#kibleedibleedoo asks

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Eleven

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: Unprotected intercourse, a little teeny bit of angst

Rating: M

Word Count: 4.5k

Khuzdul: kurduwê - my heart

  Abnâmul-beautiful

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @legolasbadass @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically@notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

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

Previous chapters can be found here. 

Nina managed to avoid Thorin for the rest of the day, which actually wasn't all that difficult, as she remained in her chambers and had no idea where he had gone. He might have left, for all she knew. In fact, she almost hoped he had. It would make things easier. 

She saw him at supper, however, and it was with a mixture of relief and apprehension, as more than once, he looked over at her as if he was going to say something, only to turn back instead to Thranduíl or Legolas. Her heart actually felt as if it skipped a beat when he got up and moved to sit beside her. “We plan to leave at dawn’s first light.”

She nodded. “And should I meet you?”

“Only if you wish to travel with us.”

“Do you wish me to travel with you?”

Irritation flashed through his blue eyes. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I think it’s obvious, don't you?”

He glanced across the table at Dwalin, and then toward their hosts before looking back at her. “I apologize for overstepping earlier, Nina. It was foolish of me and right of you to halt things as you did.”

“You needn’t apologize,” she told him. “I overstepped just as much and I thought we were going to pretend it never happened?”

“I just—I sense you’re still angry with me.”

“I wasn’t angry with you at all. You were angry with me.”

He drew in a slow breath. “I wasn't angry with you.”

“So, then it never happened?”

“It never happened.”

“Good.” Although she smiled as if a huge weight had been lifted, the truth was, she felt anything but happy over this turn of events. On the walkway, when he kissed her, it reminded her of all the feelings she’d had that snowy night in Esgaroth, when she first laid eyes upon him. Reminded her of all the feelings that were so wonderful and frustrating at the same time and how she’d wished with everything she had that he would notice her.

And now he had and it was all for naught. She was no longer that same lovestruck girl. Too much had happened since then and now for her to ever be that girl again. 

Which was too bad, really, as she thoroughly enjoyed kissing him and if things hadn’t worked out the way they had…

She could easily fall under his spell, for the King Under the Mountain had no idea how truly desirable he was, and she had the feeling that Mirkwood was not the only thing magical around her. 

“So, I will see you in the morning,” she told him, pushing her chair back. 

“We will wait for you at the eastern gate.”

“Good.” She stood and smiled at Thranduíl. “Thank you for a lovely supper, Your Majesty. If you will excuse me, I think I will go and get what will probably be my last good night’s sleep for some time to come.”

“Of course,” Thranduíl replied. “Good evening.”

She turned and left the dining hall to go back to her chambers. After she and Thorin parted ways that morning, she had gone down to the stream that flowed not far from her chambers and gathered the clothes she wished to wash. Heeding his warnings about enchanted waters, she took great care to pay close attention to her surroundings, but nothing seemed at all amiss to her.

Even so, she’d washed everything as quickly as she could and laid it out on the rocks to allow it to dry and now, her sword at her hip, she went to retrieve everything. Hopefully, it would be dry enough to pack. It had been a clear day, with sun filtering through the treetops, so she thought there was a good chance everything would be just fine. 

Carefully, she picked her way around tree roots, branches, and the typical woodland debris as she made her way to the bank where her trousers and tunics lay spread out on rocks that were still warm.

She’d chosen wisely.

She was just folding her trousers when the sound of a branch snapping gave her pause. Her sword lay at her feet, so she swept it up and rose, saying, “Who goes?”

“I thought I told you to stay away from the streams?”

Her shoulders relaxed as Thorin came around the bend in the path. “You did and this one is fine.”

“Nina.”

“What? The air feels fine here. And besides, I am not your responsibility. I’m certainly of the age where I can decide for myself where to launder my clothes.” She resheathed her blade, then crouched to pluck the shirt she’d laid out from its rock.

“You need to be careful.”

“I am being careful.” She gave up trying to fold anything and just stuffed the mostly dry clothes into her sack. Then she rose, slipping the strap over her shoulder. “Why are you even here?”

“Because I wanted to make certain you made it back to your chambers all right.”

“Back to my… we aren’t in the wild, Thorin.” She pushed around him to march back toward her chambers. 

“We might as well be. I told you, Mirkwood is not always as it seems and dark magic permeates it. I am on cordial terms with the elves here, but they don't know you.”

“The elves have nothing to fear from me, either. And somehow, I think they know that.” She didn't slow down, didn't break her stride as she made her way along the path. “And stop following me.”

“I will. Once you are safe in your chambers.”

“Argh!” She rolled her eyes, and promptly stumbled over an exposed root, but managed to keep her footing and continue on.

At her door, she turned to find him still right behind her. “See? I’m fine. Now, you can just go about your business and I will see you in the morning.”

“Nina,” he reached for her, catching her just above the elbow to halt her, “I know this place and I know what it can do to a body.”

“And I am fine. Nothing reached forth from the water to grab me. No nymphs or balrogs or anything.” She opened her door and stepped over the threshold, setting her sack just inside it, her sword alongside it, and then sighed softly. “I appreciate your concern. But, I’ve made it all this way on my own, remember.”

“I know, but… I cannot help it.” He gestured to her. “May I?”

“Come in.”

He thumped into her chambers, his heavy boots echoing loudly against the wood floor. “I’m not checking up on you because I think you’re incapable of taking care of yourself. Or because I think you are inept. I’ve seen for myself you aren’t. But, I also want to make certain you are safe, Nina. And I’ll not apologize for that.”

“I’m not asking you to apologize for it. But I also don't need you to worry about me. Really, I don’t. I’ve been taking care of myself for quite a bit now, and I’m mostly good at it.”

He arched one brow. “Mostly?”

“Well… every now and then something goes wrong.”

“Such as a to-do at a tavern?”

“Exactly.”

“I know, but…” to her surprise, he closed the space between them and her heartbeat picked up as he reached to catch her face in his hands, “that won’t stop me from wanting to be certain, as I said.”

“Thorin,” her head spun, slowly at first, but as his thumbs swept lightly across her cheeks, the dizziness grew, spreading through her, “I thought we agreed this morning never happened?”

“I know,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips just brushed hers. “Do you truly wish to pretend that, though?”

“I just—” She couldn’t catch her breath as he brushed her lips with his again, the last of her resolve melting away at the gentle caress. No, she didn't want to pretend that at all. Not tonight. Tonight, she wanted to forget everything that led her to this point. None of it mattered. Not one bit. All that mattered was the feel of his hands against her skin, his lips sweeping hers, and the heat that rose from his body to sink into hers.

He pulled back just far enough to offer up a smile laden with promise and whispered, “You just what, Nina?”

She smiled and without thinking, caught the front of his henley in a fist and tugged him back. “Never mind. Just kiss me, dwarf…”

A low rumble of laughter rolled up from him as he did just that, and leaned in to capture her lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It did not remain soft and gentle for long, however, as a slow fire crept into it, the tip of his tongue brushing her closed lips, teasing them into parting before sweeping along hers in silken caress that she reciprocated. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, as solid as the rest of him, the rise of muscle across them like granite. As the kiss deepened, she slid her hands up along the sides of his neck, into his hair, cool and soft against her fingers. On their own, her fingers twisted into those soft locks, her heart thundering like mad now as he backed her flush against the wall.

