Buddha, please i can’t lose him again. not when this the most recent sign i’ve had. please Buddha, it’s been over a decade. please i need him. pleasepleaseplea-

gram in the midst of black’s panicking has apparently decided enough is enough and wraps his fingers around black’s wrist and grips on tight. gram drags him to the nearest men’s restroom. he has a vague recollection of gram telling everyone in the bathroom to scram before locking the bathroom doors behind them. 

“bro what the fuck was that? you’re attracting too much attention.” grasping black by the shoulder, gram attempts to make eye contact with him “and who the fuck is white?”

white’s name spurs black back into action. he tries to move but gram’s hand are holding tight onto his shoulders. shit he forgets how strong gram can be sometimes. trying another tactic, black goes into elbow gram in the stomach but gram avoids it by wrapping his arms around black.

black is thrashing in his hold, hitting his shoulders, his arms, any part he can reach really. desperately begging gram to let him go. 

“please gram you don’t understand. please he’s out there. i know he is. you have to let me go. i have to find white. please gram. i promised i’d protect him and now he’s hurt. please gram, let me go! please, please, please. please he’s hurt. i promised him p’ would always be there for him. please he’s probably scared right now. let me go, let me go! please!”

they both sink to the bathroom floor. gram is making little sushing noises as he tightens his hold on black. black’s struggling gets weaker and weaker until he’s just laying his head on crying about how white needs him.

“gram, let go of me. white needs me. please gram. p’ has find white. i said i’d protect him. i said i’d take care of him and now he’s hurt. i have to find him. i have to find white. white, white, white. don’t worry white. p’ is coming okay. i’m coming.”

the last thing he remembers is tiring himself out on gram’s shoulder.

when he wakes up, he’s on a spare cot at the garage. gram is sitting by his side, hands clasped in front of him. ghumpa is sitting at the foot of his bed, a worried look on his face. yok is sitting across from gram, sketching something unhappily. even that fucker, sean is waiting near the back of the room playing reading some english classic. fucking nerd.

finding his voice, black rasps out, “what happened? your wives leave you or something?”

“black!” they chorus, head snapping up as one.

losers, all of them.

“why am i in this bed? what happened?” black asks

“you don’t remember?” gram asks

“obviously not dumbass, if i’m asking.”

“enough about that.” ghumpa interjects “how’d you get the shiner? gram says it just appeared, which i don’t believe for second. i iced it for you by the way.”

the black eye. white. shit, fuck, he has to find white. wait did ghumpa say he iced it? that motherfucking-

“you did what?” he snarls “why the fuck would you do that?”

ghumpa looks baffled, “why did i ice your black eye? is that what you're really asking?”

(near the back, sean snaps his well loved copy of sense and sensibility shut. “i’m fucking done here.” he mutters “fucking black.” he gets up and walks back to his room)

“yes! you stupid fucking- y’know what i don’t have time for this.” swinging his legs over the bed, black books it to the bathroom.

locking the door behind, black checks out the black eye. the purpling has lightened just a shade. it still hurts though. good, black had almost forgotten what his brother’s pain had felt like. before it had just been another cause for worry. when he woke up in the morning to a new ache, it was just another reason to keep a closer eye on white. now though, white’s pain is proof that he’s here. proof that white is close by. proof that if black tries hard enough, he’ll get his brother back.

staring at himself in the mirror, it almost feels like white is still here with him. he can even hear white exasperated voice scolding him.

“p’, p’! did you get hurt again? heaven help me, what am i gonna do with you? wait here i’ll get the first aid kit.”

and white would come back with the kit and gently wipe away the blood and dirt. he’d apply the bandaids with featherlight touches. 

(always his choice of bandaid though. 

“the red or green ones, p’?” white would ask beaming

“whichever ones you like, little brother.” black would respond, ruffling his hair lightly

“it’s only 3 minutes p’! let it go.” white would whine as he applied them

“ahh but how can i? when my white is so young and i am so old. arghh, my back!” he’d say trying impersonate the old man who ran the convenience store near them.

it only took a few seconds before they both broke down into laughter. everything was easier with white around.)

black had always thought white’s hands were meant for healing. he’d be a good doctor, black had always thought. 

and when white was done cleaning him up, they’d start the routine they did ever since they realized how the bond worked.

“i’m sorry for bruising you, white. i’ll take better care of you.” he’d say

and white would respond, “don’t be stupid p’! let me take care of you sometimes too okay? and i egged you on, didn’t i? so if mae asks, it our fault okay.”

and black would laugh and that’d be end.

black misses white the way one would a limb. a sob is rapidly climbing his throat but he refuses to cry where the rest of them could hear. he sinks to the bathroom floor, shoulder shaking softly, hands coming up to press on the bruise. he hopes it conveys everything he wants to say right now.

where are you? i’m here, i’m here, i’m here

*****

(when his black eye suddenly comes alive with pain in the afternoon, like somebody’s pressing their fingers to it, white’s responding smile could’ve outshone the sun)

What are your biggest pet peeves?

