#I like to imagine that reader is dúnedain

[starks-hero]

Avert Your Eyes from Your Demise, Though Lovely It May Be

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x human!Reader

Summary: In which giant spiders aren't the only threat Mirkwood has to offer.

Word Count: 4.0k

Warnings: they're high on Mirkwood mist the whole time. Do with that what you will.

Translations: Siúlóirí portaigh - bog walkers (Irish) , amrâlimê - my love (Khuzdul) , lansel - love of all loves (Khuzdul)

a/n: I know movie Thorin is described as 5'2ish but I write him as 4'8 - 4'10 because it's more book accurate and because we should embrace this short king. Anyway, I call this 'the intimacy of going insane with your crush.'

You couldn't shake the unease. Even now, as you sat at the edge of a clearance, bark biting harshly into your back, you could almost feel the forest closing in on you. Shadows scurried above you and the air itself was stale.

Your company of fifteen had quickly fallen to a number of just two, with only yourself and Thorin making it through the mist-clouded trails together. Neither of you were certain what had become of the others and given the eeriness of your surroundings, you didn't want to give it too much thought.

A sudden gust of wind rushed through the clearing and the limbs of the trees creaked inward. It was as if the forest was breathing.

“We have to find the others,” you said. Your voice sounded foreign and far off.

Thorin was pacing in front of you, twisting the hilt of his sword in his hand. “They would know well enough not to linger in these woods. We keep heading East.”

“Which way is East?”

“We follow the river.” You didn't miss the beat of uncertainty before Thorin's answer.

You shook your head. “We don't know where it leads.”

“It will lead us away from here which is good enough.”

Almost to emphasize Thorin's point, the surrounding trees creaked and groaned and another shadow scurried overhead. Caution steered your hand to the hilt of your sword and following Thorin's order, you moved on swiftly.

The forest felt too small and too large all at once. Branches knabbed and tore at your clothes and skin, the twisted limbs of rotting trees giving you no option but to duck or crawl beneath their roots. A glance skyward reminded you that this place, in all its foulness, was unending, the tree canopy stretching miles above your head and blackening out the sun's light.

That was if the sun was still up. You'd lost track of the time what seemed like hours ago.

You came to a sudden, harsh stop as your front rather unceremoniously met Thorin's back. With a quiet grunt, you found the reason for stopping was a tangled thicket of twisted branches that now stood before you. The tree, in all its obscure glory, seemed to consume the path entirely, its limbs too thick to cut and trunk too tall to climb. Too tired to think of a solution, you found yourself uncharacteristically willing to give up. Until Thorin shrugged off his furs.

You watched as the grey fabric rolled off his broadened shoulders and revealed his shirt, knotted pattern running up the arms.

“I'll go first,” he took the liberty of explaining as he bunched the furs together and placed them in his pack. “It will be easier for me to get out should I need to.”

You would have liked to argue but Thorin, a regularly stubborn fool, was surprisingly right. He was shorter, his limbs less likely to snag. His dwarven frame would move through the thicket much easier than your own.

He disappeared into the grove, swallowed by bark and darkness and you already found yourself questioning why you let him go alone.

You kicked at the dirt beneath your feet as you waited. Eyes set on the trees, you felt increasingly uneasy. You picked at the leather of your sword sheath. Thorin was a capable warrior and you didn't doubt his ability to defend himself. But something wasn't right, you could feel it, crawling on your skin and putting your hairs on end.

Giving in to impulsiveness, you followed after Thorin.

The branches clawed at your skin and snagged your clothes. You pushed aside what you could, rotting wood giving way easily beneath your palm, but as the many limbs began to swell into trunks, it became increasingly difficult to move. Your chest was pressed uncomfortably against the rough bark. You were never one to fear tight spaces but the sudden inability to take a deep breath came as an unwelcome shock. Just as panic had you reaching for your sword, relief found you in the form of the dwarrow prince.

