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jjamjamm · 2 years

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A Perfect Fit

Masterlist

Wordcount: 1617

Summary: "I’d like to ask for a Dori (hobbit) domestic fic please. I just don’t think he gets enough love. Maybe falling for a small dark haired human running an orphanage? Cause that would channel all those great parenting instincts he has." request

“Ori, keep an eye on the stew.” Dori called as he held the front door open, “I’ve got to run to the market before it’s too late.”

“Yes, Dori.” Ori said, before his eldest brother was out the door and off to the market.

Dori wasn’t particularly bothered with the life his family had built in the Blue Mountains. Prince Thorin had given them a proper chance at a good life. Even though they struggled from time to time, his family was together more often than not- and that was all he could ask for.

On his way to the market, he passed through the city, smiling politely and exchanging a few greetings before he came to a stop in the middle of the path.

In front of one of the buildings he had never been inside stood a striking lass. She exhaled softly as she brushed her hair from her face. She lifted the broom from its resting place and finished sweeping off the front step.

How had he never noticed her? Had she always been there? He couldn’t be rude, he ought to introduce himself. Taking a breath for courage, he approached the stoop she had just cleared off.

“Good afternoon.” He caught her attention and she set the broom back against the beam.

She brushed her hands off on her apron and smiled at him, tucking a section of hair back behind her ear, “Good afternoon Master dwarf.”

That’s when it clicked for Dori that she wasn’t a dwarrowdam. With her height, he had just assumed that was the case, but up close he saw it wasn’t so.

Nevertheless, he was taken with her, “I don’t believe we’ve met, I live up the path here.” He angled his body to point in the direction of his home, “My name is Dori.”

She glanced in the direction he pointed, “A pleasure to meet you Dori, my name is Y/N.”

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you my dear.” He assured her, “How is it that I’ve passed by here every time I go to market and we’ve never met?”

“Oh, well, I’m usually rather busy.” She said, “Always so much to get done and not enough time to do it.”

“Don’t tell me you live in this big home all on your own.” He looked at the size of the place, “Upkeep alone would take at least two people.”

She definitely looked like she agreed as she looked back at the building, “Another pair of hands would be wonderful.”

“I’m sure you know dwarrow are quite skilled craftsmen.” He said, “Perhaps, I could assist you with repairs?”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that.” Her attention was stolen as something crashed inside, “I’m sorry, I really should get back inside.”

“Of course, how about I stop by tomorrow?” He offered as she started back inside.

“I would like that.” She admitted with a smile, “Until tomorrow Dori.”

He bid her farewell and returned home, caught up in his thoughts as he opened the door.

“Did you know there’s a lovely woman living in the building on the corner there?” Dori asked, “I could have sworn I knew what the building was for, but by my beard, I can’t think of it.”

“Do you mean Lady Y/N? The one who runs the orphanage?” Ori asked from the table.

“Orphanage?” Dori asked, “Ah, that’s right isn’t it?”

“What are you smiling about?” Nori came into the room, “There a sale on yarn at the market?”

Dori’s eyes went wide at that and Ori laughed, “You forgot to go to the market didn’t you?”

“I did- Thank Mahal I’m going back tomorrow.” Dori said, “I’ll just get what I need then.”

“Unless you get too distracted by Lady Y/N.” Ori teased.

“What’s that?” Nori asked, fully paying attention now, “Who’s that?”

“None of your business.” Dori went over to his stew.

“The lady who runs the orphanage, Dori fancies her.” Ori had lowered his voice- though, not enough to go unheard.

“I said no such thing.” Dori pointed his spoon at his brother, “I’ll just be seeing her tomorrow to help her with a few things.”

“Oh, I bet you will.” Nori teased, nudging Ori with his elbow.

“None of that now.” Dori warned, “She is a lovely woman and I won’t have you speaking about her like that.”

His brother’s left him be after that, mostly. When he went back the next day, set with some tools and snacks in a basket, he was all too glad to see Y/N again.

“Good day.” He greeted as she let him in the door. He immediately saw two kids rush through the room, before catching sight of a third sitting at the table. He had his eyes fixed on Dori, just blinking at him curiously.

“Good day.” Y/N greeted him, shutting the door behind him, “Most of the kids have already eaten and are off playing. I just need to get my little friend here to eat something.”

The child’s gaze shifted to her and he furrowed his brows. She sat down beside him, trying to feed him a piece of the apple she had sliced, “Come on, just a bite.”

He shook his head, refusing to so much as open his mouth. Dori couldn’t help but chuckle as he set his basket on the other end of the table.

“My youngest brother went through a bit of a phase like that too.” He said.

“He loves apple, I was hoping he would at least have some of it.” She said, “How did you get your brother to eat?”

“I had to be a bit creative.” He admitted, getting an idea. He dug into his basket and pulled out a small jar, moving to help Y/N with the stubborn child, “Maybe a touch of honey will do the trick.”

The boy looked interested as Dori dipped the apple into the jar, though he tried to hide it when he was caught.

“Mm, nice and sweet.” Dori said, holding it just a bit closer to the boy.

His eyes shot down to the treat and he couldn’t hide his smile. His small hand darted out and grabbed it, before he started chomping down on his breakfast.

Y/N leaned back in her chair, impressed, “Well, well, well. You’ll eat for Dori but not for me?”

The boy grinned at her, as if it were the funniest thing in the world, while Dori put a little honey on the rest of the apples.

“He’s just got a bit of a sweet tooth.” Dori winked at the boy like it was their little secret.

Y/N got up from the table, watching the little one work on the apple as she went over to a cabinet, “I don’t want to ask too much of you, but if you could help me with this cabinet…”

Dori nodded, speaking to the little lad before he joined her, “I want that to be gone before I’m done in there, alright?”

Then he was at Y/N’s side with his tools set on the counter.

“Ah, you’re hinge is broken.” He noticed straightaway, “You need a pin on the bottom.”

“I think one of the older kids took it for their wagon.” She said, “To keep the wheel on.”

He dug through his basket, finding a drawstring pouch and loosening the ties, “I have an idea- it’s temporary, but it should work.”

He found a bolt, the right size to fit in the hole, and hammered it into place, making sure the end was hammered flat as to not stick anyone. He tested the hinge a few times, noticing that it wobbled a bit. Still, it worked much better than before.

“I did it!” He heard behind him and saw the boy beaming up at him.

“You finished?” Dori asked, “All of it?”

The boy nodded before running off to play with the other kids and Y/N rested against the countertop.

“I can’t believe it.” She said, “I was starting to think I’d only be able to give him sweets.”

“Honey isn’t much better.” He said, “He’s just at the age. They can be stubborn little buggers.”

She laughed at that, “But I love being here for them.”

“If you ever find yourself needing an extra hand, I certainly wouldn’t mind.” He offered, “For repairs or cleaning, cooking, mending…”

“A man who does it all!” Y/N said, “It would be nice having someone like you around.”

“All you need do is ask.” Dori promised, taking her hand in his. He ran his thumb over her knuckles, “It’s a privilege to help a lady as lovely as you are.”

“I don’t see why you had to bring honey, if you’re this sweet by yourself.” She said.

From the doorway, they heard giggling and saw the children peaking in.

“I think the kids like you too.” She said, “They’re very good judges of character.”

“Oh, I bet.” Dori said as the kids scattered, laughing at everything.

Word spread quickly about the dwarves that had moved into the orphanage to help the woman run it. The Lady Y/N and Master Dori made the necessary repairs with help from Masters Nori and Ori, giving the kids the best home possible.

As time went on, it seemed they became more and more like a family. They would go out on picnics, flying kites, Master Dori took the kids fishing, and Master Ori helped his brother and Lady Y/N knit new sweaters to keep them all warm in the cold weather.

In the evenings, they would put the children to bed and retire by the fireside, wondering how they ever got so lucky.

#the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #Dori

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somedaylazysomeday · 2 years

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Dexterity

Thorin x fem!reader. Reader sells wool products at Erebor's market every day.

You know how I can't write spice without substance? This one is vastly more substance than spice. It got plot-heavy for no reason, and I apologize!

Rating: NC-17, explicit, lemon, etc. Minors DNI!

Word Count: 6,800 (oof)

Warnings: Mentions of money issues, awkwardness, a bit of dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), fingering, unprotected piv

Next | Masterlist

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You draped a beautiful blanket across your arm, ignoring the way it clashed with the cape tied around your shoulders. You turned in a practiced half-circle, letting the blanket wave gently in the breeze of your movements.

“As you can see, these fabrics are of the highest quality,” you announced to the gathered crowd, doing your best to talk up the goods while ensuring that no one got any clever ideas about helping themselves to your wares without offering proper payment.

“My family owns and operates the entirety of the business - one that has been handed down through countless generations,” you continued, watching a dwarrowdam stroke one of the blankets. She wore the jewelry and clothing of important and you spoke directly to her. “She has the right idea! You can feel the difference, yes, my lady? Our sheep are raised by hand from birth, shorn with love, and cared for as part of the family. They repay us by providing the best wool. We spin that wool into yarn and use it to weave fabrics far better than any others you may have seen.”

“What makes them superior?” one young dwarf asked curiously.

“Ahh, a wise and insightful question!” you congratulated loudly. The dwarf preened under your praise, smoothing his moustache. “Watch carefully.”

You spun in a wide circle, gesturing to the blanket draped over the arm you still held aloft. “Did you see it?” you asked the young dwarf, who looked nonplussed by your question. “Did anyone notice the most remarkable quality of our fabrics?”

A pretty dwarrowdam with a fine blonde beard frowned. “It was difficult with the blanket moving so much.”

“Wonderful note!” you cried, beaming at her while the dwarves in the surrounding area asked her to repeat what she had said. “She spotted it - the most desirable quality in a woolen fabric: it moves!”

The dwarves began muttering among themselves, certain they were being tricked, and you hurried to explain yourself before you lost them entirely. “Some wool fabrics are so thickly woven that they are stiff, itchy, and uncomfortable. Our products are none of those things. Wool is a naturally amazing fiber. We weave it thin enough to be flexible and worn under other layers without losing those natural amazing qualities that wool possesses.”

“Like what?” someone asked.

You kept your grin professional, but you did so love the inquisitive crowds. And this was a topic that you had been lectured about since birth, so you were well able to explain it to this group.

“Firstly, wool breathes,” you started. “Air flows between the strands, but also within them as well. Most know that wool can keep you warm on cool days, but did you also know that it has temperature regulation properties? On warm days, wool can actually help prevent you from overheating! It absorbs sweat from your body without trapping odors, yet is partially waterproof - even more so if you treat it with a waterproofing substance! You don’t have to clean wool overly often, but when you do, it’s not a fussy fabric like some… others.”

The dwarves gave an appreciative laugh when you inclined your head toward a nearby booth where a male elf was attempting to sell his own woven products. He scowled at you and you winked back.

If you were being perfectly honest, you thought elven fabrics were lovely and felt divine against your skin, but they were also delicate and required special care when they were washed. Elven fabrics were a luxury for nobles, or those who did not undertake much physical labor. Dwarves, even the noble ones, tended to work hard. Work was enjoyable, a sign of competence. The poor elf did not yet realize that his goods would be difficult or impossible to sell.

“Have I sold you on the wonders of wool yet?” you asked the crowd. “Or shall I keep going?”

The dwarves crowded around your booth asked occasional questions, but spent most of their time trying to judge the quality of the goods for themselves. You had expected as much. Dwarves - especially the dwarves of Erebor - were crafters by nature. They prided themselves in being able to judge the quality of any work with a touch or a close visual study.

“Maybe they need a personal recommendation?” someone called, and you glanced past the crowd to find Bofur giving you a wave and a cheeky grin.

“I’m sorry, sir - we only take recommendations from reputable folk,” you teased.

Some of the dwarves watched you with shock and a hint of disapproval, but Bofur roared with laughter as he wove through to the front of the crowd. “You wound me, lass!”

You and Bofur went way back. You had met the cheerful dwarf on your first day selling your family’s products in Erebor. Back then, you had been soft-spoken and sweet, afraid to raise your voice or come under too much attention. Your biggest fear was that you would have to return to your family with packs that were just as heavy as they had been when you made the arduous climb into the mountain. It had taken months to convince your family that their products could be sold in Erebor itself, and they would be quick to assume that there was no profit to be made here.

Bofur had approached your booth as you stared at the pile of goods. You had taken them out of their packs and sorted them into vague stacks by fabric type, but you had known very little about how to display products to their best advantage. Bofur had asked what you were selling, gradually coaxing you from one-word answers to full sentences. He had laughed and joked and teased until you had grown comfortable around him, then helped you sell a few small items by repeating what you had told him.

At the end of the day, Bofur bought twelve of your best blankets, laughing when you had scowled and told him you didn’t accept pity sales. “You don’t understand, lass. I know quality when I see it. I want these blankets to be given to some people who are important to me. I think they deserve the best, and these are the best I’ve found. Will you sell them to me?”

You had grudgingly agreed, and your packs were significantly lighter as you returned home. Your family had been impressed at the sales you had made and sent you back on a weekly basis, then a daily one. Erebor had turned into one of the most profitable markets for your family’s products, and - since you had the best relationship with the notoriously stubborn dwarves - you were the one responsible for selling in the mountain.

Bofur showed the crowd his scarf and gloves. “These are just two of the products I purchased here and they’ve lasted me two winters. The gloves in particular show the excellent craftsmanship of these products. My fingers are never cold, no matter how far my journey. I have no trouble pulling the string of my bow, no matter how long the hunt lasts.”

A skeptical laugh sounded from the crowd, who glanced back to see Prince Kili there. “And how often do you pull that bowstring, Bofur?”

“Willful lad,” Bofur scolded playfully, shaking his head at the younger Durin prince. “Very well! I play the flute, which requires much more delicacy and precision than aiming a bow. Those gloves let me play as well as if I were bare-handed!”

That, more than anything, impressed the dwarves. They were all about fine motor skills, no matter what environment they were working in.

“Thank you, Bofur,” you said gratefully as he winked back. You hadn’t actually known he was one of the dwarves who had freed Erebor, not until someone had mentioned something off-handedly that allowed you to make the connection. And the blankets he had bought from you were given to the others who had worked to drive the dragon from the mountain.

After Bofur stepped away, the crowd converged on your table and you made sale after sale. When the crowd had finally cleared, your inventory was severely depleted and your pockets hung heavy with gold. You thought about counting it, but decided against it. Such an action would be crass, especially with the poor elf staring daggers in your direction. And it was lucky you did not, because you were able to spot a familiar figure attempting to skirt the crowds of the market

“There he is: the best-looking king the land has ever seen,” you announced.

Thorin glanced over at you, looking exasperated even as he approached. “It has been a good sales day, I see.”

“Very much so,” you agreed. “Bofur stopped by and bolstered things when they started to flag.”

“Yes, he is quite talented when it comes to drawing a crowd,” Thorin agreed dryly. “Tell me, did he-”

“Thorin,” Dwalin interrupted, striding purposefully. “There has been news.”

“We are in polite company,” Thorin reminded him, nodding in your direction. You fought a grin. Thorin’s mild reprimand was kind, but you were a trader, hardly considered polite company in most places.

Dwalin nodded at you. “It concerns the sheep girl, too.”

“Have a care how you speak of her,” Thorin growled.

You, however, had burst out laughing at Dwalin’s method of address. “Sheep girl! Tell me, does that mean I am a mere shepherdess, or is this my own wool I have shorn off my shin and woven into fabric?”