i hope you're ready because they're a lot lmao here we go:

arrogant and narrow-minded millennials with a boomer mindset

music snobs, mainly from the classic rock simp cult

people who hostilely interrupts when others are speaking

LBGT people who want sit their asses and hate and discredit human rights protesters and riots claiming it won’t do shit but they totally forgot pride started thanks to a fucking riot

pro racism/bigotry suporting conspiranoid psychos

gen zs who wanna jump on the 00s nostalgia wagon and at the same time truly think they nail the aesthetics but they make a total opposite error after error on it

the smell and taste of seafood

people who spit and talk shit but never listen when they have to

morons who confuse being critical of abusive/toxic public figures with cancel culture

nosy people

passive/agressiveness

all kinds of misogyny

gatekeepers

people who bully on others who are into questionable/toxic ships acussing them on glorifying rape and abuse out of the sudden

people who judge and shit on people with invissible illness and/disabilities

hostile customers

grown ass women with internalized misogyny without being unlearnt and deconstructed

people who love to hate out loud on random shit without being at least objective on the real roots of what makes them hate whatever nosense theyre talking about and love to shit on others vibing to said things.

rape apologists

the pro-ana and pro-mia movement

the cult of blind fanatism

performative activists

mansplaining

racists

dense rich people who have the ‘’live laugh love do what u love yay stop being poor’’ priviledged bubble mindset

the antivaxx cult

pseudo feminists who claim women never rape, abuse or inflict any sort of harm on victims

white latinos who don't recognize their priviledge.

rape culture apologists

people who believe shit like gore and stupid taylor swift are okay but draw the line at k-pop and their simps not even letting them vibe in peace and are suddenly whining on why they push people away

people who bitch at sexual assault victims for not being open about their experiences

boring straight people

riverdale

toxic bill skarsgård simps

religious people who bully on atheists or others with different religious beliefs

atheists who bully on people with religious beliefs

art elitists in general

people bitching at others eyebrows for not being too thin, perfect or thick enough like oh my gosh pendejo STFU already

poorly done, exagerate and mediocre ass minimalism

fandoms

00s low rise jeans FUCK THAT FOREVER.

people who believe there’s enough inclusivity in films, music, tv shows, arts and brands

fatphobia

TERFS, SWERFS and MAPS

‘‘gRow suM ThICK SkIN KiddOOOOO’’

people with zero empathy

gen z girls who deny they’re looking for male approval and think they look edgy and cute and like hot shit when they claim why they don’t need feminism and misoginy deconstruction

the shallow toxicity of things like tik tok, fast fashion, ig influencers and related

“aaa so u like the fucking beatles huh NAME ALL THEIR ALBUMS SONGS AND BAND MEMBERS U DUMB BITCH” bitch shut the fuck up and stop being jealous at some cute chick who looks damn better than your crusty bitter ass in band merch.

human idiocracy in general

Who knew

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆ ◆Fandom: The Hobbit ◇Pairing: Thorin x reader ◆Based on: Imagine pushing Thorin away from Azog only to be the one impaled. After Thorin kills Azog, he begs you to hold on and tells you he always loved you [imaginexhobbit] ◇Notes: mainly Thorin’s POV, a few Khuzdul words, angst, slight violence and gore, fluff ◆Words: 7.212 ◇Author’s notes: Yes, I did it again. I disappeared for a couple of months without notice. But this time is for a good cause, I swear, and I’ll explain everything. And yes, this story is thirteen Word pages long. Thirteen. But, again, it is for a good cause. Better, for a good person. One incredible girl that suffered my being on and off this site even if she didn’t deserve it one bit. Just as we were starting to get somewhat close, I left her hanging there and never tried to actually answer back. Until now, that is. Well... if guilt could be measured with water drops, I’d be a freaking ocean right now. Still, I have to thank this person so much. For supporting me and my stories, for always being so kind and enthusiastic, for remaining so positive and strong despite the ups and downs of life. My Aries accomplice. And she has this immeasurable love for a certain dwarf... I hope Thorin will be better than me at apologies, because I really suck at those.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart, @kingthorin-oakenshield [I do not own the gif] ◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆

◆ “If someone said three years from now you'd be long gone, I'd stand up and punch them out, 'cause they're all wrong”  ~ Who knew, Pink

