rynneer

[rynneer]

Misty Memories Cold

When you wake in Fíli’s bed with no recollection of anything after a disaster in Mirkwood, he’s ready to risk anything, even his uncle’s wrath, to bring back what you had together.

“I’m not sure I like this idea,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest against the hallway’s chill. The light from mid-morning sunbeams slowly fades to the flickering orange light of torches as you get closer to the core of the mountain.

“The worst he can do is say no,” Tauriel replies coolly. For someone so out of place in the realm of dwarves, she walks with extraordinary confidence, towering over everyone—especially you.

Fíli and Kíli exchange skeptical looks, but remain silent.

You, however, do not. “You don’t know Thorin.”

“That is true,” she hums, “but I know kings.” Tauriel hardly pauses as you approach the large, double doors leading to the war room.

Kíli shoots out an arm to block her from entering. “Us first,” he insists. “He won’t exactly be thrilled to see you.”

The hinges creak in protest as he swings open the heavy door, interrupting Thorin mid-sentence. The king sits at the head of a long table, flanked by two empty seats, normally occupied by his heirs. The rest of the chairs are filled by Balin, Dwalin, and a handful of elves. The guests’ eyes narrow curiously, but when you step into the room, they duck their heads to whisper amongst themselves. Fíli puts an arm around your waist, standing as tall as he can and glowering at them.

“Kíli, you are late,” Thorin scolds. “Fíli, Y/N, I believe I made it clear that you have… other duties today.” He pointedly ignores Tauriel.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Your Highness,” Tauriel says smoothly, her voice all business. “May we speak in private? It is an urgent matter.”

Thorin continues to pretend she’s not there, clearing his throat and gesturing for Kíli to sit. “As I was saying–”

But she will not be ignored. “It is of particular importance to your princess,” she presses.

All heads in the room turn to you. Fíli winces and tightens his arm around you. Even Thorin appears momentarily stunned by her interruption, but he quickly regains his composure and fixes the elf with a glare.

“You are excused,” he hisses. “We–”

“Your Highness–” she tries to interject again.

“Do not interrupt me!” the king snaps. He rises from his seat, his eyes flashing dangerously. “You are an escort, nothing more. You are not welcome at the negotiating table.”

“Thorin, please,” you say softly. You press against Fíli, making yourself as small and vulnerable-looking as possible. The act works—Thorin softens just the tiniest bit.

His nostrils flare as he breathes heavily, glancing back at the elvish delegates. They eye the king with suspicion. “Everyone out,” he says at last. His teeth are clenched so hard you’re surprised they don’t crumble.

“There is tea waiting in the great hall,” Balin offers, a bit more diplomatically. He ushers the delegation from the room and gives you a tiny nod as he passes.

“Sit,” Thorin growls.

You drop into a chair instantly at his command, already wary of his anger. Fíli takes his seat and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze under the table. But you grip it tightly, not letting him pull away. He resists for a second, then lets his hand relax in yours and brushes his thumb over the back of it.

“What do you want?”

You jump slightly when Thorin addresses you.

“We have a proposal–”

“I did not ask you,” Thorin cuts Tauriel off brusquely, still looking at you.

It’s quiet for a moment as you open and close your mouth, unsure of what to say. “Tauriel has a plan,” you finally offer.

“Hear her out, please,” Kíli jumps in. His leg bounces beneath the table, making ripples on the surfaces of abandoned glasses of wine. “She thinks she knows how to cure Y/N.”

His phrasing makes you wince, and Fíli squeezes your hand again.

“Nonsense,” Thorin scoffs. “There’s nothing wrong with her. Nothing that you should know about,” he adds when Tauriel arches an eyebrow. “Unless someone has been speaking of things they should not.”

Everyone turns to Kíli, who suddenly looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. He gives you a helpless shrug, hands raised in surrender.

“Thorin, please,” Fíli urges quietly. “This is Y/N that we are talking about. Our Y/N.”

A vein throbs in Thorin’s temple, but he looks at Tauriel for the first time since she entered. “Get on with it, then.”

She dips her head. “Whatever ails her is not a physical problem, it’s magic borne of Mirkwood. That’s something dwarves simply cannot address.” Thorin bristles, but she raises a hand before he can speak. “I’ve no doubt that you have skilled healers, but she needs more than herbs and rest. Let her return to Mirkwood with me, and we will do everything we can to restore her memory.”

Hope rises in your chest as Thorin studies the elf maiden. “Why are you offering this? What do you stand to gain from helping?” His tone is laced with suspicion, but less anger than before.

“I’ve a certain… admiration for the for kingdom of Erebor after all it has endured.” Her eyes flicker briefly to Kíli, who absentmindedly fiddles with his belt. “I would be glad to see its princess well once again.”

“Can you swear that your efforts will be successful? That she will return whole and unharmed with her memories intact?”

But that hope dies as Tauriel hesitates. “I cannot,” she admits at last.

“No.” Thorin rises from the table, taking his mantle from the back of his chair and heading for the door.

“No?!” you repeat incredulously. You’re on your feet before you even know it, hands curled into fists at your side. Fíli moves to grab your wrist, but you dodge his hand. “This is our best chance to–”

“No!” He turns on his heel to face you again. There’s a shadow across his face, brows knitted in a furious glare. “It is too much to risk without a guarantee of success. That is final.”

“Fine!” you snap, crossing your arms. Your headache pulses even harder behind your eyes. “I’ll go anyway!”

“Careful, Y/N…” Kíli whispers. He’s risen as well, knuckles white as they grip the back of his chair.

“Then you can stay there,” Thorin thunders. His stormy eyes move to his nephews. “And if either of you set foot outside our lands, you can keep going all the way back to Ered Luin. Now, get out.”

“Uncle–”

“Out, Fíli! All of you!”

You snort, glaring at Thorin and pulling Fíli up from the table by his wrist. “Come on,” you grumble. “I’m not going to keep arguing with a stone wall.” You storm from the room, dragging Fíli with you and doing your best to slam the oversized door—right in poor Kíli’s face. He pushes it open behind you, nearly stumbling as Tauriel breezes past him.

“Pack your things for a journey,” she says briskly, her long strides quickly putting distance between you and the angry king. “All of you. We leave at midnight.”

“Are you out of your mind?!” Fíli hisses. “You heard Thorin—he’ll have our heads!”

“If he even lets us back in,” Kíli mutters.

“Thorin can… what is that phrase you use, Y/N?”

“‘Get fucked?’” you offer.

“Yes, that.”

“This is a bad idea,” Fíli reminds the group for the hundredth time. But even as he voices his concerns, he still busies himself with tacking up the ponies and arranging the bags. “If Thorin or Amad catch us, we’re as good as dead.”

“With how loud you’re talking, they can probably hear you from their chambers.” You shift from one foot to the other, shivering. August in the mountains means pleasantly warm days, but the northern cold refuses to be forgotten, bringing frigid nights. Without missing a beat, Fíli sheds his coat and drapes it over your shoulders. You give him a quick smile.

A warm, fuzzy snout nudges your shoulder. You turn to find a black and white pony stretching its neck over the door of its stall, sniffing your pack hopefully. It nickers softly when you lift your hand to stroke its nose.

“That one’s yours,” Kíli says, leaning against the stable’s door. Tauriel and his pony already wait outside, the animal pawing impatiently at the ground. “You named him Domino, and refused to tell us what that means.”

“Domino?” You smile as you fit the bridle on him. “Perfect.” He follows you outside obediently, still nudging your bag in hopes of finding treats. Fíli comes to your rescue once again with a handful of sugar cubes swiped from the kitchen. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Trying to steal my pony’s heart?”

“Aye.” Fíli winks and swings himself up onto his mount. “And I’m coming for yours next.” But his face turns serious as he glances up at the moon, full over your heads. Wisps of clouds tickle its edges, threatening to block out its light. “We should go. If we make good pace, it shouldn’t be more than a few weeks’ travel.”

You sigh and climb up on your own pony. Next to Tauriel’s horse, you’re reminded once again how small you are. Inside the mountain, it’s easier to ignore. Everything is dwarf-sized. You-sized. But outside, the world does not cater to your diminished stature.

“A few weeks’ travel to where?” A voice from behind startles you from your thoughts. Fíli freezes next to you.

You turn around slowly, feeling like a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar. Dís folds her arms and taps her foot as she waits for an answer. There’s something tucked under her arm, but you can’t quite make it out.

“Nowhere,” Kíli responds quickly. “Nowhere at all.” He gives his mother the most innocent look he can muster, but it’s pointless. Every pony is laden with at least one travel pack.

Fíli purses his lips tightly. “We’re going to get help for Y/N,” he admits through gritted teeth. He raises his chin defiantly, as if expecting resistance. “Thorin won’t listen. We’re taking matters into our own hands.”

Dís shakes her head in disappointment. Your heart sinks as she steps forward and tugs Fíli’s coat down from your shoulders. The journey, over before it even began.

“Not dressed like that, you’re not.” She returns the coat to Fíli and unfolds the bundle under her arm. It unfurls into a thick, forest green cloak. “I was saving this for an anniversary gift, but you’ll be needing it if you don’t want to freeze at night,” she explains as she hands it to you. She squeezes your hand. “Come back safe. I’ll stall Thorin as best I can.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, wrapping the cloak around you.

“Fíli is right, we must be off,” Tauriel snaps her reins and sets off down the packed earth road. The boys fall in behind her.

“And Kíli?” Dís calls after them.

He halts his pony with a tug of the reins and turns in his saddle with a sigh. “Yes, Amad?”

“Hurry up and propose to the elf.” She slaps the haunches of your pony, sending you lurching forward into the night.

Fíli did not like it.

He couldn’t tell if it was day or night. He couldn’t see the path ahead—if there even was one. He couldn’t hear whatever Thorin was saying.

But mostly, he didn’t like how you hung limply in his arms, head lolling with each step he took. He hefted you closer to his chest, shifting you to better support your head in the crook of his arm. “You’ll be alright,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.” There was no response from the woman in his arms. It was almost upsetting, how light you felt. How small you were. You were dwarf-sized, yes, but the proportions were all wrong.

Fíli glanced up to make sure he was still with the Company. Since they’d left the main path, it was becoming harder to keep up. He’d nearly lost them a few… minutes ago? Hours? Days?

After Fíli had caught up—or let them catch up to him, he couldn’t tell—Kíli started to hold onto Fíli’s coat to stay together, like he’d once done as a child. Slowly, they fell to the back of the group.

“Let me carry her for a bit.” Kíli slipped an arm underneath you.

As the younger prince made to take you from Fíli, his blood ran hot. He only held you tighter, pulling away from Kíli. “No,” he growled. “I’m carrying her.”

“Fee, you’ll tire.”

“I won’t!” he snapped. “I have to be there when she wakes up. It has to be me! I…” His sudden burst of ferocity faded away as he looked down at you, leaving behind a hollow feeling in his chest.

If he didn’t know any better, he would think you were dead. Only the slow rise and fall of your chest proved you still lived. In rare moments, your face would twitch, ever so slightly. Holding you like this, your body as limp as a ragdoll, made his stomach feel as if it was filled with stones.

Cold talons of dread gripped his heart. “She will wake up,” Fíli whispered, his soft voice trembling. He looked back up at Kíli for reassurance. “She will. She has to. And I need to be there, it has to be me. I have to tell her… She needs to know…” A lump in his throat kept Fíli from continuing.

Kíli furrowed his brow. He’d never seen his brother look this distressed. As his eyes went back and forth from your face to Fíli’s, it dawned on him. His eyes grew wide. “You’re… Fíli… You’ve fallen in love with her, haven’t you?”

Fíli’s mouth moved silently, as if the words were stuck in his throat. But he didn’t need to answer. His face told Kíli everything he needed to know. The desperation. How his expression softened when he gazed at you. The way he gently cradled you.

“Is she your…?” Kíli didn’t need to finish; the word hung heavily in the air between the brothers. His One.

Amad had explained once how it felt to find her One in their father. She had courted a few other dwarrows, but something always gnawed at the back of her mind. But meeting him, she spoke of a warmth that filled her, how everything just felt right. Fíli had never given it much thought. None of the dams in Ered Luin particularly caught his eye. And besides, Thorin never took a wife. Sometimes a dwarf just doesn’t find their One, or care much about finding them.

But you… Fíli hadn’t felt the instant warmth and security his mother had described when he met you. It crept in slowly as you ate together, rode together, fought together. When you sent him little smiles from across the fire at dinner. When you listened intently as he showed you his blades. When you gripped his arm tightly at the first sign of danger. There was no going back for Fíli, and even though your new size worried him, the way you fit in his arms felt right. It shouldn’t feel right, he knew that. He had never heard of a dwarf finding their One in someone of an entirely different race. And of course, you were even stranger, coming from another world.

“Fee?” Kíli’s voice, unusually gentle, pulled Fíli from his thoughts.

With great effort, Fíli tore his gaze from you and looked his brother in the eye. “I don’t know what else this feeling could be,” he answered simply.

Both princes fell silent as they watched your sleeping face. “This will not be easy,” Kíli said at last.

“I know.”

#fanfiction #fíli #fili x reader #fili x you #kíli #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #dís #everybody lives #it gets angstier before it gets fluffier #protective Fíli #tauriel

[rynneer]

have y’all seen the behind the scenes of the filming of Thorin’s death because omg why didn’t they use THAT take where Bilbo is like “the Eagles are here, Thorin, hmmm? hmm?” trying to get a reaction from Thorin and faking a smile, and then he just breaks mid-sentence, his face crumpling as if his soul is being ripped from his body…not that he wasn’t great in the take used in the finished scene, but THAT take was Martin Freeman’s greatest piece of acting I’ve ever seen.

[rynneer]

Misty Memories Cold

When you wake in Fíli’s bed with no recollection of anything after a disaster in Mirkwood, he’s ready to risk anything, even his uncle’s wrath, to bring back what you had together.

Fíli paces the living room, running a hand through his tangled hair, only succeeding in tangling it further. Shafts of dawn light peek through the window, taunting him with reminders of the sleep he did not get. His head snaps up when he hears footsteps from down the hall. “Y/N, I–”

But it’s not you. Instead, Thorin stands before him, arms folded and looking at his nephew expectantly.

“Where is she? She never returned to our chambers.”

Thorin nods back toward the way he came.

“Is…” Fíli swallows hard. “Is she upset?”

“She came to my door last night, would not say what was wrong, and began to cry.” Thorin raises an eyebrow. “So, is she upset?”

Fíli’s heart sinks. “She was crying?”

“Sobbing would be a better word.” Thorin shakes his head and sighs. “Fíli, what happened?”

Fíli turns his head away, face growing hot with shame and guilt. “I said hurtful things. Foolish, hurtful things.”

“Such as?”

Is he really going to make me repeat it? Fíli steels himself as if he’s the one on the receiving end. “I asked her if it was real. The dance. The kiss. Or if she only did it because it was expected of her. Because people were watching.”

“You are right. That was foolish and hurtful,” Thorin snorts.

Fíli sinks down onto the couch, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. “I messed up.” He runs his hand down his face. “Some husband I am,” he mutters.

Thorin studies the wretched dwarf in front of him. Fíli is hunched over, shoulders drawn and tight. He stares dully at the ground. Every once in a while, he shakes his head to dispel some thought, mustache braids swaying with the movement.

“You are dismissed from your duties today,” Thorin says curtly.

Fíli looks up, dumbfounded. “But the trade negotiations—as heir, I should be there!” he protests.

“Kíli will take notes for you. Mahal knows he needs to pay more attention during these meetings anyway.”

“But–”

Thorin silences him with a hand on his shoulder. It’s not Thorin, King Under the Mountain, looking down at him, or Thorin Oakenshield, the warrior.

It’s Uncle Thorin. The dwarf who raised him, who held him as a child when he cried, who sang lullabies to him when he thought no one else was listening. The softer Thorin.

“Fíli, make peace with your wife.” Thorin squeezes Fíli’s shoulder and takes his leave.

Fíli watches the heavy, wooden doors shut with a thud, as if waiting for Thorin to change his mind. To return, to berate him for how he treated his One.

But the doors remain closed. There will be no reprieve for Fíli, nothing to stall him before he has to face what he did. He says a silent prayer as he stands and trudges to Thorin’s chambers. As he reaches a hand out to the door, he freezes. Dread of what awaits him keeps him rooted in place.

Don’t be ridiculous, Fíli scolds himself, shaking his head sharply. It’s just Y/N. Nothing to be afraid of.

He knocks first, but receives no reply. With a deep breath, he carefully pushes the door open. His eyes scan the dimly lit room, finding no sign of you at first. Then, movement in a wingback chair facing the fireplace catches his eye.

Fíli takes a cautious step forward. “Amrâlimê?”

You don’t respond to the endearment.

He changes tactics. “Y/N? Can we talk?”

You poke your head around the side of the chair for a second before turning back and burrowing further into the cushions. “Go away,” you mumble, pulling the blanket tightly around you. While Fíli’s frustration had softened over the sleepless night, your surprise and hurt had hardened into bitter anger.

“Y/N,” Fíli closes the distance. He traces his fingers along the chair’s arm. “Please.”

“Go away!” you snap again. You press your face into the opposite arm of the chair and cover your head with the blanket. It’s petulant, you know that, but you don’t care. Maybe it will soothe your pounding headache.

“No, my love,” he says gently, but firmly. “We need to talk.” Fíli settles on his knees so he’s level with you and pulls the blanket off of your head.

You scowl at him, but with his careful, honest eyes searching your own, you can’t hold it long. Your gaze drops to your hands, clutching the blanket tightly. “Still?” you ask at last, voice soft.

“Still what?”

“I’m still your love?”

Fíli gently pries your fingers apart until he can hold them, rubbing them to coax warmth into your cold hands. “Always,” he murmurs. “You will always be my love.”

Hot tears fill your eyes. “Then why’d you have to get mad at me?” You try to pull your hands away, but he squeezes them tighter.

“Oh, no, no, amrâlimê, I was not angry with you.” He reaches up to brush strands of hair away from your face.

Your glare tells him you don’t believe him.

“I was not angry,” Fíli insists. “I was…” He shakes his head while he gathers the right words. “May I speak plainly? Without upsetting you.”

You look at him warily, but give him a tiny nod.

Fíli brings his hand back to your hair, smoothing your marriage braid with his thumb. “I am afraid,” he whispers. “I am afraid that I’m losing you. I am afraid that you have gone somewhere that I cannot follow.”

The tears finally spill over your cheeks. The walls of anger you’ve hidden behind crumble, and you wrap your arms around Fíli. You bury your face in his neck and cry. Your hands claw at his back, desperately searching for purchase.

Fíli immediately pulls you from the chair and into his lap on the floor. “Oh, Y/N.” He kisses the top of your head, patiently waiting for you to find your words again.

“I want to remember,” you sob. “I want to love you the same way you love me. I want what we had. I don’t know what we had but I want it back!”

Fíli hugs you tighter as your chest heaves and breath shakes.

For the first time, you don’t recoil from his touch. You need to feel him. Soft skin over hard muscle, coated in gold curls. The weight of his chin on your head. Every inch of him warming you.

You sniff. “Has it been good?”

“Hm?”

“Our life together.“

Fíli lifts his chin from your head and loosens his grip, encouraging you to pull back enough to look at him. “It’s wonderful,” he says. His eyes grow distant with a faint smile. “We both have our duties as the future king and queen, of course, but I treasure every spare moment I get to spend with you.”

The wistful happiness on his face only makes you feel worse. “I’m sorry I took it away,” you whisper.

“You’ve done nothing wrong.” Fíli returns to the present, hand rubbing gently up and down your back. “We can start over. You are still you. The brave and clever woman I fell for. My little fighter. And I am still me.” He tilts your chin up and kisses you, quick but soft. “I waited eighty-two years to find you. What’s a little more?”

You shake your head, sending fresh tears spilling over. “It won’t be the same.”

“What if it could be?”

You both jump at the voice. Fíli pulls you back into a tighter hold while his eyes grow darker, scanning the room for threats. The protective lion.

The owner of the voice stands in the doorway, studying you with a careful eye.

“I have an idea,” Tauriel says.

“You cannot seriously be suggesting we take her with us.”

Gandalf leaned back in his chair, puffing at his pipe. “At worst, she makes for an interesting companion. At best, her knowledge of the journey could prove useful.”

“At best, she is a distraction and at worst, a burden,” Thorin retorted. He cast a disdainful look at you, standing in the corner. Bilbo had run out of dining chairs. “The girl’s never touched a sword in her life.”

“Neither has Bilbo,” you muttered.

Kíli snickered.

“Well, I, for one, do not intend on leaving a stranger in my home while I am not here,” Bilbo declared, hands on his hips.

“So you are coming!” Nori exclaimed.

“I never said that!”

“If it’s any consolation,” you interjected, “I’m not exactly thrilled to be here either.” The whole thing was starting to give you a terrible headache as everyone bickered over your presence. Or maybe it was the copious amount of smoke filling the dining room. Either way, you needed out.

“Where do you think you are going?” Thorin demanded as you made for the door. “This is not finished.”

“Somewhere where no one’s blowing smoke in my face,” you snapped. You yanked open the door, barely remembering to duck as you exited. Of course, the awkward height of the doorknob makes it almost impossible to forcefully slam the door behind you, but you did your best.

Some of your frustration melted away as you took in your surroundings. Since you’d just shown up on Bilbo’s doorstep, an overnight bag in hand, you hadn’t gotten the chance to appreciate where you were. It was almost enough to take your breath away. Stars scattered across the sky like tiny diamonds spilled over dark velvet. More stars than you’d seen in your life. Fireflies flitted about the garden, flashing and winking at each other in the night. Small, round windows set into the hills, little puffs of smoke drifting from chimneys nestled in the earth, hobbits settling into their evening routines. You plopped down onto the wooden bench just inside the gate.

The Shire.

Damn it.

Middle Earth.

Damn it.

You put your head in your hands and let out a heavy sigh. You didn’t look up when the door opened and shut again, not until you felt the wood of the bench bend beneath you.

“Care for a smoke?”

Of course it was them. The curious little boys. You lifted your head to see Kíli already lounging next to you, kicking his heavy boots up onto the fence. Fíli sat on your other side, offering you your backpack.

“Didn’t want to go rummaging through your belongings just to find your pipe,” he explained as he tossed it into your lap.

“I don’t have one,” you said.

“Ah, that’s alright. You can borrow mine,” Kíli offered.

The smell of the pipeweed was almost sickening. You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Did you not hear me tell Thorin why I left?”

“Something about smoke?” Kíli puffed out a series of increasingly smaller smoke rings. They vanished in the cool breeze.

“To get away from the smoke. Just… never mind.” You shook your head. “Did Thorin send you to make sure I don’t run away and spill his plans to the world?”

“No,” Fíli said, as Kíli said “yes.”

You just rolled your eyes.

Fíli leaned back, lighting his own pipe. “So,” he said through teeth clenched on the end of his pipe. “Not from around here, eh?”

“That’s one way to put it,” you replied with a shrug. “I guess I should get used to it. To this.” You gestured vaguely towards the rest of the Shire.

“It’s not bad,” Fíli remarked. “Peaceful. Quaint.”

“Boring,” Kíli added.

You groaned, putting your head back in your hands.

“I hope you won’t be sulking like this on the road.” Fíli nudged your side with his elbow. “It’d be a bit of a downer.”

You looked up at the dwarf prince. The stupidly handsome and charming dwarf prince. His stupidly handsome and charming brother. Your stupidly handsome and charming favorite dwarves.

Don’t get attached, warned a voice in the back of your mind. You know what happens.

You tried to shut it up, but it refused to be silent. It all flashed through your head—Fíli falling from the broken tower to the ground in front of his brother. Kíli bleeding out as Tauriel leaned over him. Bilbo crouching at Thorin’s side as the king slipped away.

“It’ll be fun, having a lass along,” Fíli interrupted your train of thought. He leaned his head back and blew out a steady stream of smoke. “We’ll watch out for you, naturally. Keep you out of trouble. We would not want you all battered and bruised by the time we face the dragon.”