Thorin frowned at you while Dwalin’s lips twitched, but both grew grave as Dwalin said, “The weather has taken a quick turn for the worse. The snow is falling fast and deep, and the winds are bitter. The paths down the mountain are all but impassable now and grow worse every moment.”

Ah, now Dwalin’s urgency made more sense. Most of the traders lived inside of Erebor itself, choosing to bring large quantities of goods to the mountain, sell them at an easy pace, and leave when it suited them to gather more goods. They rented a room in the mountain, paying for the convenience of staying there. However, there were a few daily traders who made the journey to Erebor every day with fresh goods. That number, of course, included you.

Now Thorin had to choose what to do about those traders.

After a moment to think, the king ordered, “Send messengers to all of the daily traders. Tell them that they can leave now and attempt to return safely to Dale or they can spend the night within the mountain. If they stay, they will be charged only half of the daily amount due to the nature of this occasion. Instruct the staff to begin preparing extra rooms to be rented and the kitchens to prepare more food for purchase. Speed is our focus, my friend.”

Dwalin gave a sharp nod and moved to find the nearest messengers. When Thorin turned around, he seemed bewildered to find you packing up your goods as quickly as you could manage. “What are you doing?”

“Going home, of course,” you answered lightly.

“Did you not hear Dwalin’s report?” he asked sternly.

“Yes, but I sell wool,” you reminded him, tying the last of your bags closed. “If it comes down to it, I could wrap myself in unsold goods and navigate my way home through a blizzard.”

“And perish of cold along the way,” Thorin countered. “I know the quality of your goods, but there is no reason to do something foolish. The paths you take are not as well-traveled as the ones to Dale. They are far more dangerous.”

That, at least, was true. Your family’s home and lands were not in Dale or on the way there. They were in a different direction, adjourning Erebor at an angle that left you climbing through split boulders and across slopes covered in pea-sized gravel on your way to the mountain every day. But you were confident and stubborn.

“Thorin, you’re very kind,” you said, swinging a pack over your shoulder to hide your embarrassment at having referred to him by his first name. “But I know those paths better than I know my own face. If I leave now, I will survive the journey - more likely than not.”

You smiled as you moved past him, but Thorin’s large hand caught your shoulder and anchored you firmly in place. “You will not leave Erebor tonight.”

“You are the King Under the Mountain,” you told him, bowing your head respectfully, “but I am not a resident of Erebor. I am thankful for your guidance, but I must do as I believe best.”

“You are not mine to rule, but you are a favorite of my sister, a friend to my nephews. My company speaks highly of you and I myself regard you with warmth.” Thorin ducked his head the slight bit it took to stare into your eyes. “I will not have your death on my hands.”

“Thorin…” you murmured, reluctant.

“You are a clever woman,” Thorin interrupted, looking fierce. “Why do you fight me on something so simple?”

“I…” you bit your lip and glanced away before you summoned the courage to meet his eyes again. “I cannot afford to pay the price of a night in Erebor, even at the reduced rate. My family’s farm is struggling. We need every ounce of gold I can bring back. Staying here is a luxury, and we have all denied ourselves those. I cannot be the one who cracks first.”

Thorin’s face cleared. “Then you will not pay.”

“I don’t need charity,” you said sharply. “Besides, it would not be fair to the other merchants.”

“Do you want me to forgo charging them as well?” Thorin asked.

“No!” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “No, your kingdom should earn money for providing a service to people, even if it is a necessary one. I just cannot justify the cost of a room for the evening.”

“Then I shall pay the cost for you,” Thorin offered gallantly

You shook your head. “Charity once more. Unless you could find me a way to work after the market closes, to repay your kindness?”

Thorin started to shake his head, but paused and sent you an inscrutable look. “Perhaps you could. Would you dine with me this evening?”

You frowned, unable to parse that offer. “How is that considered work?”

“I am pleased to hear you enjoy my company,” he said, lips quirking. “Dis is being courted this evening and Fili and Kili have schemed to infiltrate their plans. I will be alone with only my thoughts for company unless you are kind enough to join me.”

“I still feel this is a trick,” you told him, eyes narrowed. “But I accept. I’ll come to your rooms when the market closes.”

Thorin inclined his head and started to move away when a thought struck you. “Is this a plan to ensure I do not go without supper?”

Trailing chuckles were his only reply.

When the market closed that night, it had been the best day of sales you had ever seen. Erebor’s residents - seemingly responding to being trapped inside the mountain - had flooded the market. You had sold almost every piece you had brought along, then you made an enemy into an ally by directing shoppers to the elf’s fabric stand after you had run out of goods.

And so, your empty packs all gathered into the one slung over your back, you went to Thorin’s expansive suite of rooms. He and the other members of the royal family lived on the upper levels of Erebor, nearest to one of the few exterior entrances to the mountain other than the heavily-guarded main doors.

You would have knocked on the doors yourself, but one of the dwarves who had been guarding the hallway that contained the royal family’s rooms accompanied you. He knocked smartly on the door, announcing your full name before marching back to his station.

Thorin opened the door a moment later, beckoning you inside. He must have noticed the bemused look on your face, because he asked, “Is everything well?”

“Yes, I just… I’ve never seen so much security for one family before,” you told him, glancing around the room.

You were in a space nearly as large as your family’s entire home. There was a large fireplace in the wall directly ahead of you with a table set before it. To one side of the room was a smaller table with an exquisitely crafted chess set atop it and two comfortable chairs on either side. A set of shelves had been carved into the stone wall nearby, holding an assortment of alcohol. To the other side of the room, you could see a large desk, covered in important-looking papers and flanked by bookshelves. A door was set into the wall nearby and you were willing to bet it led to his bedchamber.

You stepped forward, your worn boots sinking into the deep carpet spread across the floor. The carpet was a deep, rich blue with silver embroidery. Actually, now that you noticed it, much of the room was accented with those two colors - from the upholstery on the chairs to the curtains that flanked the three narrow windows.

Thorin gave a rumbling laugh as he closed the door behind you. “We are the royal family of Erebor.”

“I know,” you told him. He looked amused, but you dropped your gaze and sighed. “But maybe I didn’t realize exactly what that meant before.”

Thorin stepped closer, touching your arm. “Do not allow this new knowledge to put space between us. I am amused by your candid nature; I always have been. I would ask you not to deprive me of it now.”

You shook your head, grinning a bit at the teasing tone he used. Thorin wasn’t always in a playful sort of mood, but when he was, you had never enjoyed anyone’s company more. “Why all the blue and silver?”

“They are the colors of the Durin family,” Thorin explained. “More importantly, I have a strong preference for blue.”

“I never knew that,” you murmured.

Thorin nodded gravely. “I hope there are many things we will learn about each other tonight.”

You tilted your head to the side, waiting for the fluttering in your stomach to subside before you asked what he meant, but another knock sounded on the door.

“That will be our dinner,” Thorin told you. He made an expansive gesture to the room as a whole. “Please make yourself comfortable while they set up.”

You nodded obediently and set your packs and cape unobtrusively near the chess table before wandering over to peruse his library, being careful not to get in the way of the dwarves who were setting the table. Most of the books were in Dwarvish, a language you had never learned to read, but a surprising few of them were written in the common tongue.

Lost in looking through the titles, you were unaware that the others had left until Thorin gently cleared his throat. “If you’re ready?”

You turned from the shelves to stare at the table in dismay. The dwarves had set Thorin’s plate at the head of the table and yours at the food. The expanse of the table was stretched between you, the food placed at various increments. Thorin was a king. This was how he ate every meal. You couldn’t remember the last time you ate at a table that had utensils that weren’t made of wood. There was no way you could get through this meal without embarrassing yourself - something you had only just discovered you minded doing in front of Thorin.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, eyes dark with concern.

You shook your head and feigned a carefree smile. “No, just trying to plot how I can steal the good food from your side of the table without sacrificing any of mine.”

Thorin laughed. “Quite a conundrum. Perhaps this will help?”

He gathered his plate and glass, along with his napkin, fork, knife, and spoon, and arranged them all in the place next to yours. You paused again, unsure of the protocol. Was the chair at the end of the table now his since he was the king? Maybe the head of the table was just considered whichever end the king had sat on?

Thorin poured wine into each of your glasses, then studied the table with a critical eye. He took a few moments to bring certain dishes toward your end of the table, sending others to the far end. With that done, he beckoned you over, holding the chair at the end of the table steady for you. Feeling like you were breaking some rule, you sank into it and watched while he sat in the other chair.

“If you trust me,” he started, “The closer dishes are all of the specialties of Erebor’s kitchens. Those are the ones to try. If something on the other end looks tempting, I will gladly bring it to you.”

“There’s so much food,” you said, amazed. “Do you eat like this every night?”

“We are lucky to be prosperous in Erebor,” Thorin told you, “but I did order a greater variety of foods for this evening. I was not certain what you liked.”

You snorted, and Thorin smiled at the lack of grace in the sound. “I’ll eat just about anything. I prefer not to eat sheep or lamb, but I can make do.”

“I did not order either one,” Thorin agreed. “I assume you have too strong a connection to eat them?”

“No, we just eat a lot of them.” You shrugged at his curious stare. “We don’t waste food, especially when times are difficult. But you grow tired of it after a while.”

“What was it like growing up on a farm?” he asked curiously.

You stared at him, struck again by the realization that you had nothing in common with the dwarf sitting beside you. “Can I ask you something instead?” you asked, waiting for him to nod before you continued. “Does it bother you that I just call you Thorin? It might take me a little while to remember to call you ‘King’ or ‘Your Majesty’ or whatever, but I can get used to it. I don’t want to make you angry.”

Thorin grimaced. “The only thing that could anger me is if you started treating me like a king. I like that you speak to me like you would anyone else. I believe it is part of the reason I feel such warm regard for you.”

You hesitated. That was the second time Thorin had referenced something you didn’t quite understand. But your courage failed you and you ate a quick bite of meat that had been stewed in some delectable gravy, then steered the conversation in a direction you were more comfortable with.

“Why do you have a copy of Dwarven Lore and Truths?”

Thorin blinked at you. “You are familiar with the work?”

“Well, yes,” you told him. “I studied every book I could find before I started bringing goods to Erebor. That one wasn’t particularly helpful, if I remember. The author was more concerned about the differences between dwarves and men than the similarities.”

“I find it valuable for precisely that reason,” Thorin countered. “It is helpful to know how humans think of dwarves as we enter negotiations with them.”

“But surely there is more that unites the races than divides them?” you argued, unsure why you were suddenly so passionate about the topic.

“There are plenty of things that make us similar, but the differences are also worth exploring,” Thorin explained. “For all of the similarities, I am not human.”

“You must know I am going to ask for examples,” you told him.

Thorin looked thoughtful. “Dwarves are naturally stronger. We put on muscle much more quickly than humans, but we’re also far more broad. We can lift things that would hurt even a strong man to lift. Our stamina is increased as well, which is why so many prized blacksmiths are dwarven. And then there are more apparent physical differences. Dwarven bodies do not taper the way most humans’ do. Our fingers are blunt and thick.”

“Which is why you treasure crafting as highly as you do,” you summarized. “You have to work harder for those skills since your fingers are literally larger.”

“I confess myself shocked,” Thorin said. “Why have you dedicated so much time and effort to learning about dwarven culture?”

You shrugged. “I’ve dodged enough obstacles to be here. I don’t need cultural differences to get in the way. There is one thing I’ve wondered about that none of the books seem to discuss, though.”

“Ask me anything,” Thorin offered graciously.

“Does the same size rule apply to your cock?” you asked curiously.

Thorin, who had chosen the exact wrong time to drink from his wineglass, sputtered. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, it stands to reason that it would,” you mused. “It would be far stranger if your fingers were larger and your cock was not.”

“You- I cannot- I did not bring you here for such a conversation!” Thorin insisted, sounding flustered. “I did not ask you to my quarters to seduce you.”

“I wish you had,” you told him honestly. “I think you’re lovely and kind, and now that we’re talking about strength and stamina, I would love a chance to see how true all of that is, but I understand if you’re uncomfortable.”

“How can you speak this way?” he asked you, sounding breathless.

You sent him an unimpressed look. “Thorin, I grew up on a farm. I knew what sex was before I knew that people had such an odd reaction to it.”

“Have you… experienced it?” he asked you haltingly.

“Yes,” you told him, meeting his gaze steadily. “Do you think less of me for it?”

“Never.” Thorin glanced down at his plate and gave an odd smile. “I never believed this would be how I would broach the subject, but… I have been considering asking if I could court you.”

Now it was your chance to be breathless. “If we’re as different as you say, how do you know we’re… compatible?”

Thorin shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I have heard stories of others in similar unions.”

“What if I need more proof?” you asked.

“In my culture, such things are not done without some kind of promise between both parties,” Thorin said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It would be considered improper.”

You puzzled over that for a moment. “How is this for a promise? If we’re as compatible as you seem to think we are, we’ll consider ourselves courting. If things don’t work out, we’ll stay as we are.”

Thorin frowned mightily at you. “Would you truly be interested in such an arrangement?”

“Yes,” you agreed, simply and immediately.

As he studied you, Thorin nodded slowly. “I hope you understand the challenge you have given me. Never have I been so motivated toward this end.”

“Which end is that?” you asked crassly, giving him a cheeky grin. “Just so I know where we’re starting.”

Thorin rolled his eyes, but pulled you into a searing kiss the next moment. You lost yourself utterly in his embrace, willingly opening your mouth when his tongue swept over your lips. He tasted like wine and you truly felt drunk as you explored each other.

When you pulled apart, you were panting slightly. You nodded. “That’s a promising start. Let’s see where it goes.”

“Then let’s start things the right way, shall we?” he asked, easily scooping you up in his arms. You had been right - the door led to his bedchamber. When he set you gently on your feet, he gave a half-bow. “Strength.”

You nodded eagerly and let your hands drop to the closures of your top, but Thorin took your hands, pressing a gentle kiss to each one before placing them firmly on his shoulders. “Dexterity.”

He unfastened the delicate closures with an ease and speed that even you could manage only on a particularly good day. You were bare before him in only minutes, shivering as he brushed kisses across your neck, shoulders, collarbone, and the tops of your breasts. You ached for him to continue, but you pushed at his shoulders.

Thorin allowed you to pull away, glancing up at the motion. It took you a few tries, but you eventually managed speech. “If we’re studying differences, I think I might need the opportunity to look with greater depth.”

He nodded, standing still as you divested him of his clothing. All of it was plain to the unknowing eye, but you noted the fine texture of the woven strands, and the silver patterns embroidered into the fabric. These were royal clothes, despite their apparent simplicity.

When he was as nude as you, you looked over his form carefully. He was stockier than most men, broad across the shoulders and chest. Like most men of a fairly muscular type, Thorin’s waist tapered slightly, but not as much as you would have expected in a human. His hips were broad as well - not rounded, as you expected to see from comparisons with your own, but squared and strong. His legs were thick and strong as his arms, both dusted with a generous sprinkling of coarse, dark hair. And speaking of thick and strong…

As your gaze fell between his legs, Thorin’s cock stirred as if sensing your interest. You couldn’t detect any differences in shape, but he did seem to be better endowed than most men. Of course, he was not fully hard. You were nothing if not thorough.

You stepped closer, wrapping your hand around his length. You took care not to squeeze overly hard - some men needed to ease up to that point while others did not enjoy rough play at all. Better to start gentle.