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It's one ofthe most peaceful hours in the carved fortress of Erebor, although, to be fair, this wing in particular could be regarded as one of the quietest of the stronghold. With fewer people walking around compared to the throne room and definitely less ruckus than what usually pervades the dining hall, the royal quarters could be defined as a true oasis, especially in the lazy, warm hours that follow midday. Not only: thanks to the romantic soul of a long lost King under the Mountain, wide, arched windows etched into the very rock of the ridge, open themselves onto these very rooms, allowing the ruler and his family to admire the vast landscape under all of the different lights of the day. That's why Thorin particularly enjoys this part of Erebor, this private nook of the fortress where, every now and then, he can seek shelter to slip away from the turmoil of his duties, even if just for a little while. Today is no different: if someone walked silently into the small living room prior to the master bedroom, he could find him exactly there, sitting on his favorite chair, smoking his pipe, eyes lost in the distance of the outer scenery. A peaceful and quiet moment, marked only by the sweet whispering of the breeze outside and... the pattern of tiny feet on the floor. After a few seconds - that he needs to realize whether that sound was real or just in his head - Thorin blinks a few times, trying to shake his thoughts off his mind, and finally turns around, facing the direction where he thought he heard the noise come from. There's a small cabinet pushed against the wall, at the end of the room, and the dwarf can't hold back a smile when he notices the tiny figure standing on his tiptoes right in front of it: a boy, not older than six years, stretched against the furniture to try to peek at whatever is laying on top of it that's caught his attention. The cabinet, Thorin mentally acknowledges, is not too tall, but tall enough for the child not to succeed in his endeavor, no matter how persistent and determined he might be. Still, the small one doesn't surrender, reaching out with his tiny arms to grab the ledge of the furniture, trying then with little jumps and rarely stopping to catch his breath. Thorin's lips involuntarily stretch into another smile, his heart softened by the tenacity shown by the child, and it doesn't take long for him to set his pipe down on a nearby table and to get up, discreetly pacing towards the youngster. «What is it, little one?» he sweetly whispers once by his side, bending down a little to be able to look in his vivid blue eyes. The child, however, is so focused on his objective that he doesn't even bother glancing back. «Can I see that?». The king lifts his gaze, resting it on the smooth surface of the cabinet, but when he finally realizes what the child is pointing at, an echo of sorrow darkens his face. He hesitantly opens his mouth as if to say something, but before he can actually attempt to form a logic sentence, a high-pitched shrill fills the air, immediately followed by hasty footsteps. «Wait, I wanna see it tooooo!». The exceedingly enthusiastic voice belongs to a young girl, a couple of inches taller than the little boy and also probably one or two years older; she's marked, however, by his same icy-blue eyes. She hurriedly toddles inside the room, faster than a king who's late for his own coronation and, just as quickly, she takes her place beside the other child, throwing a hopeful glance at the grown dwarf. There's a hint of hesitation and uneasiness in Thorin's features, and a quick look back at the object on the cabinet only confirms the doubts haunting his thoughts. But just as he gazes back towards the two pairs of young eyes, sparkling with anticipation at his feet, a tender smile sneaks onto his face, because those two little faces have the power to melt his heart and shove aside every possible old sorrow he could have felt. That's why, with a careful but swift movement, he reaches out and finally grabs the so yearned item. It's a sword. A shiny, masterfully crafted sword, made of a metal that glimmers in the afternoon glow like dozens and dozens of stars. The blade is sharp, almost white in color, while the hilt is painted with pure gold and sculpted like the wings of an eagle. Both children let out a loud gasp at that sight, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Thorin capably swings the weapon in the air and then holds it with both hands, lowering it in front of them. «Who's sword is this?». «Does it have a name?». «Where does it come from?». The questions arrive as quickly as a barrage of arrows, but once again the king is beaming in front of such curiosity and passion coming from the little ones. «This sword belonged to a great warrior, and was used in the greatest battle of our times» he patiently explains, shifting the sword in his hands to let his young audience admire every inch of it. «The Battle of the Five Armies?» the little boy asks with wonder. «Yes, my sweet» Thorin nods lovingly. «Its name is Khayam, a Khuzdul word that means victory, as the triumph this very sword and its owner lead us to in that battle». The girl's eyes shimmer with trepidation. «Can you tell us the story, Ada*?». «Please!» her brother quickly adds. Just as a few moments before, Thorin's mind is clouded by uncertainty: should he actually comply and recount those events? A tale forged by war, blinding hatred and burning love, the tale that gave everyone a new beginning but also put an end to many realities... and lives? But being the King under the Mountain doesn't give him the right to hide the truth from his own heirs, especially when he already started to reveal it just by picking up that sword and showing it to them. And since it will come a day, sooner or later, when they will find out what happened - maybe on their own - they might as well hear it from him, their father, and one of the very protagonists of the story. «All right» he finally murmurs. Without adding another word, he quietly turns around and heads back to his favorite chair, cracking a half-smile when the children exult with joy and frantically trot behind him. He sits down - letting out an amused sigh when the two youngsters plop down on the floor with legs crossed, right in front of him -, gives one last look at the precious sword, and then, with low, intense voice, begins to narrate. «This is the tale of a proud king, the tale of a lost race, but, most of all, the tale of a brave but kind-hearted warrior...». Some details he will omit, of course, some he will soften, even if he'll have to fight against the vivid memories now playing right in front of his eyes. Because the one that's about to be narrated is everything but a story for children... although these are his children, and they, more than anyone else, deserve to know what really happened back in those days.