With renewed determination, you mustered a final push and freed yourself from where you were wedged.

Thorin stood with his back to you, stance stiff. You called his name and he hushed you quickly.

His eyes were set on the tree line ahead of you. His gaze was hard, analytic and you didn't fail to notice how his fingers grazed the hilt of his weapon. He turned to you.

“Do you not hear it?”

“Hear what?”

As if the bugle of battle had been sounded, Thorin's stance shifted and in one swift, fluid movement, he drew his sword. His free hand guided you further behind him. Then, he shot forward, swinging his sword at an invisible target. His expression was one of determination as well as unmistakable fear. Another aimless swing and he turned to you.

“Can you not see it?!” He barked, frustrated at your unwillingness to help.

You raised your head and all but willed yourself to see anything but the winding trails of the forest. But despite how hard you employed your imagination, you saw nothing. Somewhere in the treeline, a bird took flight.

An uncomfortable recollection settled in the forefront of your mind. A shiver ran up your back.

"Thorin," Your hand cautiously fell against his shoulder. He turned to you with fire in his eyes but your expression made him pause. “Gandalf said a dark magic lay over this forest.”

At your words, his defensive stance melted away and defeat took its place. The elvish blade fell from where it was held at his side as he looked around and the fear in his eyes slowly shifted to confusion, then realisation.

“It's toying with our minds?”

You swallowed. The thought made your skin crawl; the idea of the forest as its own conscious entity was a horrifying one. That its magic could sink its claws into your mind and deprive you of your senses, keeping you walking in circles till your feet gave in. The entirety of Mirkwood was one giant spider's web and you hated to think what that made you and Thorin.

“We just need to keep our wits about us and our feet moving forward,” you managed eventually, casting weary glances towards the trees. "Now that we know what's happening we have the upper hand, we stay together, stay vigilant and keep our minds clear."

Thorin felt the sudden need to commend you for your calm demeanor and sudden leadership. But he'd also just attempted to fight a non-existent enemy so he decided saying anything at all was against his better judgment and settled for a curt nod instead.

Your plan fell apart comedically fast. You tried to remain optimistic but as you passed the same tree stump for what must have been the fourth time, you felt as though the forest was laughing at you. Your feet ached as though they'd been walking for days. You could hear each of your breaths echo as they came and the thud of your boots against the earth shook your bones.

The child-like laughter had started not short of an hour ago. Thorin couldn't seem to hear it.

When the rough terrain of rock and dirt softened into the cold, squelching mud of a bog, you both silently agreed that a break was needed. You sat at the end of the wetland, where the moss and reeds sprouted up between damp rocks. The water was gloomy, tinged grey and dark green with a sinister mist resting upon its surface.

The dreariness of the place seemed to seep into your bones.

Thorin sat an arm's length from you, hands braced against his knees as he looked out over the bog with a sullen stare.

“What do you see?” You asked.

“Fire." He said no more and you didn't pry.

In an attempt to ease the aches that had set deep in each of your muscles, you pulled your water canteen from where it hung against your pack. A cool drink of fresh water would be a small but welcome relief that you wouldn't take for granted.

But the liquid was thick and warm as it touched your lips and when you pulled it away it was coloured red. You tossed the canteen away with a grunt of disgust. It unceremoniously met the surface of the water before sinking into the mud.

“We need to leave this place,” you said, hands threading through your hair and pulling at the roots. Thorin didn't argue.

You walked until you felt the leather of your boots threatening to give way. You thought one of the trees you had passed seemed familiar, distinctive enough from the rest of the foliage that it stood out.

“We've been here before,” you said. “We're going round in circles.” You turned to on your heel and found no sign of the dwarf.

“Thorin?”

The eerie silence of the forest echoed back to you.

“Thorin?!”

The feeling of unease returned tenfolds. Shadows crawled above you and the wind quivered through the trees. The mist had worsened, hiding your feet beneath its thickening grey clouds.