Thorin hissed and his hand rose to squeeze your hand around him. With the increased pressure, his hips jerked forward reflexively, thrusting into your hands. The next moment, he stepped away with a curse.

“My apologies,” he panted. ‘You- you surprised me.”

“Oh,” you told him, fluttering your lashes demurely. “Was it a good surprise?”

Thorin’s voice, already low, seemed to drop even further in pitch. “Life-changing.”

“Then you may want to brace yourself,” you warned, pushing him backward to perch on the edge of the bed and lowering yourself to your knees in front of him.

He cursed again, holding your shoulders when you pushed yourself between his knees. “I do not expect this of you. Do not feel as though you must-”

“I want to, Thorin,” you insisted. “Are you going to deny me?”

Thorin didn’t reply, but his hands slipped away from your shoulders, letting you move as you pleased.

There was something erotic about being naked in front of him, kneeling on the thick blue carpet in his bedchamber. Even more erotic was the heat in his eyes as he stared down at you. It was difficult to tell, but you didn’t think he was breathing.

You refocused your attention on Thorin’s cock. It appeared to have grown since you had last paid attention to this part of him, almost threatening in proportions. Well, if anyone could tame the beast, it was you.

You reached out a hand and tickled a finger down his length, from the swollen head down the thick shaft, teasing back and forth as you reached his base. Thorin gasped in a breath at the slight contact, and you smiled as you wrapped your hand around the base, holding him steady as you nuzzled the side of your face against his cock.

Thorin groaned above you, the sound growing louder and deeper as you took the head of him into your mouth. There would be no way for you to swallow him down, not without the fear of choking, but you decided on quality over quantity.

Your tongue danced a complex pattern over the thin skin of his head, exploring it thoroughly before taking him deeper. Every ridge and vein was discovered and cataloged, and you took special joy in finding every hyper-sensitive spot that made him squirm above and around you.

When you had taken as much of him as you comfortably could, you pulled away, stroking down to distribute the wetness your mouth had left behind. You began to work your fist around him - as much as you could manage, that is. Your fingers couldn’t quite close around him when he was fully hard.

As your hand stroked him in a regular rhythm, you revisited all of those sensitive places, teasing them with lips and tongue and teeth. Thorin barked out a rough sound above you, winding his hands into your hair as his powerful thighs tensed around your body.

“Enough; mercy,” he pled as he dragged you away, pulling you to your feet as his chest heaved with the effort of catching his breath.

You wiped your mouth and grinned at him. “What happened to stamina?”

“There’s no stamina in the world that could withstand that mouth of yours,” Thorin growled, drawing you in for a kiss deeper than most men would have dared after your performance. You relished it.

“I fear I cannot wait much longer,” he warned when he finally pulled away. “What do you need from me?”

You smiled at him, tugging at his hand until he let you place it between your legs. He cupped you gently as his eyes widened. “You’re soaking.”

“I liked watching you fall apart,” you admitted. “I found it incredibly… inspirational.”

Thorin kissed you again, tugging you forward until you were in his arms and he could deposit you on the bed. He crawled on top of you immediately, managing the entire thing without breaking the kiss for more than a moment.

You stayed like that for an interminable time, lost in each other’s arms and the kiss you shared - until you realized you were unconsciously rocking against each other.

Thorin broke the kiss to stare into your eyes. “Are you certain-?”

“Thorin, please!” you urged, hooking your leg over his hip and using it to tug him closer. “I need you inside of me.”

With an oath, Thorin took control of your mouth again, dropping a hand to align himself with your entrance. He gave a mighty shove against your center… and then he sank deeper and deeper until he was seated fully inside.

Now, it was your turn to gasp, eyes wide as you struggled to ride out the stretch of his length in your center. He felt like velvet steel inside of you, his hardness unyielding. Your body obligingly stretched to accommodate him, though part of you felt as though the impalement was a punishment.

“Shh, darling, easy,” Thorin soothed, smoothing your hair back from your damp forehead. “Mahal, you’re so tight around me, so perfect. My beautiful human, so brave to invite a king to her bed.”

“Brave, huh?” you asked, mouth quirking a bit at his description. “You’re hardly as intimidating as you imagine yourself.”

Thorin’s skeptically arched eyebrow made you laugh despite yourself, which set off an interesting chain of events. Your muscles tightened around Thorin, who gave a stunted half-thrust before he could stop himself, swearing as he realized what had happened.

“My apologies,” he gritted out. “I will control myself better, I swear it.”

“Thorin,” you gasped out, rocking your hips slightly against him. “I need you to start moving.”

“Are you certain?” he asked carefully.

You nodded. That partial thrust had left him resting heavily against some sensitive spot inside of you, and the rocking of your hips had only brushed your clit against him, increasing the pressure to an unbearable level. “Please.”

Thorin shifted his hips backward slightly, pushing back into you carefully. It was lovely, but far too gentle to fulfill the wild need inside of you. When he moved to repeat the motion, you lifted your hips and met his thrust, forcing him deeper inside of you.

“If you do that, I fear I will lose control,” Thorin warned.

“Good,” you gritted out at him. You wrapped both legs around his hips, pulling him forward with every bit of strength you had gained traveling to the mountain and back with heavy packs. His hips met yours with an audible slap and you threw your head back, giving a wild cry.

“So that’s how it is to be,” Thorin mused. His thick-fingered hands settled on your waist and anchored you against the soft mattress as he set a punishing rhythm.

He drove into you over and over until you shouted with the sensations he was wringing out of you. Your hand rose to brush over your breast, idly toying with your tender nipple until you felt a ripple through your cunt.

“Thorin, I’m going to-”

Thorin nodded, looking serene. “Fall and I will catch you.”

And he continued to thrust, his hips meeting yous again and again as you clenched and shook around him. Your orgasm stretched longer with him continuing to thrust inside of you, but you eventually lay docile beneath him.

“Do you need me to stop?” Thorin asked, pausing.

You could see the effort it had taken for him to ask the question, his muscles shaking. You quickly shook your head. “Please, keep going. It feels lovely.”

He smiled, kissing you deeply as he continued driving his length deep inside of you. Your orgasm had left you drenched, and he slid through your folds with ease. Thorin’s lips trailed down over your jaw, leading downward until he reached the nipple you had teased earlier. He licked at it, suckling for a moment before giving it a gentle bite, and you made a noise that surprised both of you.

“So sensitive,” Thorin mused. “I regret not wringing more of those sounds from you earlier.”

You were trying to summon a witty reply to that when his fingers dropped to your clit. “Did I prove my dexterity to you earlier? Or do you require another demonstration?”

You tried to speak, but when one rough, blunt fingertip brushed over the sensitive spot, you choked on your words. You swallowed roughly, warning, “If you do that, I’m going to come again.”

Thorin’s gaze sharpened and he gave a particularly hard thrust as his fingers began to circle faster, more insistently. You went from pleasantly relaxed under him to shaking with tension in moments. “Thorin-!”

He only rubbed more insistently and your muscles began contracting around him once more. Thorin’s rhythm stuttered and his fingers left you to grip your hips once more as he pounded into you with abandon, the sound of his flesh slapping against your loud in the room. Your orgasm pulled a cry from deep in your throat and it was answered by a deeper one from Thorin as he tore away.

Even as you shook from your peak, you watched in fascination as Thorin gripped his impressive length, stroking over it expertly as jets of seed pulsed from his tip to spray over your hips and stomach in a warm rush. When he was finally spent, Thorin fell to the bed, panting. You did what you could to catch your breath as well, feeling his seed run over your hills to pool in your valleys. You were so lost in the moment that you didn’t notice Thorin’s movement until he spoke.

“One moment, my treasure,” Thorin said, brushing a kiss against your lips.

He left the room through another door and returned a moment later with a cloth. He cleaned you tenderly, wiping up all traces of his spend and then gently dipped between your legs to clean your sticky wetness from your folds. When you were clean, Thorin brushed the cloth over his softening length as well, then tossed it into a corner and joined you on the bed.

“I hope you have no immediate aspirations of leaving this room,” Thorin warned. “I feel another demonstration of stamina is in order, along with one of dwarven generosity. I would like to return your earlier gift.”

You stretched, feeling deliciously tired. If Thorin wanted to explore you with his mouth, you saw no need to refuse.

“Lucky that I did not pay for a room,” you mused. “It seems it would have been quite a poor bargain.”

“You already took part in a poor bargain,” Thorin told you. “I fear you’ve already fascinated me. I do not know that I will ever leave you now.”

You smiled at the ceiling of Thorin’s room, awash in the fluttering light of the fire. It seemed like an extremely fair bargain to you, but you wouldn’t argue with him.

After all, Thorin was the king.

---

A/N - Thorin is very attractive. I don't make the rules.

Thanks for reading!

#the hobbit #lord of the rings #hobbit reader insert #hobbit fanfic #thorin oakenshield #thorin x reader #thorin x you #dwalin #bofur #the hobbit kili #reader insert #nc 17 #nc17 #rating: nc17 #lemon #spicy #smut

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jangofctts · 2 years

Text

Litany In Which Things Are Crossed Out (Thorin x fem!reader) (part one)(part two) (part three)(part four)

Rated: mature

word count: 4.5k

warnings: none save for canon typical violence, language, and descriptions of mild violence

a/n: chapTER FIVE YEEHAAW YALL remember, there's 7 chapters on my ao3 if you want to be all caught up!

It’s the wee hours of the morning.

The low glow of the embers within the fire pulse and slowly taper into ash. Thorin and Dwalin are the only ones awake, keeping watch over the Company before they move to wake them for today’s journey. He appreciates the silence. It’s one of the brief times in the day Thorin finds peace.

All too soon the others begin to rise.

Óin tends to the fire, reigniting the little flames to brew his pine needle tea. Bombur lays out the bowls and morning oats for the group while Balin flits around camp to gently awake the others. His sister-sons and the hobbit lass, bundled in a blanketed heap against the rock, are the last to rise.

He isn’t sure what to make of it—how close the trio drifted together in such as small span of time. Dwarrowdams are rarer than a bearded elf—and as far as Thorin knows, Fíli and Kíli have had no such interactions with the aforementioned (save for their mother, of course), let alone a hobbit lass. He rubs at his temples and sighs. He only hopes that the boys remember their manners for Durin's sake.

Just as he thinks it, Kíli raises his pillow high above him and thwacks the back of Cricket’s curly haired head—the only part of her that is not still buried under blankets. The padded thwunk resonates through the clearing. Thorin sighs. Scoldings from all corners of the camp are flung at his giggling nephew, who is not at all perturbed. The girl shoots up, face twisted and furrowed by the rude awakening. His nephew is lucky she did not bite off his head or retaliate with an equally harrowing blow.

Mahal.

They eat their oats in peace—only a few complaints—and then it happens.

Cricket raises her eyes from her bowl, glances at Kíli, then back again at the grey mushy, slop of oats. A wicked smile curls over her lips. Pulling back her spoon, she aims it at Kíli and flings a wad of oats right into his unsuspecting face. It splatters over his cheek, sticks there for a moment, and falls in a gelatinous heap on his lap. The boy isn’t sure what to make of it.

A stern stare deters Kíli from seeking vengeance.

Limits, limits, limits.

Thorin’s irritation heightens with every moment they linger here. Dori and his obsessive harping at Ori and Nori, Bilbo’s complaints about breakfast, Bofur’s jovial humming, Glòin’s longing spiels of how much he misses his wife—Durin’s beard they are insufferable. His mood sours, prickling and plunging into short nerves and venomous glowering. Why, one of the objects of his irritation thinks to approach him, is beyond his comprehension.

Furry little feet enter his range of sight, he raises a brow. “What is it?” It comes out harsher than he intends.

A flicker of aggravation touches Cricket’s impish face. It is rare Thorin finds such a creature who unabashedly wears their disdain upon their face with such freedom. “I just—well, I just wanted to speak to you.”

The admittance is surprising. From the first jagged interaction he’s had with her and the impatience he let run rampant when handling the two hobbits, Thorin has left no room for anything else but ire to bloom. The little hobbit lass much prefers the company of his nephews and the younger members of the group who endorse her nettlesome antics—she has no purpose seeking the attentions of venerable dwarves, brooding over their desolate minds. None at all.

Her request throws both he and Dwalin in a curious silence that she mistakes for denial.

“If—uh, that’s all right…that is.” The last part oozes with unease. She fiddles with the sleeve of her tunic. It’s much too large and hangs rather lopsided on her shoulders.

“Ye already are speakin’, lass,” Dwalin answers for him. He’s splitting hairs and he knows it, yet he too is drawing close to his wits end. “Say yer part an’ be done with it.”

Cricket’s sharp eyes jump to Dwalin. She props a hand on her hip as anger bubbles up to replace the nervousness. “What are you, his mother?” Dwalin turns his head to hide his embarrassment from the girl. Thorin smooths a hand over his mouth and rubs at his beard, hiding the jump of his lips that threaten to upturn into a smile. “I would think a king ought to be able to speak for himself.”

Dwalin is no fool—he’s quick and clever, lending him a distinct advantage on the battlefield, yet the task of words—that is an entirely different matter. Throw that in the pot with a pretty lass boasting a tongue crafted from Durin’s Bane—Dwalin is reduced to bumbling halfwit—choking on his tongue with words that will never spring forth.

Dwalin shrugs deeper into his furs. “Mahal, save me.”

Her question still stands unanswered. Her nostrils flair. “If you two are just going to be pigheaded oafs, I’ll be leaving. Good morning.”

Before she can turn on her heel, Thorin raises his hand. “Be at peace. Speak your mind.”

She reconsiders the offer with a hmph. Another silence settles as she tries piecing together what she wishes to say.

“If this is about my nephew’s behavior this morning—“

Her brows furrow. She shakes her head and waves her hand in dismissal. “No. It’s not that.” Her teeth worry her lip as her eyes shift between them. “Balin’s story—it was real, yes?”

Thorin bites back the urge to snap at her. At times he forgets that history can only be so real for those who live so far from it. She meant no offense—it is only a naive inquiry. Thorin inclines his head. “Balin is gifted with colorful storytelling—but yes. Yes it was real.”

Cricket nods. She sucks in a breath and releases it with a puff of air. “I’m sorry, then—for your losses.”

Dwalin excuses himself with a rough grunt and mutterings about a broken stirrup, leaving Thorin to wallow in his bafflement. The scars that littler the skin and mind still feel like stray shrapnel imbedded within, jarring and still bloody if touched. The Battle of Azunulbizar, while won in the tomes of history, still leaves those who were there in the vast seas of grief. Some, like Dwalin, prefer to dust the past under a rug, lock the door and set a match to the house—never to be spoken about again. Dwalin gets the luxury of avoiding the past—Thorin has no such mercy.

Thorin has entirely forgotten the girl until she pipes up with another gentle prodding. “No one should go through what you did—to see those sorts of horrors…”

“No,” Thorin agrees, wrangling the sharpness of his tongue into a smoother cadence. “They should not.”

She wrings her hands together and rubs her thumb over the sharp slopes of her knuckles. When her thumb rolls over her pinky, she twists the delicate ring that decorates the digit. It’s of dwarvish make—a braided band of golden branches and ivy leaves. “I know it’s not worth much, but I know what it’s like to loose family.” Cricket inhales slowly. “I’m willing to lend an ear, if you should need it.”