The entirety of Erebor is as silent as a tomb. It is so sad to think that that comparison is very fitting, in more than one way. Since the first instant you set foot into the majestic fortress, the only sensations you could feel have been the sufferance and the nostalgia impregnating the very walls of every hall and corridor, an horrid echo of the events that lead to its abandonment many years ago. The dwarves are happy, on the other hand. Of course, they reclaimed their long lost home - but have they, really? -, a quest that no-one else ever tried to attempt, let alone actually bring to a successful conclusion. But they can feel it too, you know it. The history enshrined by this place is too big and heavy to be ignored, and every single one of your friends, deep down, became aware of it probably even before you did. All of them... except for one. Thorin has changed so much since you entered this cursed mountain. The whole company can see it, Bilbo in particular, but no-one has still dared to utter a word to their king about it. You thought about being the one to do it, several times. After all, you are one of those who suffer the most seeing Thorin like this, dressed in furs, crown on his head... but with eyes emptier than the void itself. Those same eyes that, at some point during the quest, made you fall in love with the once noble and brave king, those same eyes, that through fleeting glances and tender looks, gave you also the small hope that, somehow, he could actually return your feelings. Now that you think about it, those times feel so distant and surreal compared to your present reality, that you find yourself wondering if they actually have happened. Now, everything is so different... and it is with a broken heart that you admit to yourself that you're almost afraid of what Thorin has become: a shadow that guards its pile of gold, much like a ghost that haunts his grave. But you have to talk to him. You've had enough of gold, jewels and treasures. Enough with this obsessive search for the Arkenstone. Enough with the irrational fear of theft that, in a matter of hours, will lead the Company to war against both humans and elves. You can hear them bustling about in the armory. Your dearest friends, a bunch of unknown people that, in a matter of months, became your family in all but the name. And now they are there, preparing for war, risking their life for nothing but madness. «(Y/N)» a voice suddenly shakes you. Your were so distracted by your own thoughts that Thorin's calling seems as loud as a thunder, even though he barely uttered your name. Quickly, you recover from the small fright and turn around. «Come, there's something I want to show you» he adds, motioning for you to come over. You don't object. Maybe, this could be the so long awaited occasion to speak your mind, and as soon as you start following behind the dwarven king, your mind begins to elaborate some kind of way to open your speech. Still caught up in your thoughts, it is but a few moments later that you lift your eyes, just in time not to bump into Thorin: he has stopped, and is now standing in front of you in the middle of small room. And then, you see it, carefully held in his hands. It's a sword. A beautiful, gleaming sword that is clearly very different from the ones you saw in the armory: the metal of the blade shines of a white so pure and warm that it could have been forged with the very rays of the sun, while the golden hilt is shaped as two wide feathered wings, that instantly remind you of the eagles that saved you outside the goblin caves. «This sword was forged from the finest metal in all Middle Earth: mithril» Thorin proudly explains, slowly caressing the sharp edge with his finger. «Light as a feather, but stronger than diamond itself. There aren't many weapons made of silver steel, not anymore». You've never seen a weapon that's both so marvelous and well-crafted. But why in Middle Earth is Thorin showing it to... oh. «Thorin, I...». «I want you to have it, (Y/N)» he firmly interrupts you. «Your help and your friendship have been invaluable during the quest. This small treasure is the least I can give you». There's true gratitude in his eyes. For a single instant, you have the feeling to catch a glimpse of the person you fell in love with. But then, you look back down at what he's holding in his palms, and in that moment you know you can't accept it. In fact, if a few months ago you'd have taken that magnificent sword without hesitation, beaming with joy for such an incredible present, all you can see now is but a cold piece of metal, one of the thousands parts of Thorin's cursed treasure. Just as soon as you realize it, you instantly step back, almost disgusted by the simple object. Accepting this gift would make you feel like an accomplice to the king's sickness, and that is something you couldn't bear. «I'm not