It wasn't like anything she’d ever felt before, the solid bulk of a dwarf’s body was so much different from the thinner, more sinewy Men who’d stolen kisses from her before. This was… this was like being engulfed by him, surrounded by a maleness that no Man could ever hope to possess. And when his hips slowly, steadily arched to meet hers, she shivered at the obvious  evidence of his arousal. How could she miss it, when that most definite bulge met her most sensitive cleft and she shivered against him?

His tongue moved slowly, teasingly along hers in a caress that sent her head spinning wildly and her heart pounding out of control. The room around them grew so hot, her breath grew so impossible to catch, and when he broke the kiss to sweep his lips along her chin and down the front of her neck, Nina was powerless to do anything other than let her head thud dully against the wall and let her eyes close as the delicious heat swept through her.

His fingers curled into the hem of her tunic and he swept it up, pulling away to allow her room to lift her arms for him to slip the shirt from her back completely. The air was a warm kiss against her skin, a caress as wanton and wicked as any and when he came flush against her again, the rough weave of his henley scraped sensually against her skin, against her nipples, which beaded from the friction. 

She bit down on her bottom lip as he brushed his lips over her chin. The coarse fur of his beard scratched her, but it only heightened her pleasure as he pressed hot kiss after hot kiss down toward the hollow of her throat, his breath warm and hard against her overheated skin. She clung to him, her hips rocking to meet his, his desire becoming her own as inside her, knots tightened and that heat surged through her. 

He slid one hand up from her hip, along the slope of her waist, and she sucked in a hard breath when it cupped her left breast and his thumb just barely swept over the already tight, aching bead of her nipple. 

Gripping two handfuls of his shirt, she tugged and he obliged, the rough garment sweeping up and off him to fall into the darkness at their feet. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, his skin hot and firm, the muscle like granite beneath his skin. She ached to touch him, to sweep her lips over any part of him she could, to explore and tease and make him ache for her the way she ached for him.

Because she did ache for him. Her entire body cried out for his, pleaded with her to find some way to make him spirit her to the bed in the corner, where her legs would part of their own and she would welcome him hot and hard and powerful inside her. 

Knots twisted in her belly. Delicious knots of sinful delight that tightened with each sweep of his tongue against hers, with each pass of his roughened thumbs over her oh-so-sensitive nipples. Her arousal came damp and hot between her thighs, and she wanted to peel off her trousers, to wrap her legs about him, and ease that ache in any way she could. 

His lips were hot and damp, his kisses punctuated with teasing flicks of his tongue, playful nips with his teeth as he moved along the curve of her neck, then swept back down along the same path.

He kissed down along the inner curve of her left breast and she whimpered from the fiery pleasure streaking through her. Her eyes were so heavy-lidded, but she forced them open, drinking in the sight of him as he sank to his knees before her while raining a path of teasing kisses along her belly.

He looked up then, his eyes smoked sapphire as he caught the button of her trousers and slid it free. The linen skimmed along her legs, and when he looked up, fire filled his gaze, his eyes blazing sapphire to steal the breath from her lungs. 

“Abnâmul,” he whispered, his voice husky and low as his fingertips just grazed along the backs of her thighs.”

“I—I don't know what that means,” she managed to whisper back. “I don’t speak your tongue.”

A devilish smile played at his lips. “It means you are beautiful.”

Heat flared through her. Heat from his words. From his gaze. From his touch. It was a wonder she didn't melt into a puddle right then, especially when he leaned in and pressed a hot kiss just below her navel. 

For a moment, she thought he might move lower, and she tensed in anticipation.

But then, he kissed her belly above her navel. And higher still. And with each kiss, he rose until he loomed over her once more. 

His mouth found hers again, hot and demanding and she matched his fire with one of her own, winding her arms about his neck, tightening them to pull him flush against her. He offered no resistance, wrapping his arms about her to lift her from her feet. She caught his sigh in her mouth when she teasingly wrapped her legs about his waist and in that moment, he arched into her. She couldn’t hold back her sharp inhale as pleasure zinged through her from the contact and she shivered against him. 

He carefully turned, moving slowly toward her bed, and when he reached it, he bent, pressed her down, and arched once more, this time his breath hitching when she rocked up to meet him firmly. 

Thorin drew back, straightening up and in the soft light, Nina was certain she’d never seen a sight as utterly amazing as the half-naked dwarf standing before her. The light played softly about him, highlighting the swells of muscle across his arms, his shoulders, packed beneath the dark hair spread wide across his chest and down along his belly. He wasn't slim, as Men were, but instead far more compact and solid, as if he could pick up a fully loaded cart, horses and all, and not even break a sweat.

He was beautiful.

And she wanted to see more of him.

She sat up and without thinking, bent to him, pressing her lips against his lower stomach, just above the fastenings of his trousers. His hands came down onto her head, his fingers threading into her hair, tightening on her when she flicked her tongue against him, through that crisp hair, against the warm skin beneath it. 

Her fingers moved nimbly, working open the fastenings, curling about the waistband, shoving down to send the heavy fabric grazing down his thick thighs, over his equally thick calves, to puddle about his ankles. He carefully stepped out of them, kicking them behind him.

Nina gazed up at him, her heart hammering her ribs as she hooked her fingers in his warm linen small clothes. In a heartbeat, she would finally see this man in all his glory and was as anxious as she was terrified at what awaited her.

“What is it?” he murmured, tracing a forefinger along the curve of her cheek. “Have you changed your mind?”

Her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth, which had gone far too dry to allow her to speak, she shook her head, swallowed hard, then whispered, “Have you?”

“I’ve not, no.”

“Neither have I.”

A hint of that devilish smile returned and he reached to cover her hands with his. “Then allow me to help you.”

With that, he stripped off his small clothes and  she smiled as she drew back to drink in the sight of him. 

He was perfect. 

Absolutely perfect.

His big body held very little fat, honed to perfection by whatever it was dwarves did that kept him in such fine form. She let her eyes feast upon him, let her fingers move lightly through the dark hair swirled thickly across his chest, down over his belly, where it joined a far denser patch.

Her mouth went dry at the sight of him, thick and hard and proud and the pit of her belly fell away. He was the first naked man she’d ever seen and somehow, she felt there was not a man alive of any race who would ever top this one magnificent dwarf. 

Swallowing hard, Nina leaned in to press a hot kiss above his navel this time. That dark hair was so soft, tickling her nose and her lips. Thorin let out a low sigh as he pulled back, shifted, and bent to capture her lips once more. As the kiss deepened, he gently pushed her down onto her back and came up over her, his dark hair tumbling over his shoulders to surround them.

He caught one hand, pressing it down into the bed above her head, linking his fingers with hers to offer up a gentle squeeze as he carefully came flush against her and their lips met in a kiss that was more tender than fire, but no less passionate. 

With his free hand, Thorin let his fingertips dance along her skin, the caresses light and teasing, the sensations sweet and sensual as they fluttered through her. Her fingers threaded through his soft hair, twisted and tugged as those fingers swept lower, along her belly, down her thigh.

Into the darkness between them. 

Her legs parted of their own accord and her back bowed as he slid those fingers into the heat between her thighs, into the dark red curls damp with her arousal now.

He caught her gasp as he slid a thick, slow, teasing finger inside her and did something utterly magical. She couldn't hold back her cry as fiery pleasure swept through her, didn’t even try to hold it back. How could she, when it just felt so amazingly good?