“You are way more chill about this than you should be,” you said. Absentmindedly, you fiddled with the zipper on your backpack. “Do you actually understand what you’re supposed to do?”

Kíli stretched his arms over his head. The bench creaked in protest as he shifted his weight. “Sure. Get to the mountain, kill the dragon, get the gold. Simple.”

“If you expect it to be that easy, you’re fucked.”

“Ooh!” Kíli’s eyes lit up. “She’s got a mouth on her—I like that in a girl.” He winked, but his mischievous expression dimmed a little when he looked over at his brother.

Fíli’s brow was furrowed. He tilted his head as he peered at you. “You speak as if you already know our path.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Clearly, they did not listen very closely to the argument between Thorin and Gandalf after you let slip some key information about the quest, things no one else should know. Your gaze fell to your backpack in your lap, not wanting to meet the prince’s eyes. It’s far too modern for your rustic setting. It didn’t belong.

And neither did you.

“Because I do,” you admitted at last. “I read the book. I saw the movies. I know how it goes.”

Fíli’s face lit up. “Do we win? I bet it will be a spectacular victory.”

“Not telling.”

“Come on!” Kíli pressed. “Nothing?”

You flashed him a warning glance. “Look, I’m just along for the ride. I’m not here to change things—if Thorin will even let me come. But I doubt it.” You kicked at a pebble beneath your feet, watching it skip out onto the path worn into the hillside from hundreds of carts and hobbit feet. “I seemed to have pissed him off just by existing.”

“Ah, you’ll win him over eventually,” Kíli remarked with a lazy grin. “He’s a softie at heart, really—oh, hello Thorin.”

You held your breath as heavy footsteps tromped down the steps. How long had he been listening?

Thorin crossed his arms and glowered down at you. His eyes then flickered to his nephews, leaning back casually while you sat stiffly between them. “I want the three of you awake before dawn,” he said finally. “We leave at first light to retrieve the ponies.” With one last, wary glance at you, he turned away.

You finished processing his words just as he put his hand on the doorknob. “Three?”

Thorin halted. “Do not make me regret this,” he grunted.

And then he was gone.

Fíli clapped you on the shoulder, almost knocking you off the bench in the process. “Well, you heard him. Up before dawn.”

“I think I’ll stay out just a bit longer.” You relaxed a bit on the bench as the brothers stood.

“Suit yourself,” Fíli shrugged. When he was halfway up the steps, he stopped and turned back around. “You do have a name, right? We can’t just keep calling you ‘lass.’”

“Y/N.”

“Pleasure to meet you, m’lady.” He winked and vanished inside with Kíli.

All the air rushed from your lungs as the door closed, leaving you alone in the garden of Bilbo Baggins. In Hobbiton. The Shire.

You shook your head.

What did you get yourself into?

#fanfiction #fíli #kíli #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #fili x you #fili x reader #everybody lives #angst and hurt/comfort #it gets angstier before it gets fluffier

[rynneer]

Misty Memories Cold

When you wake in F��li’s bed with no recollection of anything after a disaster in Mirkwood, he’s ready to risk anything, even his uncle’s wrath, to bring back what you had together.

The gown fits like a glove, hugging your figure up top and flaring out into a long skirt past your waist. Long, dark blue sleeves hang loosely from your arms, the velvet fluttering with every movement.

“It looks good on you,” Fíli remarks as he does your hair. His fingers dance past your fresh stitches and he lays the elegant braid down to hide them. His bead glitters at the end of your marriage braid. “There. That should keep them out of sight.”

Meanwhile, you awkwardly fumble with the corset laces on your back. Too tight, squeezing your sides painfully, but then too loose, your chest threatening to spill out. “Can’t I just wear my own bra?!” you snap in frustration.

Fíli’s hands cover yours. “Breathe in, not too deep.” You do, and he tightens the laces and tucks them beneath a silver ribbon around your waist, tying it into a neat bow. He moves next to your shoulders, kneading at them in an attempt to relieve your tension. His thumb rubs over your necklace, an intricate, twisting chain Fíli explained was a gift from Thorin.

“One last thing,” he says quietly, leaving you in front of the mirror as he fetches something from the wardrobe. He returns with a silver circlet and places it gently on your brow. The delicate web wraps around your head, a star-shaped sapphire mounted in the center. It matches his own crown, nestled in his thick hair.

“You look beautiful,” Fíli murmurs with a tender smile, resting his chin on your head. Half-closed eyes sweep up and down your reflection, and his smile brings out the dimples hidden beneath his beard. Pure adoration. “I’m the luckiest dwarf in the world.”

Your eyes drop to your feet. Dwarves are not particularly fond of heels, so instead you wear sensible yet elegant flats. “Do I have to go?” you whisper. The idea of being on display for a kingdom you don’t know makes you want to crawl into a hole and die.

Fíli’s smile falters. “It is expected. You are my wife, you are Erebor’s princess—the people love you.”

“Can’t you just say I’m sick or something?”

“There will only be more questions, and I am not a good liar,” he points out. “You cannot hide in here forever.” His voice is gentle, but tinged with a warning.

Wary of what awaits you on the other side of the doors, you haven’t left the royal suite at all—not even for meals. Fíli or Dís would bring you a plate, and Kíli would slip you extra desserts with a wink. Every time someone remarked that they hadn’t seen you in a few days, the others would merely agree, comment on how dedicated you are to your duties as princess, and steer the conversation in a different direction. You duck your head in shame and turn away.

“Y/N, please…” Fíli follows you over to his desk in the corner of the room.

Pushing aside parchment and empty inkwells, you brace yourself against the desk. You lean forward and let your head drop with a sigh.

Arms wrap around your waist. Fíli leans down to whisper in your ear. “Please, Y/N,” he repeats. “I want you there with me.” His warm breath fans over your neck and you suppress a shiver. It takes everything in you not to stiffen as his chest rests against your back.

You’re slowly getting accustomed to Fíli’s… touchiness. His need to feel your body, if only to reassure him that you are real. At least he’s warm compared to the chill that lingers in the halls.

You let out a shuddering sigh. “Okay.”

Your breath catches in your chest as you, Fíli, and Kíli approach the enormous, stone doors. They are open already, revealing hundreds of dwarves milling around inside. Your pulse quickens. This is what you had feared, what kept you hiding for over a week. The kingdom all watching you while you try to pretend nothing is wrong.

The long tables have been moved to the side to create a more spacious area for dancing. You spot Bofur straddling a large barrel near the doors while Dori gives him directions. He brightens up and raises a hand in greeting as you enter the hall.

“Hi Bofur.” You squint up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get this cursed thing open,” Bofur puffs. He pauses and looks down at you. “Something wrong? You look a bit pale.”

You give Bofur a strained smile. “Just… just a bit of a stomachache, that’s all.”

He raises an eyebrow, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “Stomachache, eh? I don’t suppose there’s anything else going on in there?”

You stare at him blankly. Then it hits you. “Oh! No, absolutely not!”

Bofur seems taken aback at your reaction, but Dori gives you a friendly nudge. “No need to be upset, lass. These things can take some time. Just keep at it, eh?”

“What was that about?” you hiss under your breath to Fíli as the dwarves’ attention returns to the barrel of ale.

Fili links your arms as you approach the high table. “It’s, ah, a bit of an open secret that we are—or were—trying for a baby. Thanks to a certain younger brother.” He gives Kíli a pointed look over his shoulder.

Kíli feigns innocence, but he can’t hide his mischievous smirk. “What? All I did was warn them in case you started making too much noise!”

“You have no shame,” Fíli snorts. He glances back to you. “I did tell you they’d ask questions if you claimed you felt ill.”

Thorin and Dís give you guarded looks as Fíli pulls out your chair. You try to smile, but it comes off more as a tight-lipped grimace.

“Relax, natha,” Dís whispers. “Just breathe and smile. The rest will come naturally.”

Naturally. Sure.

To avoid thinking about… anything, really, you look out over the gathering. You raise an eyebrow when you spy a small group of noticeably taller guests. There’s a familiar redhead among them. Kíli, bless his heart, is trying his best not to stare. If Thorin’s scowl is anything to go by, he’s not doing a very good job.

“Hell of a birthday party,” you mutter to Fíli. “Elves? Thorin really let Dís invite elves?”

“She talked him into it,” he says with a shrug. “Said it’s good for diplomacy, a show of good-will. They were supposed to be here for trade negotiations anyway.”

“Including her?”

“That was most likely Amad’s doing as well. She doesn’t have quite the vendetta against elves that Thorin does.” His voice drops into an even lower whisper. “She likes her, thinks she’d be good for Kíli. Keep him grounded, perhaps. All she has to do is convince Thorin.”

“She’s got her work cut out for her there,” you snort.

Fíli hums in agreement, but he too scans the crowd. “Glóin’s missing,” he comments. “Shame, I would have liked to see Gimli. It’s been quite a while.”

“Did Glóin not stay in Erebor?” It’s hard for you to fathom, the idea of breaking the Company, of anyone being absent.

“An agonizing decision. He didn’t want to relocate his entire family.” Fíli pauses and chuckles. “Gimli practically begged to come on the quest—we took bets on whether or not he’d follow–”

But his words are drowned out by music starting from the band in the far corner of the room. Excited couples move to the center of the hall.

Dís reaches across the table to shake Fíli’s arm. “It is your celebration,” she murmurs. “Go have fun.”

“I believe that is your cue, Y/N,” Kíli adds with a wink.

Fíli kicks his brother underneath the table, but stands and offers you a hand. “May I have this dance?”

“Do I know how to dance?” you whisper frantically as you take his hand. You lift your skirt as he leads you down the steps to the dance floor. “I’m pretty sure I don’t know how to dance!”

“I taught you,” he whispers back. “Just don’t think about it. Let your body do the work.” He places one hand on the small of your back, the other holding yours. A violin comes to life, and suddenly the world fades. It’s just you and Fíli. He starts off gently, slowly, picking up speed. “Don’t look at your feet, look at me. Trust yourself.”

You nod stiffly, still feeling clumsier than a newborn giraffe compared to the surprising grace with which Fíli moves. Though perhaps it shouldn’t be such a surprise, given how skillfully he maneuvers with his swords during a fight. You begin to relax into the rhythm and let him guide you through the steps until muscle memory takes over.

“Get ready,” he murmurs, releasing your hand and gripping your waist firmly. He lifts you up and spins so your skirt flows out around you. Then in one smooth motion, he dips you low. The music fades, and he straightens up, eyes locked with yours. He leans in until his mustache beads hit your face and his nose brushes yours. But then he stops, eyes worried, questioning.

There’s hundreds of curious eyes on you both, burning like dragon fire, waiting to see what their prince and princess will do next.

Conscious of your audience, you stand on your toes and carefully press your lips to his. Instantly, his arm around your waist tightens. Fíli lifts you off your feet, hugging you against his body and pulling your head closer with his free hand. Your kiss was soft, chaste. His is rough, desperate. You aren’t quite ready for it, and decline his tongue’s request to explore your mouth. You squirm in his grip.

Fíli releases you and your lips. There’s scattered applause from the room as Fíli sets you back on your feet. “I told you I taught you how to dance.” But there’s no teasing lilt to his voice, no cheeky wink to signal amusement. He won’t make eye contact.

For the rest of the night, it’s like pulling teeth to get a word out of him. Dís and Thorin exchange looks of concern when he quickly excuses himself from his own party after dessert. Then their eyes turn to you.

“He, uh… I think I’m ready to turn in as well,” you mumble. “G’night.”

In your chambers, you carefully remove your dress and slip into your nightgown, very aware of Fíli’s gaze on you. But when you try to meet his eyes, he always seems to be looking elsewhere. You sigh as you pull pins out, letting the braid fall from your hair. Silence hangs heavily, neither of you speaking a word for what seems like hours.

“Was it real?” Fíli asks abruptly.

“Was what real?”

“You know what I mean. When we danced, when we were finished… was it real?” Or was it just what was expected of you?” His voice is clipped, bitter.

You turn to look at him on the edge of the bed, shaking your head in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”

Fíli stares at the floor. “I am trying so hard,” he mutters at last, running a hand down his face. He looks up at you, eyes dull. “I miss my wife.”

Your heart sinks. “Fíli, I’m right here.”

“But you’re not,” he replies sharply. “You are somewhere, and I cannot reach you.” He stands from the bed, taking your face into his hands. “How often do I tell you that I love you?”

“Every day.”

“And how many times have you said it back?”

You open your mouth, but the words won’t follow. It’s been a week, but you can’t recall ever saying it. Tears well up in your eyes.

As if your silence confirmed something in his mind, Fíli’s hands drop from your face. “Right, then.” He nods slowly and turns away. “I… I need to think.”

Though he hasn’t asked you to leave, he would never, you make for the door. “Happy birthday,” you whisper before heading down the hallway.

Kíli’s room? No, he probably snuck Tauriel in there. Dís? She would want to talk about it, and you’re not in the mood for solutions. What you need is quiet companionship.

So your feet carry you past the living room, down the hall, to a wooden door rimmed with gold.

“Thorin?” Your voice is small. For a moment, you worry he won’t hear you on the other side.

Heavy footsteps precede the door opening. Thorin looks down at you, book in hand, mildly irritated at being interrupted. He softens when he sees your expression, wide-eyed and hurt. Heaving a sigh, Thorin opens his door further. “Come in.”

You follow him inside, curling up on a plush chair by the dying fire.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Do not insult my intelligence. You are a worse liar than Fíli.”

“Nothing,” you insist. “He just… wants to be alone for a bit. That’s all.”

Thorin snorts and shakes his head, but there’s pity on his face as well. How can the girl curled up and shivering in the chair be the same brave woman from their quest?

Your vision is almost completely obscured by tears, but you refuse to let yourself cry in front of the king. Your king. And your uncle, now, you suppose. He drapes a blanket over your shoulders.

That’ll do it. That simple, kind gesture is all it takes for you to break down.

Thorin stares at you in alarm as you sob into the blanket. He hasn’t had to deal with something like this since the boys were children. After waffling back and forth on what to do, he settles on patting your shoulder awkwardly. “Stay, if you’d like,” he mumbles. He extinguishes the candles he had been reading by and crosses back over to the enormous bed in the corner of the room.

You’re swallowed in darkness, the gloom broken only by faint moonlight and dying embers. Without Fíli’s furnace of a body next to you, the mountain’s chill creeps in beneath your blanket.

It will be a long night.

“Oh come on, every lady must know how to dance!” Kíli rolled his eyes in exasperation.

You shook your head and crossed your arms, sinking further against the mossy log by the fire. “I’m not a lady.” you grumbled. The bark dug into your back, and you missed the warmth and proper beds you had in Lake-town.

“Well then, we must teach you!” Fíli jumped up and offered his hand with a cheeky smile and exaggerated bow. “Oh, most fair and lovely maiden, may I have this dance?”

You looked over to Thorin, hoping he would scold his nephews for their teasing. But he merely raised an eyebrow at you, sucking on his pipe. It was the same guarded, skeptical look he’d given you and Fíli after the escape from Mirkwood.

Fíli hardly left your side ever since—usually dragging Kíli along. He would wrap his arm around your waist, or duck his head to nuzzle your ear and whisper things that made you snicker as you half-heartedly tried to push him away.

Even Thorin, not exactly known for being perceptive, could see what was happening. He’d seen the look before on his sister’s face, many years ago. Fíli was in love, smitten, even. There was no other way to describe it.

He had found his One.

And if the glow in your eyes and blush on your cheeks whenever you met Fíli’s gaze were anything to go by, so had you.

When your silent plea to Thorin went unanswered, you sighed and accepted Fíli’s hand. “Fine. Just don’t crush my feet or anything.” Not for the first time, you marveled at how easily Fíli could pull you up.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be the one stepping on anyone’s toes tonight,” he chuckled. With one arm around your waist, he took your hand. “Just mirror what I’m doing,” he instructed. You gave your audience a nervous glance, but Fili squeezed your hand, beckoning you to look back up at him. “Just the two of us.”

As he stepped backwards, you stepped forward. When he stepped to the side, you followed.

Fíli smiled. “There you go, you’re getting it!” But he moved a bit too quickly, and your momentum sent you stumbling over a tree root rising from your makeshift dance floor. His arm shot out to catch you, his large hand splayed across your chest. You both turned scarlet when you realized what his palm was cupping. Immediately, he moved his hand lower, but that did nothing but bring his fingers dangerously close to the forbidden zone.

“Careful,” you hissed under your breath, sneaking a peek at the Company. Everyone was watching. “You’re a bit too far south.”

He turned even redder and released you. “Maybe we can practice when we have a more… suitable venue?”

“You can’t be finished yet, Fíli,” Bofur scolded with a grin. “You haven’t shown her the best part!”

“It’s not nearly as fun while she’s wearing trousers,” Fíli grumbled. “She needs a dress for it to work properly.”

Indignation stirred in your chest, and crossed your arms, glaring up at the blonde prince. Your face was still flushed red from the almost intimate moment between the pair of you. “I’m terribly sorry I’m not lady-like enough for your tastes,” you huffed.

“It’s not that!” he sputtered with wide eyes. “It’s…” You could almost see the gears in his head turning, weighing his options to salvage the moment. “It’s like this.”

Suddenly, his hands gripped your waist, and he raised you up in the air. With practiced ease, Fíli spun both of you around. Your hair fanned out around you like a halo. Just as you finished the turn, he dipped you down low, so low you were surprised he didn’t fall over himself.

Everything went still. You held your breath while he started breathing harder. You spared another look at the Company.

they’re staring they’re staring oh god have we kissed in front of thorin before i don’t think we’ve kissed in front of thorin oh no what’s he going to–

Fíli quickly reclaimed your attention as he rubbed his nose against yours, his mustache beads cool against your heated skin. And then his lips were on yours, warm and soft, driving any thoughts of self-consciousness from your mind. He ran his fingers through your hair, and you reached up to fist your hands in his own locks, both of you pulling each other closer.

“I suppose this is official now?” you whispered when he finally broke away for air.

Fíli’s only response was a lopsided smile.

Someone let out a whistle—Kíli, of course. Fíli rolled his eyes and straightened up, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind you. You tensed, afraid to turn around in fear of what you might find on Thorin’s face. Fíli rubbed his hand up and down your back. Searching his face and not finding any anger or defiance as he looked at his uncle, you spared a look over your shoulder.

It wasn’t what you expected. Thorin looked tired, stern, yes, but almost relieved. As if he had carried a heavy burden for miles, and finally laid it down.

“Thorin, I–” you began.

He cut you off with a small shake of his head. “Just… be good to each other.” He put a strong hand on Fíli’s shoulder and said something in Khuzdûl. You didn’t understand the words, but Fíli’s face brightened. Other members of the Company began whispering among themselves.

“What?” You exchanged a confused look with Bilbo, the only other person not fluent in the dwarves’ native tongue. “What did he say?”

Fíli just smiled. “Nothing important,” he assured you. He sat down and pulled you into his lap, pausing to press his nose into your hair to inhale your scent. You hardly imagined you smelled good, but he let his nose linger. Then he carded his fingers through your hair, ridding it of tangles and knots until he had a soft, neat canvas for his artistry. Taking the strands into his hands, he wove an intricate braid, humming as he did so.

Fíli looked again to Thorin, then Kíli. His brother nodded, a genuine, non-teasing smile on his face.

Reassured by his family’s approval, he removed one of his own beads and fixed it at the end of your new courting braid.

As soon as he secured it, cheers rose from the rest of the Company. Small bags and pieces of gold flew across camp—were they betting on you and Fíli? Kíli wiggled his eyebrows at you as his pile of coins grew.

But as the gold stopped flying and the losers stopped grumbling, you realized that Thorin had the biggest pile of them all.

He caught your eye, face perfectly impassive, and winked.

#fanfiction #fíli #kíli #fili x you #fili x reader #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #dís #angst and hurt/comfort #it gets angstier before it gets fluffier #don’t say i didn’t warn you #everybody lives

[rynneer]

Misty Memories Cold

When you wake in Fíli’s bed with no recollection of anything after a disaster in Mirkwood, he’s ready to risk anything, even his uncle’s wrath, to bring back what you had together.

You’ve never missed plumbing more than you do now, looking around the bathroom. Polished stone walls, a polished stone floor. Just like every room in the mountain. Oh, how you long for a warm, hardwood floor.

Small basins sit on a granite counter below a mirror, with a bucket tucked underneath for easy refilling. The mirror is covered with a heavy cloth—Fíli says it’s been shattered and will fall apart if the cloth is moved. The rightmost basin is spotless, reflecting the light from the lamp hanging over your head. Another is decorated with long hairs that you pulled from your head when you tried to brush your poor mane.

Though at first you chuckle at how neat Fíli keeps his side of the counter, it dies in your throat. Maybe he no longer does it, but you recall that early in the journey, he would only tidy his things up when something was bothering him. To see his side scrubbed so clean—he must be very bothered.

It doesn’t take much to figure out what’s bothering him, either. It’s been a few days since you awoke in the middle of the night, head emptied of your life together. And while you certainly have feelings for him, your schoolgirl crush falters against his fierce love. Your heart leaps when you imagine touching him, yet you flinch from his hands. The right balance has yet to be struck.

With a sigh, you swipe your hand along the cool metal of your washbasin, gathering the hairs into a ball and flicking it onto the counter. You’ll dispose of it when you finish.

Fíli, eager to tend to your every need, already filled the large, marble bathtub with hot water. A pleased sigh escapes you as you step in. But your heel slides forward on the bottom of the tub, and you fall with a yelp, your head smacking the stone before you slip under.

drowning. drowning drowning drow–

Sudden panic shocks your system. You surge back above the surface, your breaths coming in short, shallow bursts.

“Y/N!” Fíli bursts through the door. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

Instinctively, you hug your knees to your chest to hide your body. Fíli rubs your shoulders from behind. “Easy, love. What happened?”

You take a moment to compose yourself, taking deep, steady breaths. The back of your head throbs painfully. “I just fell. I’m alright.”

“You’re not alright,” comes his worried voice from behind you. A groan of pain escapes you when he touches the tender spot where your skull met the stone. He leans forward over your shoulder and rinses his hand in the water before standing and snatching a towel from the counter. You stare dumbly at the red liquid falling through the water from where his fingers left it. With a shaky hand, you probe the back of your head. Your fingertips come away red with blood. More pain, as Fíli presses the towel against your hair.

“It’s not too bad,” he says after a long silence, lifting the towel and gently parting your wet hair around the wound. “Just a cut. Head wounds always look worse than they are.”

You’re not sure if he’s trying to reassure you, or himself.

Fíli dips the bloodied towel in the water and wrings it out. He places it in your hand and brings it to your head. “Hold that there for a moment.” You hear him bustling around in the wooden cabinet by the door. He mumbles something under his breath about dust and cobwebs before grunting in frustration. “There!” His bare feet slap against the floor. For the first time, he comes around in front of you. In his hands, he carries a roll of bandages and a small flask of alcohol.

You almost drop the towel from your head in your rush to cover your chest. Heat pulses from your face in waves so intense that he must be able to feel it.

Fíli’s shoulders sag. “I’m your husband. You do not need to cover up in front of me,” he reminds you, though you both know you won’t listen. He strips his belt from his trousers and places it in your hand. “Close your eyes. Bite down on this.”

Your brow furrows, but you do as he says. Fíli removes the towel from your hand. You hiss in pain as he presses an alcohol-soaked bandage against your head, burning like a brand of fire. You’re glad for the belt now as your teeth dig into the leather. You lean forward instinctively to escape the pain, but Fíli quickly puts a hand on your forehead and pulls you back

“Hold still,” he grunts as he begins to wrap you up. You strain against him, the pain starting to make your eyes water. “I said, hold still!” he snaps this time, fingers digging into your temple.