sure I can accept it, Thorin...» you hesitantly whisper. But the dwarf - who definitely hasn't picked up on your uneasiness - insists. «It's a gift». «No... I mean...» you try again, clearing your throat. «... I'm not sure I want it». Thorin remains silent for a moment. He looks at you with an empty stare, that you fail to read. Maybe I upset him? you wonder. Maybe, he has finally understood that something's wrong? «I thought, since you are a very skilled warrior, you would have valued a fine weapon» he then reasons, mostly to himself. «But maybe you would prefer something else. Maybe gold? Or jewels?». And that is the last straw. You sense a strong, burning feeling rising inside of you. It's a whirlwind made of all of the anger you've kept bridled, all of the sadness and sufferance that have been cracking your heart until this very moment. Seeing Thorin like this, completely blind and materialistic, is exactly what you need to free all those emotions and utterly override your fears. «No, Thorin. I don't need any of that. I don't need gold, nor jewels, nor precious metals...» you assure him, this time with clear voice and a bitter smile. «I... I'm flattered by your offer, I really am, but I didn't join the Company to gain something in return». You stop for a moment - even if you find it difficult to restrain your feelings now - to see if there's any reaction on his side. But when you don't see neither worry nor confusion clouding his features, you decide to continue. «Don't you understand? I accepted to come with you because all I saw was a brave and noble king, whose homeland had been taken away from him» you finally exclaim, each word resounding with a tip of desperation. «And I admired that king, I looked up at him. And so I decided to help him». You look right at him, forcing yourself not to break, not right now, even when tears start to shimmer in your eyes and your throat burns with all the breaths you are holding back. «Having that king back is the only reward I could ever ask for» you barely manage to mutter. Thorin's eyebrows knit together into a quizzical frown, and if somehow your tone worried him... he's very good at not showing it. «That king is here, before your own eyes, and more powerful than ever» he simply responds. You laugh mirthlessly. «No... All I can see is a lonely, glazed ghost, wandering these halls as the shadow of his past great self» you growl like a wounded animal. «You're lost, Thorin, can't you see it? Has that treasure really corrupted your will? Has it enslaved your soul?». «I am no slave!» he suddenly thunders. «And I obey my will, and no other!». You remain silent, with a shocked expression painted on your face. He never shouted at you like that. Never. Not when he was angry with you, not when he was worried about you. That tone he just used is darker, more dangerous, as if he could actually jump at your throat if you somehow decided to speak again. The Thorin you love would have never dared to speak like that. «But I don't expect you to understand» he suddenly goes on, with low, threatening voice. «How could an ordinary human girl understand what it means to preserve the legacy of an entire race? To protect something so precious and vital to your very existence, whose loss would be far worse than death itself?». Those last sentences pierce you like knives. One through the heart, that just yesterday used to beat so fast at the mere thought of your noble king. The other one, through your back, for never in your life you've felt so betrayed. You can practically see your world crumbling around you, for Thorin is lost, and nothing will ever be able to bring him back to his friends. To his kin. To you. But even if, for a moment, you feel like you can't breathe, as if your heart has stopped, you are quick to swallow that huge, bitter pill: that flaming whirlwind is still swirling furiously inside of you, and you intend to fuel it with all the pain you're experiencing. There will be a time for tears and screams... but later. You clench your fists, digging your nails into your palms, and fiercely stand your ground. «Oh, but I understand» you growl as if you are spitting poison. «I know what it means to love something, someone, so much that you'd be ready to fight, to die for them. I know how it feels to care so much about them, that the mere prospect of a life without them becomes the scariest thought that could cross your mind. Yes, I know exactly that feeling... Or, at least, I think I did». And as all your fears take shape all around you, with Thorin standing there, ahead of them, you only manage to give him one last look, in which, for a second, you let him see all that suffocating pain that right now is killing you from the inside. The pain that he caused. «I guess I was all wrong» you lowly yelp, turning around without a second thought and disappearing into the mazes of Erebor.