But then, like a lifeline being tossed to a drowned sailor at sea, you heard your name. Far off and faint, but your name all the same. Spoken in a voice that flooded you with relief. Calling after him, you followed the resonating sound of his calls until they led you to the point where the water met the soil.

Logic quickly took a back seat as your desperation to find Thorin had you stepping off the path. You sunk immediately, the bog swallowing you up to your knees. You pushed through the thick, sluggish mud, ignoring the burn it caused in the back of your legs. The voice became clearer until his form finally appeared, carved out from the mist.

"Thorin," you greeted him with a smile. But Thorin's expression did not mirror your own. His brows were drawn together and every ounce of air vanished from your lungs when an unsteady hand reached out to cup your cheek.

“I was so worried." Your name fell brokenly from his lips. "I feared I'd lost you.” His hands, shaking and trembling, ran down your arms then back to the swell of your shoulders. His breathing was labored and you could only imagine what Thorin must have witnessed to put the usually stoic king in such a state.

“You're alright? You're not harmed?"

You shook your head and gently grasped Thorin's wrists and he smiled, softer and more sincere than you had ever seen him. The sight made you feel at ease for the first time since stepping foot in the forsaken forest.

"I am glad, Amrâlimê.”

You were not well versed in the culture of dwarves but you were no fool either. You had heard the word spoken among the dwarrow people you'd crossed paths with in the Blue Mountains, noticed the tenderness and sincerity that always encompassed the word, how it was never said with any amount of offhandedness. The word was a confession itself, a confession of the highest kind.

And Thorin had just spoken it to you. As if it were the simplest thing on Earth.

Your confusion must have been evident as Thorin smiled again, the corners of his eyes creasing in amusement.

“You must not look so surprised, my love,” his thumb grazed your jaw. “That I should wish to call you by such a name.”

“What–” You managed in a clumsy attempt to make it known to the dwarf in front of you that you had no idea what was going on. “Thorin.”

The king didn't answer. Rather he kept his eyes fixed on you, coarse fingers working their way from your jaw up to your temple, then brushing just beneath your eye. He touched you as if you were made of something more precious than all the metals held in the great halls of Erebor. And despite the nagging feeling in the back of your mind, in that moment you would have been content to stay there.

In the bogs of a cursed forest with your friends lost and your mind bewitched, all so that the king would keep looking at you as he was now.

But your better judgment, (or more likely, the uncomfortable feeling of mud and bog water dampening your clothes,) brought you back to reality. You moved to speak again but Thorin stopped you.

“It's alright, we're safe here, you and I,” he promised. “You needn't think of anything else.”

You tried to ignore how believable his words sounded as you took a step back. Hurt flashed in the dwarf's eyes.

“No, no we need to find the others. The company–”

“–will find their own way,” he calmed you, hand reaching out again to touch your shoulder. It sent a jolt of warmth through you. “You carry so much, endlessly worrying for the well-being of others. But you needn't burden yourself any longer, lansel. You know what it is you desire, what you deserve. So take it.”

You closed your eyes at his words. His hand found the back of your neck and you allowed him to draw you in closer.

“Let it be just us. Stay with me, Amrâlimê. That's all I ask.”

You had never felt such temptation in all your years. Would it truly be so wrong of you? To allow yourself to have this after all you'd persevered. You had long given up trying to convince yourself that you felt something for the dwarven king. That his bravery, stoicism, and unbridled loyalty to his people didn't fascinate you. You had wanted Thorin since not long after the journey's beginning. And now he wanted you too. There was no reason to keep this from yourself, no reason you shouldn't have it.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, was the persistent reminder that something was wrong. A reminder that resurfaced in the form of Bombur's cooking and Bofur's songs and Balin's stories and Bilbo's immeasurable trust in you. Your friends were still lost and that proved enough to bring you back to rationality.

“Thorin,” you started sternly.