A dark and mangled part of himself, covered in brambles and shadow twist around his heard and squeeze like a vice. Balin can craft any sort of metaphor for the pain and build something breathtaking out of the rubble. Twisting words to heal hearts and romanticize all the things that hurt, but at the end of it—there’s nothing pretty to see here. In truth there is great sorrow, a catalogue of sins and a host of terrors that eat at his soul and no manner in which to sort through them. Anger wells up, acrid on his tongue at the false olive branch Cricket offers. What is there to gain from this if not something she desires?

“And for what reason would I do that?”

The girl shrugs. “I find it’s easier to seek consolation in someone who is not your kin. They already have preconceived notions about you, so—“

“Our griefs bear no similarities,” Thorin cuts off with a growl. Cricket sighs.

“I think they do,” she says quietly. Her eyes soften and Thorin is faced with a different person, one who hides in the fleeting cracks in her resolve. It isn’t enough to spare her from the acid he spits.

“Tell me—in what way does the peaceful life of the Shire mimic that of war and violence?”

He seizes her wretched olive branch and sets it ablaze.

Cricket’s jaw clenches. “I never said it did.”

So disgustingly naive, he thinks. He doesn’t know why this makes him bitter. Infuriated even. Nothing within him is torn—not in a way that is visible to the eye. How dare she assume that she can force her way in, peel back the layers and witness the chips and cracks that paint his skin like a spidery crack of lighting. Vulnerability is not a thing he wishes to divulge to a mere stranger.

Thorin drops his eyes and stands. “You have cost us enough time with your foolish inquiries—we must leave.”

He doesn’t wait for her reply and cares not to remedy the act of severance.

*^*^*^*

You hate him.

You don’t even care that it sounds dramatic, because it’s true: You hate Thorin Oakenshield.

That’s the last you’re ever going to offer him bloody comfort. You haven’t a clue why you offered in the first place—it just…you don’t know. Some part of it just felt right. Kindred souls rooted in the same sort of emotional pain that comes with loosing family. You charged forward carrying torches and axes expecting a positive outcome, when it instead takes a delicate hand, patience and a little bit of luck. But isn’t that just the way—making a mess of things no matter the circumstances.

Whatever.

Now all you’re left with is a fat wad of embarrassment and a king’s irritation that seems to solely hone in on yourself and Bilbo. Because, yes, all problems and road bumps you meet are caused by the two non-dwarven folk—why wouldn’t they be?

The runaway pony with you on it that the Company had to search hours for? Your fault. All you to blame for Dwalin slapping the behind of the poor creature before you could dismount, bolting through the wilderness—no thought in your head besides holding on and praying to the Valar you survived. Safe to say, you are a little better at riding now…

Then the incident with Kíli’s bow��yup, your fault too. Yes, it’s true your have some skill with a bow, aiming at stationary targets and all in good spirits. Yet those bows that hail from the Shire are not made for war like Kíli’s short bow is. His is nigh impossible to draw back, let alone aim and shoot. What possessed the fool to stand directly behind you and aim for you, you’ll never know. Only that his chest is very broad and that the arrow knocked on the string found its mark…

Into a sack of oats…

Hand picking dried oats from the ground with Kíli, supervised by a leering Thorin, all clenched teeth and crossed arms—is a fabulous way to spend the time, you think.

To make up for your apparent atrocities, collecting bearberries from a wild swatch of bushes could put you back into the good graces of Thorin Oakenshield. It doesn’t. Óin mistakes the harmless berries for Flax-Leaved Daphne, accuses you of attempted murder only to hastily retract his claim after you swallow a handful in front of the healer. Any hobbit worth their mettle can tell the difference between any type of berry. Valar, the nerve! However, the damage had already done by that point—

Bilbo has his own share of bumbles—but not in the same caliber as yours. Not enough to matter.

And now? Now you’ve been banished to the back of the pony train, saddled with Fíli and closely flanked by Kíli, Bofur and Nori. There’s not a shadow of a doubt that Thorin had a hand in this—shoved to the butt end of everything so he doesn’t have to see your face and risk the possibility speaking to you. Jokes on him—you don’t want to see his stupid face either.

The perceived punishment, in reality, is far from awful. The dwarves are a lively bunch and the four who surround you provide a lovely escape from the constant aching in your thighs and tailbone from the long hours on horseback. There is never a dull moment, what with Bofur’s bawdy jokes, Nori’s prideful boastings and the prince’s fiendish encouragement. For once in your life, you’re running in step with folk who share your humor instead of tiptoeing around eggshells and earning foul looks. Those in the Shire who tolerated your jests and balky quips never really appreciated your wit. It was more of a sympathetic chuckle due to your bluntness—a spectacle to see behind a partition of glass and distance so they didn’t have to tarnish their own reputation by straying near.

But with this bunch? Well—they gobble up your stories and jokes, vastly curious about life in the Shire and all too keen on answering the plethora of questions you have for them too. Hobbits are shy of Big Folk (less so of dwarves) and so there was never a chance to immerse yourself in other cultures that were not provided by Bilbo’s books and maps. Most of his books focused on elven kind anyhow—

If you truly wanted a taste of the outside world, a handful of dwarven merchants from Ered Luin would sell their wares throughout the summer markets of Michel Delving. Furs, silks, metalwork and all sorts of otherworldly craftsmanship. Just as it happens, the ring you wear on your right pinky originated from said merchants. Upon divulging the information one night, Bofur had swept your hand into his and eyed the delicate band with studious intent—

He wriggled it free from your pinky and turned it over in his hand.

“Aye,” He nodded, thumbing at his beard. “This is of Fréla’s make. Y’see here?” He pointed out a little scribble underneath the band. A sigil of sorts, the grooves reflected by the glow of the fire. “Color me surprised, Cricket. Her craft is hard to come by nowadays.”

“Why’s that?”

His calloused fingers scraped over yours, straightened your pinky and slipped the jewelry back into place. Bofur gave your hand a pat. “Moved on from us common folk and started bartering her wares for the lords an’ ladies an’ all that. Och, ye’d think she hated travelin’ with me every summer, or somethin’!”

You snickered. “Who could resist you and your roguish charms, Master Bofur?”

“That’s what I’m sayin’, Cricket!” Bofur boasted. He puffed out his chest and struck a silly pose. “A shame y’never met me sooner, lass. I woulda been over the moon, tryin’ to impress ye.”

It makes you giggle. “I’m surprised I never did meet you—I loved the markets.”

He shrugged. “Ah well—no use in ruminatin’.” He smiled, wide and toothy, and gestured to your ring. “Keep tha’ safe. It’ll fetch a pretty penny to the right buyer.”

You never told him it was a gift from your older sister—years ago from when it still fit on your chubby middle finger as a child. You’d first sell the clothes off your back and a tooth or two before you’d think to sell the ring. It was stupid to bring it—you know that. You risk loosing it or damaging the intricate metalwork, but it’s a comfort of home. If worse comes to shove, you’ll tie it to a string around you neck.

With a loud sigh, you shift on the saddle and take in the rolling scenery around you. Not much to see—scraggly rocks, a stream, some birds—very fascinating. Your eyes drift to the back of Fíli’s head. Nothing about it has changed since the last time you raked your eyes over the golden mane—you don’t know why you expected it to.

Kíli resolves your growing boredom in the next breath.

“So, Lady Cricket,” Kíli begins with a mischievous waggle of his brows. “Any smitten suitors awaiting your hasty return?”

You’re floored the topic hadn’t rolled around sooner.

“Oh, aye!” Bofur joins in. “That I am curious of.”

“Must be of real sturdy stock to handle such a spirit,” Nori comments. He rides a little ways ahead and needs to turn his head in order to be heard. “What’s his beard look like?”

You roll your eyes.

“Leave her be, you scoundrels,” Fíli scolds. He flashes you a kind smile over his shoulder. “Cricket needn't share if she doesn’t want to.”

“Spoilsport,” Kíli grumbles.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind,” you assure. You appreciate Fíli’s concern but he does a poor job at hiding away his own curiosity. “You lads looking to be placed on my awaiting list of swooning fools?”

“You’ve a list?” Nori guffaws.

“I’ll gladly jot my name down, lassie,” Bofur cackles. He winks and waves down the scribe riding ahead of Nori. “Oi! Ori, be a good lad and lend me a quill!”

Ori recants with a trim refusal. They’re for his maps and notes, he says. Not for whatever nonsense the five of you are up to.

Right as you’re about to respond, Bilbo drops back and butts in with a matter of factly snort. “A list of suitors! She’s lucky if she ever courts—what with that disastrous birthday party.”

Bilbo’s nose twitches as he mutters and grumbles on about the mountain of apology letters he needed to write on your behalf. You thought it was perfectly executed. Petty? Maybe. Deserved? Oh, absolutely.

Bilbo captures their attention and you’re left to entertain. “You mean about Éamon, cousin?”

“Yes, I mean Éamon,” Bilbo snips. “And stop smiling—it isn’t funny.”

“Alright,” Kíli says, holding up his hands. “You’ve lost me. Who in Durin’s name is Éamon?”

“Oh, Neddy Whitfoot,” you exhale with a wistful glance up to the sky. “What a wedding it would have been for the mayor’s son.”

Bilbo shoots you a wary glance. “Cricket, please—“

“No, no no!” Comes Bofur’s dissent. “I want to hear this! I know a good tale when I hear it.”

“She hasn’t even said anything yet,” Fíli gripes.

“C’mon, Cricket,” Kíli encourages, equally as excited as Bofur. “Tell us the story!”

You feign irritation. “Fine, fine. Only ‘cause there’s nothing better to do—“

The dwarves cheer, Bilbo groans.

“Well you see,” you begin. “Me and Neddy were an item for well over two years—and like I mentioned, he’s the mayor’s son. A smart match. Though I think Bilbo was more exited for it than I was.”

Bofur whistles, impressed. “Look at ye, Cricket. Anglin’ for the big fish, eh?”

“Let her finish,” Fíli hisses.

“All for naught, though,” you shrug. “Little Neddy didn’t think I’d find out about his little strumpet, Prudence Bracegirdle.”

Bilbo chokes in time with the others’ snickering. “Mind your language, please.”

“I will do no such thing!” You scoff. “I have a right to be upset about Prudence fucking my dearly beloved behind my back.”

The tips of Bilbo’s ears flush a cherry red.

“Aye, I ‘ave to agree with Cricket,” Nori chimes in with a shake of his head. “I’d be rightly fumin’ too!”

“What’d you do then?” Asks Kíli.

Spurred by their support in the matter you continue on. “I’m surprised they didn’t see or hear me when I found them shagging in the mayor’s stable. I knocked over at least two buckets and a broom—“

“Yvanna save me,” you hear Bilbo whine. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb and looks just about ready to disappear into a wisp of cloud.

“Anyway—I rushed home and started tearing up half our garden and pulling out my hair, screaming and wailing over that fool. Don’t know why I was so upset over it—white bread has more personality than ol’ Neddy.” You chuckle and fiddle with your ring. “After a while I calmed down—and in hindsight I probably should have cut things off there—no mess with it. But I was angry—so damn angry—“

“As you should have been,” Fíli asserts. His handsome features are drawn into a deep frown.

You blink and rush to get the rest of your story out. You don’t want to dwell on the sudden tightness in your throat. “Yes, well—“ You clear your throat and rub your nose. “I decided to wait in ending our courtship. It was only two weeks away from my birthday and through the grapevine, I heard Éamon was going to propose. So I waited—pretended nothing was amiss and when he dropped to his knee and offered me the ring—“

The group waits with bated breath. “I announced to the whole Shire that he could stick it up his arse so that Prudence could pluck it from his tongue and marry her instead.”

Kíli throws his head back, his thunderous laughter infecting Bofur and Nori as well. After a bout of unbridled giggling, Bofur wipes at his eye. “Thank ye, lass, for the laugh. Knew twas a good one!

Fíli nods approvingly but his face still holds the residual frown. “What a shameful twit. He deserved worse.”

“Like what?” You inquire. “Should I have hung him by his toes and left him for dead?”

“Yes! I think you should’ve!” Kíli promptly agrees. “I heard that the dames in the Iron Hills use willow switches to keep their husbands in line.”

“How brutish,” Bilbo comments. You have to agree with him on that.

“I’m not going to beat anyone—much less my future partner,” you scoff with roll of your eyes. “How is that not outlawed?”

“Aye,” Fíli shrugs. “But any dwarrow who’s worth their beard should realize what a treasure their partner is—”

“Especially, someone like you!” Kíli says with aa grin that takes up his entire face. “That Eddy—Neddy—whatever the bastards name is—was utterly blind in the face of true beauty.”

Heat rushes into your cheeks. You bite your tongue and quickly change the subject. “To be honest I think she did it out of spite.”

Bofur waves a hand and clicks his tongue in disbelief. “Nah—nothin’ ye do warrants someone sleepin’ with your partner under ya nose.”

You wince. “I may have cut off her braid with sheep shears a year before that.”

The dwarves clam up quicker than a fire to dry grass.

You clear your throat. “And I planted thistles in her garden…and I maybe stole a couple of her dresses…”

Silence.

Their faces are all drawn into a particularly grim stare. “What?”

Nori upturns his nose and smooths back his elongated eyebrows that connect into his hair. “Remind me t’never risk your anger, else I’ll end up bald.” He shudders like it’s a punishment worse than death.

Kíli slowly shakes his head. “Mahal’s hammer, Cricket! What on earth did that poor girl do to deserve that?” Kíli reaches up to thumb at his hair. “I can’t even imagine cutting my hair, let alone someone else doin’ it.”

“Kíli, you barely have any as it is,” you say offhandedly, “and I only did it because—what?”

Kíli’s crestfallen face and Bofur’s attempt at keeping his giggling at bay, confound you. Bilbo hasn’t a clue either. His laugh mimicking that of an unattended tea kettle, Bofur’s cheeks turn a cherry red and bursts with infections cackling. Kíli scowls and shrinks into himself. Nori and Fíli join in as well. You realize too late that they’re mocking Kíli—some joke you’re not privy too.

Bofur holds his stomach and slaps his knee. “Durin bless ye, lassie. Yer a real hoot, y’know that?”

“That wasn’t…That’s not very nice,” Kíli mutters. “Not like you have a beard either.”

“I don’t understand,” you say, furrowing your brows and glancing wildly between a heartbroken Kíli and the others. “Kíli, I didn’t mean—“

“You’re actin’ like you’ve never seen a beard before!” Nori states as if that were common knowledge.

Your face twists. “Hobbits don’t grow beards—why would I know anything about dwarf beards? It’s just hair to us.”

Another puzzled silence ensues. Fíli turns his head to look at you and then at Bilbo. “Surely, you’re jesting.”

“I’m at a loss as well,” Bilbo sniffs.

“Och, well,” Bofur hums, thumbing at his mustache, “That would make sense, thinkin’ about it now.” He smiles and gestures to his own self. “Beards an’ hair are a striking point of importance for us dwarrow.”

“We use plaits and beads to signify things like our status and achievements,” Fíli nods with a gentle smile. “You didn’t know it, but insulting a dwarrow’s hair is like, well—“

Fíli pauses for a moment, glances around and then snaps his fingers. “Well, it’s like insulting a hobbit’s cooking!”

You suspect it’s much more heinous than that, but you get the gist.

Nori beckons your attention to his elaborate hair. “See here lassie! This—this is a true show of dwarven prowess!”

“Yes, uh, very…” You swallow and smile tightly. You first instinct is to tell Nori he looks like a red wad of yarn that remotely resembles a starfish. You know better now. “Nice…”

He preens.