After what happened in that small, dark room of the mountain stronghold, the thought of leaving and forgetting about that madness crossed your mind many, many times. But each moment those feelings assailed you, you found yourself fighting against the urge of your legs to run away with all of your strength: you were no coward. You were no betrayer. You would have not fled, leaving your dear friends fighting alone against an entire army, even if every second you passed inside those carved halls cracked a little bit more your already broken heart. And there was also another feeling, buried deep down inside of you. It was a mere flicker, but it somehow tasted like... faith. Hope. You knew it was there, even if you always ignored it and shoved it back where it belonged, but it kept you there, anchored to that very rock you had started to despise. Still, you had to find some sort of compromise with yourself: you couldn't leave, but you couldn't even stay, and that's why you finally decided to remain in the shadows until the battle, shutting yourself inside a cocoon of solitude to limit the damages already done by Thorin's harsh treatment. You were just like a suffering animal: still licking its wounds, still too afraid to trust again. Needlessly to say that, at the beginning, the other dwarves couldn't help but get very worried about you; but after learning about your fight with Thorin and witnessing the dramatic scene that saw Bilbo almost thrown off a balcony, they felt everything but authorized to disturb your voluntarily isolation. They, too, couldn't find any words to apologize or remedy for their king's behavior. And so, until the real battle, you became nothing more than a guarding presence to your companions, who could feel you being around, but were never able to get too close to you. Then, one day, you finally came back. Lost in one of the many corridors of Erebor, it took you some time to realize that the muffled rumble you started to hear actually came from outside. Everything happened so fast that you could barely recall it: running at the entrance of the fortress, finding it cleared, hurrying outside and seeing your friends fighting together with their cousins against a newly arrived army of orcs. But what you clearly remember amidst that haze, is catching a glimpse of Thorin, sword at hand, rallying his people and fighting side by side with them in the first line. He's back you thought incredulous, just as your heart started to beat again, set alight by that small flicker of hope that was now burning as strong as a fire. He's back. That moment was all you granted yourself in matter of joy and celebration though, for you quickly ran back inside to grab a weapon and then joined the others in the heart of the clash. Time on the battlefield went quicker than everyone could expect. One moment, Thorin was fighting side by side with Dáin, and now he's here, alone, facing no less than Azog the Defiler. He struggles to recall the events that brought him here: chasing after the Pale Orc among ice and snow, loosing sight of both Fíli and Kíli, getting lost in the gelid fog... and here they are now. Just the two of them. Just as he always wanted. But attack after attack, parry after parry, the exhaustion caused by the constant fighting can cloud even a skilled warrior like the dwarven king. Especially after every strategy has failed, and the Pale Orc manages to come back even after Thorin throws him into the freezing water resting below the ice plate. The dwarf is gonna pay dearly that small mistake, for that was all it took for the situation to be turned upside down, in favor of the Defiler, who's now towering above Thorin, ready to disarm him. A loud scream. A dull noise. Again, in a matter of seconds, the scenario is completely changed. This time, however, you are the one towering above Thorin, while Azog is laying several meters back, hurled against a rock by your sudden push. «Apologies for the delay, but I had to save a couple of young princes too» you grin with glistering eyes. «Hope I didn't miss the dances». You missed this confidence of yours. The daring, fiery warrior who's not afraid expose herself and fight for what she believes in. For what she loves. After that damned fight in Erebor, this side of yourself just seemed to disappear and was nowhere to be found. At this time, you're finally able to understand why: Thorin is the one to fuel it. With his mere presence, he's able to light up your courage and strength like no-one else ever managed to do. And now he's back. But he's not the only lost one who got found: after he came to his senses, Thorin instantly remembered how he treated you. His words echoed in his head like a vile reminder of his immense guilt, just as your words resonated in his head and contrived to drag him out of his own madness. And when he recovered his true self and you were nowhere to be found... he arrived at the only possible conclusion: he had lost you. Still, here you are now, more beautiful and strong than ever, ready to fight by his side despite everything that happened. Thorin opens his mouth, as to say something, but then he notices it: the mithril sword, tightly held in your hand, glowing under the light as if it was the sun itself. «(Y/N)» he only manages to mutter. But a single word is all you need to hear: his expression and his eyes speak in his place, communicating everything he can't say. «Don't worry» you smile reassuringly. «You're not alone in this». A glance worth more than a thousand whispers, that can't, however, last for too long. You hear a grunt coming from your right, quickly followed by heavy, rapid footsteps. But you are ready, and Azog doesn't even have the chance to get close to where you're standing, for you promptly leap forward against him, clashing the mithril sword against his. The orc is furious: not only you prevented him to take his revenge against Oakenshield, you're now literally coming in between the two of them to defend the dwarf. With your weapons still crossed, Azog's scarred face is but a few inches from yours, and he takes the chance to roar at the top of his lungs, taking out all of his rage, letting you know that he'll have no problem in crushing you too if you dare to challenge him. But you barely blink at his fury, tightening the grip on your sword and starting to push him back, a focused yet fierce frown sculpted on your features. You have no intention to cave in, not without a fight. To the death, of course, because you won't stop until the Defiler's body will be as cold as the ice under your feet. The duel you've just engaged in will also give Thorin the time to gather his remaining strength and, hopefully, join you, to give you the chance to put the orc to rest, together. Indeed, just as you quickly dive to dodge a cutting blow from your enemy, you throw a rapid glance back to the dwarf, and with relief you see