Actually, good did not even come close to what Thorin made her feel. Nothing could compare to the white-hot pleasure scorching through her at that moment, the pleasure that made her blood sing and her body hum as he teased and tortured her in the most deliciously sensual way possible. She arched to meet him, his name a breathless whisper on her lips, every fiber in her body tensing with the need for release. She was so close… so very close…

“Thorin!” His name erupted in a cry that she immediately tried to quell by clapping a hand over her mouth. “I didn't mean to be so loud… I hope Dwalin doesn’t come in search of you. He might think we’re doing battled in here.”

“If he comes in search of me, I’ll tell him where to go,” he whispered back with a smile. Then, he did something magical with that finger that made her pulse all around him once more and as he eased it out, he shifted, and then—

He filled her slowly, allowed her to adjust to him, and she bit down on her bottom lip at the sensations running riot through her. She arched to meet him, to accept him completely, as he slid deep, he shivered against her. 

His first thrust was long and silken. His second, even more. His lips found hers, her rhythm found his, and they moved in a slow dance, the pleasure feeding from one to the other as he brought them both back to that summit. 

She tightened about him, throbbing as he arched hard and deep, and her fingernails sank into his shoulders, her hips arcing toward his. Nothing ever felt so wonderful. Nothing would ever feel so wonderful. It simply couldn’t. Each thrust brought forth and new and delectable sensation, a pleasure unlike any she’d ever felt—hot and sweet and wild and amazing. 

Knots of sweet bliss tightened hard inside her, aching with the renewed need for release. She teetered on the edge, her thighs pressed hard against his sides as she will him to send her over the edge. She’d go mad if he didn't shatter those knots and burned for him to do just that.

“Mesmel…” a low string of words she didn't understand bubbled to his lips as his thrusts came faster and harder now. The fingers linked with hers tightened about them. His climax bore down upon him, judging by the power of those thrusts, by the tension winding through him. 

He moaned low in his throat, his thrusts increasing in strength, in depth. The knots began to loosen now as the first sweet, fiery tingles took hold of her, swelling and multiplying as he growled her name and practically tore the linens from the mattress with his free hand, while nearly crushing hers with his other. “Nina!”

Her name exploded from his lips as he thrust hard and deep and came in a powerful shudder that triggered her own climax and left her clinging to him, her fingernails dragging hard across his back as her fingers tensed of their own accord. Her eyes squeezed shut at the explosion of her release, at the white-hot tingles burning through her. She wrapped herself around him, gave herself up to the fire that threatened to swallow her whole. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t hear or speak beyond a breathless cry. All she could do was let that wave wash over her, let it carry her out to sea, and so she did, her surrender complete.

Thorin sank against her, his breathing as rough and ragged as hers and tears stung her eyes as she wrapped her arms about his neck and his head came to rest against her breast. “Oh…” was all she could manage to breathe.

His own breath was a hot blast against her skin. “Oh, indeed…” he managed to whisper back, a hint of laughter woven into his words. 

He lifted his head to regard her with sleepy cobalt eyes, a sharp contrast to the long black hair that fell about them. He said nothing, but bent to capture her lips with his in a soft, lingering kiss that had every bit as much passion woven into it as their lovemaking had, and when he pulled back, he whispered, “Am I crushing you, kurduwê?”

“I’m fine,” she whispered back, reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair, tucking it back behind his right ear. She had no idea what kurduwê meant, but had no energy to ask. The tranquility that settled over them was unlike any she’d ever felt, a complement to the passion that had just raged between them, like the calm after a fierce storm.

Thorin shifted and eased from her, then stretched out alongside her, pulling her into his arms as he sank into the pillows. His breathing had return to normal, though his breath hitched when she curved up against him and laid her hand gently on his chest. She could feel his heart beat, which started out at a race, but slowed to a more relaxed pace and when she let her head come rest against him, she gave in to the peace and let her eyes close. 

The only sound was that of Thorin’s deep, even breathing and occasional snore. Nina lay alongside him, his arm about her shoulders, her head resting against him, but sleep refused to come. 

What had she done? 

What had they done? 

She had not meant for this to happen. It was a terrible idea to sleep with him because now her thoughts were muddier than ever. 

Carefully, she slipped from the bed, easing from beneath his arm, and held her breath as she waited for him to wake and demand to know what she was doing and why she had her sword out.

For she did just that. Crept over to where her sword stood against the wall and slid it from its sheath, then crept back to the bed. It would be over in a moment and she could slip off into the darkness. By the time Dwalin or anyone came looking for Thorin tomorrow, it would be too late and she would be in the wind.

It would be so easy.

Except…

He slept on, peacefully oblivious to her struggle. The silver streaks in his black hair glinted in the pale moonlight that filtered through the treetops, just as the sun did during the day. The long curls spread across the linens. His lips were softly slack. His chest rose and fell with each slow, deep breath.

Her gaze went lower, to the scars on his lower abdomen that she’d seen earlier, but couldn't bring herself to ask him about. She’d heard what happened at Ravenhill between him and Azog, although the pale orc was never called by name at the time. All Esgaroth survivors knew was that Thorin had been wounded in battle at the hands of a great pale orc. She only assumed now that orc was Azog. 

Her hands trembled as she brought the blade up and held it over him. The bounty Azog had offered for Thorin Oakenshield’s head had been a small fortune. Payable in gold. It would have been more than enough to keep her comfortable for a long time. 

This was her plan. This was what she set out to do, to avenge Lenna, and Rhys and Ena. 

One move was all it would take.

He was asleep. He’d never feel a thing.

She tried to make her hands move. Tried to make her arms listen.

She couldn't do it. 

Not any longer.

Shame, hot and steaming burned through her. Tears blurring her vision, she managed to return her sword to its sheath and crawled back into bed alongside him. Forgive me.

She had to tell him the truth. 

#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here? #Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

[linasofia]

Petite Voleuse

Epilogue

Fandom: Pilgrimage

Relationship: Raymond de Merville x OC

A/N: The epilogue to Petite Voleuse. You can find all chapters here.

I look into his expressive steel blue eyes. His dark hair is unruly and a smile spreads over his face as he takes my hand. He knows so well how to get what he wants and my love for him makes my resilience falter when he sticks his hand in mine and squeezes it. I wish for him to be happy, to never doubt that he is loved and even if I have very little, I want him to have everything.

”Can I go and play in the woods?” Ciaran repeats his question and this time I nod and his smile explodes in a warm contagious giggle.

��Be home before the sun sets,” I remind him and he nods.

”I promise.”

Then he is gone, with the speed of lightning, and I return to my evening duties. He is a good boy, and the farmer is kind to him, letting him only do less heavy work so he still has energy left to play with the farmer’s son.

I am not proud of the things I had to do to survive, to get here, but when I finally found a farm who took me in, there was no point in trying to hide my state.

When the trees surrounding the farm appeared to be on fire, I gave birth to my son with the help of the farmer’s wife, and I will forever be grateful that she was by my side that night. We bonded during the late hours and I do not think I would have made it, if it was not for her.

Ciaran is so full of life and he seems happy, but sometimes I can tell that his thoughts travel far, despite his young age. When he asks about his father, I always repeat the same made up story about a loving husband, who was a brave soldier, but died by the sword of an enemy. He loves to hear how brave his father was and I suppose that part of the story is true. The real story, he must never know. It is with a small pain in my chest I think of how much my son resembles Raymond. The color of his eyes and their shape are identical to Raymond’s. His hair is the same dark shade and Ciaran is already taller than most boys his age. The day he becomes a grown man, I hope he does not break a young woman’s heart.