You turn your attentions back to Kíli—still moping. “I’m sorry, Kíli…I think your hair is very beautiful—very, uh, very manly.” You lower your voice to a deeper cadence on the last part. It earns you a collective chuckle.

His eyes perk up a bit. “You mean it?”

You nod, and scratch at the back of your neck. Compliments are not your forte—giving them out always makes your skin itch. “Promise.”

Even with that, his shoulders are still slumped ever so slightly. What a sap—fishing for compliments. “For what it’s worth—you’re quite a looker for hobbit standards.”

Kíli beams. “She called me handsome, Fee!”

“Oi, what about me, Cricket?” Fíli teases, tossing his hair and flirtatiously winking at you. You struggle not to snicker. “Tell me, which plait is your favorite? I did them all myself.”

“Yes, yes, you’re handsome too. My favorite are your mustache plaits—”

It’s like you’ve roped the sun and pulled it up solely for Fíli, with the way his chest puffs—ego soaring high above the clouds.

You don’t mind paying them the compliments all that much—it’s fascinating to you. The rest of the journey for that day is soaking up all and any information they happily supply. And, as you find it, there are a million and one ways in which to properly care for a beard and the cultural significances that come along with it. It makes you head swim.

As the sun dips under the horizon, and everyone is settled for dinner, Fíli and Kíli promise to teach you more on the subject.

A lovely distraction. Almost has you forgetting your petty grievances with their uncle, up until he scowled at you three to go to bed.

A shame that Thorin Oakenshield owns the prettiest head of hair you’ve ever seen.

A real shame…

#thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield x you #thorin oakenshield #thorins company #bilbo baggins #fili x reader #kili x reader #fili #kili #lord of the rings

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jezzibee · 2 years

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Viltarra

As I continue to learn how to draw in general, and use procreate, I thought I would draw one of the dwarrowdams (female dwarves) from the Hobbit fanfic I wrote. Yes, she has a beard but it’s subtle…ish lol. This is what I imagined my original character, Viltarra, would look like for all of you who have read Reforged and Strengthened, the sequel to reforged. For everyone else, here’s a pretty dam. :)

#reforged #fanfic #original art #original character #dwarves #female dwarf #dwarrow #dwarrowdam #lotr fanart #the hobbit #Viltarra

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i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years

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Day of the living (2/2)

So, here's the second part

Words: 2,4k

Warnings: it's horribly kitschy

Part 1

HC for @laurfilijames

“I will coordinate with the Men. Take care!” Thorin clasped a heavy hand around Fíli’s shoulder.

“I will be right here when you come home; I will not forsake you,” he promised, thinking – again – of his own father and grandfather and of the loneliness of kingship that he wanted to spare his nephew.

“And we will come home, uncle,” Fíli promised, “we will return and meet our little cousin.”

Would they be able to break the curse tearing the line of Durin apart like a badly woven carpet?

“Amad,” Fíli rested his brow against his mother’s hand, “fret not! I shall come back, and I’ll keep an eye on Kí. I swear!”

Dís smiled; her golden boy whose prowess was only overshadowed by his heart. He was so much like her own brothers had been, and she was terrified to lose him or her baby Kíli. They were men now, but she couldn’t help casting her mind back to the time when she had been carrying them under her heart rather than within its shivering confines.

Then, she caught her sister-in-law’s eyes and nodded slowly; once upon a time, she had been alone, condemned to wait in the throttling silence of empty rooms, but she was on her own no longer.

“Wives, daughters, our day has come!” she called into the now slowly emptying room.

A new buzzing, low and intense, started to rise as women and dwarrowdams began taking to their respective positions.

“What are you on about?” Thorin turned around mid-step.

“I am defending my home, my blood, my family; what do you think we are doing?” Dís laughed darkly, shoving the king playfully as he scratched his beard in confusion.

He, as well, had to understand and accept that he was no longer alone; in this battle, he would not be crushed under the burden that rested solely on his shoulders. A community, a people, bound by blood and loyalty would be at his side, each soul breathing in time with his, each heart echoing his own racing pulse.

“You mind your part of the battle, and we mind ours, how about that, my love?” The queen smiled and sank into the passionate kiss her husband pressed upon her lips, seemingly unable to walk away from her. “Think of the future, Thorin, not of the past. Be the king who came back, who got to meet his son and raise him properly, be the king who kept Erebor safe!” She whispered insistently.

“You are not alone,” she went on, “I am here, and I will oversee the communication. Look to our rampart, Thorin, I will let you know what we see from above. Dís is here and she will make sure that archers are in place and the gates are barred. Ori’s wife and Óin are preparing to tend to the wounded. You are not alone. When you get frightened – and you will – think of us! Think of those who have your back. Come home!”

A sob broke free from her, but she – resolutely – wiped away the tears blurring what might be the last glimpse she got of her husband, her king, the father of her unborn child.

“I love you until the world is remade, but I’d rather love you tonight,” she grinned bravely and kissed him one last time – insistently – as if to impress upon his lips the map that would lead his steps back into her embrace.

“My king,” Kíli was grinning, biting into an apple, and prodding at his gauntlets to make sure everything was well fastened.

“I am not your king yet, Kí,” Fíli sighed, worried about his younger brother and his fiancée. What value had his life if he was to spend it without them?

“Don’t be daft, you were my king before I was even born.” Life was that easy for Kíli; his loyalty and faith were boundless and effortless; he never doubted his brother or the momentous role into which he had been born.

Fíli let his forehead sink against his brother’s, feeling that bright, vibrant soul connect with his own. Whatever was coming their way, he would be less scared with Kí by his side.

Memories of childish bravado flashed through his mind; yes, he had always been brave for Kíli: he had faced the dark cellars for a treat and the wild outdoors for a prank, Kí’s pudgy hand in his and his joyous babble dispelling his own insecurity. He would not falter if his baby brother needed him, he never had, he never could.

“Love, do you really not want to stay here?” Fíli turned to the one he loved so much it defied his understanding, but she simply grinned and shook her head.

“I am always one step behind you; between Kí and me, we can make sure your flanks and rear are covered.” She exchanged a quick glance with her future brother-in-law who gave her a cheery thumbs-up.

“You don’t have to do that,” Fíli whispered.

“You are my king, my future husband, and I will be at your side for whatever challenge arises. Look at the queen, look at your Auntie, Fí, she has braved Thorin’s mood and stubbornness with equanimity and love; she’s been nurse, politician, diplomat, and tactician since marrying Thorin II.”

He nodded, that much was true, Thorin’s wife had learned to be everything he needed her to be and more; discreetly, she calmed the waves in his absence and excelled in the things he failed at; they were a perfectmatch.

“You are to be a warrior-prince; this is your moment to prove yourself and I will be right there, sword in hand, head in the game.” She shrugged; she was just as good a warrior as any other dwarrow, and her love for the man in front of her only gave her more incentive to go to battle. “I live and die at your side, as is proper for a wife!”

“I love you.” He pressed his lips shortly but sweetly on hers and pinched her ass through the thick, padded leggings she was wearing under her armour. This woman alone was worth facing a thousand orcs; her happiness, her safety, and her future fuelled his steadfast determination to defeat this evil once and for all.

“And I love you. Your uncle is right, let’s go defend our home!” She patted her tight braids one last time before nodding at Kíli and striding confidently towards the gates. The point of no return.

“Daughter!” Dís hastened after her and took her hands into her own. “Oh, I see yet another hope leave these halls,” she sighed, her fingers tightening around the armoured hands of the one she hoped would be the cradle of her own blood.

The younger woman waited for her to go on, wondering if the princess would prohibit her to go.

“Come home! I do not know if you have someone here to tell you that, other than my son – who will be out there with you – so, I beg you to come back to me. What good does it do to gain a daughter only to lose her again?”

Grief, old and gnarly, had surged in the dam’s heart, and her hands grew ever colder.

“We are strong, Lady Dís, we won’t let Erebor be taken from us,” she promised in an insistent voice. One day, she hoped to call this woman “Amad” and see her holding a golden-haired pebble covered in crumbs; she committed this vision to memory – those mournful eyes in front of her filled with quiet glee – and nodded to herself, this was a good reason to unsheathe her sword and wade through blood and misery for half an eternity if necessary.

“Come home and be ours!” Dís pleaded, touching her brow to the younger woman’s in a moment of intimacy that defied and superseded mere words.

With that, they exchanged a short, strong hug and went their separate ways.

It was a long, bloody battle, but – finally – the alliance of Men and Dwarves, aided by a convoy sent out by Thranduil, was victorious,

Thorin had kept to mostly watching his wife’s flags – something she might have stolen from Azog – and dispatching his forces accordingly; he had not been able to withstand the urge to bloody a few orcs, but mostly, he let his heir reap the fame that would cement his reputation.

Over the years, he had learned to trust his heir and his friends; no longer the stubborn loner, the king had learned to use his wisdom, his influence, and his hard-gained knowledge in ways that were to the benefit of all.

Pride swelled in his chest as he looked upon the victorious forces he had led in mind if not in person. Bravery and strength had many faces – from the tireless efforts of his women braving frightening sights and never flinching back to the fearless advance of his nephews and their beloved – and he felt blessed to have recognised this just in time to make the most out of every skill and advantage of his people and allies.

Even covered in blood and mud, Fíli was radiating with joy as he limped back towards the main gates, held up by the woman he intended to wed and his brother who had a bump the size of an egg on his brow.

“Uncle, how fare you?” Fíli grinned, plunging into Thorin’s arms as if he was a pebble again and his uncle had just returned from a long trip beyond the borders of their settlement.

No matter how many decades had passed, the warm smell of Thorin’s skin and the strength of his sturdy arms made Fíli feel safe and protected, and he allowed himself to let his cheek sink against the dirty collar of his uncle’s coat.

“Well, oh so well now I see you, my sister-sons,” Thorin sighed, closing his arms tightly around the one who had come back. His sister’s darling boy, his respected heir, a seed to surpass the whole family tree by his inherent strength and goodness, Fíli meant so much to him personally independently of his importance for the throne and the people he’d eventually reign over.

Time melted in his hands and in his mind, the clock reversed, and he got to rewrite what he had accepted as inescapable destiny: Fíli and Kíli were alive and so was he. They got to go home and see the faces they loved most once more before the end of times, what an unexpected blessing!

I bound Fíli’s leg, a superficial graze that would heal in time, and was about to put a cooling stone to Kíli’s brow when a pair of hands grabbed my hips from behind and whirled me around.

Fatigue and dread melted from my body into the ground upon looking – once again – at the face I knew better than my own for I stared at it out of love rather than vanity: my husband, my love, my life.

“I’ve got it all,” Ori sighed against my lips, unmindful of the hooting coming from his friends, “but I seem to have lost my inkpot. Shame really, I liked that one!”

Chuckles in the background; even injured and just returned from a literal war, those men never fully had shaken off their childhood silliness…and I was thankful for the light within their hearts for it buoyed my own weary soul.

“Oh, you fool man, I’ll get you all the inkpots in the world. Oh, you’re alive,” I cried out, pawing at my leaking eyes.

“And so are you, wife, I saw you make a mad dash for some injured dwarrows out there.” He wriggled his brows accusingly, but his hands were firm and steadying around my hips as he dipped in for another kiss.

“We all did our part,” I smiled and breathed in his warm scent intermingled with blood and sweat.

“I’ll write a nice part about that fiancée of yours!” Ori grinned at Fíli, who beamed with pride, before muttering that he needed to change into clean clothes. I merely shook my head at how nonchalantly he went about the aftermath of the epic battle we had just witnessed.

Task-oriented and unafraid, my husband was a miracle a thousand smart men could not decipher fully within a thousand lifetimes, and I sighed deeply. How I loved him for being such a strange but adorable creature.

In the end, it was my greatest honour and privilege to record and complete my husband’s account of that day.

Words will never do justice to the instant healing in Lady Dís’ eyes upon entering the great hall, drenched in sweat from running up and down stairs tirelessly, and find her family complete. They were sure bloodied, dirty, and smelly, but they had come home as promised.

The queen merely smiled for she had never really questioned that the combined hearty courage of righteous people fighting for a home and a future would ultimately – and against all odds – prevail. Maybe, she also only had blind faith in her husband, the king; we will never know, but she ended up being right.

Not only was Erebor saved and Middle-Earth rid of a part of the infection that choked the life out of it, but the curse that had plagued the line of Durin ended up being broken as well.

For Thorin had succumbed to neither madness nor battle and so, he got to teach and train his heir and successor during long years before abdicating the throne and being uncle and father to dwarrows he was so proud of that their love was a crown he’d wear forevermore.

Also, Fíli the magnificent – war hero and golden prince – became the “sun underground”, shining with fierce passion and boundless kindness through the halls that seemed less gloomy under his reign. Supported and aided by a queen who was light and fire, he took his people into a new age of restoration and solidity.

There is a monument to them, actually, standing just outside of Erebor: dark stone representing Thorin’s steadfast strength marbled by golden veins in commemoration of Fíli’s radiating bravery in finding new paths into a brighter future.

Having his mother, a father-figure in lieu of an actual father, his living brother, and his fearless wife by his side, Fíli had the time, the support, and the courage to grow into the crown and elevate it to a level of prosperity – beyond the merely economical – it might never have known before.

As for me, I saw the sceptre being handed from Thorin – dark, brooding, and mysterious as the moon – to Fíli – radiant, powerful, and warm as the sun – and I knew that I might have been a witness to the best part of the history of my people.

#fanfiction #hobbit #thorin oakenshield #ori #fíli #kíli #laurfilijames #stgc #fix-it #everybody lives #AU #I am ashamed #well well well #tell me what you think #healing in words

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maggyme13 · 4 years

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Why Licking?(15/?)

AN:Hello again :) I was so thrilled by your comments that ai was able to write another chapter. Thrilled to know what the dwarfs were planing?

Wordcount: around 2400

Warnings: the usual

Why Licking-Masterlist

Masterlist

Part 14

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The door vibrated under the heavy knocks.

This took longer than I thought it would. Almost three hours.

“A moment please.”, you called out to take a last look around your little home. Heaving a last sigh you finally opened the door to face – one single dwarf. Again.

He was tall for a dwarf, and burly. His head bald with tattoos and beard short but impressive. On his back, two heavy looking battle-axes rested on is back and metal plates covered his knuckles.

“Dwalin, at yer service. King Thorin sends me. He is waiting for you in Erebor.”, Dwalin´s words held authority and no room for arguments.

“I thought that much. But I have to inform you, that my eyesight is not as good as it once were. Especially with the changing lights now that it is late.”, you nodded, taking your coat and pulling it around your neck.

“There is a carriage waiting.”, he stated, flexing his shoulders. Though it looked like a habit of his and not a tactic of intimidation.

“I will follow you then. Please lead the way Master Dwarf.”

“Good.”

You did as you had promised, and when you turned a corner in the road a goat drawn carriage was waiting for your companion and yourself.

Half an hour later, you believed you saw the gates of the great mountain appear in the dark.

Arriving at the gate, warriors saluted the two of you.

“The king is waiting in the throne room.”, a white haired dwarf stated.

“Thank you brother.”

“Miss, my name is Balin. I am the kings advisor and will be escorting you to him. Please follow me and my brother. And if you need anything, please let me know.”

“Will do.”, you frowned.

Why are they this polite? They know who I am. What is going on?

The two dwarfs lead you through the huge halls that had been carved into the mountain by skilled masons.

Entering the throne-room, you at once noticed the young dwarf you had met that fateful day. The prince and your reason for being here.