Surprised at his harsh tone and rougher handling, you relent. After days of feather-soft touches and kind, understanding words, it’s almost a relief. Maybe he hasn’t quite lost his edge yet. Silence falls as he finishes his ministrations.

“I’m sorry, amrâlimê,” Fíli says at last. He shifts so he’s kneeling at your side instead. “I hate to see you in pain, and then my touch caused you more pain when I was trying to help… it’s too much like the first time.”

“The first time?”

Fíli winces and curses. You guess he didn’t mean to let that slip. He holds out his hand, helping you out of the now lukewarm water. It takes all your willpower not to hunch over, to cover yourself in front of him. He reaches up to the curtain hiding the mirror. Before you can protest, remind him that it’s broken, he sweeps the cloth away and wraps it around you as a makeshift towel.

The glass is pristine, newly polished. Not a single flaw mars its surface.

“I didn’t want to add more to your worries if I could help it,” he explains. “I wanted a chance to warn you before you saw.” Fíli leads you to the mirror.

When your face comes into view, you gasp. A harsh pink scar slices across your right cheek, ending on the underside of your jaw. You raise a shaking hand to trace the path, feeling now the slight dip in your skin. A few other scars pepper your body, ones you’ve already seen, but none as obvious as this.

“I tried to keep you out of the fighting, I really did,” Fíli’s whisper is shaky. “But we got separated… and then it just wouldn’t heal properly and–” He breaks off, tears welling up in his eyes, the memory clearly upsetting him.

With tears in your own eyes, you step closer and lean against him, resting your head on his chest. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “For everything. I’m so sorry, Fíli.”

Fíli takes you into his arms, laying his cheek on your head. The two of you stay like that for a long time. He was right—you do fit very nicely in his arms at this size.

“Y/N? Fíli?” There’s a thudding on the door. “Are you finished yet? I need to take a piss.”

Fíli kisses the top of your head, pulling away from you. He adjusts the curtain around your shoulders and smooths the bandage over your wound. “We’ll get you a proper bath later. Promise.”

We’ll get through this, you hear instead. Promise.

He ushers you out of the bathroom, barely dodging his little brother as Kíli blows by you and slams the door behind him.

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. He really needs to piss.”

Fíli shakes his head and chuckles. He flings open the wardrobe doors and pulls out a long, dark blue dress, trimmed with silver. His colors. “I thought you might wear this tomorrow night,” he explains, crossing back over to you and holding up against your front. “I just had it made.”

“It’s nice,” you hum in agreement, rubbing the velvet sleeve between your fingers. “Um, what’s tomorrow night, again?”

He rolls his eyes. “Amad insisted on a big celebration for my first birthday in Erebor.”

You snap your head up. “Your birthday? Fíli, I’m sorry, I didn’t know–”

“I’ve had eighty-two of them already,” he reminds you. “It is not that big of a deal.”

“Not a big enough deal to tell your wife?”

He replaces the dress in the wardrobe, grabbing a discarded nightgown from off the large bed. “My wife has had other things on her mind.” Fíli pulls it down over your head, smoothing it down your sides as you finally drop the curtain. There was a hint of a smile on his face when you called yourself his wife.

“Re-learning her way around Erebor, for one.” Kíli emerges from the bathroom and gives you a friendly shove, sending you stumbling.

One thing you’ve learned well, the brothers are a package deal. Fíli doesn’t go far without Kíli dogging his steps. You’re almost surprised he doesn’t share your chambers—but his chambers do neighbor yours.

Fíli catches you, flashing him a glare. “Careful, Kee.”

Kíli returns his brother’s look with wide, innocent eyes. “What? We’ve got to toughen her back up.”

“She’s hurt her head.”

“Oh, I thought the bandage was some sort of new fashion.” Kíli pulls you away from Fíli, lifting you by the waist and tossing you onto the bed. “Straight to bed for you, then!”

“Kíli!”

The cold air stung your eyes and shocked your lungs as you made your way, haltingly, back to the gates of the Lonely Mountain. All around you, soldiers celebrated triumphs or cradled fallen comrades. Most remained on the fields, but a few dwarves were also making a beeline for the mountain. Company members, all of them. You’d hastily agreed to assemble in the entry hall whenever it seemed the battle was over.

Bofur. Ori. Nori. Glóin. As you reached the gates, you found yourself taking inventory, scanning your companions to make sure everyone was accounted for, and mostly intact. It made you feel like you were doing something useful.

Five were missing.

You turned your anxious eyes towards the Ravenhill. Thorin. Dwalin. Bilbo. Fíli. Kíli.

A hand squeezed your arm. “Lass–”

“Don’t, Balin,” you interrupted him. “Please don’t tell me they’re gonna be okay.”

He cleared his throat. “I was going to say, you need to get your face seen to.”

“It can wait,” you shrugged him off. Your face had long since numbed. Unfortunately for the rest of your body, it was better shielded from the cold by the thick clothes you’d borrowed from the dwarves. Your left ankle throbbed, sending twinges of pain up your leg with each step. A trail of dried blood led down your arm from a laceration to your shoulder, slowly scabbing over.

Balin shook his head and led you to sit down by the wall. You leaned your head back against the stone. Every breath billowed out in a frosty cloud.

He pulled a handkerchief from somewhere in his coat. “Óin!” he called to the medic, checking up on Ori a few yards away. “Anything for our lass?”

There was no response from the half-deaf dwarf until Ori swatted at his arm and gestured towards you. Óin grumbled something and tossed a flask in Balin’s direction. The old dwarf wet his handkerchief and started gently wiping at your face. You winced at the cold touch.

“Look!” someone shouted.

You lifted your head, dreading what you would see. Two figures appeared over the crest of a hill. Bilbo and Dwalin, you assumed. Canon survivors. You held your breath, tracking the movements of the eagles in the sky, waiting for them to descend with dead bodies in their talons.

But none did. Behind Bilbo and Dwalin, three more dwarves followed. Alive—one limping, another clutching at an arm. But alive.

You scrambled to your feet, ignoring Balin’s protests, and sprinted as fast as you could. Jolts of pain shot through your leg until you could run no more. Fíli caught you in his arms as your ankle finally failed beneath you.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” you gasped, clutching at him. “You’re okay!” You’d forgotten all other words.

He hugged you to his chest, burying his face in your hair. “We’re alright. Everything is alright, amrâlimê.”

“Are you hurt?” you mumbled.

“Not badly.” Unsatisfied with the closeness, Fíli’s gloved hand curled around the back of your head and brought it even tighter against him.

You stifled a hiss of pain as his armor rubbed against your cheek.

He pulled back immediately, his eyes round and worried. “Oh, Mahal, Y/N,” he breathed. Fíli bit the end of his glove and yanked it off, tracing his thumb along a sensitive path on your face. When you again winced, he scooped you into his arms and rushed to catch back up with his brother and uncle.

Kíli, the limping one, nevertheless flashed you a quick grin. “We did it,” he panted.

You didn’t know what reaction you’d expected when Thorin and the boys returned. Cheers, celebration. Instead, they were met with silence, all activity stilled, the Company eying Thorin with uncertainty.

Thorin looked around. You could see him doing the same thing you had done, conducting a headcount. Satisfied, he gave a short nod. “See to the wounded. Balin, Dwalin, a moment.” The three dwarves gathered in the corner of the hall, heads down and voices low.

Careful of your ankle, Fíli sat you down and began cleaning your thawing face with Balin’s abandoned handkerchief. The gentle motions were comforting, until the alcohol-soaked cloth passed over your cheek. You jerked away with a yelp at the unexpected burst of pain.

Fíli winced, but he took your chin in his hand firmly. “It’s a bad wound, Y/N. I need to clean it.” He stripped off his glove. “Bite down on this for the pain. I’ll be as gentle as possible,” he promised.

Your eyes watered as he wiped you down, but you squeezed them tight and sank your teeth into the glove.

“I’m done,” he said at last. He patted himself down for a second, tearing off a scrap of his tunic and holding it against your cheek as a makeshift bandage. Taking his glove back, Fíli gave you a small smile.

You looked into his blue eyes, so full of life. Not hollow and sightless, the face that haunted your dreams. And Kíli, resting against the wall as Óin examined his leg. Not bleeding out in the snow. Thorin, talking quietly with his friends. Not lying atop the Ravenhill.

They were okay. Everything was okay. Finally, you let the walls holding back all your anxieties and fears fall. You collapsed against Fíli, weeping.

“Shh, shh,” he pleaded. He pressed gentle kisses into your hair. “Amrâlimê, please, please don’t cry.

“You were going to die,” you whispered, your breath hitching. “Please don’t leave me.”

His hand rubbed up and down your back. “I won’t ever leave you. I want to marry you!” Fíli drew back to look at you, his brow creased with sudden worry. “You will marry me, won’t you?”

You blinked away tears, voice still shaky. “Are… are you proposing?”

“Are you saying yes?”

The word stuck in your throat and it took you several tries to get it out. “Yes.”

The tension melted from his face. Fíli grinned, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours, still careful of your wound. “We’ll be alright, amrâlimê.”

#fanfiction #fíli #kíli #the hobbit #fili x you #fili x reader #angst and hurt/comfort #it gets angstier before it gets fluffier #everybody lives #soft Fíli

[rynneer]

Misty Memories Cold

When you wake in Fíli’s bed with no recollection of anything after a disaster in Mirkwood, he’s ready to risk anything, even his uncle’s wrath, to bring back what you had together.

Cold.

You’re cold. It’s dark. You’re falling. Someone reaches for you. Too late.

The water folds in around you. It floods your nose. It floods your ears. Your limbs don’t work. You can’t swim.

Muffled shouts. You open your mouth to cry back. It fills with water.

Choking.

Drowning.

Drowning.

Drowning drowning drowning dr–

You wake with a jolt, sitting up in bed.

Bed?

You pat the sheets around you. Yes, you’re definitely in a bed, not curled up on the leaf litter in Mirkwood.

“I guess it really was a dream,” you whisper, shoulders slumping. But as you run your fingers across the hem of the blanket, you frown. It doesn’t feel like the old quilt on your bed. It’s thicker, softer.

Something is wrong.

You look around the room as your eyes begin to adjust. There’s a fireplace across the room, the dying embers casting just enough light to let you make out the vague shapes of furniture in the darkness. The walls and floor are stone, adorned with plush rugs. The wind rattles the shutters outside the window, hidden behind thick curtains.

This is not your bedroom… and you are not alone. A dark figure stirs next to you beneath the covers. You scramble out of bed but find the floor farther away than expected. You land hard on your side. “Ow!”

You slap your hand over your mouth, but it’s too late. The figure sits up with a groan, rubbing at its face and leaning to peer over the edge of the bed at you. There’s no mistaking that mustache, those braids.

“Fíli? What… where are we?” And why are we in bed together?

Fíli blinks a few times to clear the sleep from his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asks hoarsely, his voice rough. He rolls out of bed and kneels in front of you. “We’re home. In Erebor? You know, the mountain? Big pile of rocks and snow? It’s rather hard to miss.” He raises an eyebrow, trying to coax a smile from you.

Instead, you scoot backwards, putting space between you and the prince as you process his words. “But we were just in Mirkwood,” you protest. “How did we get here?”

Fíli’s confusion turns to concern. “Y/N, that was a year ago.” He shifts closer and brushes a thumb over your cheek. “Are you feeling alright?”

You stiffen against his touch, heart in your throat. Ever the gentleman, he’s never touched you without permission before. But something about the way his palm cups your face feels familiar. “I don’t know,” you whisper, shaking your head. “All I remember is falling into the stream.”

“You don’t remember the elves? Fighting for the mountain? All the time we spent together?” He uncovers a long braid in your hair. “Our wedding?”

“Wedding?!” It’s true, you’ve harbored feelings for Fíli since the two of you met in Bag End. You’d admired him in the book and movies, and to see him for real… it did something to you. But you never thought he would return your affections—how could he? You’re a plain, young woman from another world, and he’s a handsome prince, heir to the throne.

Fíli searches your face, expression unreadable. Finally, he stands, offering you his hand. “Come on.”

You take it hesitantly. His fingers lace through yours, and he helps you to your feet. Strangely, you find that instead of being taller than the dwarf, you’re just level with his chin. But before you can comment on this, Fíli pulls you out the door and down a narrow hallway.

He leads you to a large sitting room, taking you to the sofa next to yet another fireplace. “Wait here,” he orders softly. “I’ll fetch Thorin.”

“Thorin’s alive?” you breathe. “What about Kíli?”

“Kíli would like to know what the pair of you are doing up and chattering in the middle of the night,” replies a voice from behind you. The youngest Durin leans against the wall with his arms crossed, hair still tousled from sleep.

You tip back your head and close your eyes. “They did it,” you sigh in relief. “Oh, thank God, they did it.”

Kíli raises an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

Fíli pinches the bridge of his nose. “Let me get Thorin first. I would rather not explain this twice.”

 

“Again.” Thorin paces in front of the fire.

You rub your forehead. “I told you, that’s it,” you groan. “I fell in the water and woke up here.”

Kíli shakes his head. “It makes no sense.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Thorin flashes you a warning look.

“It was no ordinary stream,” Fíli points out. He sits with you on the couch, his hand resting on top of yours. Every once in a while, he gives it a reassuring squeeze. “It had some sort of foul magic. She wouldn’t wake for days.”

“If it’s magic that we’re dealing with,” you glance at Thorin warily before continuing, “it might be a good idea to talk with the elves.”

“Absolutely not,” Thorin snaps. His lip curls in disgust. “I refuse to invite them to interfere in our private matters.”

Kíli’s eyes brighten. “What about Gandalf, then? Where would we find him?”

They all look to you. You close your eyes, teasing and tugging at the cobwebs that cloud the part of your mind where your Middle Earth knowledge is stored. “He’s… there’s no guarantee we even could find him. Gandalf doesn’t have a home, exactly. He wanders. They don’t call him the Grey Pilgrim for nothing.”

“So we don’t know where Gandalf is,” Fíli starts slowly, “but we do know where the elves are.”

“And Gandalf wasn’t in Mirkwood with us,” you add. “There’s no guarantee he even knows about the enchanted stream—but Thranduil definitely would.”

Thorin crosses his arms. “Out of the question.”

“Did you not make peace with Mirkwood?”

“Peace does not mean friendship,” Thorin retorts. His voice, raised in frustration, echoes off of the polished stone walls. Down another hallway, you hear a door slam. Thorin groans at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“And just what in Mahal’s name is everyone shouting about at this hour of night?”

A new dwarf steps into the firelight. In the dim light, she almost looks like a copy of Thorin. But as she approaches, you can see her features are softer, her eyes rounder, her beard thinner. And there’s no mistaking the Durin glare that she levels at Thorin, her blue eyes just as piercing as they are tired.

You glance at Fíli with uncertainty. He squeezes your hand and leans close to murmur in your ear. “It’s just Amad. Mother,” he translates when you don’t seem to understand.

Dís. You nod quickly.

Thorin looks at you, then back to his sister, standing with arms crossed and an eyebrow raised expectantly. As they exchange words in their rough native tongue, Dís’s expression of irritation turns to one of soft, motherly concern. She comes closer to you and gently brushes away a few strands of unruly hair from your face. “You must be tired, natha.”

“Daughter,” Fíli whispers.

“A bit,” you reply quietly, finding yourself suddenly shy with the full attention of a mother focused on you.

“Poor dove,” Dís tuts. She straightens up and pats you on the shoulder. “Fíli, take your lass back to bed. We will speak in the morning.” Thorin looks like he means to protest, but Dís silences him with an icy glare. Planting a kiss on the top of your head, she pushes Kíli and Thorin back down their opposite hallways. Fíli pats your hand and follows her quickly, his words in Khuzdûl fading as he gets further away.

Finally alone, you let out a long sigh. For the first time, you get the chance to look yourself over, to see what has changed. Your hair is longer, brushing the small of your back. When you run your fingers through it, you find braids styled to match Fíli’s. A dwarven marriage custom, perhaps? There’s a thin, gold band on your finger, too, lined with tiny sapphires that sparkle in the firelight. A little smile tugs at the corner of your mouth; at least you kept some piece of your own marriage customs.

And while Fíli has been bare-chested this whole time, you’re wearing a dark green shirt, no doubt one that used to be his. It’s long enough on you to serve as a nightgown. A blush rises on your face when you realize the deep v-neck exposes the dip between your breasts—and has been exposing it to everyone else this whole time.

“Amrâlimê?” Fíli’s voice from the hallway is soft. He pokes his head into the sitting room. “Aren’t you going to come to bed?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip, suddenly very interested in the fireplace. In anything that isn’t Fíli’s too-kind face. “Do you want me to?” you ask hesitantly.

It’s silent for a few seconds. Fíli sighs heavily and comes to kneel before you, taking your hands in his. “Y/N, you are my wife. Of course I want you to come to bed. It is our bed.” His eyes search yours, desperately looking for the light he knows should be there. “Do I not have your love?”

“I mean, sure,” you reply softly. Your voice is strained. “I just… I don’t understand how I have yours. You’re the crown prince, you’re perfect. And I’m just… me.”

“You are so much more than that,” Fíli murmurs. “You are everything to me.” He kisses your forehead and stands. Before you can say anything, you’re swept up in his arms. Startled, you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck to avoid falling, but he carries your smaller frame with ease.

You frown, remembering your observation from earlier. “Shouldn’t I be taller than you?”

“Ah. Well.” Fili’s chuckle makes his chest vibrate against your cheek. “That’s all that we thought the stream did. Make you properly sized.”

“Properly sized?” you repeat in disbelief. “You call this properly sized?”

“You complained about it endlessly,” Fíli continues. A playful smile tugs at his lips. “Until you realized how well you fit in my arms.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re very funny.”

“I’m also handsome, charming, brave…”

“Shut up.” You smack his shoulder lightly, but hide a smile as you tuck your head beneath his chin. Maybe you can get used to this.

But as he kicks open the door to his—your—room, and you see the bed with its rumpled covers, you tense.

“Y/N?” Fíli’s breath tickles your neck.

“It’s… just a lot, all at once,” you mumble.

He squeezes you, then lowers you gently to the bed. “I understand,” he murmurs.

“You really don’t, though.” Pent-up frustration simmers within you. “When’s the last time you fell into a stream, woke up, and found out a year had passed and you’re married?”

“Are you upset that we’re married?” Fíli asks, his face falling.

You feel a pang of guilt for snapping at him. This can’t be any easier for him. Running your hand through your tangled hair, you shake your head. “It feels like one moment, I was a girl with a crush, and then I wake up, and suddenly I’m a married woman. I’ve missed out on everything.”

“It’s in there, somewhere,” he whispers, stroking your cheek. You flinch away, your body unsure of how to react to his touch. Hurt flickers across his face, but he pulls back. “Can I fix your braids?” he asks. There’s desperation in his eyes.

Recognizing his need to touch you in whatever way he can, you nod slowly, and turn. The gentle, rhythmic tugging as he combs and re-braids your hair is hypnotic, and you find your eyelids drooping.

“There,” Fíli says, turning you back to him. He smiles sadly. “Beautiful as ever.”

Your heart aches. Whether it aches for him, the dwarf searching for his loving wife in the uncertain girl before him, or yourself, longing to be that loving wife, you do not know.

After a moment of hesitation, you lean in and reward him with a quick kiss on the cheek. His beard is prickly against your lips. “I’m tired,” you whisper when you draw back.

The kiss brings a real smile to his face, however small it may be. Fíli pulls back the covers and you wriggle underneath them. You settle into a dip worn down into the mattress from hundreds of nights before. Fíli slides into place behind you, his chest against your back. You stiffen slightly, but force yourself to relax.

“Is this alright?” His deep, quiet voice vibrates through your body.

You nod. He can have a little cuddle, as a treat. As an apology.

He takes that as a signal to test the limits further. You can tell he’s holding his breath as he drapes his arm over your waist. “Is this alright?”

“It’s cozy,” you mumble sleepily, letting the warmth of his body overwhelm you.

Fíli lets out his breath, pulling you tightly against him and nuzzling his face into your hair.

As you drift off, you do your best to pretend you don’t notice his quiet tears.

You began to stir, finding your face pressed into something warm and firm. As you tried to pull away to look around, you were met with resistance. You made a disgruntled noise.

“Y/N?!” Suddenly, a hand yanked your head backwards. Wide eyes searched your face frantically. You just barely registered who held you before he pulled you back in a crushing embrace. “I thought we’d lost you.”

“Fíli?” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his coat. “Can’t breathe.”

He released you, finally letting you get your bearings. The two of you were alone in a small, stone cell. Torchlight flickered just outside the wrought iron bars, casting a dim, orange light into your cell.

A shadow crossed over the door. “Oh, so she is alive. Here, then.” An apple landed on the ground in front of you, followed by a waterskin. “That’s the most you get until tomorrow. Make it last.” The shadow retreated, footsteps echoing down a long hallway.

Pieces began to slot into place in your mind. You nodded slowly. Mirkwood, elves, imprisonment. “How long have we been in here?”

“A few days at most, given how often they’ve brought food and water. But it’s hard to tell.” Fíli seemed distracted, eyes scanning your body. “How do you feel?”

You frowned and patted yourself up and down. “A bit sore, but I think I’m fine.” You untangled yourself from Fíli and tried to stand on shaky legs, your knees instantly failing beneath you.

Immediately, he jumped up and grabbed your waist from behind to steady you. “Y/N?” His voice was soft. “Y/N, please do not be alarmed when you turn around.”

“What?” You twisted in his grasp and looked up into his concerned face.

Up. You had to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. He was big. You tried to back away but the space was so narrow, you collided with the wall after just a single step. “You’re taller,” you stated, almost robotically. “But you’re a dwarf. You can’t be taller than me. I’m supposed to be the taller one. How did you get taller?”

“I did not get taller,” he corrected you. “You got smaller.”

You just stared at him blankly. Fíli sighed, gently taking hold of your arm and easing you back to the ground. He took the apple from the floor and placed it in your hand. “Eat,” he ordered quietly. “You haven’t had any food in days. It was hard enough to get water into you.”

Instead, you rolled it between your palms absentmindedly. “How long was I out?”

“Just over a week. We were trying to cross a stream, and you fell in.”

“Instead of Bombur,” you interjected.

Fíli raised an eyebrow. “If you say so. Glóin managed to snag you,” he continues, “and when he pulled you out, you were… well, smaller. But you wouldn’t wake up. You even slept through the spiders. I was so afraid that you were gone before I could tell you–” he broke off, his voice thick. He tore his eyes away from yours, a blush rising on his face.

“What?” You reached out and took hold of his chin, turning his face back to you. Yet his eyes still avoided you. You crawled closer, kneeling between his outstretched legs. Your traitorous heart pounded hopefully against your ribs. “Tell me what, Fee?”

He shook his head. “No, no, it’s foolish. I shouldn’t… you wouldn’t…” Finally, he looked back up at you. “I love you?” He phrased it as a question, his blue eyes filled with hesitation. It was strangely endearing, seeing the normally confident prince so bashful. Fíli lifted a cautious hand to your cheek, fingers just barely brushing your skin.

Surprise temporarily robbed you of your voice. Mistaking your silence for rejection, Fíli quickly pulled his hand away. Shame and hurt flashed across his face. “Forgive me,” he blurted out, ducking his head. “I should not burden you with feelings you can never return.” He pulled his legs back in and moved further into the shadowy recesses of the cell.

But you crawled after him, refusing to let him go that easily. “Fíli, why didn’t you say anything?” When he remained silent, you wound your fingers up in one of his braids and tugged, forcing him to turn his head towards you. “Why are you so sure that I can’t feel the same?”

A cautious spark of hope flared to life in his eyes. “Because you’re perfect, you’re beautiful,” he murmured. “You deserve so much more than I can give.”

You smiled, eyes tracing his face. The gold locks that framed it, the sky blue eyes, the flushed cheeks. And those soft, pink lips, parted ever so slightly as he awaited your next words.

But words were the furthest thing from your mind. Refusing to hold back any longer, you grabbed Fíli by the collar, lunging forward to claim his mouth.