him on his feet. With renewed confidence, you go back to your fight, avoiding once again the sharp blade of the orc and counterattacking with a swift cut, that wounds his arm. You then step back, spinning to your left to avert his incoming charge and hit him again, leaving a red mark on the back of his shoulder. You might not be as strong as Azog, but you're definitely more rapid and nimble, gaining some kind of edge on your adversary. When he finally collapses down on one knee, right in front of you, you immediately raise your sword, ready to deal the final blow, when all of a sudden you hear them: footsteps, boots cracking the ice, a fast presence approaching you. And it's not Thorin. You only have the time to turn your head, when another orc - probably isolated from the main conflict below - rams you at full speed, throwing you several meters away from the Defiler. You hit the ground with a thud and a pained groan, fracturing the sheet of ice with your weight and losing the grip on your sword, that falls not too far from you. You faintly hear Thorin calling out to you, but then your attention is caught once again by the newly arrived enemy, who's now charging in your direction for a second time. Still too dazed to get up, you roll to your left just in time to avoid another collision and that's how the fight goes on for a couple of moments, with you trying to gain some time by dodging the incoming attacks. When you finally manage to reach for your weapon, however, the orc has got tired of your games and, this time, he practically leaps on you with all of his weight. You lift your sword and close your eyes, bracing yourself for a strong impact, but, surprisingly, the crash isn't as bad as you predicted. When you dare to look again, you see in fact your adversary suspended a few inches above your body, impaled on your mithril sword. Panting, you can't hold back a grin and, with a quick thrust of your back, you switch your positions, freeing yourself from the dead orc and finally getting on your feet to extract your weapon. Now that you've dealt with this little hitch, you reason, you can go back to the real fight... but when you turn around, what you see curdles the blood in your veins: Thorin laying on his back, Azog standing right above him, almost exactly the way you found them when you first arrive. Except, this time, the Defiler's blade is way closer to the dwarf's chest. Too close. «Thorin» you whisper with wide eyes. It's your instinct that takes sudden control of your body and, before you realize it, you find yourself running towards them faster than you've ever run. A lightning, gliding on the frozen surface of the river and coming between the dwarf and the orc just a second before the latter strikes. The blade feels cold through the flesh of your chest. It is as cold as the winter breath, but the signals it sends throughout your motionless body are burning hot, just like the blood that's started to spill out the deep wound. You can't scream, for there's no breath left in your lungs, and you can't see clearly what's happening around you, for your eyes have been clouded with some kind of veiled mist. But there's the sky right above you, and the bright sunrays somehow manage to penetrate that layer of fog, touching you with their warm fingers. Through your back, stretched out on the cool ice, you can feel the vibrations of the movements of the people in the vicinity, although they're too muffled for you to understand where they are or what they're doing. You have no idea of how much time you spend there, on the ground, in that dream-like state, but all of a sudden, a familiar figure appears by your side. «(Y/N)» Thorin whispers, voice cracking. «Oh, (Y/N)...». Knelt down beside you, he reaches out with trembling hands - as if he's afraid to touch you - to wrap your frame in his arms, pulling you close to his chest and leaning his forehead against the crown of your head. Awakened from your haze but still very weak, you bask in his warmth for a moment, and also manage to catch a glimpse of Azog's dead body a few meters away from you. It's over you conclude with relief. You then look up at the one you love and smile. «I missed you, Thorin». «Shhh, don't speak» he sweetly hushes you, stroking your cheek with his hand. «Hold on, (Y/N), the others will come soon. You'll be alright». As much as you'd like to believe that, you know it's not what's about to happen. «Thorin...». «Forgive me, (Y/N)» he interrupt you once again. «Forgive me, for I was so blind, so lost... and yet, you remained by my side. Your words pulled me out of the darkness... (Y/N), I'm so sorry...». He's crying. You can feel one of his tears gently caressing the side of your face... or is one of yours, already escaped from your misty eyes? «There's no need to apologize... you came back to me» you try to reassure him, weakly lifting a hand to touch his arm. «That's all that matters». «And I always will» he sobs. «I love you, (Y/N). I love you more than anything in this world, I've always had. If I could have just seen it...». But you knew it. You felt it. A feeling so strong that survived all kinds of enemies, madness and war itself. You've waited so long to hear those words out loud, though, and right now you'd give anything to be able to jump at his neck and hold him tight after his confession. It's a strong shiver to bring you back to your current condition, and next time you speak, it costs you a painful effort. «I love you too, Thorin» you manage to respond, struggling to keep a smile on and a steady voice. «And y-your love is ev-verythig I c-could have ever desired». But the dwarf is no fool, and he too is getting aware of the inevitable. Still, he tightens his hold on you, refusing to accept it, refusing to let you go. «It's gonna be fine» he tries to comfort you - and himself - placing a soft kiss on your head. «Just hold on a little longer». As you feel the cold strengthening its grip on your body, you force yourself to look up at Thorin, because you want to imprint every little detail of his face in your memory before you go. But then you see it: that pair of blue eyes, the ones you fell for... a summer sky, a never-ending ocean, a priceless sapphire. Those are the eyes of the man you love, just as you remembered them. «Your eyes...» you murmur with a serene smile, «... they're... limpid. Unclouded. They are so beautiful...». Thorin tries to mirror your expression, but then he feels your muscles relaxing in his arms, your body losing every little strength left. His features darkens with panic and fear, and he pulls you even closer to him, placing quick, tender kisses in your hair. «Please, (Y/N)... my love...» he weeps, voice broken. «Please, don't leave me». But you are happy now, at peace. He's safe, and everything is going to be all right. «Never» you assure with your last breath. «(Y/N)... (Y/N)?! No, no, no... no!».