“Is that her?”, a deep timber voice asked and the blond dwarf nodded.

“Yes, Uncle. That is her.”, the prince answered, “Tabrok?”

“Yes, King Thorin. That is the one they call Mabrotnosh.”, now you saw the ex-slave standing next to the King.

“Dwalin?”, he asked an unspoken question.

“She did not resist, and followed every order.”, he sounded almost surprised.

Every single pair of eyes was concentrated on you.

“Why am I here?”, you finally asked, “If you wanted me dead you would not have treated my as good as you did.”

“Why do you think we want to see you dead?”, this time it was the blond prince asking and you answered.

“Of all these dwarfs present, you and Tabrok(?), should know best why I think that.”

“And that is exactly the reason why you are here.”, it was the king. “You saved my nephew and were nearly killed in the process. I want you to thank you for this. But you are right, this is not he only reason why you are here. It was the reason how found you though. Bring him in!”.

The last part was a direct order and not long after the sound of many armored boots echoed through the hall.

Turning around towards the sounds, you noticed thirty dwarfs that surrounded a much larger figure walking towards you.

An Orc.

Dressed in leather armor and wearing a warg- skin on its head.

“Drago.”, you breathed in confusion and wonder, “What-”

“He surrendered earlier this morning close to the boarder of our territory. He was bearing a message.”

“A message?”

“Yes, a message regarding your person.”

“I don´t understand.”

“You see, we were awaiting the arrival of a large caravan of our people migrating to our new home. They were intercepted in a small canyon by a band of orcs. Five hundred lives. Woman, children and men are in the hands of those orcs. The orc you see over there was bearing a message. If we want so see our folk again we have to return their own. Their Queen for the lives of our people. A queen no one knew about. A queen no one had even heard about. You must understand the dilemma we faced. They want us to return something we did not even know we have.“, the advisor continued for the king.

In the meantime Drago and his guards had stopped close enough for you to see his red eyes. Your guard growled, his throat and chest visibly vibrating, in anger or threat you did not know.

“Mabrotnosh. I am sorry that I could not protect you from harm as I had sworn.”, he bowed his head, “But I will make it up to you. I came to bring you home.”

“They said you have taken hostages. Is that true?”, you asked.

“Yes. My orcs are in charge under Ska´al´s command. They are ordered to not harm anyone until your save return.”

“Who gave the order?”, you breathed, needing to know if Azog was still alive, or who now was ruling over your fate, “Was it Azog, or maybe Bolg?”

“You are our Queen.”, was the only answer he gave.

“What if I do not want to go back? Not after what happened to me?”, you demanded to know, the question meant for both dwarf and orc.

The prince was the first to answer. “Then we will have to fight to free our people. Many will die. Many will suffer. My brother and I might lose our mother.”

“Nothing will happen to you, ze Mabrotnosh. We can arrange for you to stay in different quarters. You chose who gets close to you”

You were able to hear the hidden plea in his voice and thought about thinking to return to the mountain.

If you don´t, then hundreds of lives were in danger. Their blood would be on your hands.

Without saying a word, or thinking, you turned around and walked the same way back from once you had come. Well, you tried as well as it worked with your blinded eye. Footsteps followed you, multiple dozens, and you heard someone shout after you.

But you ignored it, only coming to a stop a hundred meters away from the main gate and whistled. One loud high-pitched whistle.

It did not take long for a shadow to close in on you. A shadow on four legs. A shadow with ice blue eyes and sharp teeth.

“Unless you want me to walk all the way to the exchange, I do not recommend shooting or hurting him in any way or form.”, you declared, staring the closest dwarf down that had drawn his weapon.

“Hello Akul. I knew you had stayed close.”, you hummed into the black fur of your warg, “And you have become so big in just five months.”

“Is that your decision?”, King Thorin asked one last time.

“What is one life in exchange for hundreds? Mine was over the day my village was raided.” It was more than a statement than an answer.

“So be it. Dwalin, you know what to do. Bring back our people.”, he ordered and within twenty minutes one hundred dwarfs were mounted on war- goats and ready to ride alongside Drago and you.

-..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..

Close after midday of the second day, the camp that held the hostages came in sight at the horizon.

“We will return to our people, than yours can return to you.”, Drago declared and with no way of arguing or demanding another way, the dwarfs accepted.

That was how you rode alongside your guard into the camp, where every single eye was on you.

“Drago, give the order to let them go unharmed. And then let us leave.”, you ordered and he nodded.

“Get ready to depart! Leave the Dwarfs unharmed. We ride to Moria.”

The two of you stopped in the center of the area, when a dwarrowdam caught your attention. She was clutching her side and looked scared.

“What happened to her?”, you asked no one in particular.

“An orc happened, what do you think?”, another dwarrowdam laughed dryly. She looked an awful lot like the king.

“Which orc did it?”

“Blue skin and white markings.”, she answered with a bit of wonder in her eyes.

“Find him and bring him here.” you ordered and five orcs scurried into every direction. It did not take long for them to find three Orcs fitting the description the dwarrow had given you.

“Who of you hurt the female?”, you demanded to know, “Answer me. It was ordered to not hurt them and yet someone did. That order was given in my absence but in my name. So who of you did go against it?”

The orc in the center and the one on the right looked buffed, it was obvious to you that it wasn´t them. The third one behaved like a little child or dog, he looked everywhere but at you.

“You two,”, you motioned at the two innocent ones, “can return to whatever you were doing. You”, pointing at the third orc,” will answer my question now. Tell me the truth and no harm will come by you from any orc or dwarf. And if I don´t like the answer, you will be banished from the orcs of Moria.”

Dammit, when they want me to be their queen, I can behave like one and use my powers to save others, and maybe change the way the orcs behave.

“Now tell me: did you attack the female, and why did you do it?”

“I wanted to have her, but she refused.”, he sneered and the fierce looking dwarrow clutched her fists.

“Understood. As you can belief, I do not like that answer. Because you behaved unprovoked. If she had tried to kill you and you were merely protecting yourself. I would have understood. But like this. Leave this camp at once. Do not look back. If any Orc sees you from now on, he will be allowed to kill you and will not be punished for it.”

The orc snarled at you, showing his sharp teeth and almost white eyes. He tried to intimidate you into rethinking you judgment, but an even deeper growl from both Drago and Akul had him whimper in submission.

“Mabrotnosh.”, he nodded before standing up and turning towards the trees.

“You let him leave without any harsh punishment? How dare you to speak like this for us dwarfs?”, the king´s twin fumed, “letting him go with the promise that no harm will come at him. He will continue his dark thoughts. He will be looking for his next target.”

“You did not listen. I exclaimed that no DWARF or ORC will be causing him harm. I said nothing about the wargs. Sometimes, predators should know how pray feels like. Don´t you think? Drago, I believe your Wargs have not been hunting for weeks now, am I right? Give him another half an hour, then send them out with one of your riders . Make sure to bring me back his head.”

“My Mabrotnosh.”, he smirked, giving the order to one orc you knew to be Nasck.

“There is a little army send by your King waiting a few leagues down that way. You are free to go and join them. Once the Wargs have returned we will be leaving for Moria. It is your choice when to leave to your blood.”

“Who are you?”, the dark haired dwarrow finally asked the question that was plaguing her mind since the first second she had seen you.

“I am (y/n). I was taken from my village by the pale Orc Azog. Everyone else was killed. He took me with him and made me his Mate, his wife it seems. And apparently that also made me the Queen of the orcs of Moria. Most of these orcs you see here, at least the bigger ones of them, have become my personal guard. Apparently they made it their task, to get me back from the life I was given after the battle of the five armies, and took you as hostages to force King Thorin to release me. This is a hostage exchange.”

She looked baffled. “But in the end, you are nothing more than a hostage yourself. One with a lot of power, but still a prisoner or hostage. If you ever need advice or just an ear that listens, send a raven. My name is Dis, daughter of Thrain, son of Thor, and sister to the foolish king under the Mountain and mother to two sometimes idiotic princes. Should you ever feel the need to relocate your home. You will always be welcomed by me. You gave up your freedom to return ours. Farewell Queen (y/n). May you live long and prosper.”

“Farewell Lady Dis. May I ask you a favor before you go though? Tell your sons to not walk into an enemy fortress alone. Next time, there might me no one to save them like it happened during the battle.”

“THEY DID WHAT? I will tan their hides so long they can´t sit for months. They told me they were taken from the edge of the battlefield. And my doofus of brother …. Thank you for this information.”, now grumbling and muttering, Lady Dis walked over to the injured woman.

“WE WILL BE LEAVING NOW! PACK YOUR THINGS!”, she ordered and within fifteen minutes no Dwarf was in sight anymore.

“I changed my mind. Send out your wargs. And then we will return to Moria.”, you spoke, knowing Drago was standing behind you.

“Nasck will leave at once.”

Growling and snarling went through the camp when the Wargs gathered to hunt, Nasck mounted his warg and the hunt began.

.--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--.

“Nasck has returned.”

“Send the head to the dwarf as a sign that I kept my word.”

“I will Mabrotnosh. What then?”,Ska´al asked.

“Then we will return to Moria.”

“Yes Mabrotnosh. Let´s return home.”

Home. My new home. What ever there will be waiting for me.

Part 16

Permanent:

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~Maggy

#Azog #Orc x reader #Azog x reader #Orc #Hobbit #Orc x female reader

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bitter-sweet-farmgirl · 3 years

Text

Ashfâkh

Wow, I’ve been sitting on this chapter for awhile due to the fact that Estel had suddenly revealed an insecurity I didn’t even know she had... (I’m going to be brutally honest right now. When people say that author’s have complete control over their characters, they are lying. As an author, I should have control over Estel, but I really don’t. Honestly, I legit feel like I have a toddler.) That is what is going on right now. You guys will get the whole story about Estel and her stubbornness in the next chapter since it ties in with it, but for now, I’ll just let you read this piece...

Part 25 of ‘A Deep Misunderstanding’. Link to Series Masterlist.

Thorin falls for a Dwarrowdame raised by Elves, and tries to make know his feelings, but accidentally offends her, which leads to another and another misunderstanding between the two.

Based off of @immawriteyouthings ‘Falling Stars’

Note: If you wish to be tagged for certain stories, just let me know and I can add you to a tag list!

Tags:

@kumqu4t @pixierox101 @elvish-sky @ladylouoflothlorien @vicmackeybullshxt @lothloriien

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Estel

Word Count: 1,391

Warning(s): Swear words.

Translation(s): Ashfâkh: Doubt

~~~~

WHAT?! Was I hearing him right or had I gone crazy? Surely I had not just heard him ask me to marry him--rather bluntly at that--today?!

I stared at the dark-haired Dwarrow before me, trying to process his hoarse words. "WHAT?" I gasped breathlessly, trying to calm my pounding heart.

What a funny little thing it was, taking his words so seriously when he couldn't possibly mean them. Eru, the Dwarrow was so sleep-deprived that he was delusional! Yes, that was it. He wasn't in his right mind...

"Marry me today, Estel." Thorin repeated quietly, his steely eyes hesitantly flickering over my face.

I searched wildly for a reply; anything to distract him. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?" I asked weakly, trying desperately to keep my voice normal. "You have to be really tired, Amrâlimê..."

Thorin's brow began to furrow as he looked at me; lips parting ever-so-slightly. "You do not wish to marry me?" He questioned, uncertainty tinging his words.

I shook my head quickly, "no, no... I do want to marry you, Thorin, but right now? Today? Out in the middle of nowhere? I think you just need to get some rest. You're obviously very tired if you're talking like this..." I said, avoiding his heavy gaze.

A gentle hand cupped my chin and raised my gaze up to sapphire blue pools. "I assure you, Estel, I'm thinking quite clearly. Ask any of the others and they will tell you that I am not one to take such a life-changing decision so lightly." He murmured in a low voice, and I swallowed hard.

"But why? Why ask me now? Why can it not wait till Erebor is reclaimed?" I asked, and Thorin's gaze grew solemn.

"I don't know exactly why. It just seems like the right thing to do." He said slowly; eyes flickering across my features. "I just have this feeling..."

I pulled away from Thorin, rising to my feet and looking down at him as I played with my fingers. "I don't know about this... We've only known each other for a little over half a year, Thorin. And we've been courting for maybe 3 months at the most. Doesn't this just seem a bit fast to you?" I asked quietly, and Thorin rose to his feet, looking down at me with a sorrowful expression.

"Estel, I have thought over this for many a night. I did not take asking you to marry me lightly in the slightest. There's just this feeling inside me..." He muttered, gaze dropping down to the ground.

"Just let me think over it, alright? I promise that I'll give you an answer by tonight, Thorin." I whispered, giving him a small smile.

Thorin hesitated, looking at me with a sorrowful look in his eyes. "Of course..." He murmured, nodding slowly. "Estel, once we reclaim Erebor, we will have a proper wedding with whatever you desire. A ceremony for our whole kingdom to participate in. If that is something that bothers you, don't worry over it." He said quickly, and I laughed hollowly.

"That isn't something that troubles me, Thorin." I replied, "just let me think over it."

"If I had asked you once we reclaimed Erebor, would you have said yes?" The sudden, vulnerable question startled me for a moment and I stared at Thorin. "If we had been courting longer, would you have accepted?"

I took a deep breath, blinking back the sudden rush of tears. "In a heartbeat."

"Than what is the difference now? We have already seen the worst sides of each other..." Thorin said with a harsh laugh as he tried to hide the hurt my hesitance was causing him. "It is not as if we are complete strangers."

I nervously traced the tattoo on my hand, thinking over Thorin's words. Eru, he spoke the truth. We already knew each other almost as well as we were going to. Being on a quest and going from enemies to lovers did that. But I still just couldn't shake the lingering doubts that we just wouldn't work together.

"Would it help if we both spoke with Balin? Have him judge whether or not we are rushing things?" Thorin asked desperately, and I shrugged my shoulders. What could it hurt?

"Sure." I answered quietly, and Thorin was quickly off in search of the white-haired Dwarrow.

~~~~

"It is a bit unusual to have a shorter courtship, but I do agree that you both know each other quite well. Better than most courting couples, I wager." Balin murmured contemplatively, and Thorin gave me a look.

"See, it is not worrisome to be marrying so soon, Amrâlimê." He soothed, but I shook my head, bringing a frown to his bearded features. "What is wrong then?"

I took a trembling breath, tightly clasping my hands together. "What if we just don't work out together? Right now it might seem as if we are perfect together, but what if a few years down the road, we find that maybe we just don't fit as well as we thought? What will we do then? Split apart and carry the weight of the heartbreak for the rest of our lives? It is just wiser to wait." I murmured tremulously; a tear slipping down my cheek as my emotions swirled around me.

I did not want to end up like my Naneth; forced to leave her husband and endure that heartbreak because he wasn't the man she thought he was.

"Estel," Thorin whispered gently, pulling me close to his chest and wrapping his arms around me. "You are the only Dwarrowdame for me. Dwarves only love once in their lives, and that love endures until death and beyond. I would never leave you of my own free will. Even then, it would take Death himself to pull me from your side." He murmured into my hair, voice cracking slightly with emotion.

I buried my face into the warm fur of his coat, breathing in the reassuring scent of worn leather and sweat. "Elves only love once, but my Naneth and her husband split apart because their differences... I don't want to end up like her." I choked out haltingly, and Thorin ran a calming hand up and down my back.