His eyes widened, then fluttered shut as his hands grabbed at your waist. Fíli pulled you back into his lap and wrapped his arms around you, reaching up to comb through your tangled hair with his fingers.

A rock clanged against the bars of your cell. “Get a room!” came Kíli’s voice, echoing down the hall.

You broke away with a laugh. “This is a room!”

Kíli’s only response was a disgusted groan as Fíli grabbed at your face for more.

#fanfiction #fíli #kíli #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #dís #fili x you #fili x reader #modern girl in middle earth #amnesia #falling back in love #everybody lives #soft Fíli #angst and hurt/comfort #it gets angstier before it gets fluffier

[rynneer]

Promises

He was so much like his father, wasn’t he?

Promises made.

Promises broken.

Fíli’s childhood was defined by promises—but not every promise can be kept.

“Go, pony, go! To war!” Fíli bounced in the saddle, brandishing a wooden sword. His mount paid no attention to the dwarfling’s commands. It merely snorted and scuffed at the ground with its hoof.

“There’s my little warrior,” came a chuckle from the stable door. Víli shook his head with a smile, hoisting his son off of the pony.

“Can I come with you?” Fíli asked, his eyes wide and hopeful. He waved his sword in the air at imaginary foes. “Look how good I fight!”

Víli balanced Fíli on his hip, ruffling his hair. “Not just yet. Give it a few years, hm?”

“We should make haste, Víli.” Thorin entered with two packs slung over his shoulder. He tossed one to Víli, who caught it in his free arm with ease. “We’ve only a few days before the snow begins to melt and refills the gulch.”

Víli nodded and set Fíli on the ground. “Go fetch your mother. She’ll have my head if she doesn’t get a kiss goodbye.”

Fíli scampered away, still swinging his little sword.

Víli’s smile faded as he watched his son running back up the hill to their cottage. “Thorin?”

“Hm?”

“If anything happens–”

“Don’t, Víli,” Thorin cut him off. He turned from where he had begun saddling up his pony. “Nothing will happen. We will be back by springtime’s end.”

“Please, Thorin.” Víli placed his hand on Thorin’s shoulder. His dark brown eyes were troubled, his brow knitted with worry. “If anything should happen to me, promise me you will look after my boy.”

“You have my word.” Thorin busied himself with tacking up his pony, trying not to show his discomfort with the thought. He had not spent much time alone with the child, not since Fíli was a baby. Though he cared fiercely for his sister, his last remaining family, she was starting one of her own. He respected that, and did his best to stay out of the way—a difficult task when they all were forced to shared a small home.

“I know this is important,” Víli said after a long silence.

Thorin turned. His brother-in-law fidgeted with his mount’s reins, checking and re-checking the buckles. “And I will follow you wherever you ask, without question. But my heart is heavy, and I don’t know why.”

“We will return,” Thorin assured him. He tugged on his pony’s reins and led her from the stables.

“Not so fast, little one!”

Thorin and Víli looked up to see Fíli running back down the hill, his legs a blur. Dís trailed after. “Amad said I can go!” he crowed as he launched himself at his father.

“I said no such thing!” Dís puffed. She was slightly pale, perhaps even a little green. Her brow shone with a thin sheet of sweat.

Víli noticed immediately. “Are you feeling ill, amrâlimê?” he asked, stepping forward and taking her face in his hands. His steps were hindered by Fíli, who had wrapped his arms around his father’s leg. Víli lifted a boot and tried to shake him off, but the little boy held on stubbornly.

“I’m fine,” Dís replied. Her face grew solemn, and she combed her hand through her husband’s golden locks. “You’ll come back to me, won’t you, my love?” She fiddled with his silver beads, tracing the runes.

“Of course.” Víli kissed her forehead. He bent over and tugged on Fíli’s hair, drawing a squeak of protest. “I promise.”

Dís gave him a peck on the cheek, and turned her attention to Thorin. She adjusted the pack on his shoulder and straightened his collar. “Don’t do anything rash. Don’t be a hero,” she whispered. Her hands stilled, and she locked eyes with him. “I refuse to bury another brother.”

Thorin reached up and took her hands, bringing them back down to her waist. Silence hung heavily between them at the reference to Frerin. At last, Thorin leaned down and gently rested his forehead against hers. “You won’t have to.” He straightened up and dusted himself off. “Balin and Dwalin will be waiting for us down the road. We should go.” He saddled up and kicked his pony’s sides, nudging her forward to the path leading up to the mountain pass.

Víli took his wife into his arms once more. “Must you go?” Her voice was muffled in his coat.

“You heard the reports from the south. We have to go flush out that band of orcs. I have to keep you safe.” He released her, and crouched down so he was level with Fíli. Víli wrapped him in a bear hug.

“Promise you’ll be back?” Fíli’s voice was small, almost lost in his father’s thick mane.

“I promise.”

***

Dís hummed as she scrubbed the breakfast dishes clean, elbow-deep in the soapy water. A black curl fell in her face and she blew it away with an impatient huff. “Fíli? Can you come help your mother, please?”

Fíli grumbled, but he clambered to his feet and joined her in the kitchen. Dís handed him the plates and a dishcloth. “Thank you, kurduwê.” She leaned against the counter with a sigh and placed a hand on her small bump, just starting to strain at her dress. There was a tiny flutter in her belly. Dís smiled, stroking it gently.

“When’s it gonna get here?” Fíli asked, standing on his tiptoes and tugging at her skirt.

“Six more months, my dear.”

He pouted, wrinkling his nose. “That’s forever!” he whined.

Dís chuckled and shook her head, taking the dried plates from his hands. As she put them back in the cupboard, there was a frantic pounding at the door. “They’re back!” came a shout from the other side.

Dís’s eyes lit up. She rushed from the cottage, running as fast as she dared down the hill with a grin. It was only a few days after Víli and Thorin left that she learned she was with child, and since then, all she could think of was how excited her husband would be.

The two ponies plodded into the village, heads drooped in exhaustion. Thorin’s head hung low as well, betraying his own weariness. A small crowd of dwarves began to gather as news of their return made its way through the town.

“Víli, Thorin!” she cried. But as she neared, her brow creased in confusion. Yes, there were two ponies, but she saw only one with a rider. She saw only Thorin. Dís halted. Cold dread spread through her chest. “Thorin? Where’s Víli?”

When her brother did not reply, she came closer. She could see something large on the pony’s back behind Thorin. “Thorin,” Dís whispered, her voice wavering. “Where is my husband?”

At last, Thorin slowly lifted his head. His mouth moved wordlessly for a few seconds before his voice returned to him, dry and cracking. “I tried, Dís. I tried.”

“No…” Dís could see now what was slung over the back of Thorin’s pony. A battered, broken body. There was dried blood caked in his hair, silver beads now stained. She looked back at Thorin helplessly. “Thorin, I’m… I’m pregnant.”

Her brother’s face fell even further.

“Amad?” Fíli finally caught up with his mother. His blue eyes were round and hopeful. “Where’s Adad?”

Thorin dismounted. The movement jostled the body behind him, and he was too slow to keep it from thudding to the ground. But he was fast enough to move between his sister and his nephew as she crumbled, throwing herself over her fallen husband. He quickly pressed Fíli’s face into his tunic and covered the boy’s ears as she screamed.

And oh, how she screamed. Wordless howls of raw grief. Broken only by gasps for air fueling the next scream.

“Uncle Thorin?” Fíli’s voice was muffled by his uncle’s clothing, stained with his father’s blood. “Uncle Thorin, what’s wrong with Amad? Why is she sad?”

“Not now, little one,” Thorin mumbled. He ushered him back up the hill, turning Fíli’s head when he tried to look back.

“You promised!” Dís’s shrieks echoed off of the hills. “You promised!”

***

The ringing of metal on metal filled Thorin’s ears as he hammered away. Sparks flew with each strike. He paused for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow, then plunged the red-hot iron into the barrel at his side to quench it.

“Thorin!”

Thorin looked up to see Dís rushing into the forge. She hiked up her skirt with one hand to avoid the soot and dust on the stone floor, the other supporting her heavy stomach. She was due any day now.

“Thorin, I can’t find Fíli anywhere,” she panted. “I’ve checked all the places I could think of—he’s nowhere to be found.”

Thorin laid the piece he was working on aside and discarded his apron. He ducked out of the heat-choked forge and into the brisk autumn air. “You checked the valley? The creek? The beech copse? You asked the older children?”

“Everything,” Dís insisted. “I’ve searched all afternoon.”

Dying rays of sunlight barely reached over the buildings in their little hamlet. If they were to find Fíli, they had better do it fast. The woods and plains in the foothills of the Blue Mountains were no place for a five-year-old on his own with the autumn chill plunging to a bitter, near-winter cold at night. A frigid breeze was already tugging at Thorin’s hair.

His eyes scanned the landscape, stopping when they reached the crest of a small hill almost a mile from their door. “Dís,” he said quietly. “Are you sure you checked everywhere?”

Hidden on the far side was a crack in the earth that lead to a small cave. And sure enough, Thorin found what he was looking for.

Fíli sat at the entrance, hugging his legs to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. He didn’t acknowledge Thorin; he just kept looking ahead into the cave.

Thorin lowered himself to the ground and sat next to his nephew. “Your mother has been very worried about you.”

“I’m alright. I’m just waiting for Adad.” Fíli pointed into the cave. “He’s busy.” He was shivering.

Thorin sighed. It had been months since he returned with his brother-in-law’s lifeless body. “Your adad was laid to rest. He will never leave this tomb.”

Fíli shook his head vigorously. “Nuh-uh. He’s coming home.”

“Fíli,” Thorin placed a gentle hand on Fíli’s shoulder. “Your father is gone. He is not coming back.”

“No, he’s gonna come back because he promised and he never breaks a promise!” Fíli’s little hands balled up into fists, tears welling up in his eyes. “Leave me alone!”

“He asked me to look after you,” Thorin continued, paying no mind to Fíli’s protests.

“I don’t want you!” Fíli tried to push Thorin away. “I want Adad!”

“Come on.” Thorin stood and easily lifted his nephew, throwing the squirming child over his shoulder like a sack of flour. “It’s not safe for you out here alone.”

Fíli started to sob, hitting Thorin’s back with tiny fists that he barely felt. “No! He’ll come back! He will!” Fíli cried over and over. He kicked his legs in protest, but Thorin only tightened his hold.

Finally, his movements became weaker and his shouts became sniffles and hiccups as he wore himself out. “I hate you,” he whimpered.

Thorin winced. He knew the boy didn’t mean it, but still, it stung.

It was dusk when they returned. Dís stood in the doorway of their little home, hands on her hips and tapping her foot. “Now just what do you think you–”

Thorin silenced her with a look. Not now, he mouthed. He set Fíli on the ground, nudging him inside. “It’s bath night,” he reminded the boy. “Go get ready.”

Fíli gave his uncle a final, tearful glare, and stomped off. Thorin collapsed on the couch.

“Where’d you manage to find him?” Dís joined her brother, laying a hand on his arm.

Thorin didn’t look at her. “Sitting in front of the… the hill.” Something about speaking of cold graves in what was supposed to be a warm home felt wrong. “He still refuses to accept it.” He rubbed his brow with a sigh.

“He’s grieving, the poor lamb. Give him time.” Dís squeezed his arm. “Things were not the same without Frerin for so long. And we were grown by then—Fíli is so little. He scarcely knows what death is.”

Thorin raised his head and stared darkly into the fire. “The way things are going, he’ll need to learn sooner or later. We’ve seen far too many goblins straying close to the mountains. And more elves passing through to the Sea.” Thorin nodded slowly, lost in his own musings. “Something is coming.”

Dís snorted, shaking her head. “You listen to Dwalin’s grumblings too much,” she remarked. “I think we will be alright.” With that, she excused herself and followed the trail left by Fíli’s muddy footprints, muttering about hot water and dirty dwarflings.

Little Fíli poked his head into the living room, sucking his thumb nervously. Thorin sat on the couch, reading by the dimming light of the fire. Fíli padded across the floor and climbed up next to him. Without a word, he snuggled up against Thorin’s side, laying his head on his uncle’s thigh. And equally silently, Thorin put his hand on Fíli’s head, hair still damp from the bath.

“I’m sorry I was mean, Uncle Thorin,” Fíli finally whispered.

Thorin put down his book, looking at his nephew with an expression somehow both pitying and reassuring. “We have all said things we are not proud of,” he said. “I appreciate the apology.”

Fíli nodded and yawned. “But he will come back. I know he will.” He curled up in Thorin’s lap and closed his eyes. “He promised.”

***

“Fíli.”

The blonde dwarfling screwed his eyes shut tighter and wrinkled his nose. He shoved his face into his pillow, trying to ignore his uncle’s voice. He’d been waiting for hours, listening to his mother’s pained cries from the room over, and he had just about had enough.

“Fíli, you are not setting a very good example as a big brother, are you?”

That did it. Fíli’s eyes shot open, and he sat up so quickly that he nearly fell over.

Thorin stood in the doorway, a tired smile on his face. In his arms, he cradled a tiny bundle.

Fíli wiggled with excitement as his uncle approached. Thorin sat on the bed next to him. He gently moved aside the blanket guarding his precious cargo and lowered the bundle so the boy could see.

“Fíli, meet your little brother,” Thorin whispered. “This is Kíli.” He dared not disturb the sleeping newborn too much, vividly remembering how loud and shrill Fíli’s cries had been as a baby.

“Hi Kíli,” Fíli breathed. His blue eyes were wide with awe as he peered at his brother snuggled up inside the blanket. Kíli’s face twitched every so often, small bubbles of spit collecting on his bottom lip. Fíli looked up at Thorin eagerly. “Can I hold him?”

After a moment of hesitation, Thorin nodded. “Be very careful,” he warned as he shifted the baby into Fíli’s arms. “He’s not quite as big and strong as you yet. Hold him close. Support his head, just like that. There you go.”

“He’s so little!” Fíli gently brushed his hand over the fuzz on Kíli’s scalp. Dark-haired, like Dís and Thorin. At his brother’s touch, Kíli began to stir. With a squeak, he opened his eyes.

Fíli gasped. “Uncle Thorin, look! He’s got brown eyes, like…” He trailed off, staring down at the baby in silence for a long time. Kíli blinked curiously up at him with little gurgling noises. When Fíli looked back at his uncle, his eyes shone with tears and his lip quivered. “Adad’s not coming back, is he?”

Thorin’s heart cracked—but there was relief, too. He’s finally come to accept it. “No, little one. He’s not.”

Fíli’s face crumpled. He buried his face in Thorin’s side and began to cry. Disturbed by the noise, Kíli let out a few whimpers of his own before starting to wail.

Thorin put his arm around Fíli’s shoulders, saying nothing.

“For Mahal’s sake, Thorin, what did you do to make both of them cry?” Dís leaned against the doorframe, still weary from labor and nursing her newborn. But her tired glare softened when she saw the look on Thorin’s face, the way he held Fíli against his side.

“I should take him back,” Dís sighed, crossing the room and prying Kíli from Fíli’s arms. “Hush, wee one,” she murmured, rocking him as she left and starting to hum a lullaby.

Thorin shifted on the bed to face Fíli. His large, calloused palms swallowed up Fíli’s tiny hands. “Fíli.”

The little dwarf sniffled and looked up at his uncle, tears still streaming from his eyes.

Thorin wiped Fíli’s cheeks with his sleeve. “I have something very important that I need you to do.”

“What is it?” Fíli tilted his head to the side like a puppy, his sadness momentarily replaced with curiosity.

“Look after your little brother. Promise me, no matter what, you will always look after him.”

Fíli nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

***

Kíli was losing. He ducked under Fíli’s swing, barely managing to block him. “Just wait till we do target practice,” he muttered as he pivoted away from Fíli’s next attack. “I’ll show you.” His wooden sword clacked against Fíli’s when he went on the offensive, trying to reclaim the ground he’d lost.

“Archery is for elves,” Fíli scoffed.

“You only say that because you’re no good at it!”

Up the hill, their uncle and mother watched, leaning against the side of the cottage.

“We’ve raised two fine boys,” Thorin mused, sharp eyes following the brothers as they sparred with blades and words.

“They’re only in their twenties, Thorin. Hardly more than striplings,” Dís reminded him with a smile and a nudge. “We’ve still a while to go.”

“We are raising two fine boys,” he amended his statement. Thorin rested his arm around his sister’s shoulders. He fidgeted with her sleeve, fingers plucking at the fabric.

Dís glanced up at him, eyebrow cocked. Though his eyes were still fixed on Fíli and Kíli, she could tell he was not entirely there. So she waited patiently for him to let her into his thoughts.

“I want them to be my heirs,” Thorin said abruptly.

“What?”

He did not look at her. Instead, he turned and went inside, still deep in his own mind. “Fíli would be the crown prince, of course, as the elder brother.”

“Heirs? Crown prince? Thorin, what are you talking about?” Dís followed, kicking the door shut behind her.

“I want them as my heirs. I want Fíli to rule after me once we have retaken Erebor.”

Dís’s eyes narrowed. “Erebor is lost, Thorin. This is our life, not kingdoms and crowns.” She waved her arm toward the window.

“It is not yet lost, not while I still have breath in me,” Thorin insisted. His hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms.

The familiar Durin temper flared to life in both brother and sister. “You want to die like Father?” Dís hissed. “Fighting for a home that is long gone? Or burned alive like Mother?”

Thorin whirled around to face her. His blue eyes flashed. “Father is not dead,” he spat. “Víli and I found signs of him down south–” He snapped his mouth shut when he realized what he’d done.

“South?” Dís’s voice was dangerously low. Her eyes grew even narrower. “You have not been south since…”

Thorin tried to turn away, but Dís grabbed his wrist with a crushing grip.

“There never were any orcs, were there? Did Víli know?!” she demanded. “Did he know he was going off to die for your stupid wishful thinking?”

“You think I would lie to him?”

“You lied to me!”

“Of course he knew!” Thorin ripped his arm away. “I will speak no more of this.”

“Do not walk away from me, Thorin Oakenshield.” She said the name with a mocking sneer. “Look at me, you coward.”

Thorin halted, his shoulders tight. His eyes were stormy, flashing with lightning when he looked back. “You were a child—you do not remember it the way I do,” he rumbled, his voice the thunder to the storm in his eyes. “I will reclaim what is rightfully ours, and I want Fíli and Kíli at my side when I do.”

“So you’ll take my boys from me the same way you took my husband?” Hot, angry tears filled her eyes.

“They are my boys, too,” Thorin shot back. “I’d sooner die than watch them live their lives in poverty and servitude.”

“Is peace not enough for you?”

“It will never be enough,” he snarled. “Not while that beast still–”

“Uncle Thorin?” Kili’s voice broke into their argument. He stood in the doorway, holding up his thin sword, snapped neatly in two. “I think I lost. Do you know if Bifur or Bofur have made any more training blades?”

Dís clenched her jaw, turning her face away until she could control her voice. “I’m sure they will be happy to make you a new one,” she answered, forcing brightness into her tone. “Why don’t you go ask them? Dinner should be ready by the time you return. Don’t be out too long.”

Kíli’s face lit up. “Yes, Amad!” He tossed the broken sword into the fireplace and dashed from the cottage, leaving his mother and uncle in silence once more.

“This is not finished,” Dís muttered. While Thorin’s eyes were dark and stormy, hers were bright and fiery with an anger that made her hands shake. “Get out of my sight.”

But Dís knew the day would come, and she dreaded it. While others became excited when they heard the dragon had not been seen for years, it only tightened the knot in her stomach. Her sons, however, couldn’t be more eager as they bustled around the cottage, packing their rucksacks and sharpening their weapons.

“D’you think I can fit another knife somewhere?” Fíli asked his brother, twisting around to inspect his coat.

“Sure,” Kíli replied. He slung his quiver over his shoulder with a lazy grin. “Up your ass.”

”Language, Kíli,” Dís scolded.

Kíli repeated his answer in Khuzdûl instead.

Fíli laughed, shaking his head. “Come on, Kee. If we leave now, we should have a good head start on Thorin. Shouldn’t take us more than a week to reach this burglar’s house.” He made for the door, but his mother stopped him.

Her hands trembled as she double-checked the buckles and ties on his clothes. “So much like your father,” Dís said with a sad smile. “He could never wait to get on the road.”

Fíli struggled to remember his father’s face, now just a blurry memory almost eighty years old. Visions of Thorin overpowered those of Víli—dark hair instead of gold, blue eyes instead of brown.

Dís stood on her toes to wrap her son in a tight embrace. The lump in her throat threatened to choke her. “Come back to me,” she whispered in his ear. Their parting felt all too familiar. “Promise me, you will come home.”

“I will take back our home,” Fíli corrected her softly. He drew back and gave his mother a comforting smile. “You will walk the halls of Erebor again. I promise.”

***

It was that promise to his mother that drove Fíli onwards, that kept him from despair in the Elvenking’s dungeon, that kept him anchored as his uncle began to spiral into the same madness that claimed Thorin’s grandfather.

It was his long-ago promise to Thorin that kept Fíli’s eyes on his brother, that kept him close to his side, that stopped Kíli from following him as he combed the upper levels on the Ravenhill.

It was why his last words were a warning, a desperate plea for his uncle and brother’s safety.

And it was that promise to his mother that he thought of as the blade ripped through his back.

His last breath gurgled in his throat as he choked on his own blood. His vision blurred, head dropping to his chest as darkness fell. Fíli was dead before he hit the ground in front of his baby brother.

He was so much like his father, wasn’t he?

Promises made.

Promises broken.

#fanfiction #Fíli #Kíli #BABY Fíli and Kíli #thorin oakenshield #dís #lady dis #Fíli and Kíli’s father #canon compliant #someone please give Dís a hug #she’s so tired #the hobbit #Fíli and Kíli #uncle thorin #big brother Fíli

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin

A reader-insert fanfiction.

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing.

She’s carrying his child.

Alternate Ending: Medicine

If things went differently.

pick it up, pick it all up, and start again.

-Medicine, Daughter

Frosty grass crunches under your feet as you dash out the gates, eyes scanning the battlefield frantically. Piles of bodies are strewn about, some orcs, some goblins, and far more elves and dwarves than you’d like.

There!

Across the way, you just barely spy three small figures making their way to the mountain. Your heart pounds in your chest as you hurry to meet up. Fíli and Dwalin support a limping Kíli between them. His right foot is twisted at an angle that makes your stomach turn, and his sleeve is soaked with blood. Bilbo stumbles not far behind.

“Fíli! Kíli!” You rush forward, wrapping your arms tightly around Fíli’s waist.

Fíli raises his head. His eyes are dull. Tears slice through the blood and grime on his face. “Y/N…” he whispers.

“Are you alright? What happened?” you gasp.

“I couldn’t save him.”

Your heart drops. Over his shoulder, you glimpse little shapes swooping down from the Ravenhill. A large bird carrying a limp body. You let go of Fíli and step back, falling to your knees. “No.”

Footsteps pound behind you. Bofur and Nori grab Kíli. Fíli collapses with you, burying his face in your hair.

“It’s all my fault, Y/N,” Fíli chokes. “It’s all my fault.”

You wake with a jolt, but Fíli’s voice remains in your ears. You turn over in bed. His back is to you, but you can tell by the way his shoulders shake and his whimpers that he’s having similar dreams.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, no…” he mumbles.

Your heart cracks, and you reach out to lay a hand on his clammy arm. “Fíli,” you whisper, gently rolling him onto his back.

His face spasms. “I have to help him! Kee, I have to…to…” He jerks his head to the side, blinking. His eyes are clouded with confusion when he turns to you. “Y/N? Where–”

“You’re home,” you murmur, scooting closer to him. You’ve done this dance before, but it doesn’t get any easier. You tuck his head beneath your chin and rub his bare back gently. It’s coated in a thin layer of cold sweat. “Thorin’s gone, sweetheart.”