Deep inside, I still fear that Raymond will somehow find me, even if I am far away from him now. He sometimes visits me in my sleep and my vivid dreams make it harder to forget, but time has made the wounds less sore. During early mornings, when the sun rises and paints the sky pink, I even allow myself to think fondly of him. The kiss he gave me and the gentle caress that followed was the last time he touched me. I still have not figured out what feelings he hid in the depth of his eyes that morning and maybe I never will. I cannot help wondering what happened to him. Did he search for me when he discovered I was gone? Did he stay in the area or was he sent out on yet another mission by his father? It feels strange to not know if he is dead or alive, but for every autumn that passes, its significance decreases. I am free.

💙 If you like my writing, please consider spreading the love and reblogging.💙

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knittastically @jaskierthelover @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly

Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

#richard armitage #fanfiction #raymond de merville fanfic #raymond fanfic #raymond fic #raymond de merville x oc #raymond de merville fic #raymond de merville #pilgrimage (2017) #pilgrimage #Petite Voleuse

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Hello beautiful, remember me? The one who asked for bubbles baths? i loved that so much !? I was wondering if I could ask for the reactions of the same Tolkien characters if the reader dies this time (oh aangst continuing on from with i n n their relationship from the buble baths ). If not it's all good in da hood. 🥰

Dearest anon, you did a 180 here, huh? I, of course, remember you...🥰🥰🥰

-> Link to the original (happy, fluffy, cracky) ask

That was a hard one for me, I won't lie...

so @kibleedibleedoo, here's my very soft angst, nothing too extreme.

@medusas-hairband, @eunoiaastralwings, here's the second (much darker) part of the ask you were so good to help me with lol

Words: 3,3k

Characters: Thorin x reader, Dwalin x reader, Elu Thingol x reader, Caranthir x reader, Ulmo x reader

Warnings: slight angst, character death, reference to injury and illness

Disclaimer: Not only do I not know the characters very well, but I also am NOT an angst writer, so please be kind and lenient!

Ficlets under the cut ⬇️

Thorin

“Don’t…” the king huffed, his usually so strong voice wavering like the flickering candle-light painting scenes of a world to come onto the bleak walls of your small chamber.

“You cannot command death, Thorin,” you smiled softly; the wounds sustained in a skirmish with roving Orcs were too deep even for his skilled healers, and all the gold in Arda would not buy you a single second more than was allotted to you by fate.

“I refuse,” he bellowed, despair turning his eyes as dark as the night sky, “I object! I am the king and I forbid you to die!”

In his eyes, you could read how desperately he tried to convince himself of his delusion as his hands closed tenderly around your upper arms. You could see him move, but your skin had already grown too cold and numb to really feel the touch you had always enjoyed so.

“Be strong,” you wheezed and coughed faintly, “be brave! I will wait for you beyond the veil.”

“It should have…I should have…” he stammered, the frenzy of his helpless, powerless panic clear in the way his fingers clenched and unclenched in irregular intervals.

You had led the life of a warrior by the side of your king, and you had nothing to regret now that you died a hero’s death in the chambers you had shared with the one they called ‘Oakenshield’ still. 

“You cannot yield,” he barked but the softness of his massive palm against your brow – cold and clammy with a sheen of sweat – belied his superficial fury, “I do not know how to go on without you.”

“I…” breathing became increasingly hard, “I loved you best. You, the people, the kingdom.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath that sounded like the wind rattling a broken window and tasted like blood and mud.

“Honour me by taking care of these.”

When he nodded solemnly, you added: “In that order, Thorin!”

He would be devastated, you knew, for he was a dwarf of a possessive, jealous nature when it came to his personal treasures, and he was loath to even consider losing them.

At the same time, his strength of mind and willpower were unparalleled, and he would not be alone and forsaken in his grief; you had to trust that his sister and his friends would find a way to tease that ancient fire back into roaring flame.

“I shall hunt them down and make them suffer,” he promised then, his eyes flashing like his sword and swirling with light and colour like the Arkenstone, “you will be avenged.”

“I love you,” you whispered; your lips felt stiff and cold around the words that suddenly seemed too big and unwieldy to speak, but he had heard you utter this truth – in whispers and ecstatic screams – often enough to understand it in his heart even when his ears could barely make out the garbled sounds.

“Farewell, Thorin,” you mouthed; there was no pain now, only peace, and the air held the crisp aroma of pine needles and fresh summer wind. 

“You disobedient wretch,” Thorin sobbed in a choked voice, “how I have loved you. I wish I could have kept the dangers creeping in the darkness at bay to preserve your light…”

He might have said many things beyond that, but blessed silence blanketed your senses now and the last and only thing you clutched to your stuttering heart as you departed this life of sorrow and love was the memory of his sad, beautiful smile as his eyes met yours for the final time.

Dwalin

It was so cold, you thought hazily, it was so terribly cold, and night had fallen so fast.

“Don’t move,” Dwalin – beloved, sturdy, reliable Dwalin – grumbled as his heavy, broad hand settled on your shoulder, “I’ll take you home…in a minute.”

You could feel the warm wetness under you congeal into a lake of cool, sticky jelly; it had been your own fault, reckless and daring, you had challenged him to a rock-climbing expedition from which you would, in all likelihood, never return.

Had it been the fell shadow swooping down on you or a moment of inattention – distracted by the rolling muscles under his worn tunic – for which you were to blame?

Either way, your hand had slipped, and you had fallen – long and deep – until your body was shattered on a rocky outcropping; you had lost consciousness then for you knew not how long, until Dwalin – soaking wet with transpiration and panting heavily – had appeared, his hands bloody and torn from his hasty, heedless descent.

His eyes flitted over you with dizzying speed, never resting on one particular part of your form for too long, and his reticence to even catalogue your injuries or treat them, beyond the tunic he had spread over you to stave off the biting chill of the night air, made you understand that they were beyond repair.

As you tried to speak, your tongue was stuck against the dry palate of your mouth and so you merely groaned; the pain – flowing like fire through your veins – made you feel as if you were spinning wildly in an abyss of flame and whipping chains. 

“In a minute,” he repeated, stroking your hair tenderly while tears – opaque with sweat and dirt – rolled noiselessly down his bearded cheeks, “no doubt, the princes will come looking for us! They’ll help me bring you back home.”

It had been hours, you remembered blurrily, you had been hiking to this remote area for hours; it was highly improbable that anyone would search for you before morning light, and even then, it was outright unlikely that they’d find you. Cowering hidden on the small ledge only barely perceptible from the steep slopes of the mountain, you were all but invisible and definitely unreachable to whatever rescue party potentially sent out for you.

“I’m here,” he babbled on, and his voice sounded like the gravel under his heavy boots as he scooted closer to you, effectively shielding you by hunching around you like a wild beast protecting its fallen mate. Maybe, that was exactly what you were. 

Again and again, you tried to speak or move, desperate to tell him not to worry, but it seemed that your earthly shell had already assumed the position of burial – still and rigid – no matter how frantically you attempted to shatter the broken cocoon stifling your thoughts into silence.

I love you, you thought, don’t cry, but no sound breached your stiff, numb lips.

“Oh, you’ll be alright,” Dwalin whispered, “but there will be no more rock-climbing!”

There wouldn’t, you well knew that, there would be no more winter walks either, or late nights in a tavern laughing about bad jokes while drinking watered-down ales. Gone and lost were the nights spent in his strong arms, his tender kisses weaving an ephemeral garment of love and starlight around your limbs; your memories blurred into a blinding light that cleaved your hazy mind like Dwalin’s axes could hew through wood and flesh alike.

It pained you that a single moment – so brief and so irrelevant in the big picture of your life together – would deprive you of the love, deep and enduring as the mountain you were perishing on, of that noble dwarven warrior weeping by your side.