"But did she not also say that it was better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all?" He asked quietly, and I nodded against his broad chest, remembering that dark night after I had woken up screaming from another nightmare. Thorin had held me close and listened as I chattered nonsense in an attempt to calm myself.

"Yes, but I am scared..." I responded, voice muffled by the gamey-smelling pelt lining his coat. "I'm scared of losing you."

Thorin's grip tightened around me. "I'm afraid you'll never be rid of me, Amrâlimê... Even when you want me gone, I'll still be around." He said teasingly, prompting a quiet laugh from me.

"Have you figured it all out?" Balin's voice awoke us to his presence, and I raised my head to look over at the Dwarrow I had forgotten was there.

"Yes." I said quietly, a hesitant smile winding across my face. Balin grinned back, nodding.

"And are you going to marry this royal pain in the arse?" He asked, and I laughed aloud at his unusual coarseness.

"Yes," I giggled. Eru, Thorin's expression was priceless.

"Royal pain in the arse? What are you talking about?!" He asked indignantly, looking between me and Balin with a disgruntled expression.

"Nothing, just a little conversation between me and Dwalin earlier. I didn't know you were listening in." I giggled, waving off his indignant protests before addressing Balin.

The aforementioned Dwarrow just shrugged, grinning broadly. "The conversation was too good to miss." He said with a wink before turning to look at the seething Thorin. "Now, me and the lass need to have a private discussion. You go find your nephews and clean yourself up. It wouldn't do for the King to get married with such filthy ears as you have..." He said, plastering on a scandalized expression before motioning for me to follow him.

I tried--and failed--to stifle my laughter at Thorin's horrified exclamation that followed us as we strode away from him.

"FILTHY EARS?!"

#thorin x oc #thorin oakenshield x oc #thorin #thorin oakenshield #a deep misunderstanding #angst #marriage #courting customs #balin #dwalin #royal pain in the arse #stubborn estel #queen #erebor #the company

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xxbyimm · 3 years

Note

25 oc questions: 🌟🌙❄️🔥🌻💎👀 and I know who you wanna talk about 😆

Lol, you do???? I have no idea...

Thank you so much for asking me these questions, my dear sister from another mister! <3 I really enjoyed answering these. 🔥

🌟 When your OC loses all hope, who do they turn to first? What helps make them feel better? What calms them down and reassures them? Why?

Enya Blueheart always turns to her husband Thorin first. If something or someone is letting her down, she will needs his reassurance and support. Since a large part of their love language is physical touch, they’re often found hugging, kissing (among others things.. LOL). Within his arms, she feels safe and at home. Snuggling up with him in front of the fireplace is one of her favorite things in the world.

Secondly, Enya’s tiny pet dragon Dracarys never fails to make her laugh, because of he’s too stupid to be even alive to be honest. His cuteness has saved his tiny ass more than once!

When Thorin or Dracarys aren’t available, I can see Enya seeking comfort with Dís. Because Enya is about the same age as her sister-in-law’s sons, Dís is very protective of her.

🌙 If your OC could have one wish come true what would it be and why? Would there be consequences to this wish or would they regret it once they get what they want? What would they give in return for this wish to come true?

Hmmm… Quest Enya has one wish in mind, but that one will get granted fairly easily and she has no regrets. At all… ;D

I think Queen Enya desperately longs for some private time with her king. And with this I don’t mean quality time in their private quarters, but more like an equivalent of a holiday we humans have. She wants to go on an adventure with him, explore Middle Earth and have long, passioned make out sessions without having to worry which member of the court is playing peeping Tom. The consequence of this wish would be that the kingdom has to survive without its’ king and queen for a few weeks, but I think they’ll survive…

❄️ What makes your OC sad, so sad that they can’t help but cry all day? How do they cheer themself up? Does their sadness upset any of their loved ones too?

Losing Thorin. As we’ll see in the upcoming chapters of Enya’s journey, losing Thorin will devastate her. There’s no cheering up from that. At that point, En just wants to crawl into a hole and die.

🔥 If your OC known for having temper tantrums? If not, what gets them really angry? What makes their blood BOIL? Is there anyway to calm them down or are they unstoppable? What are they like when they’re angry? Do they take it out on their loved ones?

UM, YES! We’re talking about a bloody fire-witch here! Enya is notorious for her temper tantrums, in which she sometimes loses control over her powers (a.k.a. setting the bed on fire). She despises arrogant people, females who dare to even look at her husband (Dolvira and Elmilynn are honorable mentions) and gender inequality.

Calming this sassy lady down isn’t easy, especially when she has turned into a literal fireball. But somehow (I’m not sure how he does it), Thorin manages. He listens to what she has to say or simply distracts her from the topic that’s enraging her.

🌼 Write a short drabble from your OCs POV meeting their LI (or if they don’t have a love interest, their best friend. If you don’t want to do a drabble, describe their first meeting instead!)

Oh yass!! If you don’t mind, I took a snippet from the remastered Enya’s Unexpected Journey series I’m currently writing!

‘Ouch!’

She landed on something hard and unrelenting. Next thing she knew, the world was literally spinning on its axis and she was lying under a gruffy, very angry man with long, dark manes and a beard. The fight was over before it even had begun and Enya found herself being pinned firmly on the ground, a sharp blade pushing against her throat. She hissed in pain as her assailant’s deep blue eyes flashed over her, scanning the level of danger from his current foe.

Even to someone as inexperienced in combat as she was, it was clear that the man was overpowering her in both strength as deadliness. Resistance was futile. Enya stopped writhing under his tight grip and the can containing her only way to defend herself, rolled onto the ground.

‘Honestly, my dear.’ Her mind huffed. ‘Are you even trying to escape or what?’

For a moment, they were taking each other in and emerald eyes burned into their pale blue counterparts. Aside from those gorgeous eyes that looked straight into the depths of her soul, the man possessed a characteristic nose and a carefully kept -though no less majestic- beard. His mouth was set in a grim line. A strand of his unruly, dark hair brushed over her face. His scent, a mix between tobacco, musk and worn leather, was both soothing and intoxicating.

Good gracious. He was hot…

💎 Does your OC collect anything? Is there a reason? When did they start and is it beginning to turn into a little bit of a hoarding issue? What do they do with their collection?

I don’t think that other than pets, Enya doesn’t really collects anything. She loves animals and once Dracarys bonded with her there was no going back. Thorin often jokes that Erebor is a kingdom, not a farmhouse… xD

👀 Describe your OC through the eyes of another person! (bonus + specify who)

This is a snippet from a chapter I have yet to write!! Lady Dís meets Enya!

A slender female clad in black appeared behind her trusted informant Daniel. Dís, who wasn’t used to Dan bringing companions with him- especially not ones covering their face with a hood-, arched a brow. Dan caught her gaze and grunted something incomprehensible, making the princess of Durin smile. The poor ranger just couldn’t help himself, could he? He always had to play the hero.

‘I don’t remember asking you to bring me anything other than information, Dan.’ She spoke. ‘Who’s this?’

The female lowered her hood and a wave of chestnut brown locks fell over her shoulders. She had pretty, delicate features and though the lack of any apparent facial hair (not even a slight sideburn) was a bit disappointing, the fiery, determined gaze in her pale blue eyes made up for it. But there was something else. A small flicker in her gaze betrayed there was much recent hurt and heartbreak lurking beyond the surface. Whoever the girl was, she had been through much.

‘I’m sorry for intruding your home like this, lady Dís.’ The girl said, her light and melodic voice sounding polite but yet quite certain. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘None taken.’ Dís replied. ‘What’s your name?’

‘My name is Enya Blueheart and I’m the last royal descendant of the firebeard clan.’

Ah, a dwarrowdam. Of royal ancestry no less! Dís neared her new acquaintance with curiosity. ‘You’re most welcome here, miss Blueheart.’ She said. ‘May I offer you something to drink and a place to rest? You look rather tired.’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Enya murmured as she let the princess of Durin guide her towards the long dining table near the fire.

‘My my.’ Dís muttered as her fingers accidently dug into Enya’s ribcage. ‘You are too thin for my liking. If I may inquire… Who broke you?’

@criminaly-supernatural, do you approve of this Dís and Enya scene? ;D

#enya blueheart #thorin oakenshield #thorin x enya #thorin x oc #25 OC questions #sister from another mister #i love enya more than life #ugh

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llnewobsessionll · 4 years

Text

Good Old Days (Thorin x dwarrowdam!reader)

A/n: Thorin and Y/n have known each other all their lives and when Bilbo asks about them Bombur ends up telling an embarrassing story about young Thorin and Y/n mking mischief in Erebor. Hope you like it! xx

Description: Thorin and Y/n have known each other all their lives and when Bilbo asks about them Bombur ends up telling an embarrassing story about young Thorin and Y/n mking mischief in Erebor

Warning: None

Word count: 1,076

Bilbo had been watching Thorin and Y/n closely for the past few days, when he had first met Thorin Bilbo had thought Thorin as a right old grump who looked at life a glass half empty, and that would be an easy thing to think, anybody who met Thorin without Y/n around would surely reach those conclusions too. But Thorin changed with Y/n around, he was happier, he smiled more, and was nicer to Bilbo too, although that was only because Y/n forced Thorin to play nice.

Thorin hadn’t introduce Y/n as his wife, but anyone with an eye or an ear would be able to tell that Thorin and Y/n were in love, and had been for some time. Y/n was the only one of the group who could make Thorin laugh, or change his mind about something, and when the rest of the company was bone tired and just wanted to rest it was Y/n that talked Thorin into stopping for the day.

The wind had been heavy that day and the company had been climbing hills and rock for the majority of the day, progress had been slow but the company was still tired, Thorin had wanted to keep going and push the company to go further, most likely into the night. It was Y/n who had taken pity on the rest of the company, especially Bilbo when he had to stop and rest for the third time that day. She insisted that they stop for the night when they had finally reached level ground. Thorin looked like he wanted to complain and push more but a few whispered words from Y/n into his ear convinced him to stop for the night.

With Thorin and Y/n out in the forest looking for logs and stick to use for the campfire that night Bilbo finally asked the question that has been weighing on his mind, he nodded in the direction Thorin and Y/n had gone “how long have they been together?” he asked the question openly to the company of dwarves not caring who gave the answer.

It was Nori who answered him, “nobody really knows, you see they had grown up together, and have been friends since they were wee little pebbles, nobody knows when the relationship really started because there was no real end of their friendship and beginning of their courtship.”

“They’ve known each other that long?” asked Bilbo

“Oh yeah, I can remember them running around all of Erebor, causing mischief and getting into the kitchen cupboards when they were younger, and they would always hold hands too” added in Balin from across Bilbo.

“Wait they climbed in the kitchen cupboards?” asked Bilbo astonished, he tried picturing a smaller version of Thorin and Y/n climbing around in kitchen cupboards and causing mischief but he just could picture Thorin ever doing anything like that.

“Oh that was a dreadful, terrible day! And the mess they made, oh by Mahal’s beard!” Bombur piped up in distress, clearly lost in the memory. By that time most of the company was paying attention to Bombur waiting to hear the tale of how their stoic leader had caused such a ruckus.

Seeing the rest of the company gathering around Bombur gave in, “oh alright then, I’ll tell ye’s the story. It would have been when they were 10 or 20 and went wherever they pleased inside Erebor. It was just after lunch after all the cooks had finished cleaning and had left to have a break before starting dinner, Thorin and Y/n had apparently gone into the kitchen to get a snack but none of the adults were there so they decided to get it themselves. Whatever they wanted had been in one of the top cupboards at the back so they both climbed on the counter, but they still couldn't find it and they didn’t know exactly where it was either so Y/n climbed onto one of the shelves and Thorin climbed onto another to try and find it.”

“I walked in to find them both on the shelves and when I yelled I must have scared them because suddenly Y/n had knocked over the flour and Thorin had spilled the sugar.” At this point, the company was heartily laughing at the story but Bombur quickly shushed them so he could continue on and get to the best part, “shh, shh, wait, there’s more, it gets better. Y/n was the first to get down and she must have slipped on the flour because next, I know she’s grabbing at anything on the cupboard and counter to stay up and she ends up grabbing on to a bowl of eggs and cracked them all over her and the floor. Thorin also had trouble getting down and they both ended up with egg, flour, and sugar all over them.” He had to stop talking from laughing so hard, finally joining the rest of the company’s laughter. “You should have seen it, those two standing there covered in egg, flour, and sugar, it all on their clothes and in their hair, looking like they were about to get a good ole scolding.”

It was at that moment that Y/n and Thorin came up behind the company holding wood in their arms, they had obviously been able to hear the tail end of the story and knew exactly at what the company was laughing at.

Y/n looked to find the whole thing funny and had a smile on her face and her shoulders shaking in silent laughter, but Thorin was glowering at everyone, knowing full well he would have to work twice as hard to be intimidating now and that he would never hear the end of it from Kili and Fili.

Noticing Thorin’s sour mood Y/n put her stack of wood and piled it on the floor, taking Thorin’s too and putting it down. Reaching up on her tippy toes she planted a kiss on Thorin’s cheek that was slowly starting to turn pink, “oh come on dear, don’t you remember how much fun we had when we were younger? Those were the good old days.”

Thorin looked down at his one and melted, he could never be bristly around Y/n, he grabbed her waist and hugged her to his side, “and they will be again.”

#thorin x reader #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield #thorin #lord of the rings #lotr #dwarrow #dwarrowdam

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rattyoakenbitch · 4 years

Text

❝𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲❞ ─ 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝

too shy to say, but I hope you stay

don't hide away. come out and play..

❥ content ; fem reader, 3rd pov, slight angst, fluff

❥ warnings ; language, suggestive themes

❥ synopsis ; n/a

❥ a/n ; none!

After what seemed like a whole day of attending to his royal duties, Thorin fled from the Kingdom of Erebor and headed for Dale, where he would visit his best friend of five years; Y/N. She wasn’t royalty. Y/N was just a simple city girl living in Dale. She didn’t befriend Thorin for his wealth or status. She genuinely liked him, which was rare for Thorin. He did have friends, yes, but it was hard to trust any women, as they were always after the money. When Thorin made it to Dale, everybody recognized him instantly. Some just backed off, cowering away from the prince, while most respectfully greeted him.

“Thorinnnnn!” Save for one girl. Thorin turned his head in the direction of the noise. His thin lips curved up into a smile when he recognized it to be Y/N. She rushed over to Thorin, immediately engulfing him in a hug. Afterwards, they both pulled back, still holding each other while walking through the city. As they passed by, people sent them curious glares. Why was a prince with this common city girl? A few jealous dwarrowdams purposely bumped shoulders with Y/N, muttering insults to her. Y/N just sent the ladies a smirk and held Thorin tighter, making sure they were still watching. They scowled at her, but walked off when Thorin turned around to see what the fuss was about.

“Bitches,” Y/N huffed under her breath. “They’re always pretending like they’re so tough, but they’re nearly half my height and I can easily stomp them.” Thorin looked over at Y/N with a bewildered expression.

“Y/N! What are you talking about?”

“Ugh, it’s the women. They’re always giving me shit for being your friend. Or slut, quote unquote.”

“Why did you never tell me about this until now?”

“I didn’t really find it to be a big deal. You have other things to be concerned about,” Y/N shrugged. “Speaking of.. Why were you late again, today? I was waiting for you to turn up.”

Thorin groaned, “My father kept me delayed. I’m sorry, mudùmel.” Y/N brushed off his apology.

“Well, while your royal ass was busy, I found a secluded area outside the walls where no one will bother us.”