Fíli’s breaths are shaky as his mind, still fuzzy with sleep, processes your words. His shoulders slump. “I couldn’t save him, Y/N.”

You swallow. “I know. It’s okay, Fee. Let it out.”

He lets out a soft sob, chest heaving and pressing his face into your neck. His arms grip you tightly, desperately, like a child clinging to his mother. You don’t say anything, just stroking his hair. Outside your bedchambers he keeps up a strong façade, busying himself with his newfound duties. But it’s moments like these, these nighttime rituals, that reveal how fragile that shield is. You’d be honored at how he lets his guard down around you, if it weren’t so heartbreaking.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I shouldn’t be… like this.”

“Don’t say that, Fíli. Don’t you dare say that.” You pull away slightly and fix him with a stern look.

“I’m supposed to be strong,” he protests.

You reach up and stroke his cheek with your thumb, cupping his face in your hands. “What, are your mother and Kíli not strong while they grieve? Or Balin, or Dwalin, or any of the rest? Am I not strong for still grieving Thorin?”

“Of course you are! But—”

“But nothing.” You press your lips to his, swallowing his words. “Show yourself the same kindness that you show others. You deserve that.”

Fíli sighs, rolling onto his back and staring blankly up at the ceiling.

You curl into his side and lay your head on his chest, listening as his heartbeat gradually starts to come back down, and his breathing becomes more even. “You know it wasn’t your fault, right? I need to know that you know that.”

“That blow was meant for me.” His voice is thick as the two of you finally broach the subject you’ve tiptoed around for a year.

“And he chose to take it. He chose to save you, and you avenged him. Azog is dead, Fíli, and you’re alive.”

His beard brushes against your hair when he shakes his head. “It didn’t bring Thorin back. What’s the point of victory then?”

A muffled cry sounds from the next room. “That’s the point of victory right there,” you say as you sit up. You start to get out of bed, but Fíli is closer, making it to the nursery door first.

He vanishes inside, reappearing with Juniper in his arms. “Hush, little sprout, I’m here,” he whispers, sitting back on the bed. “Adad’s got you. Papa’s got you.” Fili leans down and brushes his lips against her forehead with a sniff. “Thorin would have liked her.”

Now that she’s in her father’s embrace, Juniper’s cries quiet, and she snuggles into his warm chest with little cooing noises.

“He would have adored her.” You join them, laying your head on his shoulder. “She’ll be a princess tomorrow.”

“She’s always been a princess.” Despite himself, a weak smile appears on Fíli’s lips. “Are you ready to be queen?” he asks, resting his head against yours.

“Every girl wanted to be a princess when I was a kid—not sure how many wanted to actually be queen,” you reply. “Queens have responsibilities. Princesses get to sing, and run through forests, and talk to animals.”

“What strange princesses your world had.” Fíli lifts his head and looks at you. “But are you ready?”

Queen. You will be queen of the dwarves. There’s a joke about my height in there, somewhere, you think.

Since the battle, you’ve done your best to avoid the subject, busying yourself with preparing for Juniper’s birth, and your wedding after that. But now, on the eve of the coronation, your nerves resurface. “Will they accept me as queen?” you whisper. “I’m not a dwarf—I’m not even from Middle Earth.”

You’ve seen the looks you get wandering the halls or venturing out of the mountain, and you know Fíli has, too.

Fíli doesn’t answer for a long time. Finally, he kisses your cheek. “If they don’t, there will be hell to pay,” he promises. “I’ll send Kíli after them.”

That draws a chuckle from you. Kíli delights in ruffling the feathers of the more judgmental dwarves, loudly referring to you as his sister in their presence, casually draping an arm around your shoulders whenever he sees someone giving you a strange look.

”It’s so weird. In less than two years I’ve gone from working a low-paying job, living in a shi—crappy apartment,” you censor yourself with a nervous glance at Juniper, “to being royalty, living in a palace, with a baby.”

“And married to the most handsome dwarf in all of Middle Earth,” Fíli adds teasingly.

“And married to the most handsome dwarf in Middle Earth.”

A thin line of drool seeps from Juniper’s mouth. Her eyes are closed once more, lips puckered around her thumb. Fíli stands slowly, careful not to jostle her too much as he takes her back to the nursery. He returns and closes the door softly.

You tuck yourselves back in and pull the covers up around the pair of you, hugging Fíli close. “I love you,” you murmur.

“I love you too, ghivashel.”

You make your way through the lower halls of Erebor, going deeper and deeper below the earth. The air is cool and moist, patches of moss growing on the stones that sat unmaintained for so long. At the end of a long hallway, you reach your destination: Two large, wooden doors in the stone, with gold insets. They’re already ajar, and you poke your head inside.

Kíli sits cross-legged on the floor in front of a stone casket, head down. The hinges groan in protest as you ease the doors shut behind you. But Kíli does not acknowledge your presence.

“I thought I might find you here,” you say, approaching him cautiously. “Fíli sent me to see where you were.”

Still, he doesn’t react. You sit next to him, ducking your head to get in his line of sight. “Kee?”

“It should be Thorin,” he mutters. His eyes are dark, glaring at nothing. “And it’s my fault.”

You suppress a sigh and put an arm around his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

Kíli’s lip curls. His right sleeve is pulled back, exposing a long scar running down his forearm. “If Fíli didn’t need to help me, then he wouldn’t have been open for that filth to swing at him,” he spits. “If he hadn’t been vulnerable, Thorin wouldn’t have jumped in.”

“And you’d be dead instead. Is that what Thorin would have wanted?”

He finally lifts his head, staring at the casket dully. “I don’t think he’d want to be lying in a stone box while his nephew takes the throne at only eighty-three”

“He loved you, Kíli. Your death would’ve broken him. Yours or Fíli’s.”

Kíli presses the base of his palm to his forehead. “I don’t understand,” he says. “I thought I was well. I thought I had… recovered. But now it feels like it just happened yesterday.”

The shadow of the casket looms over the dwarf. The torches are halfway spent already. Kíli makes it a ritual to come down to the tomb and light them each morning.

Gently, you pull Kíli’s sleeve down to cover his scar. “It’s because of the coronation. Fíli’s been the same way.”

Kíli scoffs. “I doubt it.”

You hesitate, debating if you want to comfort Kíli, or spare Fíli’s dignity. Fíli’s dignity can take the blow, you decide. “Kee, Fíli woke up crying in the middle of the night. Like he’s done many times since the battle.” You squeeze Kíli’s arm. “You’re not alone.”

He turns his head and looks at you for the first time. “Thank you,” he whispers.

You smile, patting him on the shoulder and standing. “Ceremony’s in a few hours. Go get ready. I’ll see you then.”

You stand on the steps before the throne, looking out over the gathered kingdom. Your kingdom. Juniper clings to your arm with her thumb shoved in her mouth. You’re just glad she’s relatively quiet for the most important moment in Fíli’s life. The Company line the first row, along with Dís. Two chairs sit empty next to Gandalf, for the two missing party members. Your heart wrenches in your chest as your gaze lands on them. He’d be so proud.

Ever perceptive, Gandalf gives you a small nod and a sympathetic smile. You do your best to return it.

Fíli stands beside you, eyes closed and muttering in Khuzdûl under his breath. You reach over to squeeze his hand tightly, and they flutter open. He squeezes back.

Dáin approaches Kíli first with his crown. “Kíli, son of the Lady Dís, the Crown Prince Under the Mountain. Heir to the throne of Erebor.”

Kíli blinks rapidly. He holds his head high at the crowd’s applause, lip trembling slightly. You wish you were next to him—instead, you catch his eye and nod encouragingly. He finally smiles.

Dáin stops before you now. He lifts up a delicate, golden crown and clears his throat. “It has been centuries since this crown has been worn,” he says. “But today, we crown the Lady Y/N, a daughter of Man, wed to Fíli, Queen Under the Mountain. And we welcome their daughter, the Princess Juniper, second in line to the throne.”

Juniper reaches for the crown as you duck your head. Dáin evades her grasping hands with a smile, settling the crown on your brow. Of all the cheers, you hear the Company’s the clearest—Bofur is on his feet, hands cupped around his mouth and hollering. You beam at them.

“And it is my greatest honor to present to you Fíli, son of the Lady Dís. The King Under the Mountain!”

Fíli takes in a deep breath as Dáin places the Raven Crown on his head. He’s flat-out refused to wear it so far, insisting that it belongs to Thorin until he formally receives the mantle of kingship. Now that it rests on his head, he looks so much like Thorin. Perhaps not in his face, but in his bearing, standing tall with shoulders back and chin raised.

“Long live the king and queen!”

The room bursts with cheering. Your ascent to the thrones seems to happen in slow-motion, the noise of the audience dulled by the sound of your racing pulse. Fíli grips your hand so tightly you fear it will leave a bruise.

Before he can sit, you lean in close. “They’ll want a speech,” you whisper.

He clears his throat and lifts a hand for quiet. “Thank you all,” Fíli says. “It is a privilege to stand before you today and receive your acceptance. I know that I am young to be taking the throne. By all rights, it should be Thorin Oakenshield. He fell during the Battle of the Five Armies on this day, a year ago, sacrificing his life for his kin.” Fíli pauses as a somber murmur ripples through the room. “It was his dream to see his people return to their rightful home in Erebor. I will do my best to rule as he would have, with dignity and wisdom—and with my brother and my queen at my side.”

With a smile, he steps back and lifts Juniper from your arms, resting her on his knee as he sits on his throne. She grasps at his tunic and babbles happily.

As the room fills once again with roars from the gathered dwarves, you lean as close to the throne as you can from your seat. “Long live the king.”

“Long live the queen,” Fíli whispers back. “Long may she reign.”

#fanfiction #fili x reader #fili x you #fíli #kíli #reader insert #the hobbit #alternate ending #blood of durin #ao3fic

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin

A reader-insert fanfiction.

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing.

She’s carrying his child.

Epilogue

An ending, and a beginning.

and oh where the road then takes me, i cannot tell. we came all this way, but now comes the day to bid you farewell

-The Last Goodbye, Billy Boyd

You didn’t realize how much you missed Rivendell until it appears in your sight once more. It’s sunnier and greener than you remember, even in the quickly fading light—though you mostly remember the nights in the valley.

Juniper wiggles in front of you. “We gonna see elves?” she asks, her eyes sparkling. Your hand darts forward to steady her in the saddle.

“Mostly we’re here to meet your Uncle Bilbo,” Fíli corrects. He pulls back on his pony’s reins, who’s trying to move forward and nip at the tail of Kíli’s pony. “I don’t care for elves.”

“Elves are bad?” Juniper furrows her brow. “But Tauri…” The young girl can’t quite form the name of Erebor’s newly-declared elvish ambassador yet.

“Fíli, we are not setting her against the elves. Don’t confuse her,” you scold. “We do like elves, Junie. Your adad just disagrees with them sometimes.”

Fíli snorts. Ahead, Kíli gives his brother a hard look over his shoulder from beside Tauriel. If the elf heard the exchange, which you know she did, she says nothing. However, when she moves aside a branch along the path, she lets it whip back into Fíli’s face. He nearly falls from his pony as he ducks to avoid it. You snicker.

“Hail!”

Your ears perk up at a call from up the path. You tap your horse’s sides to speed her up, nudging past Kíli.

A tall, dark-haired elf stand at the gates leading into the valley. Elrond nods at you, but his eyebrows crease when he spots Juniper. The little dwarfling doesn’t seem fazed, staring wide-eyed at the elf.

“Well met, Princes Fíli and Kíli of Erebor. Lady Y/N, good to see you again. And it is not often we see our Mirkwood kin this side of the mountains. Welcome to Rivendell,” Elrond sweeps his arm out, beckoning you forward.

Your party dismounts. You carefully place Juniper on the ground and take her hand.

Her eyes haven’t left Elrond. “He’s tall,” she whispers.

Fíli inclines his head coolly. “Hello, Lord Elrond. And it’s Princess Y/N now, actually,” Fíli corrects as you stroll deeper into the valley. He ruffles Juniper’s hair proudly. “This is our daughter, Juniper.”

That renders Elrond speechless. He looks from you, to Fíli, to Juniper toddling beside you. Kíli smirks at the elf’s dumbfounded expression.

“I’m so sorry,” you mutter. “We wanted to surprise Bilbo—it didn’t occur to me that we shouldn’t surprise you as well.”

“And speaking of Bilbo…” Kíli points up at a low-hanging balcony, where a little figure paces.

You let go of Juniper’s hand and run up the stairs. “Bilbo!” you shout, seizing the hobbit in a tight hug.

He sputters out a muffled protest. With a grin, you bring him back down the steps and set him on the ground. He straightens his waistcoat, patting a tiny pocket. The gesture doesn’t escape you—he’s carrying the Ring.

“It’s good to see you too, Y/N,” he puffs out.

Kíli wraps him in a bear hug, lifting him off his feet. “Mister Boggins!” He puts him back down and gives an exaggerated bow. “Prince Kíli, at your service.”

Bilbo smiles. “And plain old Bilbo Baggins at yours. I’m terribly sorry I couldn’t make it for the coronation. Is Thorin…?” He looks past Kíli hopefully.

Fíli shakes his head. “He’ll be along in a few weeks,” he explains. “But we come with news.” He steps aside, revealing Juniper. The three-year-old is sucking her thumb.

You return to Fíli’s side and nudge her forward. “Bilbo, this is Juniper. Junie, this is your Uncle Bilbo, the one we told you stories about!”

“Uncle?” Bilbo questions. “I don’t know about uncle–” He stops as Juniper looks at him closely, then wraps her arms around his leg.

“Uncle Bi’bo!” she cries, fumbling over the l in his name.

“I suppose uncle is alright,” he finishes lamely.

Fíli claps him on the shoulder. “Good to see you, Master Burglar. Juniper, you can let go now.”

She plops down on her bottom instead.

“The stubbornness of dwarves,” you remark with a smile.

“I am sure you are weary after your travels. The table is already set if you would like to join us,” Elrond offers, observing the reunion.

That gets Juniper’s attention. She clambers to her feet and tugs on your riding pants. “Mama,” she whispers, as if telling you an important secret. “I’m hungry.”

You’ve been looking forward to this dinner for months. You sit with Fíli at the long banquet table, sipping on sweet wine and admiring the stars. Juniper is on Fíli’s lap, sneaking bites from his plate when he’s not looking. Tauriel and Kíli chat casually with a few elves you don’t recognize.

“She looks like Fíli,” Bilbo comments. The hobbit sits across from you, already on his third plate.

“Yeah, but Kíli’s been a bad influence on her. I couldn’t find her the other day, and you know where she was?” You pause for dramatic effect, folding your arms. “In the armory, with Kíli, ‘trying on’ armor and seeing if she could lift a sword. I swear, there’s two children running around the mountain with him around.”

Kíli flashes a mischievous smile at you from his seat next to Tauriel.

You roll your eyes. “So, what’ve you been getting up to? Any adventures?”

“Well…” Bilbo says slowly. “I wouldn’t call them adventures, but I’ve been going on a great deal more trips outside the borders of the Shire. Just to Bree and such places. You see, I don’t believe any adventure will ever compare to my first.”

“Don’t be so sure,” you remark, swirling your wine around.

“And Thorin, how is he?”

“Oh, he grumbles, but he’s mostly savoring being back home–”

“And giving me all the work!” Fíli butts in with a wink.

You swat at his arm. “I think he still can’t believe it, you know? He spent so long away from home that it doesn’t seem real.”

“And… and you?” Bilbo asks quietly. “You’ve, ah, you’ve been away from home quite a long while now.” His gaze is kind, if concerned.

Under the table, Fíli’s hand finds yours and gives it a squeeze. You haven’t had to answer that question in such a long time, you’re not sure what the answer even is.

You give it some thought. “I’ll put it this way,” you sigh. “In my world—my old world—everyone has to leave the nest at some point. Everyone has to find their way in life, find a new home. And… everyone has to deal with losing family, sometimes friends.”

Another squeeze.

“I guess I just did it earlier than most, and more permanently than most.” You pause, eyes sweeping the table, from Kíli, to Tauriel, to Juniper, to Fíli. “And I’ve found my own new, weird family here.”

“Mama,” Juniper leans over and pulls on your hair, interrupting your musings. “Mama!”

You give Bilbo an apologetic smile. “Yes, little sprout?”

She just yawns in response.

You reach over and lift her from her father’s arms. “Looks like someone’s ready to turn in for the evening,” you comment. “Good night, Bilbo.” Shifting Juniper onto your hip, you put a hand on Fíli’s shoulder. “Join me later, my love?”

He smiles and pecks you on the lips. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You’re awoken by a gentle hand. You squint against the moonlight with a groan. Fíli stands over you.

“What is it?” you mumble, propping yourself up on your elbow.

“It’s one a.m.” Fíli is smiling mischievously. “I was wondering if you would join me for a walk?”

“What?”

He waves a hand towards the window. “It’s a beautiful night in Rivendell, and no one’s around…” he wiggles his eyebrows at you and extends his hand.

You stare at him as your mind slowly processes his request.

Oh. Oh.

With your own sly smile you take his hand. He pulls you from bed and you take the same path to the river you’d taken four years ago. You breathe in deeply, savoring the warm summer air. Everything seems a little more vibrant in Rivendell, a little crisper. The placid river stretches before you, starlight glimmering on the surface. But this time, instead of sitting down on the rocks, Fíli immediately pushes you into the water. You come back up with a sputter and shake out your hair.

“Revenge is sweet,” he declares.

You cross your arms and pout. “Get in here, you asshole.”

He pulls his nightshirt off with a grin and kicks off his pants, leaving him in just his braies. You duck when he jumps in, nearly sending you back under with a wall of water.

“Ssh!” you hiss. “They’ll hear us!”

Fíli doesn’t heed your warning, splashing water at your face.

“I swear, you’re no better than a twelve-year-old,” you laugh, splashing him back, and putting up a hand as a shield when he keeps up the fight.

He grabs your wrist, then the other when you raise it as well. With both your hands trapped, all you can do is squirm helplessly. Fíli smirks, using the opening to lean in and brush his lips against yours. “Bringing back memories?” he breathes.

“Not quite,” you reply softly. “I kissed you first.”

“Blast. Thought I remembered it perfectly.” He gently pushes you toward the shore, and you let him. “But I do remember you had a naughty idea…” Fíli hoists you onto the bank and pulls himself out. Before you can say anything, you’re scooped up in his arms and carried back to your chambers. He doesn’t even stop to grab his discarded clothing, which you’re sure will be an awkward discussion in the morning. Fíli gets straight to work, slowly peeling off your soaked nightclothes. You shiver as the air kisses your wet skin. Fíli grabs the blanket and wraps you in it, pushing you onto the bed.

“What are you doing?” You inhale sharply as he eagerly pulls your hips towards him.

“I want another one,” he growls, nipping at your neck.

“Just one more. Maybe two,” you concede with a giggle. “I’ll have to invent Middle Earth birth control if we keep coming here. Rivendell’s practically an aphrodisiac.”

But you give in, pausing only to roll on top of Fíli and envelop him in the blanket as well. His skin is warm under your lips, and ever so slightly rough. You let his hands wander up and down your legs, your back, gently caressing your curves. Your nails dig into his shoulders with pleasure when he nibbles on your ear.

“You’re even more beautiful than when I first saw you,” Fíli murmurs.

“Shut up and get to it,” you whisper.

And the only sound in the valley is soft panting as you relive that night from a lifetime ago.

In years to come, they’ll sing songs about you. The queen of the dwarves, who came from a strange land and brought with her a book of prophecy. A daughter of Man who lived the long life of a dwarf, mother of the revived line of Durin. Who advised King Thorin in the War of the Ring, urging him to send a delegation to Rivendell, and join the forces of Gondor before the Black Gate. And who died a peaceful death shortly after her king, passing the throne to her eldest daughter.

And oh, how wonderful the songs will be.

#fanfiction #fili x reader #fili x you #kíli #fíli #reader insert #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #rivendell #blood of durin #epilogue #elrond #ao3 fic

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin

A reader-insert fanfiction.

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing.

She’s carrying his child.

Chapter Eleven: King

A new era.

there’s so much more, you can reclaim your crown. you’re in control, rid of the monsters inside your head

-King, Lauren Aquilina

It’s early morning when you stir, finding yourself back in your bed. You vaguely recall your eyes growing heavy as you leaned against Fíli in the nursery, but his side of the bed is empty. A little clock on the mantle informs you that it’s 7:00 a.m.

The nursery door opens and Fíli enters, holding Juniper up on his shoulders. “Galikh bakn, amrâlimê,” he whispers, bending over and pecking your cheek. [Good morning, my love] You’d convinced him to start speaking more Khuzdûl to you to help you learn. If you’re going to spend the rest of your life around dwarves, you might as well learn their language properly.

“Galikh ba… bakn,” you repeat slowly, stumbling over the guttural words.

Fíli shrugs, making Juniper wobble. “It’s an improvement,” he concedes.

“Ba! Ba! Ba!” your daughter echoes. Then she pauses. “Da!” She slaps her hands against Fíli’s head, making him wince.

“Someone’s hungry.”

You sigh and sit up, adjusting your nightgown and holding out your arms for the baby. “I noticed that I’m not asleep on the nursery floor,” you comment as she latches on.

“You’d already been up with her—I figured it was only fair I take my turn. You needed your rest for the coronation today.” Fíli takes hold of your marriage braid, unraveling it and running a comb through your hair. The rhythmic tugging on your scalp is relaxing as he carefully weaves it into a new pattern. He fixes your bead and kisses it, whispering some words in Khuzdûl that you don’t yet recognize.

“Wouldn’t it be bad form for the crown prince to pass out from exhaustion during the ceremony?”

Fíli’s eyes sparkle. “Au contraire!” You’d taught him a few phrases from your world. He seems to delight in tossing them into his day-to-day speech, confusing those around him. “If I were to faint, it’s an amusing antic from the king’s nephew. If you were to faint, it’s an urgent medical episode from the new, beautiful princess.”

“I’m not sure–”

A loud banging on your door interrupts you. Before you can tell the visitor to wait or cover yourself, it bursts open, revealing Kíli. “Mornin’!” he says with a grin. Looking you up and down, he wrinkles his nose. “That’s disgusting!”

You sit straight up, color blooming on your cheeks. Juniper unlatches in protest at the sudden movement.

“Fíli, put a shirt on for Mahal’s sake, no one wants to see that!” Kíli finishes, throwing you a wink. He snatches Juniper from your arms and tosses her in the air. She shrieks with delight. “Ready for the big day?”

“I’m not dressed, I haven’t eaten, and I’m scared out of my mind,” you count off on your fingers as you clamber out of bed. “Take a guess.”

Fíli adjusts the top of your nightgown to preserve your modesty in front of his brother. “There should be breakfast in the hall, if Kíli hasn’t eaten it all yet. I got up early and asked the servants to make you a plate.” He moves to take Juniper back, but Kíli holds her just out of reach.

“You got to hold her all night,” he says, sticking out his tongue. “I want a turn.”

You crack your back and grab a robe hanging from the bedpost. “If you want to wake up with a fussy, teething baby at midnight, be my guest,” you yawn, making for the door.

The stone floor is cold on your feet, sending a shiver up your spine. You hasten for the dining room, pulling your robe tightly around you. A familiar, salty aroma fills your nose as you push open the side door into the deserted hall.

There’s a full plate of meat and eggs at the end of one of the tables, across from someone you didn’t expect to see.

“Galikh bak, Thorin,” you say lightly, taking your seat.

“Bakn,” he corrects with a grunt. He straightens up and pushes back his own half-finished plate. “You are up early.”

You shrug. “Baby,” you mumble through a mouthful of eggs. “Tried to let Fíli sleep—he put me back to bed.” The bite sticks in your throat and you wash it down with a gulp from a mug of coffee. “I didn’t think you’d be down here. Shouldn’t you be preparing?”

His dark hair is rumpled and there are bags beneath his eyes. It’s almost amusing to see him in a thick robe and not the leathers and furs you had become accustomed to seeing on the journey. But you suppose he’s earned a few creature comforts after spending over a hundred years away from home.