The broken, flashing throbs of anger and hurt rattling around your immobile body like shards of glass in a broken crate or snowflakes drifting in a winter storm abated into dull fatigue as the moments ticked by; you were no longer feeling cold, you were merely tired.

“In a minute,” Dwalin said a third time, but his voice sounded muffled and far away now; you were not even given the chance to say goodbye or to release him from that minute that would stretch on endlessly until it had devoured the rest of his life.

Hours, minutes, seconds became meaningless as they contracted and settled into your frozen flesh heavily. 

The last thought you could cobble together before the darkness gaped open and engulfed you was ‘good night’ because – even now – ‘farewell’ was a thing too dreadful to even think.

Elu Thingol

“You cannot be serious,” Elu Thingol – who had the world at his feet and the threads of centuries wrapped around his long fingers – gasped as he saw you, shivering and weak, stretched out like a ghost on the soft sheets of your bed furnishings, “this is ridiculous.”

Death was a concept that was strange and distasteful to him; he, who had travelled beyond the confines of the world known to you and who trusted that he’d find himself in those sacred lands once more, could not fathom the bleak truth of someone vanishing like a candle snuffed out by a gust of wind.

“Don’t struggle,” you said quietly as if it was him and not you battling the shadows creeping in, eager to devour your flesh and bone and turn them into ash and dust.

You felt for him; unable to truly die, Elu Thingol – Elwë, the timeless – was the cracked vessel of the poison following the sting: grief.

It was his fate – whether this was a curse or benediction only Eru knew – to be the living, breathing, eternal memorial of those who had been whisked away to places beyond his reach.

Long was his memory and deep was his pain, and you hated yourself for adding to the agony that choked and dimmed the light of his eyes.

“We could heal you,” he grunted, but he knew very well that all his healers had already exhausted their powers; all they had done though was to prolong your suffering as the rot overtaking your body was only ever stayed but never eradicated.

“When the world is remade,” you murmured, “we shall be together once more; until then, I bid you farewell, esteemed king, cherished protector, and beloved soul.”

“Don’t,” he cried out – all the power in his blood rushing to the surface in what looked to you like a flash of blinding light – as he lifted you into his arms, “don’t leave me! Will all I’ve ever cherished be torn from me?”

Looking up into his beautiful face, radiant with a light he had managed to find where it had no reason to be, you had to concede that it must have been unbearably hard to be impervious to sickness and hurt on the surface while your soul was in the throes of deep agony.

“Remember me,” you choked out, “and the frailty of life, beauty, and love.”

A part of you knew that he would not heed your words; it was in his nature to hold on too tightly and squeeze whatever blessing was resting in his hands through his clenched fingers until he found his palms empty and smeared with the blood of what he had so tried to save.

He was glorious and – after the gnawing ailment had robbed you of nearly all the light you had ever possessed yourself – you were convinced that it would be his radiance that greeted you at the end of the long tunnel from which you would emerge – renewed and hale – at long last.

“Do not mourn me,” you went on, forcing your voice to be the trembling violin that accompanied your inevitable departure, “don’t let it make you bitter. Live as you were always supposed to and be brave in the face of seemingly impossibly daunting challenges.”

Your numb fingers clawed themselves into his long, silver hair as your head drooped weakly against his chest; life was draining out of you to pool – unheeded and shimmering – at his hallowed feet. The earth would drink up your essence and make new flowers bloom in his protected realm; the thought of staying with him – in all the manifold fragments and moods of your soul – comforted you now that the fatal moment had come.

“I beg you,” Thingol whispered as his arms tightened around the hollow shell that had once been a body flourishing with brimming, thrumming, invincible life.

As was his destiny, his pleas came too late and would bear no fruit though, and your serene slipping away was marred by a tinge of bitter regret as your last smile broke midway, leaving Thingol with the sharp-edged shards of loss and the biting knowledge that he had been robbed. 

Caranthir

“You will not come back,” you whispered, touching a hesitant hand to that handsome face you had loved so well, “and we shall not meet again in this life.”

“I shall,” Caranthir hissed sharply, but – in his eyes – you could clearly discern that he dreaded himself the moment his fate – and that Oath that bound his soul in unbreakable chains – would overtake him.

Before he could say anything else, you lifted your other hand to stay his words of love and promise.

“They are your brothers, and you owe them allegiance,” you said gently, pressing a kiss onto the white-knuckled hand now clasped tightly around your own as if to keep you by his side, “I know the forces that drive you; they have ever been the shadow on my every sunny day and the starless void swirling in my night sky.”

You sighed; you had not been granted the gift of foresight and yet, you knew with appalling certainty that this would be the last time you laid eyes upon the angry, helpless flush covering the unbearably handsome face of your beloved Lord with these eyes.

“I am bound to you,” you went on, trying to comfort him, “and your crimes are mine.”

“You shall not be judged for my trespasses,” he roared, his hands scrabbling frantically across your pleated robes now to find purchase, and you didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d fight the Valar themselves for your sake if it came down to it.

“Are you telling me that your wicked cunning knows boundaries, Moryo? Are you insinuating that you would be unable to find me when your destiny is finally full wrought?”

He pondered in brooding silence for a few seconds; the fierce frown and the pinched lips only made him more statuesquely beautiful, and your heart clenched in silent longing.

“They might keep you from me as punishment for what we are about to do…” he then whispered and the weariness weighing down his tone cut through you like a blade. 

“You’ve gone down a path sketched out by another’s hand for too long to turn back now, beloved,” you smiled wistfully, “and I promise that I’ll be waiting at the end of it.”

Taking his pale hands into your own and brushing your lips against his in a last effort to stem the tide of his persuasive speech, you pulled him into a tight embrace, unable to find words that would counteract the spell his love had cast upon you.

“Let me go join the widows and mothers; we both know that even the sons of Fëanor cannot outrun, outsmart, or outman fate! Have you ever come home from battle and not found me waiting?”

“No,” he admitted, his eyes darkening into the shade of empty, bleak doom spreading on the horizon of your shared life.

“Different as our paths may be – mine being one of dignified fading and yours leading through fire and blood – I truly have faith that they’ll lead to the same place in the end. The day has broken, love, and it is time to go.”

One last passionate, desperate kiss later, he got up and dressed in sullen silence.

“Until we meet again,” he rasped, his hand tight around the pommel of his sword.

“Until we meet again,” you echoed, “ride to – if not a glorious – at least a valiant conclusion to this wretched chapter in a never-ending story.”

“You are leaving,” he smiled with a sadness that was always lingering just beneath the surface, “and – whatever is to come – I shall not be afeared for I am eager to return to your arms.”

With him gone, you sunk back against the pillows still holding the echo of his scent and closed your eyes, giving yourself over to the cold but welcome embrace of death.

Ulmo

“This is the way things go,” you sighed, sitting by the shore that had been your home for so many years, “and I am unafraid.”

A soft smile passed over your face; you had spent too many afternoons in Ulmo’s company to dread what was to come for you had faith – having seen one of the great Powers with your own unworthy eyes – and you accepted your mortal fate unconditionally. 

“I will not give you up!” 

The gurgling words whispering like the wings of unseen seabirds sounded strangely petulant for a being who knew everything and had nothing to fear.

“Where I go, you cannot follow me,” you laughed but your voice was diluted in the insistent howling of the wind; you knew that you were dying, you had felt the darkness creep into your bones and slowly paint your body from the inside out until you were naught but a shadow of your former self. 