“Outside of the walls? I thought we made an agreement that you wouldn’t wander outside of the walls unless necessary!”

Y/N playfully giggled at Thorin’s light scolding. “Aw, why? Are you worried about me?”

“You are just a woman, Y/N. You are so vulnerable,” Thorin said seriously, causing Y/N to roll her eyes.

“Dear Gods, you sound like my father.”

“You need to learn to listen, Y/N. Your stubbornness will be the death of you. People will see you as an easy target, and I don’t want to lose my best friend.”

“If I’m so weak, how’d I defeat you during our sparring session last week?”

Thorin bit on his tongue, keeping him from arguing any further. Y/N smirked, knowing she had won.

Thorin sighed defeatedly, “All right, Y/N. I trust you. Lead the way.”

“So, what do you think?”

Thorin was in awe. They were surrounded with white trees, dripping with icicles that sparkled in the light. It was quiet and peaceful, and the area looked untouched. Definitely a change, considering Thorin wouldn’t get out as much due to his responsibilities in the kingdom. His head was constantly filled with clamor and chattering coming from the Dwarves back home. But when he was with Y/N, it was easy for him to unwind and relax.

“Y/N.. It’s beautiful,” Thorin spoke softly, causing Y/N to grin widely.

“See? I knew you’d like it!” She then proceeded to walk over to a stone bench, taking a seat and patting the empty spot beside her. Thorin joined Y/N, wrapping his arms her while enjoying the view. They sat in silence together, simply enjoying each other’s presence and the serenity of being in nature, until Thorin noticed that Y/N was shivering.

“Y/N, cold already?” He teased, but there was a hint of real concern in his voice.

“Hey, I’m not a dwarf. I can’t handle cold weather like you can,” she shot back, pouting. “Not to add this bench is freezing!”

Thorin raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Sit somewhere else, then.”

Y/N immediately caught on. She glanced at Thorin, a slightly shocked but giddy smile plastered on her face at his boldness. “Or do you want your bottom to freeze?” In one swift movement, Y/N climed atop Thorin, legs curled up on his lap and arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. Thorin chuckled at her blushing face, only making her blush more.

“Stoppp, you’re making me feel awkward,” she whined, smacking Thorin in the chest. “I’ll get off if you don’t stop.”

“Then do it,” Thorin challenged.

Y/N pondered for a moment, before huffing. “No, I’d much rather be here.” At that, she sat upright, properly straddling Thorin.

Now it was Thorin’s turn to blush. “Really, now?” Y/N simply hummed in response, her fingertips lightly brushing over Thorin’s stubble beard. She then cupped Thorin’s face, pulling him closer to her. A small gasp escaped Thorin, causing Y/N to giggle at the effect she had on him. Thorin was now at the mercy of this woman, all confidence and boldness suddenly washed away.

“Right here,” Y/N whispered, before she pressed her soft lips onto Thorin’s. He was quick to kiss her back hungrily, wrapping his arms around her waist and pushing his groin against her core. All their built up tension over the years was finally being released into the lust-filled, passionate kiss they shared. It felt surreal. Thorin always knew that he loved Y/N, though he was unsure if she would accept his feelings, or if she just viewed him as a friend. But all the doubts and worries that picked at his mind were erased when Y/N showed how she truly felt about the young Dwarf prince. Though they didn’t want to, Thorin & Y/N barely pulled away from the heated kiss for air, pressing their foreheads against each other. Their hearts were racing as they grasped the fact that their ‘friendship’ would completely change, now.

Still panting, Thorin breathed out, “Marry me.”

#thorin x reader #thorin x you #thorin angst #thorin smut #the hobbit #the hobbit imagine

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pendragonfics · 4 years

Text

All’s Fair (In Love and War)

Paring: Thorin Oakenshield/Reader

Tags: Female reader, dwarf/elf relationship, slice of life, pre-The Hobbit, tooth-rotting fluff, love confessions, marriage proposal

Summary: A deserter to the Mirkwood guard, Reader joined Thorin in the battle against his home and joined him in his exile, faithful to the one she loved.

Word Count: 1173

Current Date: 2020-03-25

Request: @witch-of-letters

When there is no home, and when there is no rest, a home must be made, and rest must be taken. Throughout the chaos of your lives, the war, the bloodshed, the merciless hand of the Gods that fiddled in a fickle nature about the business in Middle Earth, there was you, and your love, the Prince of the Dwarves. To another eye, one not versed in the matters of your heart, it would be strange to see an elven woman such as yourself in relations with a Dwarven man as he, but that was an opinion you did not have. None other than yourself had seen him in health and sickness, had nursed his wounds and had been nursed by him as well. None other could say they were his confidant, his friend from childhood, his lover throughout the darkest of times.

The home you lived in was large enough for your quarters adjacent to a hearth, where the ceiling was high enough for you, and the chairs wide enough to support you both. When the memories of the war were not clouding your dreams, you dreamt in each other’s company, the sheets tangled with your legs, and his, and hands intertwined throughout the night’s length. In the morning light, you open your eyes and take in the sight of your love, the Dwarven man that you had pledged yourself to.

He sleeps on as if made of stone, carved by the Gods that he respects. He would appear to be made of stone, but his chest rises with every breath, his braids and their beads quaking with every breath. You are not a deity, but when the moon was on high, he prayed to you, provided libations for you, worshipped you. His skin is healed, whole. But there are ghosts of scars from battles that he has survived. They mark his skin like ink blotches upon parchment, but you are illiterate, and they make up the man that you love.

You love him. He loves you.

It’s a strange thing. You’ve always known it, as did he. But last night, those words came forth, and his hands made a masterpiece of the clay that you were formed from. Years, you had known that man, had waited, but you would not want it any different.

Outside, a bird calls and Thorin rouses slowly by its song. His hand is clasped around yours, and his skin, bare of jewellery, shows the bands and grooves from the rings he wears. Your finger traces over them, soft, slow, mesmerised by all the parts of which make the whole of Thorin.

“You look like the Ilúvatar in the sunlight,” his voice is gravelly, but soothing to hear.

“I did not know you prayed to them,” you whisper back. Though this house is yours, and you do not fear the prying of other ears, you want your words to be for Thorin to hear, and Thorin alone.

“When I take back Erebor and become King Under the Mountain,” he kisses your knuckles gently, brushing his lips against your skin, his beard soft too, “I will have your image crafted upon the walls, a relief as to whom I send my worship to. None of the Gods compares to you.”

You feel a flush of heat takes to your cheeks. “You speak as if your words are silver, and you are a smith.” You nuzzle into his side, your face taking up the crook of his shoulder. The bed is long enough for you, and where his feet end, your knees and below feel cold without his presence. But moving closer to him, you make up for the emptiness of that space. “I must be someone of worth to this King.”

“I am not well-versed with words,” he prefaces, voice low, the timbre deep, near-guttural as he spoke words to woo, “and yet, whenever I lay my eyes upon you, they come to me, and I fight against myself to shower you with praises.”

“Whyever would you fight against such praises for me?” you press.

“Why, my love,” he pauses to kiss your cheeks, and then your lips, lingering close to them when he speaks once more, “you would grow tired of praise, I know that of you. Or they would bolster your spirits so high, that I would fall out of your favour.”

You laugh, bringing your hands up to clasp around his head, pushing around the pillow. Thorin was as brave and strong a warrior as you were, perhaps better, but there was something about him that had never understood just how loyal you were to him. You had defied your King, your kind to fight alongside him in Azanulbizar, you had held your affections for him at bay for years, knowing of his station, your rank, the difference of your species. Even though last night you had confessed to him that your heart was his, and his alone, it seemed that he could not believe it.

“My Thorin,” you kiss his forehead, chortling once more, “I am yours. Ask for anything, and I will go to the ends of Middle Earth for you.”

He’s quiet, and the silence does not become of him. There is always noise around the Dwarf; there was the chlink! of his armour, the scuffle of his boots, the pting! of the beads in his hair. When he spoke, he spoke with purpose, and when he slept, his snores were roars. But the quiet, contemplative manner to him was odd, and you sat in the bed, recoiling from him, unsure.

Thorin rolled onto his back, tilting his head still to see you. “Would you…I know, you’ve fought before, and it was your trade once…” he trails off, the words half-formed before they were spoken. “I am to be the King of Erebor. I cannot let my birthright stagnate under the wroth of the dragon-beast that festers there.”

“A grand King, you will be,” you supplement, looking to your hands. “…Thorin, if this is you wishing I was born a Dwarrowdam, I have spent years lamenting -,”

“Never,” he breathed. Slowly, he sat up and placed his hands in mine. “I know you well, as you know me, and if love were measured in years, I have loved you since the dawn of time. You say you need no flattery, but you are worth it all in my heart. My dearest, my __________,” he speaks your name as if it is a spell, and casts it over your heart, “When we win back Erebor, would you be my Queen beneath it?”

You close the distance between yourselves, cradling his head once more with your elven fingers. As you kiss your beloved, you intertwine your fingers with his braids, grasping him in your hands, holding him near. He pauses, but reciprocates, his thick fingers and Dwarven palms placed upon your chest, your neck, his touch electric.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely parted from his lips to speak, “Yes, I will be yours forevermore, Thorin.”

#thorin #Thorin Oakenshield #thorin oakenshield/reader #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin x reader #the hobbit x reader #lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #lotr x reader #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #Female reader

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ruthoakenshield · 4 years

Text

Thorin and the Gem Carver (Part 15)

Thorin thinks about Miranda and all she has done to show him how much she loved and wanted to please him and his family. He regretted not knowing it sooner and wished there was a way he could give her a legacy to be remembered by before she passes. He heads to the blue meeting hall and asks a guard to go and get Balin.

A few minutes later Balin is joining him in the meeting hall. “The guard said you wished to see me, Thorin?” he asks approaching the King. Thorin nods. Have a seat, Balin I need to pick your brain and I seek your wisdom.” He says.

Balin sits down and Thorin tells him everything. Balin’s eyes get huge. Thorin shows him the book Miranda had created for him and his One when she heard his father talking about finding him a wife before Smaug sacked Erebor. Balin’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “Thorin, this is the most intricate gold and silver leafing I have ever seen! She is a master at this! It’s a shame she is so old now! Ori would’ve loved to learn her secrets and her trade!”

Thorin chuckles. “I thought so as well. I mentioned it to Mahal and he promised to give her enough time here still to teach Ori her trade and all her secrets she wishes to pass on to him to keep this knowledge from falling out of memory. Ori is to record it in as much detail as possible.” He says.

“Balin, I wish to give Miranda a legacy, so she is not forgotten. She never married and spent her entire life dedicated to creating the beautiful covers of our books in the royal library and in Erebor’s library. How can we show her our appreciation and ensure her, and her dedication and skills are never forgotten?” he asks.

Balin thinks for a few minutes, stroking his beard. “Well, what if we summon her and ask her if she is willing to teach others, including Ori, her trade and secrets so they are not lost. I’m sure there are a few who would want to learn how to create such beauty. When they are trained to her liking, we could offer to open a school so that they can continue to teach her trade to future generations. We could name the school after her and have a statue of her carved, so she is not forgotten. You could name her a Master Royal Bookbinder if you so wish, I can create her some Master Royal Bookbinder beads to be placed into her hair, to honor her for a lifetime’s dedication and service to the line of Durin.” He suggests.

Thorin nods, “Do it then. That brings up the second thing I wished to speak with you about.” He says. Then proceeds to tell Balin what all Mahal and Yavanna said about Jade and her healing and her title. He shows Balin the ring and the hair tubes that Yavanna gave him for Jade, as well as the note Mahal left for Jade inside the book, and Thorin told Balin about the decree that Mahal made regarding dwarrowdams who reach the level of a Master Gem carver.

Balin smiles. It is a more fitting title for them, and it gives them their own guild to nurture others without the males getting in the way.” Balin admits. But how does this relate to Miranda?” he asks.

What if we made it so that any dwarrowdam in any craft when they reach the level equal to a Master in that craft, that they be given the title of Mistress in the trade, so Miranda would be given the title of Mistress Royal Bookbinder.” He explains.

Balin thinks about it and nods. I agree, that would suit them much better! We’ll just have to educate the dwarves, Elves and Men about it though, and drill it into their heads that Mistress and Master mean the same thing and only differentiate the gender of the artisan.” Balin states.

“We could do it when we announce Jade as the first in her trade with that title. Mahal wants you to draw up the edict indicating it for the Gem Carver Guild and he said he’d put his mark on it so no one can argue it. We could do one up for each guild and for Miranda, and if Mahal agrees, he will leave his mark on them as well, I believe. Once they are all signed and sealed, by me and/ or Mahal, I am to gather all the dwarves of my kingdom and make the announcement regarding Jade and present her with the hair beads and ring. We could invite the dwarves, elves and the men of Middle Earth and to those too far to come, we can send a copy of the edicts to them in their own languages so that they are made aware of the differentiation in language between male and females of that level in their chosen guild.” Thorin suggests

Balin thinks about it and then nods. “Aye, that we could do. We can ask any emissaries who come from the other races to spread the message so that all in Middle Earth are made aware of this change. That Master and Mistress equal the same level of workmanship, just differentiate which gender the artisan is and that the same level of respect is to be shown to them as equals in their field.

Thorin nods. They hear a knock on the door and Thorin says, “Enter.” A guard enters and tells them that Dinner is being served and everyone is waiting for them before beginning. Thorin sighs and tells the guard to inform them to go ahead and begin, that they will be there shortly. He nods, bows and leaves.

“Thorin, are you alright? You seem out of sorts today.” Balin says as they clean up and put things away. Thorin sighs. “I’m just worried about Jade. Mahal says she will have to spend a full week in bed and not be moving around. That if she does not do so, she will never walk again. She is already feeling caged in and struggles with depression. I am worried this could push her into a deeper bout of it.

Mahal said he gave her other skills, ones she has not sought out nor revealed. He said I was to help her discover what they are and that I am not to leave her side until she can walk on her own again. He said Fili is to take over running the kingdom temporarily.” Thorin explains as he picks up the book and the box.

“Ahh, I see.” Balin says. “Well, then, I guess Dis and Galadriel will get to play chaperone for you two. I suppose we’ll have to find a few others to trade off with, so the job doesn’t fall on the two of them to be with you two 24/7.” Balin teases. Thorin rolls his eyes. “I need to put these in my chambers before we go to eat. He says pausing at his room.

“Oh, Balin,” Thorin says, remembering Mahal’s reminder for his friend. “Yes, Thorin?” Balin asks. “Mahal said to remind you to make Jade’s adoption beads and to put them into her hair with your family’s braid just behind my courting braid and under the diamond pattern.” “Oh! I completely forgot about it with all this worry over Jade’s back!” Balin says a little embarrassed that he had to be reminded of it by not only his god, but his King as well. “I will get right on it after supper. I’ll do the beads for Miranda as well since I’ll be down there anyway.” Balin tells Thorin. Thorin nods.

Balin nods. “I will see you in the dining hall then.” Balin says, then leaves Thorin to put the gifts away safely.

Thorin does so, then steps out back into the hall. He asks the guard about you and the guard informs him that your Aunt and Dwalin chose to stay with you and had their suppers and yours brought there. Thorin sighs, nods and heads to the dining hall.

More Chapters to come.

Likes, comments and Reblogs always welcomed happily! Feel free to leave any of them, just please, give credit where it’s due.

All Gifs were borrowed from the GIF search thingy on Tumblr. Photos were from off the internet google search.

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Tagging:

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