Thorin sighs. “I have done nothing but prepare for the coronation ceremony since the moment your wedding reception ended.”

“And yet you clearly haven’t slept.”

“Dwarves don’t need as much sleep as Men.”

“Bullshit,” you declare, stabbing at a sausage. “If anything, you sleep more. So, why weren’t you resting?”

He doesn’t answer, fiddling with one of his beads and avoiding your eyes. “You will not leave it alone until I give you an answer, will you?” he asks at last.

“You know me well.”

Thorin presses his lips into a thin line. “I am… concerned,” he admits. “I have slept little in the past nights while thinking about all that is to come.”

You put down your fork and peer at the dwarf. “You’re anxious.”

“If you would prefer to put it that way, I suppose so.”

“Mm,” you hum in appreciation. “I’m familiar with the feeling.” Pushing your plate aside, you lean in closer and lower your head. “So, what’s up?”

Thorin glances around the room.

“It’s just me, Thorin. It’s not like you’ll get the chance to offload it onto anyone else.” You let him sit in silence for as long as he pleases, returning to your plate.

He lets out another deep sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am ready for the position, I know that,” he mutters. “It is my birthright. But knowing what led to the events of a year ago… it worries me, that I have the capability for cruelty.” His eyes are dark and far away, his brow creased.

You reach across the table and lay a hand on his arm. “That was dragon-sickness,” you say softly. “That wasn’t you.“

Thorin shakes his head.

You squeeze his arm as best as you can through the thick wool. “All this past year, you’ve been giving orders, directing the rebuilding of Erebor, organizing resources, summoning your kin. Aren’t those all things that a king would do? You’ve been king, Thorin, in all but title. You never stopped.”

Still, he doesn’t reply. You release his arm and lean back, spearing a couple more sausages. “The boys are already up. I’ll see you tonight.” You shove the rest of the bite in your mouth and stand, giving Thorin’s shoulder a small shake on your way out.

“Y/N? Are you almost finished?” Fíli’s voice is tinged with impatience as he waits outside your chambers.

“Coming!” you call over your shoulder, inspecting yourself in the mirror one last time. You wear another one of Dís’s old dresses, a thick, forest green gown with heavy fur across the shoulders. It glitters with tiny rhinestones sewn into the seams. Running a hand over your hair one last time, you open the door.

Fíli shifts Juniper onto his hip, bowing and kissing your hand. “You look exquisite, my lady.”

You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. “I’m not calling you ‘my lord’, Fíli.”

He takes your arm with a sly grin and escorts you through the halls.

Juniper squirms and reaches out for you. “Da! Da!”

“Mama,” you correct her, gently lifting her from Fíli’s arms, mindful of her long skirt. It was a mad dash to get baby clothes imported to Erebor in time for the wedding and coronation, and her dress still swallows her up, but at least it matches yours and Fíli’s outfits.

A low hum fills your ears as you near the great hall, signaling the presence of a large crowd.

“Ready?” Fíli whispers.

“Not in the slightest.”

He pauses in the middle of the passage and steps back for a moment, looking you up and down.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to remember everything about this day,” he says softly.

You beam and give him a little twirl. He smiles back and takes your arm again, leading you to the doors of the hall, where Thorin and Kíli wait. The soon-to-be-king inclines his head to you.

Kíli gives you a little nudge. “Try and keep her quiet, hm?” he teases, patting Juniper on the head.

You bite back a reply as the doors swing open. Your breath catches in your throat—if the crowd at your wedding was large, this one is massive, packing the vast hall. A murmur ripples through the crowd when you enter, people ducking their heads respectfully as you pass. But their eyes burn into you, and you fix your gaze on Thorin’s back.

Fíli squeezes your hand. “Breathe,” he murmurs, barely audible.

Before you stands the great carven throne, the Arkenstone glimmering in its place at the top. It’s flanked by three smaller, decadent seats—temporary fixtures until suitable thrones can be installed. The throne only seems to get more massive as you approach, turning to look out over the crowd. It’s mostly dwarves, but you spot a small group of elves and men to the side. The white-blonde heads of Thranduil and Legolas are plainly visible, though you struggle to locate Bard and his delegation among the throng.

And Gandalf! Your heart lifts when you see the pointy gray hat in the front row with the rest of the Company. There’s an empty seat beside him, representing the absent burglar. It’s bittersweet—you make a mental note to arrange a journey to the Shire as soon as you have royal authority to do so.

Thorin raises a hand for the crowd’s attention and beckons to a dwarf at the edge of the room. This must be Dáin Ironfoot—you vaguely recognize him from the battle. The deliberation over who would officiate the coronation lasted for weeks. It was finally decided that Dáin, Thorin’s closest kin besides Fíli and Kíli, would be the one to place the crowns upon the heads of the royal family.

Dáin strides forward, followed by four other dwarves carrying satin pillows. Upon those pillows rest two gold crowns, a silver tiara, and the grand centerpiece, the Raven Crown. The dwarves place the pillows on a table at Dáin’s side and retreat with small bows.

He clears his throat and smoothes his beard. “It is an honor, dwarrows, dwarrowdams, and esteemed guests of the kingdom, to stand here today,” he booms. “We are gathered to witness the beginning of a new chapter in our people’s history, and an event not seen in over two centuries: the crowning of a new King Under the Mountain.” He pauses to let the words sink in. “A moment, please, to honor the Lady Dís, who abdicated her place in the line of succession in favor of her sons.”

Applause fills the air as Dís, standing off to the side, dips her head. Her eyes shine when Dáin selects one of the golden crowns and stands in front of Kíli.

“Kíli, son of the Lady Dís. Prince Under the Mountain, second in line for the throne of Erebor.”

Kíli beams proudly, tears sparkling in the corners of his eyes. Any trace of mischief or snark is gone—it’s an innocent, childlike joy as he straightens up with his crown.

“Fíli, eldest son of the Lady Dís. The Crown Prince Under the Mountain, heir to the throne.”

Fíli keeps his face solemn as Dáin places the crown on his head, but you spy that tell-tale twitch in his right hand. The same twitch that betrayed his nerves when he first entered your bedchamber in Rivendell forever ago. You try to catch his eye, but he stares steadfastly forward.

And now, all too soon, it’s your turn.

“Y/N, a daughter of Man, wed to Fíli. The Crown Princess Under the Mountain. Their daughter, the Princess Juniper, third in line for the throne.”

Dáin lifts the delicate tiara from the satin pillow. It’s exquisite up close, sapphires woven into a silver web that matches your marriage bead. Your breath hitches, and you bend down to help Dáin reach. The metal rests gently on your brow, a touch heavier than you expected. Fíli remains facing ahead, but his glance is full of warmth as he looks at you out of the corner of his eye. You can’t resist a smile when you meet his eyes, or when you see the proud faces of the Company.

Juniper reaches up and grabs at your hair with wide eyes.

“Not yet, little sprout,” you breathe. “You’ll get yours in time.”

At last, Dáin lifts the last and largest crown, the Raven Crown, raising it up before Thorin.

“Thorn Oakenshield, son of Thror, son of Thrain. The King Under the Mountain!”

Thorin dips his head to receive it. He has worn it so often before, but it seems different now, as his gaze sweeps over his friends, his family, his kingdom. Before your eyes, years of tension on his brow seem to melt away, revealing the face of a young prince. A prince whose grandfather has not been touched by dragon-sickness. A prince who has not seen his home ravaged by fire. A prince who does not need to avenge the death of his father. You blink, and it’s your Thorin again, face lined and weathered. But still some of the lightness remains. Some hope.

Dáin steps back and sinks to a knee. “Long live the king!”

The roar of the crowd is deafening, you’re sure it is, but all you hear is your own heartbeat as you turn and ascend the steps to your seat. To your throne. A seat promising childhood dreams fulfilled, promising a life of luxury. But most of all, a seat carrying the promise of a home, a life with your daughter and the dwarf you love.

The king, however, does not take his seat yet. He holds up a hand to silence the crowd. “Long have I awaited this day,” he begins.

You prick up your ears—Thorin was never one for speeches.

“A year ago, on this very day, the blood of our brothers was spilled at the foot of the Lonely Mountain so that we may stand here. I swear to you, in the sight of all, that their sacrifices will never be forgotten.” He pauses, eyes lingering on the Company. “Today is a new beginning for Durin’s Folk. An era of prosperity as we rebuild Erebor for those to come…” his gaze flickers to you and Juniper, “…and in honor of those who came before.”

Finally, he settles onto his throne, head held high, and the room explodes into cheers and roars once again.

Fíli reaches over from his seat and grasps your hand. “Maidmi azhâr, amrâlimê. Maidmi azhâr.”

[welcome home, my love]

#fanfiction #fili x reader #fili x you #fíli #kíli #reader insert #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #blood of durin #king under the mountain #ao3fic

[rynneer]

Jane asked:  Hi! I have a question about more generalized injury-plot window dressing. I’m trying to figure out how much agency/functionality an injured person might have depending on their pain levels. I read a lot in stories about people blacking out from pain, or drifting in and out of consciousness following an injury. I know pain makes a person tired, too, whether it’s chronic or post-op or whatever. 

Say somebody fell in a ravine and broke their femur: what would cause that lethargy and/or loss of consciousness? Does this fall under the syncope umbrella? No rush on this – thank you for being so generous with your time and expertise! It’s been amazing watching you churn out answers this month! 

Hi Jane! Thanks so much for your question and your kindness, and I’m sorry for running so far behind and being so overdue with answers! 

Pain is highly individual and highly subjective, and the way one perceives pain can be entirely shaped by their past experiences. State of mind has a lot to do with it as well; those who are good at meditation can lower their perceived level of pain, which can help them cope. 

Those who have been fortunate enough not to experience much pain in their lives may take a bigger hit with regards to pain from a catastrophic injury than someone who’s completely unused to it. Thus, those who live their lives in discomfort may have an edge in psychological pain management over those who don’t. 

Meditation can absolutely help manage a character’s perception of pain. The idea isn’t to resist the sensation of pain, so much as it is to acknowledge it, recognize the message it’s trying to send, and then put it aside. Even basic meditative techniques, taught in the moment, can drastically reduce the perceived level of pain. 

Is This Character Bleeding to Death?

As for your specific question about a character breaking their femur in a river, one thing that might cause their lethargy and loss of consciousness is blood loss. Femur fractures can spill 1,000 to 3,000 mLs of  blood – up to three quarts of  blood – depending on the type of fracture. It’s also possible for bone fragments from a femur fracture to sever the femoral artery, resulting in fatal hemorrhage.

That kind of blood loss causes hypovolemia – low blood pressure from blood loss – and also reduces the body’s ability to get oxygen to tissues. That will make the character not only immobile from the broken leg, but very weak from the blood loss, and they may have trouble breathing, have a very rapid pulse, and may get “out of it” – loopy, or not fully conscious – due to shock. 

For more on the stages of shock, check out the [Writer’s Guide to Bleeding and Shock]. 

A character recovering from shock – with or without a blood transfusion – would certainly be tired, sleep a lot, be very thirsty, and need plenty of time to recuperate. They would be well served to eat a lot of red meat and iron-containing  veggies like spinach, green beans, and asparagus, and some fruit for the Vitamin C that will help the body absorb the iron. (This will help the marrow produce more red blood cells, since iron is a major component of hemoglobin, the “active ingredient” in red blood cells.) 

Factors Affecting Perceived Pain  & Pain Tolerance

Psychological State / Resilience 

Previous experiences with pain 

Tiredness 

Hunger / Metabolic State

Stress 

Distraction

Ambient Temperature (affects our sensation of pain by affecting how sensitive our nerves are)

Passing Out From Pain 

Syncope due to pain is absolutely real. People can and do lose consciousness from pain, an effect called reflex syncope or vasovagal syncope. Essentially what happens is that the brain gets an enormous hit of pain, the person winds up putting pressure on the vagus nerve (often by taking a deep breath and screaming or grunting – and bearing down), and passes out. 

This type of syncope is related to other types of syncope, so your character may be in enormous pain, try to stand up, and pass out. 

Pain-related syncope typically isn’t related to pain tolerance or lack thereof, but there might be a relationship with overall fitness and cardiovascular health. (There also might not). 

The bottom line: any character can pass out from pain. 

Thanks again for your question, and I hope I was able to help! 

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

[disclaimer] 

[Maim Your Characters: How Injuries Work in Fiction] is a book about injury plots: how they work, what the phases are, and how to make them heighten the emotional impact of your larger story. It’s got a 5-star rating from readers just like you! 

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin

A reader-insert fanfiction.

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing.

She’s carrying his child.

Chapter Ten: Dear Theodosia

For the ultimate experience, please imagine Dís with an Irish accent.

we’ll bleed and fight for you, we’ll make things right for you.

–Dear Theodosia, Leslie Odom Jr. and Lin Manuel-Miranda

“Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird—oh Juniper, please don’t cry!” you whisper, pressing your daughter’s head to your shoulder to muffle her cries as you gently bounce her around. She doesn’t listen, wailing into your nightgown. The flickering candlelight casts an eerie, two-headed shadow onto the stone wall of the nursery. Not for the first time, your gaze sweeps the room around you, desperately looking for anything that could calm the crying baby. Middle Earth, and certainly Erebor, isn’t exactly rich in stuffed animals or baby rattles. Juniper is already wrapped in a soft blanket, her diaper is clean, and she refuses your breast. You’re at a loss, softly singing any lullaby you can think of.

“Having trouble, lass?” Dís enters from the hall behind you, closing the door quietly behind her. Her raven and silver hair is disheveled, marriage braid half unraveled.

“I’m so sorry Dís, I didn’t mean to wake anyone,” you groan.

Dís smiles tiredly, holding out her arms. “You didn’t. Let me see the little one,” she beckons. “Come now, wee berry, come to sigin’amad.” [grandmother]

You wearily shift Juniper into Dís’s arms. She keeps crying. You collapse into the rocking chair by her crib. “I don’t get it—she’s clean, she’s fed, she’s warm, she’s too old for colic… nothing helps!”

“And where’s her adad on this fine, fine evening?“

You rub your face. “Out like a light. He’s worked himself half to death preparing for the coronation tomorrow, and worried himself the other half to death.”

Dís squints at Juniper’s face, then tuts. “Ah, the poor lass. She’s cutting her teeth. Here.” She deposits Juniper back into your arms and crosses over to the window. Dís parts the curtains and swings the glass panes open, letting in a blast of freezing November air.

You clutch Juniper close with a shiver, but the older woman hardly seems fazed as she leans out into the wind. All the dwarves seem to be like that—immune to the increasingly frigid winds that swirl around the mountain as winter descends. She grunts, then retreats, slamming the window closed again. “There you are,” she says, placing a cold, wet object in your hand. It’s a small icicle wrapped in a handkerchief.

“‘Tis an old trick. Rub it on her gums, it’ll numb them right up.” She taps Juniper’s nose lightly. “If she’s anything like her father, she’ll be back to sleep before you know it.”

Juniper writhes and wails even louder as you touch the cloth to her lips. You wince when you hear a low moan from the neighboring room.

“Not like that, you’ve got to let her suckle on it. I’ll show you.” Dís takes Juniper back, doubling up the cloth around the ice and sticking it in her mouth. She whimpers, but starts suckling quietly.

“You’re a lifesaver, Dís,” you sigh, rubbing your brow in exhaustion. “I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“No one does, lass,” Dís reassures you. “Besides, there’s never been a child born of a dwarf and a daughter of Man. I’d be surprised if you knew what to do.”

“I just… I thought there’d be some sort of instinct, you know? But every time she cries it’s like I’m back at square one.” You bury your face in your hands, fighting back tears of stress and exhaustion. “I wish my mom was here. I’m too young for this.”

Your mother-in-law frowns. “Too young? What do you mean by that, my dear?”

You blink and raise your head. “Dís… did Fíli ever tell you how old I am?”

“I know better than to inquire of a woman’s age. I figured you couldn’t be any older than Kíli.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” you sigh. “Dís. I’m still in my early twenties.”

Dís whips her head up in shock. “Mahal, you’re just a child yourself! And Fíli took you into his bed?!”

Your face pulses with heat. “It was my bed. And my idea…” you mumble. An awkward silence ensues.

After an eternity, a warm hand squeezes your shoulder. “Let me tell you a secret.”

You blink up at the dwarf.

“All those tales of parents knowing exactly what to do when their little ones are born? Poppycock,” she asserts. “You and Fíli are a team, and you’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you, Dís,” you whisper.

It’s quiet again, but a comfortable quiet. Juniper’s tiny lips smack against the cloth, and she makes contented little babbling noises as her mouth numbs.

“What was that song you were singing to your wee one earlier?” Dís asks finally.

“Mm? Oh, just an old lullaby my mom used to sing when I was a kid.” You start to hum it softly. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.” The memory makes you chuckle. “Sometimes she would stop, and remind me never to give jewelry to a baby, because they might choke on it.”

“Sounds like a wise woman.”

“She was. She is,” you whisper thickly. “I miss home so much, Dís. I miss my mom, my dad, my friends… They have no idea what happened to me—they probably think I’m dead!” The tears you’d held back earlier return, flowing thick and fast as you sob quietly into your hands. “My dad didn’t get to give me away, my mom wasn’t there to hold my hand when I gave birth…”

Dís watches you silently. Then, she pulls a little stool next to the chair and sits, shifting Juniper into the crook of her arm and rubbing your back with her free hand. “I won’t lie and tell you I understand exactly how you feel,” she murmurs. “I don’t think anyone can. But I know what it’s like to have to leave your home and raise a child in a strange land. Nothing I can say will make it any easier, I know that. All I can tell you is that you are just as loved by us—by Fíli, by Kíli, by Thorin, and by me—as you were loved by your family. As you are loved by your family,” she declares firmly.

You sniff and look up at Dís. Her face is tired and worn, like Thorin’s, but wise and kind, too. “Thank you, Dís. Again. I don’t what I’d do without you here to help.”

Dís smiles and bounces her granddaughter around. “She looks just like Fíli did as a babe,” she observes after a while, looking at you warmly. “She’s got your eyes, though. I’m sure she’ll be a beauty, just like her mother.”

“I hope she’s tall enough,” you murmur. “I got made fun of for being so short.”

Dís snorts. “You’ve got what, a good four, five inches over Fíli? Besides, us Durins are all of good stature. I’m sure you’ve nothing to fret about.”

“I always did fall for the tall ones,” you comment. It’s strange, in a nice way, to be one of the taller ones around—you stand even with Thorin and Dís, who tower over many of the other dwarves. Fíli and Kíli also stand almost a head higher than most.

Juniper squirms sleepily. Dís stands and gently places her back in your arms. “There’s your little sprout,” she whispers.

Your heart melts as you look at your daughter’s face. Honey-colored waves spill across her forehead. Her brow is pinched as she suckles on the melting ice, looking just like Fíli in deep thought. You trace a finger lightly down her face, following the pronounced downward curve of her nose. Her chin is a bit fuzzier than you’d expect, but to Kíli’s dismay, she’s yet to show any sign of growing a proper, little dwarf beard.

“What was Fíli like as a kid?” you ask softly, rocking your daughter as her eyelids droop.

“An absolute terror,” Dís replies with a wry smile. She’s looking at Juniper, but her eyes are far away. “I’m lucky Thorin was around to keep him from killing himself. Did he ever tell you of the time he got stuck in a tree after climbing up to escape a cross nanny goat?” Her laugh is deep and hearty.

You laugh in return. “He told me that was Kíli! Guess his brother had to learn it from somewhere.” But thinking about it, Dís’s words make you pause. “You said you were lucky Thorin was around. Was their dad…?” Dead? Absent? You trail off, not sure what you’re asking. All you know is that Thorin raised them.

Dís shakes her head. “Fíli was just barely four. I didn’t even know I was with child with Kíli when he rode off to battle with Thorin.” Her eyes cloud. A pang of guilt hits you, making her remember it. “I was so excited to tell him when he returned—another little one for the family. But as soon as I saw Thorin’s face, I knew. His body was slung over the back of Thorin’s pony. I could scarcely recognize him.”

Your throat tightens. “Fíli never told me.”

“He’d have no reason to. He was so young, he hardly remembers him. Thorin was always the one there for him. Taught him to ride, to forge a blade, to wield it. No one was surprised when he chose him for his heir.”

“But wouldn’t you be next in line for the throne?”

Water begins to drip down the front of your daughter’s nightgown. Dís bends over and and gently pries the wet cloth from Juniper’s mouth, wiping her thumb along the sleeping child’s lips. “Me? Ah, no. He offered, but I was never one for politics. Now that we’re home again, I’ve got all I need. I’m so proud of my boys.” Her eyes glow, and she lays a gentle hand on your shoulder, leaning down and tapping her forehead against yours. “And my girls.”

The door between the nursery and your chambers creaks open softly. A shirtless Fíli stumbles in, his steps and eyes still heavy with sleep, hair sticking up at odd angles. “Everything alright?” he mumbles blearily. He rubs at his eyes and holds out his hands for Juniper.

You stand and deposit the child in her father’s arms. She stirs and blinks, waving her hands at Fíli’s mustache braids.

Fíli smiles, eyes softening as he rocks her. “She looks just like Y/N,” he murmurs, ducking his head to nuzzle her. “Her lips, her eyes, her little freckles…”

Your heart swells so much you think it might burst as you watch your husband cradle his daughter. He sinks into the rocking chair, softly singing Misty Mountains. You sit down on the stool next to him, folding your nightgown underneath you as a cushion from the rough wood.

“I’m going to go back to bed,” Dís says, observing the three of you wrapped up in each other in quiet contentment. “You three get some rest before the ceremony.” She plants a kiss on each of your heads, but before she can leave, Fíli grabs her skirt.

“Amad,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”

She smiles and slips into the hallway, closing the door gently.

Juniper’s fists, clutching the yellow curls on her father’s chest, loosen as she begins to ease back into sleep.

“One day, we’ll tell you all it took to get here,” Fíli whispers hoarsely. “We’ll tell you how your mother woke up here, how brave she was, how we fell in love, how we won the mountain back so you could have a proper home.” His free arm curls around your shoulders, thick and warm.

You rest your head against him, taking up the song again. “To find our long forgotten gold,” you sing softly, reaching over to brush aside Juniper’s own golden hair. “I’ve got all the gold I want right here.”

#fanfiction #fili x reader #fili x you #fíli #reader insert #the hobbit #dís #blood of durin #ao3 fic #fluff #ao3fic

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin

A reader-insert fanfiction.

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing.

She’s carrying his child.

Chapter Nine: Graceland Too

Here comes the bride.

said she knows she lived through it to get to this moment

–Graceland Too, Phoebe Bridgers

“Ready, lass?”

You fiddle with your bra beneath the bodice of your gown. Balin waits at your side.

“We ought not to keep them waiting long,” he reminds you. “Much can be said of the stubbornness of dwarves, but not much of our patience.”

With a deep breath, you halt your fidgeting. “How do I look?”

He smiles gently, placing a bouquet in your hands. “Like a princess.” Balin holds out his arm, and you link yours with it. He pushes open the doors before you, leading out into the large courtyard where it seems the whole kingdom waits.

You catch your breath. At the far end stands Fíli, dressed in a rich blue tunic, laced with silver. His golden hair is on fire in the dying sunlight. Kíli is just behind him, putting a hand on the groom’s shoulder to steady him. On the opposite side from Kíli, Tauriel dips her head to you with a small smile.

Soft music begins to play from a small band assembled from what instruments could be found still intact after the dragon’s assault. Slowly, you and Balin walk down the aisle to your betrothed. He unlinks your arms and pulls away to join the Dís and the rest of the Company in the front row. You hand the bouquet off to Tauriel, and your maid-of-honor steps back. It’s just you and Fíli standing before Thorin, also dressed in his most elaborate furs. He inclines his head to you, then clears his throat and begins addressing the gathered crowd in their native tongue.