“Forget them,” he said, as if he already knew what you were going to say. “Forget everything else. It is just us now. All is as it should be.”

You felt a tinge of discomfort at his words and you took another step back. Thorin would never forsake his kin, not if he was in his right mind. He traced your cheek again and this time you grasped his arm in a strong enough hold to pull it away.

You caught sight of his hand out of the corner of your eye and what you saw made you feel ill. The skin was rotting, bones threatening to tear through their paper-thin bonds. The fabric of Thorin's clothes had vanished and your nails had sunk into the rotting flesh which had begun to fall way in your grip.

You yanked your hand back in disgust, tripping and falling backward into the water at the sight of the creature. A gaping hole sat in the center of its face where you imagined its nose should be and a rigid crack served as its mouth. Green threads of damp mossy hair sprouted from its head and hung in front of the hollow cavities of its eyes.

An Siúlóir Portaigh. A creature you hadn't crossed paths with since you'd last traveled East of Gondor.

A bony hand reached out for you and you shot yourself backward, scrambling to your feet. Thorin's deep voice had been replaced with a low rasping gurgle, the sound growing louder as the creature lunged for you.

You turned and ran.

Thorin's voice had grown hoarse from calling your name.

He had turned away for one moment and you were gone and now as he searched, he feared to think what may have become of you.

His feet sunk into the ground beneath him, water reaching his ankles and soaking through his boots. Reeds sprouted up from the water, the smallest brushing his knees and the tallest towering a foot above his head. With a grunt, he pushed on.

The wind howled as it passed through the hollow chamber of the reeds and Thorin felt the hair on his neck stand up. Then, a shadow passed in front of him. He instinctively reached for his blade. It pushed through the long grass as it approached him but the glint of familiar armor has him dropping his sword.

“Thorin!” You beamed as you reached him. “You're alright. I lost sight of you in the fog.” You grabbed hold of his arms and Thorin was taken back by your sudden brashness. “I'm so glad I found you.”

He watched you for a moment, his joy at finding you unharmed outweighing the odd tinge of suspicion he felt. He cleared his throat and tilted his head forward in a curt nod.

“We must get back to the others.”

He turned to walk on but your arms held him in place.

“You needn't worry, they'll be alright,” you said casually. “As will we.”

Thorin offered a baffled look that doubled as a warning. He was uncertain what had caused your uncharacteristic forwardness and in all honesty, wasn't quite sure what to do about it.

You raised your head skyward and smiled again. With no shortage of confusion, Thorin followed your gaze

The sun had come back up and its light was seeping through the leaves above his head. The forest's canopy turned golden, as if set alight by dragon fire. Thorin's expression softened.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Your hand found his own. “We could stay here, Thorin. You and I. Imagine it.”

Thorin blinked. He could stay here, with you. He could tell you everything he'd been longing to say since the escape from the goblin tunnels and the orc ambush on the cliffside. After all, why shouldn't he? Did he not deserve this after so many hardships? You could truly be together, you could offer him a new start, a new home– Thorin blinked again.

“And what of Erebor?”

You seemed amused by his question. You brushed his braid away from where it hung against his jaw and Thorin surprisingly let it happen.

“Erebor lies half a world away, a buried kingdom of dust and despair in the clutches of a dragon. Is it truly worth so much? Worth so many lives lost,” you asked. “We have everything we need here.”

And Thorin could only think about how right you were; your hands in his, the feel of your fingers brushing his hair, the rising sun and golden leaves– he could want for nothing else.

“Do you not want for this?”

“I–” he tried.

“You have done honorably by your people, Thorin, but you have been selfless for far too long.” He closed his eyes as you spoke. “Choose not what is right by them but by you. No more pain, no more fear.” He could feel your breath against his cheek. “Just us. Stay with me, my love.”

And Thorin decided in that moment that he would.

Your legs ached and your lungs burned.