Dark swaths of otherworldly wrath gathered ominously – the tears of which you’d never feel on your wilted face – and, despite the chill of the grey afternoon, you wanted your last moments to take place here.

Reclining onto the moss covering the sharp rocks, you looked up into the sky – swirling with those clouds in the shape of all you had ever loved and admired – and made your peace with leaving this world behind forevermore.

“You will not leave,” the same ethereal voice – pebbles clicking in the stream of a jauntily leaping river – replied adamantly, “I won’t let you!”

Your head turned slowly as something cold started prickling in the palm of your outstretched hand. 

“Do you remember?” He was mourning already, you realised, his tone deep and hollow like the unexplored abyss in which he reigned supreme. 

Your fingers – thin and brittle like twigs drifting on the ocean – twitched as you saw the tiny, pristine bubbles popping merrily in your worn palm. Only now did you hear the angry crashing of the waves against the cliffs; Ulmo had whipped the ocean into a frenzy, lathering plants and swirling up soil to create a semblance of the stupid soap bubbles you had shown him long years ago.

What devastation would follow for the fishermen and farmers? The thought but caressed your mind, a shadow of guilt for the shared grief for one as inconsequential as you.

“I do remember,” you croaked; your limbs felt heavy and numb with cold and fatigue, but you tried to hold on to this last conversation a little longer.

“Will you do me one last favour?” 

“Anything!” You had nothing to lose anymore; where you were headed, your riches, your pride, your very existence would be forfeit.

“Give yourself over to me,” he prompted softly and – as impossible as it seemed – warm water embraced you as soon as you had managed a faint nod, lifting you up as if you were as fragile and ephemeral as the dying foam in your hand.

Which you were, at least to him.

Dying, you cared not to which place you’d be whisked away; you had been blessed with experiences so extraordinary in life that you would have accepted an eternity of dull nothingness as counterbalance. 

Sweet calm washed over you, drowning you in memories of bliss, before oblivion cradled you in her warm arms as you felt the weight of the world be muffled by a heavy wall of water that swallowed you eagerly.

“You shouldn’t have,” a foreign, enchantingly melodious voice drifted into your now quickly fading conscience while you sunk ever downwards.

“A grave is a grave,” your lifelong friend replied quietly and then, warm, wet sand was heaped upon your unfeeling body like a blanket of tender love. 

So, there we are, tiny angst and dead readers...

I have tried my best to do as many different reasons and ways and reactions as I could think of; I hope you like this, dearest anon...

Other than that, I hope you all enjoyed this venture into unusual territory and - if so - I'd love you forever if you could comment/reblog.

Thank you so much!!!

Lots of love from me <3

#fanfiction #request #ask #IDNMT answers #the hobbit #the silmarillion #silm #hobbit #Thorin #dwalin #elu thingol #caranthir #ulmo #x reader #i hope you like this anon #TW: death #angst #hurt no comfort

[thorinthehottotty]

Would you be able to write a 'what would Thorin do' for me please? You are his one, he knows this but thinks that because you are human you wouldnt understand or even experience the pull of being a dwarf's one so he tries to avoid you during the quest. How would he act before and after he learns that you are yearning for him too?

First, yes, my bean! Absolutely. Second, sorry this took so long, I had to go get a new phone today. Third, I accidently wrote another novel because this is an adorable concept.

It'd be naive but pretty on point for Thorin to believe that you wouldn't feel the same. The journey is an awakening for him to understand other races better. Hobbits are more than just gardeners. Elves can be kind and respectful. And men can have mercy.

And you. You are so good to all of the dwarves. When ever you have to stop in for supplies you're always the one to step up in the face of those who challenge the dwarves. You're there with soft words, scolding them and Thorin watches as grown men shrink away from your disappointed scoffing. No angry words or cursing. He's just in awe of how well you handle those of your race and others.

And the longer you travel the deeper he feels the pull to you. The sweeter the sound of your voice. The softer your touch. He feels guilty for pulling away when your so obviously seeking his approval. He sees the way your hand reaches for him when another trail rises, only to fall away. And the whole time his angel and demon are fighting. Touch me, just touch me! and Stay back! But he can't decide which voice is good and which evil.

He dreams of kissing you and holding you. That's all he wants. But if he caves, he'll fail the quest because he'll be so worried about you. And to top it off, who is to say that you'll feel the same way. Men are known for being polygamous and cheats. Dwarves love once. They have a one. You were his one and maybe you didn't feel the pull he did.

And finally it happens one day, when everyone is settled around the campfire, Fíli throws the term out and Thorin sees how it makes you perk up in curiousity.

"Your one?" You ask. "Like a soulmate?" That sounded right. Dwarves were blunt. Khudzul was a forward language. You said what you meant. But the term 'soulmate' rolled in his mind. It sounded deep and he liked it.

And then the comparisons start and Thorin is shocked to see how closely the two cultures line up in this regard. That you're lucky to find them, if you do. That you just... know. And then Kíli asks you if you've found yours and Thorin likes the way your cheeks turn dark and rosey. He doesn't miss the way your eyes dart toward him and then down into your lap. You give a vauge answer, shyly and Thorin feels his heart swell. Because he knows you do.

You feel that gut wrenching pull to him as he does to you. Then the rest of the night you catch him smirking at you. It makes you giddy and nervous because what the hell is that look supposed to mean?

It gives him strength to know you feel the same. He's confident but he promises he won't do anything until the mountain is reclaimed. He does not count on you deciding that those smirks were challenges and so you start to chase him instead...

He's helpless to you jerking him into very sudden kisses. (Surprise attacks work the best on him.) It results in a great deal of teasing.

#thorin #thorin fanfiction #thorin thursday #thorin durin #thorin x you #the hobbit #kibleedibleedoo asks #ty answers

[fizzyxcustard]

Hey I love your head canons and such, would you mind doing some head canons for what Thorin would do if the dwarven community doesn't accept his non dwarf wife/queen. Thank you !

* Thorin would get extremely defensive of his One, wanting the whole kingdom to know how wonderful you are. 

* He would hold council meetings to explain that his decision of who will rule beside him is down to him and no one else. 

* It would make you want to leave Erebor to maintain peace within the kingdom, but Thorin hisses at you and argues with you that he would leave if he had to. There is no way he is sacrificing you. 

* Thorin begins to feel more and more conflicted and the meetings become more intense between him and his kin. He even takes you into one the meetings and the council begin to shout at you, telling you that you will never be one of them. The title of Queen should belong to a Dwarf, not a lowly human like yourself. 

* You decide that enough is enough and you begin packing your clothing, ready to leave Erebor. You are sick of your name being dragged through mud and everyone hating you so much. 

* Thorin begs you to stay, but you are adamant in your decision to leave. 

* Thorin begins making arrangements that Fili take the throne because he will, under no circumstances, let you go. Thorin is married to you and that means you are bound as one. Wherever you go, he will go. 

* A declaration is formally signed that Thorin abdicates as King and leaves the throne to Fili. 

* You and Thorin then begin making your decision as to whether you will stay within Erebor, or live somewhere else. 

* You are ashamed that Thorin’s heritage has been dragged away from him like this, and all because of you. You cannot bear to look him in the eyes for days after the abdication declaration is signed. 

* Thorin gets on his knee before you. “My place is beside you, my love. Wherever that may be, and I am willing to sacrifice anything to keep that place with you.” 