In exchange for a wedding with an atmosphere more familiar to you, it was agreed that the ceremony would go according to dwarven customs. Taking your hands, Fíli murmurs a translation under his breath, but you barely hear it, so consumed by the moment. At some point, he squeezes your hands and looks at you expectantly. You jump slightly. He’d prepared you for this part, at least.

“May I have the privilege of braiding your hair?” he asks in Khuzdûl.

“You may,” you reply in kind, the words clunky and foreign on your tongue. Heat flushes your cheeks when you hear a few whispers from the crowd, but they’re swiftly silenced by a glare from Thorin.

You turn around and Fíli carefully removes his crude wooden bead from your hair, the one he had painstakingly carved over the Company’s journey and given to you that night before the battle. The braid falls from your hair, locks still stuck in the wavy pattern. From a small pillow Fíli selects a tiny, silver bead, studded with sapphires. He carefully weaves together strands on the other side of your head, fixing the bead in place.

My turn. The Khuzdûl words stick in your throat. “May I have the privilege of braiding your hair?”

Fíli’s face lights up like he’s been waiting to hear those words from you his whole life. “You may.”

His hair is silky and thick in your fingers as you remove his bead and braid, replacing it with a bead to match your own.

When he turns back to face you, he’s wearing the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. Thorin hardly has time to get the words out before Fíli seizes your face and your lips collide. He lifts you up and whirls you around, nearly tangling in your long skirt. You giggle, finally pounding on his back to signal your need to come up for air. He’s breathless and giddy when he puts you down.

Thorin chuckles, taking hold of both of your wrists and lifting them in the air. “Yasthûn ra yasthûna!” he roars. [husband and wife] “And now, we feast,” he adds under his breath to you.


And a feast it is. If theres one thing Middle Earth does well, it’s food, and the dwarves are no exception. Thorin has spared no expense in furnishing the first royal wedding in over a hundred years, not to mention the first formal event in the reclaimed Erebor. Ale and mead flow freely, though you’ve selected a sweet wine for yourself. The grand centerpiece is a dozen sweet, slow-roasted hogs, surrounded by heaps of grilled vegetables and fresh autumn fruits. Candles dot the tables lining the hall, filling the vast room with a dream-like glow. The mountain has been so transformed, you can hardly tell that it’s been a full year since you arrived on Erebor’s doorstep.

You lean back in your chair with a contented sigh. Fíli trails his fingers up and down your sleeve absentmindedly as he sips on a mug of ale. His eyes have been on you for the whole reception and his hand never far from your arm, as if afraid you’re but a figment of his imagination.

“Surely you’re not tired yet, Y/N?” he teases, draping an arm around your neck.

“No,” you reply, leaning into him. “Just thinking.”

“Mm, your favorite pastime.”

“Well, one of us has to be the brains of the relationship.”

He smacks your shoulder lightly. “I’ll have you know I’m plenty intelligent!”

“Ah, but which of us got top grades in their high school English classes?”

“That’s not fair,” Fíli grumbles. “We’re speaking Westron, not Angle-ish.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, bringing your knees up under your skirt and curling into Fíli’s side as much as your separate chairs allow.

Thorin catches your eye from across the table and leans over. “Have we completed all of your world’s marriage rituals?”

You stand up. “I guess there’s usually toasts and speeches and stuff. Gotta get their attention first,” you add, eying the noisy crowd.

You bang your mug on the table. When that’s drowned out by all the merriment, you switch tactics, pursing your lips and letting out an ear-piercing whistle. That gets the rowdy dwarves’ attention, some of the mildly sober ones grabbing their drunker companions and turning them to face you.

You clear your throat. “I’d like to thank you all for coming–”

“I didn’t know I had a choice!” a particularly drunk Bofur shouts. It earns him several smacks on the back of the head at once from the dwarves around him, knocking off his hat.

You tip your mug to him. “Well, your presence is appreciated anyway, Bofur. As I was saying, thank you for coming, and for indulging my little rituals. I know they seem odd to all of you, but it’s a nice reminder of home for me. And especially thank you to Kíli for being such a good babysitter!”

Kíli grins at you from across the table, bouncing a giggling Juniper on his knee. Briefly, you wonder if someone more sober should take over watching your daughter, but the little one has cried each time someone tried to take her from her beloved uncle. He’s toted her around the reception, drunkenly bragging about her to anyone who’d listen, and many who wouldn’t. It took ages for Fíli and Dís to finally convince him to actually sit down and eat once he’d downed a few pints. Juniper waves her little hands at Kíli’s hair, trying to snag it in her fists.

You swallow a lump in your throat as you look around. Most of the dwarves unknown to you have wandered off, but to your relief all the Company members remain. “A lot of girls in my world grow up dreaming about what their wedding will look like. I never put much stock in it. I didn’t have time for romance, but a little over a year ago my schedule cleared up unexpectedly, and, well…” you gesture broadly to the room. That stubborn lump in your throat returns, and you take a sip from your mug to try to squash it down. “I realized I’ve never properly thanked you for what you’ve done for me. You’re all I have.”

Fíli takes your hand, thumb tracing circles over the back of it. You squeeze his hand in return.

“I… I always thought it’d be my mom helping me with my dress, my dad walking me down the aisle, my best friend as my maid of honor. I even knew what song I’d use for the father-daughter dance.” Tears sting the edge of your vision. You desperately hope they don’t smudge the delicate pigments lining your eyelids.

Some of the dwarves look down at the floor, and you see a few blinking back tears of their own.

“But you’ve all become a weird, wonderful family to me. So a toast!” You raise your mug up high. “To the Company, for taking in this strange girl and loving her as one of your own. To Balin, especially, the first to accept me—I still think Dwalin would’ve cleaved me in half without your intervention.”

The old dwarf chuckles, eyes twinkling. Dwalin grumbles, but hides a smile in his beard.

“To Kíli, the strangest brother I could ask for. To Dís, for a mother’s love, and for raising a pretty good guy.” You elbow Fíli playfully. He swats your arm away in mock offense.

“To Thorin—I knew I’d win you over eventually!” You throw him a wink.

He dips his head from his seat next to Kíli and raises his tankard solemnly.

“To Juniper, the one who makes this all worth it.” Damn that lump, it’s back again! “To my mom and dad, and all the rest—wherever you are, I’ll always love you. And to my best friend, you still owe me twenty bucks for gas!”

A few of the dwarves chuckle, though they don’t seem to get the joke entirely.

“And to my husband—my yasthûn,” you squeeze Fíli’s hand again, tightly. “My Fíli. To the one who saved me.”

Fíli pulls you down into his lap, wrapping an arm around your waist and cupping your face in his hand. He gazes into your eyes, and suddenly his lips are on yours, soft and tender, like your first kiss back in Rivendell.

Kíli lets out a whoop, echoed by the rest of the dwarves, and the noise escalates back into the drunken ruckus of the night. But you and Fíli stay there, you laying your head on his shoulder, him rubbing your back, just enjoying each other. Then he stands and lifts you with him, carrying you to the center of the room. He sets you down lightly and looks back at Thorin with a small nod.

Thorin returns it and reaches across the table to your phone. He taps it a few times, turning up the volume. A soft tune drifts across the room.

Seeing the bride and groom in the middle of the hall, the dwarves quiet down and watch expectantly. Fíli places a gentle hand on your side and takes your hand.

“Fíli!” you whisper harshly, cheeks turning red. You regret showing the dwarves how to use your phone now. “I can’t dance!”

He smiles at you. “They’re too drunk to realize anyway,” he whispers back. As the music swells, he begins to sway back and forth, leading you in a slow, careful dance around the center of the room. Your breath catches when he lifts your arm above your head, and with uncertain feet you twirl around, skirt flowing out around you. Fíli lets you spin for a few seconds and then brings you back in, gripping your waist and, to your surprise, tossing you in the air. He catches you easily and dips you down as the song ends. His eyes are soft, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Thank you, amrâlimê,” he murmurs.

You blink. “For what?”

“For staying.”

You smile. “I didn’t know I had a choice.”

#fanfiction #fili x reader #fili x you #fíli #kíli #reader insert #the hobbit #thorin and company #thorin oakenshield #blood of durin #ao3 fic

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin

A reader-insert fanfiction.

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing.

She’s carrying his child.

Chapter Eight: You’ll be in my Heart

trigger warning: childbirth (not graphic)

for one so small, you seem so strong. my arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm.

–You’ll be in my Heart, Celtic Woman

Kíli sprints through the halls of Erebor, breath ragged, until he reaches the great dining hall. He bursts through the door, earning a scowl from Thorin, who sits at the head of the table with Balin and the delegation from Dale. Now that the mountain has been reclaimed, the months since have been consumed by meetings and diplomacy as the dwarves reestablish their kingdom and summon their kin to join them.

“Thorin!” Kíli gasps. Seeing the men gathered around the table, he explains his presence in rapid Khuzdûl.

Thorin’s eyes grow wide and he rises from the table. “My apologies, gentlemen,” he grunts. “I’ve an urgent private matter that needs attending to. Balin, if you will escort our guests to their quarters, we will resume negotiations tomorrow.”

The white-bearded dwarf nods and beckons the men to follow him from the hall, patting Kíli on the arm as he passes. “It’ll be alright,” he assures the prince quietly.

Thorin wastes no time in heading for the royal wing. “How long has she been laboring?”

“Seven hours.”

“Seven hours?” Thorin breaks into a run, already shedding his furs and draping them over his arm as he goes. “And you come to me now?”

“Took me that long to convince her to let me fetch you,” Kíli grumbles. “Óin was looking after her, but she won’t let anyone but Fíli touch her.”

“Where is the elf, then?”

“Tauriel? She left to escort the Mirkwood delegation this morning.”

“I thought her whole reasoning for remaining was her fondness for the lady and wishing to ensure a healthy delivery.”

“It wasn’t the… only reason.” As they near the chambers you and Fíli share, he snags Thorin’s arm. “Uncle,” he says quietly.

Thorin tries to shake him off, but Kíli holds on. “She’s terrified.” He lowers his voice and looks around as if afraid someone is listening. “She’s been asking for her mother.”

That gives Thorin pause. You’d been in Middle Earth for almost a year now, and for the most part put on a brave face. In more contemplative moments, he sometimes wonders how he would feel, to wake up in a world of childhood stories, with no way of returning to what he knew. The first few weeks had been difficult. It was hard for the Company to ignore your soft weeping at nighttime as you looked through pictures of the friends and family on your phone whom you’d never see again. But with the dwarves’ help, and especially Fíli’s companionship, you slowly adjusted, resolving to make a life in your new home. To hear you once again crying for the world you’d left is almost painful.

Thorin presses his lips together. “I suppose we will have to do,” he mutters, and pushes open the door to your chambers.

You lie panting in the bed, one hand locked around Fíli’s wrist in a death grip, the other clutching white-knuckled at the sheets.

Thorin discards his crown and the coat he’d already taken off, stripping down to a plain shirt beneath the royal trappings. He splashes his face with water from a basin in the corner of the room and pushes up his sleeves, scrubbing his arms and hands with the warm water. He comes to your bedside. “How are things progressing?” he asks quietly, reaching a hand to lift the blanket covering your lower half.

You snap your legs shut with a whine. Thorin is the last person you want seeing you in this state. Childbirth isn’t something you are intimately familiar with, but like every woman, you’d heard the stories of blood, pee, and poop. A contraction wracks your body, and you wail in pain, squeezing Fíli so tightly he winces.

Thorin’s face is kind. “Y/N, I was there for both Fíli and Kíli’s births. I assure you, this is nothing I have not witnessed before.”

Reluctantly, you allow him to remove the blanket and pry your thighs apart gently.

Kíli turns bright red and starts to make for the door, but Thorin gestures for him to come closer. “She still has a while yet.” Peering between your legs for a moment longer, he nods in satisfaction. He grabs a journal and pen from your bag hanging on the bedpost and scribbles down a list, handing it to Kíli. “Fetch these from the kitchen, and more water.”

Kíli bolts from the room, list in hand.

You turn your face toward Fíli. “I want my mom,” you whimper, toes curling against another wave of pain. “I just want my mom, Fee, please, I want my mom.”

He leans forward in his chair, brushing a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead. “I know,” he murmurs. “But I’m here, and Uncle’s here, and you’ll be alright. You’re doing splendidly, amrâlimê.” Fíli kneels by your side. “Just think of how wonderful it’ll be—the first new generation of dwarves under the mountain, the first Durin in seventy-seven years…”

His whispered encouragement continues throughout the evening while Thorin checks on your progress, firmly reminding you to breathe and push through the pain. Kíli paces by the door. The hours pass slowly, but the contractions start to get closer and closer together, until you find yourself writhing in the sheets and pushing as hard as you can.

Thorin reaches between your legs and tugs, retrieving a slippery, squirming little bundle.

You lift your head, panting. “Is it…?”

He clamps off the cord and gives the baby a sharp smack on the bottom. Its breath hitches, and a loud wail pierces your ears. It’s somehow the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. Thorin pauses, peering down at the wriggling thing in his hands. After a second, his face breaks out into a smile. “Congratulations,” he whispers as he wipes the baby off and places it gently on your chest. “You have a healthy little dwarrowdam.”

“It’s a girl?” you gasp, staring down in astonishment, your body filling with a strange warmth. She whimpers and wiggles, eyes screwed shut and waving her tiny fists as if trying to fight the whole world.

Tears roll down Fíli’s cheeks. He leans close and gazes at your daughter. Seeing his face next to hers, you marvel at the resemblance—the downturned nose, the prominent ears. Oh, but as she squints up at you, her eyes are most certainly yours. Her tiny hand curls around Fíli’s finger and she begins to suck on it, quieting her for now. He chuckles and gently pulls it away, redirecting her head toward your breast, where she eagerly latches on. You squirm at the foreign sensation, covering the rest of your bare chest with the blanket.

Fíli kisses your head. “Well done, love,” he whispers. “She’s beautiful.”

Kíli leaps up from his chair in the corner, bounding over to your bedside. “A girl?” He squints at her with a frown. “Where’s her beard?”

Thorin smacks him on the arm. “Hush, Kíli,” he scolds. “Your beard took months to come in. It will grow.” His face softens as he watches the little half-dwarf suckle. “What shall you call her?”

You smile, stroking your daughter’s head gently. Her hair is still wet, plastered to her scalp, but you think you can see bits of Fíli’s honey-colored locks in the little wisps. You think of the forests you traveled through to reach Erebor, the evergreens that grew more common as you ventured north toward the Lonely Mountain. You want something to remind you of the beauty outside your new home. “Juniper,” you murmur, looking up at Fíli for approval. “Can we call her Juniper?”

“We can call her anything you like,” he breathes.

“I think I prefer ‘Juniper’ over ‘anything you like,’” you quip back weakly.

Thorin pats your shoulder softly. “Rest up,” he orders. “Spend some time with your little one before the others come clamoring to see her.” He looks to Kíli as if to beckon him to follow, but seeing the young prince crouched by the bed, marveling at his tiny niece, he seems to think better of it. Before he exits the room, he turns back one last time to take in his little family. “Welcome to the world, princess,” he whispers.

Fíli’s hands fumble with the buttons on your collar as you cradle Juniper in your arms. The three-month-old’s hands grasp at your clothes impatiently.

“Almost got it… there!” Fíli steps back and puts his hands on his hips triumphantly, examining you.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve worn a dress, but the special occasion seemed to call for one. It’s a dark blue velvet, trimmed with white fur. The skirt skims just above the floor when you walk, fitting almost as if it was made for you. You suppose whoever wore this dress before you must have been quite tall for a dwarf, and you silently thank its previous owner. Fíli and Kíli found the trunk of clothing while going through the horde of treasure gathered by Smaug, and deposited it in your chambers as a surprise.

“Ready?”

Thorin enters the hall behind you, dressed in fine furs and a freshly polished crown. He continues to delay the coronation as he has for months, insisting on the presence of his sister before making everything official—but you know he can’t resist wearing the crown he worked so hard to reclaim. Kíli follows him, also dressed in more formal clothing than usual, though he tugs at the dark red cloth and white fur collar with a frown. Fíli’s ensemble matches your own, a deep navy that sets off his pale eyes quite well.

You take a deep breath. “I think so.”

Thorin pauses before you, eyes wandering up and down your dress. There’s a strange, far away look in his eyes, but he shakes it off and brushes a golden curl behind Juniper’s ear. “It’s time.”

The great stone doors swing open with a loud groan. You gulp as a host of dwarves approach, led by a tall dwarrowdam. Fíli’s eyes light up and he runs forward with Kíli, throwing his arms around the woman. “Amad!” they cry.

“My boys!” She greets them with a wide smile, set above a dark, elegantly braided beard shot through with silver—not unlike Thorin’s hair. She cups Kíli’s face in her hands, pressing her forehead against his.

Thorin strides forward, beaming. You swear you can see tears sparkle in his eyes as he nears his sister. She pulls away from Kíli and starts to curtsy for her elder brother, but Thorin grabs her by her arm. “I’ll have none of that from you, Dís,” he scolds lightly. They look at each other for a long time before embracing tightly. “We did it,” he says, voice thick.

Dís grins. But as she rests her chin on her brother’s shoulder, her eyes finally land on you. She straightens and steps back from Thorin, looking at you curiously.

You duck your head shyly, clutching Juniper to your chest.

Fíli is at your side in an instant, placing his hand on your back and pushing you forward gently. “Amad,” he says quietly. “I’d like you to meet Y/N. And Juniper…” His eyes glow with pride. “Our daughter.”

Dís’s blue eyes, so much like Fíli’s, are wide as she looks you up and down. “Well,” she says at last, “my dress looks nice on you.”

Your cheeks burn. Remembering your manners, you do your best to curtsy while Juniper squeaks and wriggles in your arms.

Dís stares at you for an eternity, the silence so tense you feel an overwhelming urge to flee from the hall. Suddenly, you find yourself wrapped in a warm hug. “Hello, natha.” [daughter]

You sigh in relief. “Hello, Amad.”

#fanfiction #fili x reader #fili x you #fíli #kíli #reader insert #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #blood of durin #childbirth #trigger warning #dís #ao3 fic

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin

A reader-insert fanfiction.

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing.

She’s carrying his child.

Chapter Seven: From Now On

The battle is upon you.

and we will come back home, and we will come back home. home again.

-From Now On (From “The Greatest Showman”), Peter Hollens

Stray shafts of pale dawn light peek through the tent flaps. You haven’t slept a wink, cradling a cold cup of tea in your lap. You’d downed three already, chasing the rush of caffeine to get you through whatever is to come. The others would not hear of you participating in the battle in any fashion. It’s frustrating, though you know in your heart that they’re right—the battlefield is no place for a pregnant woman. Still, you felt a twinge of dismay when Fíli left you in the tent to go practice some battle techniques.

Gandalf sits across from you, stirring his own cup. “So,” he begins lightly, “how long have you and Fíli…?”

You gulp, dreading the conversation in fear of judgment. “Since Rivendell,” you say quietly. “Everything happened so fast. We didn’t know if we’d ever get the chance to have a real life together. But maybe now…”

“Does this mean you no longer seek a way to return to your own world?”

That’s not the direction you expected the discussion to go. “I hadn’t thought of that.” You search within yourself, as if rummaging around in your very soul. “But I don’t think I can anymore—if I ever could.”

Gandalf raises an eyebrow.

“When I first came here, I felt this… this pull within me. As if some part of me was missing, like I left part of myself back in my own world. Like maybe I would wake up back at my campsite at any second. But now, I don’t feel that anymore.” You pause. That’s only partly true, isn’t it? You haven’t felt that pull in a long time. Not since you discovered you were pregnant. Your eyes grow misty. “All of me is here now. I… I don’t belong there anymore.” It’s painful to say aloud.

Gandalf seems to understand your conflicted feelings, reaching out a hand to pat your knee. “I’m sure you will be well looked after here in Middle Earth,” he comforts you. “Fíli seems quite proud.”

You smile weakly. “He is. Kíli too, for his part. I just hope Thorin–”

“Y/N! Y/N, Fíli, where are you?”

A shout rings out from outside the tent. You leap up and dash from the tent, recognizing the voice of Ori. The young dwarf in his ill-fitting armor huffs and puffs as he jogs toward you.

Fíli sheathes his sword, stepping forward and putting an arm out to shield you—just in case. “Ori? What are you doing here?”

Ori bends over, hands on his knees. “Thorin… Thorin wants you back… both of you,” he wheezes. “He… says he’s sorry… wants you by his side…”

Gandalf emerges from the tent. “Has the King Under the Mountain regained his senses, then?”

Before Ori can reply, you hear a tremendous roar from the gates of the Lonely Mountain. The troops of Dáin, who had arrived during the night, raise up their weapons. Even from far across the field, you hear them clearly. “Oakenshield! Oakenshield!” they chant jubilantly.

Fíli looks at Gandalf. “I think that’s your answer.” He dashes into the tent and grabs your bag, looping it over your shoulders. “Come on, then!”

Gandalf stops you with a hand. “Y/N. Are you sure this is wise?”

You swallow. “I’m not sure of anything anymore,” you admit. “But I’m not staying here if I can be with my… my family.”

He withdraws his hand. “Then move with haste and caution, and give my regards to the king.”

You nod, squeezing Fíli’s arm and falling into line behind Ori, who keeps adjusting his helm awkwardly as you make your way towards Erebor. The shadow of the mountain looms over you, and you shiver. Fíli rubs his hand up and down your back comfortingly. “We’re going home for good, Y/N,” he whispers. “I promise.”

You open your mouth to reply, but a rumbling interrupts you. From the north, you see them approaching, armor clanging and weapons beating against shields. The army of Azog.

A look of horror dawns on Fíli’s face. The three of you break into a sprint, as fast as you can manage. When you arrive at the wall, a rope falls down in front of you. Nori’s face peers down from the rampart. “Up, quick!”

You stare at the rope, then up at him, gesturing to your belly helplessly.

Fíli rolls his eyes and crouches down. “Come on,” he grunts.

You wrap your arms around his neck in an awkward piggy-back, clinging on for dear life as he slowly clambers up the wall. Just as you feel like your arms are about to give out, Nori’s hands grab yours and haul you over the rampart. “Welcome back, lass.”

“Where are the others?” Fíli puffs.

Nori waves down to the ground, where you can see Thorin and the rest of the Company at the front gate, their communion with Dáin interrupted by the approaching orc army. A thrill of hope and terror fills your heart when you glimpse Bilbo’s tiny figure among them.

“Y/N.” Fili grips your shoulders and kisses you firmly, fingers running along your courting braid. “I must fight.”

Throat tight, you nod. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He flashes you a smirk. “I would never!” Fingering your bead one last time, he turns and rushes down the stairs into the tower, grumbling something about climbing up the wall just to go back down. Nori follows.

Ori looks at your hair with delight. “You have a braid! And a bead! Congratulations, Y/N!” He chuckles. “Dori owes me—I wagered Fíli would propose before November’s end.”

You smile, but it fades quickly as a trumpets sounds below you. The orc army is near now, and the combined men, elvish, and dwarven forces surge forward with a roar, Thorin at the head. A tiny blonde head bobs and weaves through the ranks, Fíli hastening to join his brother and uncle. You lift your hand as if he could see you.

Ori taps your shoulder and thrusts a crossbow into your arms. “Just in case.”

“Aren’t you joining them?”

He shakes his head. “We’re the defensive forces,” he says, puffing out his chest proudly.

Great.

You never realized how loud a battle really was—even though you had to adjust the volume when watching the movies as they bounced back and forth between quiet dialogue and triumphant fights. Up on the wall, it’s mostly calm, though you get the occasional shot in at a few particularly dimwitted orcs who stray too close.