The bog was becoming harder and harder to navigate but you were yet to find Thorin and you did not plan on stopping till you were certain he was safe.

The water grew shallower and you took it as a blessing. With your lower half free of the mud, you drew your sword. You rounded the trunk of a decaying tree and were met with a horrific sight.

Thorin, with decaying hands grasped round his neck and a deformed maw nearing his face. Thorin stood in a trance, eyes glossed over and body stiff. The siúlóir's mouth widened, rotting skin tearing as it did. Its nails dug into the side of Thorin's neck, harsh enough to draw blood. Still, he didn't move.

You acted on impulse. With a quick lunge forward, you drove your sword through the creatures back, twisting it twice before pushing it deeper.

Its screech was inhumane. It grasped at its wounds, its guttural yowls putting your hairs on end. You ran it through again. The siúlóir went quiet and Thorin screamed out.

“No!” His voice was distraught, his hands grasping at the creature as it slumped to the ground. “No–!”

“Thorin!” You grabbed his shoulder and roughly yanked him back. He raised his head and looked at you as though he'd seen a ghost. “It's alright– it's alright, it's me.”

His gaze fell back to the creature at your feet and given the twist of horror and disgust in his expression you figured he was now seeing it in its true form.

“Siúlóirí portaigh,” you muttered under your breath. “Bog walkers.”

Thorin blinked before taking in his surroundings with frantic eyes. He regarded you with a cautionary look. He said your name and when you nodded, you saw his stance relax slightly. His fear turned to confusion. “What–”

“They were going to drown us,” you answered plainly. You nudged the creature's shoulder with your heel and watched it sink a few inches into the water. “We need to go, this place will be crawling with them.”

Thorin wanted to question how you knew so much about such monsters but given how desperately you wanted to leave their hunting ground, he prioritized.

He offered one last glance at the creature, body now mostly submerged in the sullen water. He shuddered at how well the creature had worn your face, how much its voice had mimicked your own. How easily fooled he'd been.

He silently followed after you.

You walked until the mud on your clothes had hardened and the silk webs coating the trees had all but vanished. The leaf canopy above you had thinned out and the surrounding forest was now warm with the sun's light. The moment you heard a nearby bird song, you knew the dangers of Mirkwood had passed.

Thorin rested against the trunk of a sapling. His gaze was focused on something over your shoulder but given the blankness of his stare, you knew he wasn't looking at anything at all. You took a seat at his side and began to tend to his wound.

A nasty gash ran from the back of his neck to just below his throat. You worked silently. Thorin didn't even seem to notice until you applied a fraction too much pressure and with a sharp intake of breath, he turned to you.

“Sorry.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Thorin spoke.

“What did you see?” he asked you. “That creature, it toyed with my mind, showed me things I longed for that I hadn't even admitted to myself. So what did it show you?”

“Nothing.” The lie came easy. “Nothing of worth. I've dealt with siúlóirí before, they feed you lies, draw you in and then drown you before you even realise you're in danger. Whatever you seen, I wouldn't linger on it.”

Thorin seemed almost saddened by your answer. But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, he gently brushed your hand away and got to his feet.

“We keep heading East.” The usual stoicism had returned to his voice. “Dwalin would know to do the same. If we do not regroup with the company in a day's time we head back the way we came and search.”

You nodded and got to your feet like a soldier following orders.

And as you fell into step beside the dwarf you thought maybe it would be best to take your own advice. To pass what you'd seen off as baseless lies not worth thinking about. But the feel of Thorin's shoulders brushing your arm reminded you that would be no easy task.

You entered Mirkwood wondering if what you felt for the dwarven king was more than just fondness. Now you were certain.

quick authors note: I invented the siúlóirí an portaigh for this fic and the name translates to ‘bog walkers/walkers of the bog’ in Irish. It was pretty fun combining two of my interests, writing and folklore, to create my own mythological creature :)

#I like to imagine that reader is dúnedain #and that Siúlóirí Portaigh inhabit the dead marshes po #because i love adding unnecessary lore to my fics 😌 #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin x reader #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x you #thorin x you #thorin x y/n #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit fic #lotr fic #lotr imagine #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit

[nocompromise-noregrets]

13, 18, 19 for the writing asks!

wheee, thank you! (sorry it's taken me a couple of days, I've been...decompressing...)