#kibleedibleedoo #ask #headcanon #thorin oakenshield #thorin x you #thorin x reader #the hobbit #imagine #request #fizzy's asks

[valuedabovehoardedgold]

You asked for the funky bed, wed, behead thus

Slow burn / fake date / enemies to lovers

Thorin Oakenshield

The Mandolorian

Karl Heisenberg

Okay, okay making me think but I think I'd have to go with:

Slow Burn- Thorin

Fake Date- The Mandalorian

Enemies to Lovers- Heisenberg

#kibleedibleedoo #THANK YOU FOR THE ASK #the potato speaks

[lathalea]

Indulge me, what is your all-time favourite Thorin scene in any of the films.

You think that’s funny @laurfilijames? You think a night raid by orcs making me pick ONLY ONE scene is a joke? ;)

Okay. Breathe in, breathe out Lathalea. You can do this...

... naah, who am I kidding, I can't. It's Thorin we're talking about!

Instead, I'm going to give you 3 (😱😱😱) scenes from the movies. I feel like I'm comiting a sacrilege rn... ONLY THREE SCENES?! IMPOSSIBLE!

I'm sorry, fellow Thorin simps, to disappoint you like this ;)

Let's do it.

💎 SCENE ONE (AUJ):

Remember that conversation with Balin? This is the essence of Thorin's character and his life goals. This is when you should start when thinking of writing Thorin fics to understand his character better both through his own words and through Balin's. He is himself, not wearing the mask of a haughty ruler, nor a distant leader he needs to be during the Quest. And look at that melancholy in his eyes! He has accepted his fate long ago (and by fate I OBVIOUSLY mean killing Azog and living happily ever after!).

ALSO: Oh Mahal the hair! The braids! The beard! The collar of his tunic! I need air! *faints*

💎 SCENE TWO (DOS):

The scene between Thorin and Thranduil. This is the king who will do everything to protect his people and reclaim their home. But deep down there is also the young prince still suffering from Thranduil's betrayal even though it happened over 150 years ago - still, it meant ruin for his people and when his temper takes over, he won't let Thranduil to forget about his shameful behavior. Bonus points for shouting, Thorin, so that your majestic voice echoes around the Woodland Realm for Thrandy's subject to hear. I like this scene because of another reason, too - the way Thorin sees how Thranduil suddenly tries to help him - all because of the gems. ALSO: Powerful kingly demeanor (how does he do that even though he is an unarmed prisoner with cobwebs in his hair?), majestic voice, undiplomatic use of Khuzdul, and that smirk...

💎 SCENE THREE (BOTFA):

Obviously I'm choosing this scene because it's the ultimate triumph of Thorin as a Dwarf and the king, and also - the final act of his redemption. Of course, he survives (he just went to take a nap afterwards), but his even when wounds were (nearly) fatal, he still managed to gather all of his strength to defeat his nemesis.

ALSO: his fabulous hair in the wind, his tactic skills, his prowess as a warrior (Mahal help me) and one of the best cinematic shots in the whole BOTFA:

That's it! :)

Thank you @laurfilijames for your wonderful ask, I enjoyed answering it a lot (surprise)! 💙💙💙 Special thanks to @legolasbadass @middleearthpixie and @i-did-not-mean-to for last night's moral support. I'm tagging you three devils and @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @thewarriorandtheking @gwen-ever and every other Thorin/Dwarf simp. Tell me what your favorite scenes are, I'm curious!

#laurfilijames #ask #ask box #thorin #simping intensifies #thorin oakeshield #the hobbit #the hobbit dos #the hobbit auj #the hobbit botfa #my king

[legolasbadass]

In Your Arms

This is a short fic for @kibleedibleedoo​ who wanted a sweet and fluffy story with our beautiful dwarf king. Hope this makes you feel better 💙💙

Relationship: Thorin x wife!reader

Setting: Post Botfa, everybody lives au

Summary: After a long and stressful day, Thorin comforts you with cuddles and kisses.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 1.2K

With a long, exasperated sigh, you shut the door behind you and let your head fall back against the stone. You were always exhausted after a long day of council meetings, settling debates between nobles, and visiting those under your patronage, but today you felt particularly weary. As queen, you tried with all your might to remain impassive and not let anyone get to you, for it was impossible to please everyone, and you would only hurt yourself if you tried. Still, sometimes, it was hard. 

Everyone was allowed to make mistakes, but it seemed that queens were not. Today you had mixed up two of your appointments. Master Bóli had not tried to conceal even an ounce of his displeasure and had shouted at you, despite a guard forcefully reminding him of who you were. Though it had been challenging to remain calm — your warrior instincts made you want to threaten him with a knife or a fist in return — you had had no other choice but to brush it off and go about your other tasks. But now that you were back in your private chambers, the vexatious encounter brought forth an unpleasant tightness in your belly — a sure sign that your anxiety was rising. You let out another sigh in the hopes of relieving some of the pressure, but the feeling only worsened. 

“Is that you, amrâlimê?” the familiar, rich baritone voice of your husband sounded from the other room. 

Despite everything, a faint smile graced your lips. Only Thorin had the power to do that with just his voice. 

“I’ll be right there!” you answered him, trying your best to keep your voice from trembling. The last thing you wanted was to add to his long list of worries. 

You dumped the heavy pile of papers you’d been holding on your desk, which occupied one end of the sitting room, then left your crown above it before following the sound of his voice. You found him sitting on the edge of your large canopied bed, wearing only his leather trousers and his white undershirt as he watched the crackling fire burning in the hearth. The sight was a familiar and comforting one, but this time it did very little to appease you. 

“What’s wrong?” Thorin asked as he watched you intently. He knew you too well not to notice how tense your shoulders were or how you took long, laboured breaths in the hopes of slowing down your heartbeat. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. I just had a long day,” you shrugged as you began to change into your nightclothes to be more comfortable. Perhaps letting your feet breathe and unlacing your tight corset would make you feel better. 

It didn’t. 

Before you knew it, Thorin had stood up and wrapped both of his strong, muscular arms around your waist. Then he placed a lingering kiss on your shoulder through the fabric of your chemise. Unconsciously, you leaned back against him, settling even further into his embrace. 

“Talk to me,” he murmured against your skin, sending shivers up your spine. Even after all these years, desire stirred within you at the slightest of his touches. Tonight, however, you craved a different kind of intimacy — and Thorin knew this even before you began to speak. 

“I made a mistake,” you began, unnecessary embarrassment making you think harder about your words, “I mixed up two of my appointments and was thus terribly late for my meeting with Master Bóli and he made sure to tell me how displeased he was by shouting at me in front a dozen people.” 

The words tumbled from your lips in an avalanche, and you desperately tried not to cry, but mingled with your fatigue, your anxiety was impossible to contain. You weren’t sure why you tried so hard to keep it together, for Thorin was more than willing to comfort you. 

“That filth,” Thorin spat, forcing himself to keep his voice low because he knew how sensible you were to raised voices when you were in such a state. “No one has any right to speak to my queen as such.” 

You turned around to face him and buried your face in the open collar of his shirt, the coarse hair covering his chest tickling your cheeks. Thorin was incredibly overprotective, and sometimes it was a problem, but now you welcomed it with open arms, eager to be dotted upon with the utmost care for the rest of the evening. 

“I thought about putting him in his place by hitting him or something, but I thought civil war would hardly be the answer to my problems,” you said, causing Thorin to chuckle. Then you sighed as one of his hands began unplaiting your intricate braids. 

“One way or another, he will have to answer for disrespecting you; mark my words,” Thorin said. “But let us put that aside for now. Come,” he added before leading you to the bed. 