«Ada? Was that... was that Ama*'s?». A young, innocent voice brings Thorin back to reality. He has to blink a few times to actually focus on his surroundings: for a moment, those memories brought him back there, in the once empty halls of the abandoned Erebor and in the cold and deadly mist of the mountains. But now it's all gone, and he is here, in his chambers, seated on his favorite chair with his children right in front of him. The mithril sword is still shimmering in his hands. «Yes» he answers looking down at it. «Yes, it was». «Was she the warrior from your story?» the boy pipes in, leaning forward with sparkles in his eyes. Thorin lifts his gaze and meets those of his two little ones, offering a nod as a silent reply to their last question. They are so curious, so enthusiastic about their mother's story and, once again, the king's heart simply melts upon seeing their expressions. The two siblings exchange a quick look to share their common amusement, but then their attention focus immediately back on their father. «She was very brave, then?». «And very strong too?». A low chuckle escapes Thorin's lips, although his minds involuntarily goes back to that last moment on the freezing ice. «The bravest and strongest warrior I've ever known» he manages to smile, even though his voice cracks a little with the end of his answer. The children share another swift glance, but this time their expressions are slightly worried. It is the little girl who gets up on her feet and gets close to her father, resting her hands on his knee to somehow try to comfort him. «Ada... are you crying?» she asks with honest concern. But Thorin is fast to wipe away the mist from his eyes and to reassuringly slide a hand on his daughter's back. «No, it's... it's fine, my sweet». Not too convinced, even the boy jolts straight up and reaches his father. «Are you sad?». Seeing his children worrying about him in such way, Thorin's heart warms up so much that the smile he pulls out shines with pure happiness and fondness. «How could I ever be sad when I have the most precious of all treasures here with me?» he beams, quickly leaving the sword to rest on the nearby table and picking up both children to hug them. «I love you so much» he whispers burying his face in their little frames. He holds them so close to him, aware now, more than ever, of how these two small bundles of joy brought so much more mirth in his life than he could have ever anticipated. «We love you too, Ada» the children croon in chorus, wrapping their tiny arms around Thorin's shoulders and squeezing him as much as they can. «Is this some kind of secret meeting I haven't been invited to?». It's a feminine voice that disperses the magic of that precious moment, although both father and children seem everything but annoyed by that interruption. «Ama!» the little ones scream together, turning around at the same time and jumping off the chair to dash towards you. «Is that sword really yours?». «Did you really use it to defeat the bad orc?». You can't help but burst out laughing at their enthusiasm, not counting the fact that they are slightly tugging on your clothes. «Uh-uh, it seems I'm late for story-time» you conclude, lifting your eyes in Thorin's direction and getting lost, for a moment, in those sparkling blue iris that are shimmering with love. «So, Ama?» the boy insists, bringing you back to reality. «Is the story true?». «It is» you assure him. «Although I'm pretty sure your father embellished it, here and there. Not counting the fact the we both defeated the bad orc. Together». «I knew it, I knew it!» he exclaims, jumping up and down. His sister doesn't lose time in joining him, though. «I too wanna be a great warrior like you and Ada!». «And I want a shiny sword!». «Slow down, you two» you chuckle, tenderly caressing their little heads. «You don't simply become a warrior from one day to another». «Your mother is right» Thorin adds, pacing up to you and getting on one knee, to be eye-level with the children. «You need to train, first, to become strong and fast, and-». «I am fast!» the boy interrupts him. «And I'm ever faster!». «Prove it. The first to arrive at grandpa Balin's study wins». The siblings grin to each other, and before either you or your husband manage to have a say in the matter, they get ready to go. «Deal!». And with that, they both start sprinting, outside the living room and into the corridor: they are so fast that you and Thorin have to hurry to the doorstep to actually manage to warn them. «All right, little thunderbolts! Just come back here when you're done, or you'll miss that famous trip to Dale with your uncles!» you exclaim. «Yes, Ama!» they both answer in unison, already halfway through the corridor. «And try not to bump into anyone on the way!» Thorin adds, raising his voice a little bit so that it could reach them. You let out a content sigh, crossing your arms on your chest and keeping your eyes fixed on your children until they disappear at the corner of the passage. But just as you're about to turn around to Thorin, you feel two strong arms picking you up bridal style. A surprised squeak escapes your lips, but it soon turns into a laugh. In a matter of seconds, Thorin has taken his place back on his chair, with you curled up on his lap. «So...» you purr, tracing the embroidery of his tunic with your fingers. «I see you told my favorite story without me». «Well, you were nowhere to be seen...» he justifies, taking your hand in his and placing a kiss on your palm. «Yeah, I'm sorry about that» you apologize with a sigh. «If I knew that being a queen would include so many diplomatic tasks, I'm not sure I would have married you straight away». «Is there anything I can do, then, to improve my beautiful queen's day?» he asks as he begins to shower your exposed collarbone with soft kisses. «I don't think so... not now, at least» you chuckle, snaking an arm behind his neck. «May I remind you that we have a family trip to Dale in a few minutes? And a pair of scampering little rascals coming back here even sooner?». The mere mention of the kids paints another loving smile on Thorin's face, but before he plants one last kiss on the corner of your mouth, he shifts a bit to get closer to your ear. «All right,» he whispers, «but I won't forget where we left this». «I surely hope you won't» you coax, quickly pecking his lips. With another content sigh, you then rest your head in the crook of his neck, letting the steady beat of his heart lull your thoughts... until one in particular catches your attention. «You know, I've always wondered...» you begin absent-mindedly, «... you always seem to tear up a bit when telling that story. How we killed Azog, I mean... Why is that?». You can practically feel Thorin's muscles tense a bit at your question, but as soon as you start stroking his cheek with your hand, he immediately relaxes again. «Because all the times I recount it, those images flow before my eyes as if I were still there, lying down on the freezing ice, watching you take the blow for me...» he mutters, an echo of sorrow haunting his voice. «... and I can't help but think about how close I was to losing you, that day». «But I'm here» you reassure him with your sweetest smile. «We both are. And you know why?». You straighten your back up, still resting on the king's lap, but lacing your hands behind his neck to guide his eyes to meet yours. «Because together there's nothing we can't face, nothing we can't win» you speak softly, slowly getting closer to Thorin's face so that now your foreheads are resting one against the other. You close your eyes for a moment, enjoying that vicinity, enjoying that warmth and contact that so many, during the years, have tried to break. Still, here you are now, king and queen, husband and wife, father and mother. If this is what you fought for back in those days, you'd do it a thousand times more, because it was all worth it. When you open your eyes again, however, you notice a slight hint of tears in Thorin's gaze, and that view makes your heart skip a beat. «My, my, Thorin Oakenshield has become a romantic» you innocently tease him, only to earn a small chuckle from your king. «I believe that's your doing, amrâlimê*» he observes, getting even closer to you, making your noses brush against one another. Again, you look at him straight in the eyes, but this time your expression is serious as it scans your husband's features. «I love you» you breathe. «You know that, right?». Thorin's smile speaks for itself. «I love you even more». He is the one to crush his lips against yours, but you are the one to lace your arms behind his neck to respond, moving closer to him. But just as you are about to deepen that kiss... both of you catch the distant - but quickly approaching - sound of loud laughs and triumphant exclamations, talking about how they'll too become warriors some day, just like their father and their mother. You pull apart with a knowing smirk stretched on your face. «... and, that, I believe it's your doing, my strong and fast warrior».

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇  "Ada" = dad "Ama" = mom "amrâlimê" = my love