13. What feedback did you receive for your writing that stuck with you? I think - all the lovely things people have said since I came back to this fandom a couple of years ago. I wasn't used to getting much feedback before that (after the LJ-communities died I wasn't writing very often, and when I did it was either not-very-popular stuff in a huge fandom, or equally not-very-popular stuff in tiny fandoms), but since I came back to Tolkien people have said so many nice things and it's just been hugely encouraging and affirming. <333333

18. Show us a piece of dialogue you really like. Oooooh. Tough to choose, but then again, I do really love the way the Twins talk... From See This Storm Through, in which Legolas, in a tavern in Bree with the Twins and the Dúnedain, has overheard people talking and realised that Bard has died:

Eventually Aravir takes his seat again, a grave expression upon his lined face. “Legolas, I am sorry,” he says, “but it is true, as far as the people by the fire know it. The news came earlier today, so I suppose it must be a week or two ago that it happened, perhaps three.”

“They’ll be burying him in Dale, I suppose,” says Elrohir. “But either way, you need to be heading East as fast as you can.”

I nod. “I should - I must go. I should leave now.”

“You can’t ride at night,” says Aranarth, and the twins chuckle.

“Just you watch him,” says Elladan, and, “would you like some company, Legolas?” asks Elrohir. “We could ride with you at least as far as the mountains.”

My first thought is to refuse, but then I realise that I would welcome it, if I did not have to be alone on at least part of this terrible journey.

“Please,” I nod, hating how desperate I sound. “But - can you ride at night?”

Elladan laughs softly. “You ought to have learned not to underestimate us by now, mellon-nín,” he says. “Finish your ale, grab your things, and we’ll go. We’ll take the straight road, past home, and the High Pass, and then the Old Forest Road, if you think your father will be in Dale by now.”

“I don’t know.” I cannot think straight through the turmoil in my mind. Bard is dead and my father despairing and all my adopted siblings bereft. And I am here, several days’ ride away, when I should be with them. I should never have left. I should have known what was about to happen and I should have stayed.

“We’ll make for Dale,” says Elrohir, “and if he’s already gone back to the forest we’ll go and find him. But I should imagine you’ll want to see the children anyway, won’t you, and Tauriel?”

I nod, and Elladan pats me on the shoulder. “Then we’ll go to Dale first,” he says, and I blink in confusion, I thought they said they would accompany me as far as the mountains.

“We won’t leave you at a time like this,” says Elrohir, and “Unless you find you want us to,” says Elladan. “In which case we’ll bugger right off as soon as you say the word, but otherwise you’re stuck with us for as long as it takes to run your father to earth.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, feeling rather overwhelmed by their kindness. It is not the first time, but it is certainly the greatest offer they have made me.

“Finish your ale and go and get your saddlebags, and we’ll be off,” says Elrohir, and I do as I am told.

19. Show us the line you want readers to remember from your story. oh bloody hell, I have no idea. I've written so damn much at this point. There are some that occur to me as I'm writing them, but when asked to think of one my head is empty. XD I'm just happy if people do remember any of my lines. (hey, if anyone wants to share one, that would be GREAT :D :D :D )

Thank you for asking! <333333 Anyone else want to ask me stuff about writing? (and I'll try and be a bit more prompt in answering...)