You’re sitting against the wall when you hear it—a loud roar of rage, far too close. Scrambling to your feet, you peer down. At the base of the wall, among a circle of corpses, stand Thorin and Azog. Your heart leaps in your throat. Just like in the movie, just like in your dream, Azog drags Fíli by the collar. Hardly thinking, you grip your crossbow shakily and level it at the enormous orc. But you’re no skilled archer, and this is no ordinary foot soldier; your shot lands at his feet. It draws Azog’s attention, though, and he looks up at the mountain. You load another bolt, struggling against the draw weight. Ori lends you his strength, and the arrow snaps into place. The distraction gives Fíli enough of a window to stab at the arm holding him, causing the orc to drop him reflexively. Fíli rolls away quickly and springs to his feet, taking his place at Thorin’s side. Kíli is there too, bow already drawn and aimed, but Thorin holds out an arm to stop him. This is his fight.

The dwarven king and Azog circle each other slowly. It’s hard to see what’s going on from the wall—you can’t bear it any longer.

“Y/N! Where are you going?” Ori cries as you sprint down the stairs, dashing through the halls from the tower to the gates.

Snow stings your face, and vomit rises up in your throat at the smell of death all around. You push past it, pressing your back against the wall to remain unseen. I just need to see what happens, you tell yourself. No closer.

Thorin and Azog still haven’t attacked each other, but Azog has gained a flail since you made it down to the battlefield. He spits something in Orcish that you don’t recognize, lashing out with his sword arm. Thorin ducks under the swing, slashing at the orc’s torso. Azog twists away and brings down his flail. He narrowly misses the dwarf and snarls in frustration. Blood spatters the snow from the stab Fíli inflicted.

Your breath shakes. They’re so close, so, so close. With sweaty hands, you raise your crossbow again, aiming right for the orc’s back, and fire. This time your arrow flies true and buries itself in the meat of Azog’s shoulder. He growls and whips around, tiny eyes pinpointing you against the wall. He takes a great, lumbering step forward.

Shit shit shit.

But as the giant orc approaches you, a little hobbit appears from thin air, throwing himself at Azog’s feet and causing him to stumble. The orc barely has time to register what’s beneath him before a blade rips through his chest. It withdraws and plunges through again and again with a fury until Azog sinks to a knee with a bloody gurgle. And suddenly, a jagged line appears across the orc’s neck, and his head drops to the ground with a wet thud. He remains upright for a heartbeat before collapsing.

Thorin plants his boot on top of the orc’s body, breathing heavily and gripping a glistening, bloody Orcrist. He spits on Azog’s corpse and raises his sword with a triumphant shout. “For Thrain! For Thror! For Erebor!”

The raging battle around you pauses, orcs and goblins gaping at their headless general. Somewhere, one shouts, and they start a hasty retreat. Bodies drop among them as elvish arrows pierce their armor and dwarven axes cleave through their helmets, leaving few to escape the battlefield intact.

Thorin lifts his head and meets your eyes. He lowers his sword and begins to approach, but stumbles as Fíli pushes past him in a sprint.

“What are you doing down here, ghivashel?” he scolds breathlessly, crushing you in his embrace.

You cling to him as if your life depends on it. “Saving your idiot uncle,” you choke out.

Kíli picks Bilbo up and brushes the hobbit off, mussing up his hair. “That was stupid of the two of you,” he says with a grin, pushing Bilbo forward. He embraces you tightly as well.

You squeeze your eyes shut against tears.

“Y/N.”

They blink open as Kíli releases you.

Thorin’s face is battered and dirty, blood dripping from a gash across his forehead. “I owe you my deepest apologies.”

Instead of replying, you reach out and wipe the blood away from his brow. “You look awful,” you reply with a wobbly smile.

He pauses, then smiles and claps you on the shoulder. “We did it, Y/N. Welcome home.”

#fanfiction #fili x reader #fili x you #kíli #fíli #reader insert #thorin and company #thorin oakenshield #ori #bilbo baggins #gandalf #everybody lives #battle of the five armies #azog #the hobbit #ao3fic #blood of durin

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin

A reader-insert fanfiction.

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing.

She’s carrying his child.

Chapter Six: Broken Crown

We all knew this scene was coming.

so crawl on my belly ‘til the sun goes down, i’ll never wear your broken crown. i can take the road, and i can fuck it all away—but in this twilight, our choices seal our fate.

-Broken Crown, Mumford and Sons

The commotion on the rampart grows louder as you rush up the stairs, going as fast as your diminished stamina lets you. You arrive at the top with a gasping breath, seeing Thorin already holding Bilbo atop the wall, staring down at Gandalf approaching from the gathered troops.

“If you don’t like my burglar, please, don’t damage him!” he booms. “Return him to me.”

God bless that wizard, you think to yourself. God bless that fucking wizard and his timing.

“You’re not making a very splendid figure as King Under the Mountain, are you, Thorin, son of Thrain?” Gandalf observes.

Thorin looks at him for another moment before letting Bilbo slip from his grasp. Balin and Fíli help him to his feet. The hobbit flings a rope over the wall, Bofur pushing him forward urgently, and scurries down.

“Never again will I have dealings with wizards,” Thorin shouts. “Or Shire-rats!”

You flinch at the venom in his words. Thorin’s eyes find you lurking by the wall. “What?” he demands, storming forward. “Do you have something to say?”

He’s nose-to-nose with you, daring you to defy him. You search his face, hardly recognizing the dwarf who who begrudgingly accepted you into his Company, who shielded you from fire and wargs, who welcomed you into his family.

“This is wrong,” you whisper. “This isn’t you.”

Thorin is silent for a moment. “Then go,” he spits. “Go join your kin amongst Men. You are no Durin.”

Though you know his mind is twisted by the dragon-sickness, it doesn’t soften the blow against your heart. The other dwarves look at you in dismay.

After a moment, your face hardens, and you stand tall, standing exactly level with Thorin. “Fuck this,” you say quietly, pushing past him, rougher than necessary, towards the rope. “I’m not dying over a fucking rock.”

He sneers at you and turns on his heel to storm back into the keep. The dwarves pat your arm firmly as they pass, Balin squeezing your shoulders. “Be careful,” he murmurs.

Fíli and Kíli stay put, looking at you helplessly. Kíli grips F��li’s arm. “Fíli…” he trails off.

Fíli turns to his brother. They stare at one another wordlessly, then he grabs Kíli’s hair and pulls their foreheads together, whispering something in Khuzdûl.

Kíli nods, pulls back, and wraps you in a tight hug. “Be safe, little sister.” He withdraws and starts down the stairs, turning back one last time before vanishing.

It’s just you and Fíli on the wall now, watching the backs of Thranduil and Bard’s troops as they make for their camp. Tiny flakes of snow speckle Fíli’s armor, and his breath billows out in frosty clouds.

“Now what?” he asks.

Your mind whirls. In the book, the Durin clan dies standing together. In the movies, they die standing alone. I don’t know if I can save them all, you think, but I know can save one.

“Come with me,” you urge, grabbing Fíli’s arm.

He tenses. “Y/N, I… I can’t just leave him… I’m his heir, the crown prince—it’d be the highest betrayal!”

You lean in close. “He’ll forgive you for leaving,” you whisper in his ear, voice trembling. “But I won’t forgive you for staying.”

“He’s family,” Fíli pleads.

Your heart twists in your chest, but you know you need to hit him where it hurts. You seize his hand and put it to your belly. “We are family too,” you insist. “Please, don’t leave me to raise our baby alone.”

Still, he hesitates.

One final weapon. “Fíli. If you stay, you die.”

Fíli’s eyes widen. “You said you’d never tell us our fates—you wouldn’t change the story!”

Your hold on his wrist tightens to a death grip. “I’m tired of pretending like I’m not part of this world,” you hiss. “I’m done acting like I’m not part of the story. I’m not going to let you die here, Fee.”

A look of anguish crosses his face. Your vision starts to swim with tears as Fíli looks from you, to the rope, to the doorway Thorin had stormed through, to your stomach. The anguish hardens to resolve, and he nods slowly. “Alright,” he says with a deep, shuddering breath. “Alright.” He shifts his belt so his sword is along his back and wraps an arm tightly around your waist, hoisting you onto his hip. “Hold on tight,” he grunts.

You cling to his neck and he grabs the rope, throwing a leg over the wall and slowly belaying down. Heights don’t normally bother you, but you bury your face in his shoulder, unable to look at the ground far beneath you. Your bag sways and bumps against your back with each of Fíli’s bounces downward. The descent lasts far too long, but at last you feel solid earth beneath your feet.

No sooner than you land does a hand seize your collar and pull you into the shadow of the wall. “What are you doing out here?” a voice hisses in your ear.

Tauriel! “I thought you were dead!” you choke out.

She releases you and Fíli, who grabs your upper arm tightly, ready to flee. Tauriel looks down at you grimly. “It will take more than dragon-fire to put an elf of Mirkwood down.” Her eyes shift to Fíli. “So, you abandon your kin, dorn?” [dwarf]

Fíli bristles, but you place a hand on his chest and push him behind you gently. “We need to get somewhere safe. Can you help us?”

Tauriel regards the pair of you with a measured gaze. “Is Kí—is your brother safe?”

Fíli nods, and Tauriel visibly relaxes. She looks back up at Erebor, then across the field in the distance where the white top of Thranduil’s tent is just barely visible in the quickly fading light. “Follow me. Quietly now, and swiftly.”

You make your way across the frozen ground until you come to a halt in front of a pair of elven guards. They seem astonished to find Tauriel standing before them, intact, if a bit charred. Nevertheless, they cross their spears to block your path. “Daro!” they cry in unison. [Stop!]

“We seek an audience with the king,” Tauriel explains.

“The king has no interest in communing with traitors,” one snaps. “Perhaps the gornoth will take pity on your plight.” [dwarves (derogatory)]

“Please,” you beg, stepping forward. “At least let us talk to Bard, or–”

“My goodness, could that be the voice of Lady Y/N that I hear?” A wizened hand sweeps open the tent flap and Gandalf steps out, his eyes twinkling in the torchlight.

“Gandalf!” You duck under the spears and rush forward, throwing your arms around him in sheer relief.

Gandalf seems mildly surprised by the gesture and pats your back. He raises a bushy eyebrow when he notices Fíli, and pushes you back gently by your shoulder. “Does Thorin send you to parley?”

“No, we come of our own accord. To seek refuge,” Fíli adds, indicating your belly. He swallows. You know how hard this must be for the proud dwarf prince.

But as you await Gandalf’s response, it occurs to you now that he has no knowledge of you and Fíli’s relationship, and certainly not of your pregnancy. You hold your breath.

The wizard looks down at you, then back to Fíli with a frown. “Come in from the cold and we shall discuss this… development.” He ushers you inside, where Bard, Thranduil, and Bilbo sit at a small table.

The elven king is on his feet immediately. “Why have you brought a–” but his demand ends in a sputter when Tauriel enters behind you.

She meets the king’s eyes steadily and dips her head. “Your highness.”

A small smirk crosses Fíli’s lips at Thranduil’s stunned face.

Gandalf brings forward a small chair, gesturing for you to take a seat. You do so with a grateful smile. Fíli moves behind you and rests his hands on your shoulders. You take one with a squeeze.

Gandalf sits as well, leaning forward with his hands folded. “Am I correct in assuming that…?” he waves a hand in Fíli’s general direction.

You swallow hard and nod. “Things… things happened.”

“And what of Thorin and Company?”

“We can reason with him,” Fíli cuts in. “Now that you have the stone, there’s some bargaining power, surely!”

“It’s dragon-sickness, Fee, there’s no reasoning with dragon-sickness!” you snap.

“Y/N?” It’s Bilbo. “Do you know what comes next?”

You frown and dig in your bag for The Hobbit. Thranduil and Tauriel exchange looks of confusion.

“It’s a… power of prophecy, of a sort,” you mumble, thumbing through the pages. “We’re only a few pages into chapter seventeen…” you trail off as a dark word consumes your mind. “Orcs!”

Thranduil leans forward. “What?”

“Orcs. That’s—that’s it, that’s all I can think about—fuck!” You bury your face in your hands. “I can’t see it. I’ve changed the story.” You take a deep breath. “Orcs are coming. I don’t know when, I don’t know how many, but they’re coming.”

Gandalf rises swiftly, retrieving his staff from the corner of the tent. “Then we must be ready. Is there any possibility of reasoning with Thorin?”

You rub your temples. “I can’t be sure. I think he recovers—maybe Fíli leaving will speed it up?”

Fíli flinches slightly.

The wizard nods. “Ready your troops. Be prepared for battle by dawn. We will not be caught unawares.”

Thranduil and Bard offer their agreement, Bard standing to leave for his own lodgings. He pauses, glancing at you and Fíli with a curt nod. “Congratulations.” With that, the archer is gone. Thranduil is swift to leave as well, Tauriel falling easily into place behind him.

“Someone needs to warn Thorin,” Fíli says. He places a hand on the hilt of his sword and makes for the exit, but you snag his wrist. He twists against your grasp, and you hold tight, fingers digging into his skin.

“You’re staying here,” you insist.

“I’ll go,” Bilbo says quietly.

Fíli scoffs. “They’d skewer you with an arrow as soon as you’re within sight of the gates.”

“Well, I did manage to sneak in and out of Erebor without a terrible dragon noticing,” Bilbo points out. “I think I can get past a few dwarves.”

The dwarf just snorts in response.

Gandalf regards the hobbit curiously, watching Bilbo’s fingers fidget in his pocket. “Very well then, Bilbo. As for the pair of you,” he raises an eyebrow in your direction, “I was just about to put on a pot of tea, and I believe Lady Y/N and her little one are sorely in need of some proper nourishment.” He dips his head and ducks out of the tent.

A long, shaking sigh escapes you. You lean against the back of the chair, weariness plaguing your bones. Fili returns to your side and presses a kiss to the top of your head. Then, he separates out a thin section of your hair, carefully beginning to weave it into a braid.

You let out a small gasp, covering his hand with your own. “Fíli? Now?”

He smiles, gently pushing your hand aside and continuing. “If I’m to go into battle at dawn, I want everything to be proper.” The braid complete, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny, wooden bead with delicate etchings.

You take it from his outstretched hand. The wood is rough and unsanded, but you can make out a crude attempt at your and Fíli’s initials in English, as well as runes you vaguely recognize as Khuzdûl. You blush, not thinking your brief alphabet lesson ages ago had taken hold.

“I may have nicked your book to practice,” Fíli says with a wink. “Took me ages to get your silly runes right.” He folds your fingers around the bead and sinks to one knee in front of you—you didn’t think your human courtship lessons had taken hold either. His eyes sparkle as he gazes up at you. “Will you marry me?”

Your eyes fill with tears. “Yes,” you whisper.

Fíli grins and takes the bead back, securing it in your hair and kissing it gently. You yank him in by the collar and press your lips against his. He melts into the kiss, fingers tangling in your loose hair.

Applause from the corner makes you pull back with a jump. You had forgotten Bilbo was still in the tent. With a lopsided smile you stand and push the hobbit out towards Gandalf and the fire. “Give us some privacy!” you chide good-naturedly.

Fíli chuckles and rises as well, pulling you close. He kneels back down, lifting your tunic and kissing your stomach, making you flush even more. “You take care of your amad,” he whispers to the unborn dwarfling. “Adad’s got to go scout out the perfect place for our wedding.” He grins, and you grunt, when the baby kicks against your stomach.

You sigh again and kneel with him, leaning into his arms. You’ve changed the story so much, the future is dark to you now—all that is left is to place your faith in the strength of the dwarves.

#fanfiction #fili x reader #fili x you #fíli #kíli #reader insert #thorin and company #thorin oakenshield #the hobbit #ao3 fic #battle of the five armies #thranduil #tauriel #gandalf #bilbo baggins

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin

A reader-insert fanfiction

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing.

She’s carrying his child.

Chapter Five: The Rockrose and the Thistle

mild gore warning

a single thread hangs limply down, and i breathe, not now, not now

-The Rockrose and the Thistle, The Amazing Devil

Freezing wind bites at your face as you follow Kíli through the watchtower. He slows and presses to the side of the wall when you reach the end of the passage, pulling you close protectively and leaning out into the cold air.

“Anything?” you whisper.

Kíli doesn’t answer.

You shouldn’t be here.

You don’t know how you got here.

How did you get here? Why–

Boom.

A drumbeat echoes around the stone. Your heart drops. Vibrations pulse through the bricks beneath your feet. Little rocks rain down around you and Kíli—you tear away from him and scramble out into the wind, squinting against the light as you search the crumbling stone above you.

It’s Azog—but you knew that already. He’s got Fíli—but you knew that too.

He drags Fíli by the back of the collar and lifts him into the air like he’s nothing, dangling the dwarf over the edge.

“This one dies first,” Azog rumbles. You don’t know the language but you know what he’s saying. You know it by heart, by broken heart. “Then the brother.”

Kíli lifts his head slowly, confusion, recognition, terror all battling for dominance on his face. Terror wins as he stares up at Fíli.

You glimpse Thorin, Bilbo, and Dwalin on the other tower. Thorin rushes forward as if he could actually reach his nephew and skids to a halt. You’ve never seen him afraid. Never truly afraid, until now.

“Then you, Oakenshield. You will die last,” the orc sneers.

For a brief moment, Fíli struggles, squirming against the hand holding the last moments of his life in its grasp. It’s pointless, and he knows it, but you will him to keep fighting, to do something.

He stares across at his uncle. “Go,” he chokes out. You don’t know if you actually hear him say it or if it’s your mind filling in the blanks. His eyes dart down to you, as if in apology, then back up to Thorin. “Run!”

The blade rips through him as if he’s not even there. Fíli gurgles for a second, and his head falls against his chest. Even Dwalin cannot watch.

“Here ends your filthy bloodline!” Azog releases Fíli unceremoniously. The limp dwarf plunges to the stone before you, landing with a dull thud.

It’s so strange, that thud, because it wasn’t nearly loud enough to deafen you.

And yet no sound reaches your ears as you fall to your knees, scrambling towards Fíli. “Fíli! Fíli, Fee, please,” you gasp, pressing your hands desperately against the ragged wound in his abdomen. Whispered prayers spill past your lips—to Mahal, to Eru, to your own God, fuck, you pray to Tolkien himself. Bile rises up in your throat and threatens to choke you when your fingers instead plunge inside the hole with a squelch. It’s too wide, too deep for any gauze to fill. Blood pools beneath your hands. You search Fíli’s face. His chapped lips are parted, eyes dark and staring sightlessly at the sky. They’ll never see anything again.

You feel a hand grip your shoulder as Kíli falls next to you as well. He’s shouting something. He shouldn’t be shouting, you think dully. Fíli needs his rest so he can recover. So he can get better and he can see the birth of his baby and we can get married and he can see Thorin be crowned–

Kíli shakes you roughly and grabs your chin, turning your face to look at him. His bottom lip trembles, and it finally all breaks.

A scream tears from your throat, raw and rough and guttural, and you collapse into Kíli’s arms.

”Y/N…”

“Y/N? Y/N!”

You’re still screaming when you wake against Fíli’s chest. He pulls away to look at you. But in your sleep-addled mind, you don’t see the concern in his eyes. In the flickering firelight you still see the face from your dreams, slack-jawed and empty-eyed. You tear out of your sleeping bag and scramble to get away.

He reaches out, but you kick his arm away in panic, crawling desperately to the edge of the clearing. The Company stare at you in bewilderment as you press against the tree where you and Thorin had sat just hours before.

Balin rises from his bedroll by the fire pit and extends a hand to you, but you flinch away.

“Let me try,” comes a quiet voice from behind Balin. It’s Bilbo, who cautiously lowers himself next to you. He places a gentle hand on your arm, his face puzzled but kind. “Y/N?” He speaks softly, like you would to a frightened child. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Your fingers curl around his arm, and you bury your face in his coat, shoulders heaving. He closes his arms around you and lets you cry yourself dry.

“He’s gonna die, Bilbo, he’s gonna die,” you sob over and over again. “He’s gonna die and Kíli’s gonna die and Thorin’s gonna die and I can’t do anything because I’m not supposed to even be here…”

Bilbo doesn’t say anything, just patting your back comfortingly.

Finally, you lift your head, peering past the hobbit’s shoulder at the Company. It’s Thorin who makes a move toward you first, but he’s halted by an arrow whistling through the air and piercing the ground at his feet.

“Daro, gorn.” [Stop, dwarf (derogatory).]

A leg clad in brown leather appears before you. Tauriel’s bow is already drawn again. “Did they hurt you, my lady?”

Thorin reaches for a sword on his belt that is not there, but Tauriel raises her bow anyway.

Fíli leaps to his feet, and Tauriel turns her bow on him. At that same instant, Kíli jumps up and slides beneath her arm. He seizes you and Bilbo, pulling you from behind the elf. Tauriel starts to aim at him too, but lowers her bow when she recognizes him.

“What are you doing here?” Kíli demands, pulling you against his side. What would normally be a protective move makes your stomach turn; he had done the same in your dream.

His brother retrieves you, and you clutch at Fíli with a small whimper. He rubs your back gently, pressing your head down against his shoulder.

Tauriel’s face falters slightly as she watches the tender gesture. “I heard a pregnant woman scream and saw her trying to escape the dwarves with whom she travels. Now, have you harmed her?” she asks again.

You can feel the heat creeping up Fíli’s neck. “Harmed her?” he splutters. His fist balls up in the fabric of your tunic in anger. “Why would I harm the woman I lov–” He shuts his mouth so fast you hear his jaw snap. It was supposed to remain a secret within the Company.

You lift your head and look over your shoulder at Tauriel, who gapes at Fíli. Her narrow, green eyes find yours. “Does he speak the truth?”

Throat tight, you nod. “It’s his,” you whisper. Your legs start to fail beneath you as the adrenaline from your dream drains from your blood, and Fíli carries you back to your sleeping bag.

Tauriel doesn’t seem to know what to do, looking at the dwarves around her. Bifur and Nori look particularly mutinous—Bifur mutters something dark in Khuzdûl under his breath, running his thumb along the blade of a knife. With a sigh, Tauriel sits on the roots you and Bilbo vacated. She reaches over her shoulder and pulls a long bundle from her quiver, tossing it at Thorin’s feet.

His murderous expression turns to confusion, then surprise as he kneels and unwraps the cloth. It’s Orcrist. He looks up at her. “Is this some sort of trick?” he growls.

“No trick.”

“Why?”

She sighs again, longer and deeper this time. “I have left Mirkwood. King Thranduil did not agree with my suggestion to send a patrol to tail your party.”

A few of the dwarves take issue with that remark, but she holds her hand up to stop their shouts. “I mean only to ensure that the lady remains safe. I do not want the blood of an expecting mother on my hands.” Almost as an afterthought, she pulls another small bundle from her pack, tossing it to Fíli this time. More herbs.

“If you think I will allow an elf to follow my Company to our mountain…” Thorin doesn’t finish, instead fixing Tauriel with a furious glower.

Tauriel picks at a blade of grass. “I could return to the king and inform him of your destination,” she says lightly. “Or I could accompany you and furnish your lady with provisions that will ensure a healthier pregnancy than anything a band of dwarf men could.” She looks up at Thorin. “I would say the choice is yours, but I believe the lady’s opinion should hold more sway.”

At a loss for words, Thorin turns back to you. Glancing at Tauriel, you nod.

He presses his lips into a thin line. “Rest, Y/N,” he grunts. “We break camp at first light. Ori, Gloín, you take watch.” With a withering look in the elf’s direction, he returns to his bedroll.

Tauriel seems satisfied with this, beginning a quiet conversation with Kíli, who sits just a little too close to the she-elf. You release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Fíli gently cradles you against his chest and eases the pair of you to the ground. “You don’t have to tell me what you dreamt of if you do not want,” he whispers. “But I swear to you by all the gold in the mountain, I will never leave you.”

Your heart clenches, and tears prick at the edge of your eyes as you clutch at his arm. “Don’t make promises you don’t know you can keep.”

#fanfiction #fili x reader #fili x you #fíli #kíli #reader insert #thorin and company #thorin oakenshield #tauriel #the hobbit #ao3 fanfic #blood of durin