#ask game #go on #ask me stuff! #my writing

[caucasianasian123]

The Theme of Claustrophobia in LOTR

One of the most terrifying parts of the beginnings of the Lord of the Rings books is the unstoppably terror of the wights.  In a region not far from Tom Bombadil’s lodgings is a place called the Barrow-downs in which Barrow-wights meander.  These wights are apparitions that were sent-forth by the Witch-King in the war with the Dúnedain to haunt their graves.  Frodo his hobbit company almost fall victim to one of these spirits when they venture through these lands.  In previous classes we discussed the claustrophobia of different hazards the Fellowship or Thorin and Co. had to overcome, but I didn’t feel as much sympathetic claustrophobia for Frodo ever as intensely as I did in this scene.  The dark and the mist can create a veil that make you feel as if the boundaries could be just out of eyesight.  This is part of the reason why many ghost stories and such tales have fog in them.  The fact that you cannot see beyond your own nose can create a sense of urgency and panic that regular walls cannot: “Better the devil you know.”  In fact one of the chapters in this section is called “Fog of the Barrow-Downs” for good reason.  Almost even more so than the specters, this fog is a huge driving force for the uncomfortableness and suspense.  However, just like many fears, the apparitions and the fog merely compliment each other.

Have you ever had a time where you’re walking alone and it’s foggy everywhere and some dark recess of your mind makes you suddenly think about a murderer coming out of the darkness to slash you to death?  If not, at least you can imagine it.  It’s not just the fog that is scary and it’s not just the murderer that is scary.  It’s the fog that prompts scary thoughts and its the existence of murderers that heightens those said scary thoughts.  This is part of the mastery of placemaking in my opinion.  Oftentimes, in real life, a certain place has many, many feels to it.  This multilayered nature of different places is created by many different interconnected and incredibly complex details about the place.  However, in a book you cannot do that easily.  One must balance an overabundance of detail with realism in order to create a living, breathing atmosphere in a story.  If the Barrow-downs were real, the whole region would be much more than just a primal feeling of claustrophobia.  However, to make it as realistic as possible would be to over-complicate a fictional place through which the protagonist passes once.  We barely see the place, so Tolkien instead just focuses on one very relatable feeling and defines the entire place with this characteristic.  This allows there to be a level of real relatability and allows the reader to see the world through Frodo’s eyes, yet it doesn’t make details so realistically complicated that it loses the captivation of the reader.

[theepolynesian]

Your One

Summary: You visit Thorin as he heals and you notice that his hair is an absolute mess. Ballin suggests you clean it for him.

Pairing: Thorin x Reader

Master Lists: Drabbles/Imagines, and Completed Series

Requested by: @deepestfirefun ; Hi! My request, thorin x reader (dunedain) after BOTFA Thorin is healing from his injuries, unconscious and reader notices that his hair is a mess (orc blood, dirt etc) and askes Balin if someone would wash it. He gestures that she could do it, but she is reluctant because she knows how intimate that is and that only one to allowed to touch dwarfs hair is their mate/their One. Little does she know that Thorin has recognized she as his One. Lot of fluff when he wakes up and learn what she's done.

Light snores fill the room as you enter it. It was very reassuring to hear Thorin snoring. It was better than hearing him gasping for breath like he had a day ago.

You take a seat next to his bed, thinking about the past 7 months

It had a treacherous journey and you had nearly died multiple times, but you survived relatively unscathed. Thorin, on the other hand, didn't.

He nearly died during the final battle and so had his nephews. Perfect timing and quick reflexes had been on your side that day and they made it out.

You look Thorin over and he was covered in dirt, blood and sweat. His hair was matted with blood and looked absolutely disgusting. You wondered if Thorin would ever be able to wash it out without having to cut it. You doubted it.

The door swings open and you look up to find Balin entering. He gives you a sad smile and you return it.

“How are Fili and Kili?” You ask.

“They are fine. They're both rested and are able to move around.”

“And the rest of the company? I haven't seen them since the battle started.”

“They're all alive. They are helping with finding the wounded and are worried about your fate. Dwalin told them not to worry about you.”

You nod and look back at Thorin and his messy hair.

“His hair will need a lot of cleaning when he wakes,” you say, resisting the urge to run your hand through it. You knew that somehow it would get stuck and it was a no no in dwarven culture, something that you were clearly not a part of.

“You should clean it for him,” Balin suggests and you reel back, looking at Balin surprised.

You knew that such an act was very intimate to dwarves.

You relationship with Thorin was a bit...iffy. Sometimes you thought he hated you and other times you felt the exact opposite. There were moments where you guys got along easily, as well as he and Dwalin did, and other times you were literally at each other’s throats. You loved him, that much was certain, but if he returned the feelings. No one knew. It was whirlwind of emotions with him so your relationship was unknown.

“Balin-.”

“He knows you are his one,” he interrupts before you can say anything else and you wisely shut your mouth, “I do not know much about Dúnedain culture, but I am sure there is something similar to it.”

You nod.

Dúnedains had their one as well. The one person they are bound to for the rest of their lives. People with the blood of a Dunedain typically fell in love with those with that ancestry as well. That was something that happened with all the races, but while everyone else found love, you did not. It was not like you didn't try, trust me, you did, it was just that you didn't feel it was right.

“He will find it very pleasing if you washed his hair, I assure you,” Balin says and you still look at him unsure.

If anything Balin was Thorin’s oldest friend and he would know what he was talking about, right?

You sigh before standing.

Balin gives you a smile before slipping out.

His hurried leave makes you wonder what he was doing here in the first place.

You grab a bowl of water and get to work. It was going to take a while.

Thorin groans as he awakens.

His body was sore all over, but that's what he gets for taking on Azog alone.

He looks around to find you sleeping on a chair next to his bed side.

“She cleaned you up nicely.”

Thorin looks to the door to find Balin smiling at him.

He looks at himself and he was no longer covered in dirt or sweat or blood. His hand reaches out to his hair, expecting it to be matted, but he pulls back in surprise as he realizes it's not.

“I told her, Thorin,” Balin says, pulling up a chair on the other side of his bed.

“Balin. Why?”

“Because you were not going to do it yourself. It was very obvious to everyone that you care about her and she you, but you did not act in those feelings because of the quest. Someone just needed a little nudge in the right direction.”

Thorin shakes his head at his old friend. You start to stir and Balin leaves the two of you alone. Thorin raises his brow at his friends hasty retreat, but shakes his head as you move from your position.

Thorin looks at you with a smile on his face.

You return the smile and sit up properly, reaching to brush the hair out of his face.

“I’m glad you’re alive and well,” you tell him.

“As am I. Thank you.”

You raise your brow at him.

“For what exactly?”

“For saving Kili. For saving Fili. And for saving me. I know that I wasn’t the nicest towards you in the entirety of the journey, but still you saved me.”

You smile, clasping his hand in yours.

“If there is one thing that I am proud of it is saving you and your nephews. You deserve to be King, Thorin.”

“And you deserve to be by my side as queen.”

You pull back in surprise. You really did not expect him to get to the topic so soon. He just woke up after two days! Shouldn’t he have waited a bit?

“I couldn’t wait,” Thorin says as if reading your mind, “Balin has just informed me that you washed my hair.”

You sigh.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinkin-.”

“Don’t be, y/n. I was hoping that one day I would have the courage to ask you myself, but it seems Balin likes to meddle.”

The two of you laugh.

“I love you, y/n. I have since the start of the journey and with your permission, I would like to court you.”

You give him a wide smile.

“I would like that as long as I get to play with your hair.”

“That’s not the only thing you’ll get to play with,” he says, sending you a cheeky winky making you giggle. If he was this cheeky while injured, you couldn’t wait to see what he was like when he isn’t. You had a feeling that your search for your one had finally come to an end.

A/n: I had a hard time writing this because I don’t really play around with the “dwarves hair ritual” things so sorry if it was shit.

Those Bolded: I can’t tag you for some reason.

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