Once settled comfortably beneath the furs, you let your head rest against his chest as he wrapped his arms around you once more. Already, the tight feeling in your chest was lessening, leaving room for the unconditional love flowing between you to fill you with warmth. As though he could feel the tension leaving your body, Thorin gazed down at you and smiled lovingly. 

“I will make sure that your schedule is not as packed from now on, amrâlimê,” he said. “You deserve time to rest.”

You began shaking your head even before he finished speaking. “Thorin, no — I can’t do that,” you said. “I am the queen; I must attend to all those duties — “

“But you are also my One, and as such, I will not let you neglect your needs so that you can please others,” he interjected before kissing your forehead, his voice soft even though it left no room for any further protests. “There is plenty of time for you to complete all those tasks, and there are many who are waiting impatiently for the occasion to help you.”

At that moment that, you lifted your head to look at him and nodded slowly. Your gazes locked for a moment that stretch into infinity, blissfully empty of the stresses of your daily lives, and then your lips met. The kiss was soft and sweet as the first strawberries in summer, a wordless reaffirmation of the vows he had sworn on your wedding day: that he would love you and protect you and that he would always be there to comfort you, even when you were too stubborn or afraid to ask for it. The kiss did not erase all of your worries, but at that moment, they no longer mattered. You would worry the next day. For now, there was only room for love and serenity, which surrounded you like a warm blanket as you drifted to sleep in his arms. 

—

Khuzdul translations:

Amrâlimê: My Love

Taglist: @lathalea @linasofia @mcchiberry @fizzyxcustard​

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #thorin fanfic #thorin x reader #thorin x you #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield x you #requests #fic requests

[thewhiteladyofrohan]

I posted 7,745 times in 2021

925 posts created (12%)

6820 posts reblogged (88%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 7.4 posts.

I added 1,696 tags in 2021

#asks - 248 posts

#ask - 236 posts

#animals - 207 posts

#uquiz - 177 posts

#thewhiteladyofrohan - 165 posts

#thorin - 157 posts

#thoughts - 149 posts

#desi - 139 posts

#cats - 110 posts

#legolas - 108 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#fairies / french / mangoes / photographs / mythology / dawn / peanut butter / moon / both / action / paris / diamonds / none sis / libraries

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

The Fellowship As People In An Online Class:

Gandalf:

A tired Boomer teacher who just needs to sleep and not deal with the daily trials of human technology.

“Mr. Gandalf, you’re on mute.”

“Can you see my screen now?” “No.” “What about now?” *sigh*

“... Umm... Mr. Gandalf?” “*exasperated sigh* Yes, Mr. Took?” “Why aren’t you wearing any pants?” “WHA-?”

Boromir:

Only one sticking to the program.

Taking notes and asking questions and is passing all classes with an A+++.

Watch out everyone, he’s making his dad proud.

If Aragorn doesn’t back down, then he’d prob be valedictorian. 

Should prob calm down though, and take things a little less seriously.

Aragorn:

Does not care about being valedictorian. Just wants to ride into the sunset with his horsy because he’s the only one who understands him.

His horsy’s name is Brego. People just think he’s weird and likes tomato sauce a lot.

You wouldn't think it, but he’s always paying attention in class. 

Legolas:

Is staring at himself in the camera (i mean with a face like that, who wouldn’t be?)

Is barely paying attention in class and just bobbing his head to the music in his headphones.

What’s the point in paying attention when you can just go and teach yourself the lesson off of google later?

Most probably just has a video recording of himself in front of the web cam and is sleeping through his classes.

Gimli:

Is here for a good time.

Blowing up the group chat thinking he’s funny 

Mic is always turned on.

“FILI! KILI! Stop making elephant noises! Everyone can hear you!”

Sam:

Wearing his school uniform. No other explanation needed.

Frodo:

Is constantly having bad wifi.

See the full post

238 notes • Posted 2021-02-22 17:10:10 GMT

#4

Wearing desi clothes is all fun and games until you're struggling to get your arm in a sleeve and suddenly you hear the ominous rip sound

340 notes • Posted 2021-09-09 01:00:25 GMT

#3

Hear ye! Hear ye!

You are hereby invited to a royal ball at the palace by command of the King and Queen. At this ball, your position in the royal court will be determined as well as a *deep* insight into your personality. (tw: mention of "burning" in question eight)

QUIZ

371 notes • Posted 2021-06-15 15:03:59 GMT

#2

Hey guys new tag game! Take the book closest to you and turn to page 200. The first sentence or phrase predicts your future. Write the title of the book you’re getting it from and the quote! 

Lies My Teacher Told Me (Young Reader’s Edition) by James W. Leowen: “Not Always the Good Guy.”

e X c U s E  m E ? ?

Tagging: @elvish-sky @fizzyxcustard @letsstaywithstraykids @eowynsprincess @kibleedibleedoo @bitter-sweet-farmgirl  

738 notes • Posted 2021-03-14 14:46:14 GMT

#1

You guys I just found the cutest picture

1357 notes • Posted 2021-03-26 14:07:43 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Sixteen

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.1k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @legolasbadass @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

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

Previous chapters can be found here. 

His first few days back were far busier than he’d anticipated, as he had much to catch up on in his absence. But he had no complaints about what had been left for him, as Dís had done a more than competent job in managing things in his stead. Even so, she was also very willing and happy to turn his duties back over to him.

He had been back in Erebor for almost a week when Dís rapped on the door to his flat. “Thorin, do you have a moment?”

He’d been on his sofa, head back, eyes closed, and lifted his head to call, “It’s open. Come in.”

The door swung open and he braced himself for the whirlwind that was his sister as she barreled into the room, the beads woven into her beard clacking with every step. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d decided to take the day off.”

He smiled. “No. I was up late last eve with Balin, catching up on the progress at Esgaroth and Dale. Men built at a far slower pace than dwarves, it seems, and they like to pad their bills as much as possible.”

Dís’ forehead wrinkled slightly. “Are we being cheated?”

“No more than usual and with Balin’s keen eyes keeping close watch, we catch each and every mistake before the bill is paid. It’s amazing how many mathematical errors find their way into invoices.”

“Perhaps we should rethink—”

“No. I gave my word, Dís.” He shook his head slowly. “And I went back on it once. I cannot do so again, but I also will not let them take me for a fool, either. Balin is far more diplomatic than I will ever be, and so when he calls them on their nonsense, they rectify it at once.”

“You’ve more patience than I would, I’ll have you know. I do not look kindly on those who think to steal from me.”

“Nor do I, but in all honesty, I think Bard is honest as well and if we didn't catch it, he most likely would.”

Dís hardly looked convinced even as she replied, “If you say so.”

“Either way, you needn’t worry about it.” He sat up, hands clasped between his knees. “Now, I know you came here not to be bored with construction news that you’ve already been privy to.”

“You know me well, brother.” She skirted the stone table before the sofa to settle alongside him. “There is something I wished to ask you and I hope you’ll not think I am meddling too much.”

“Which of course means you are about to meddle.” He said it with a smile, for no matter how much meddling Dís did—and she could be quite meddlesome when the mood struck—her intentions were of the best where he was concerned and he understood that, even if it threatened to drive him into madness time and again.

“Yes, it does.” Her hand came to rest on his knee. “Did you still wish me to see about inviting Elisin to come stay for a bit?”

He sighed softly. Elisin was the woman he’d at one point planned to court. She was a distant cousin, and one he’d known most of his life. He wasn't madly in love with her, but they got on well and should Mahal see fit for them to have children, she would be a fine mother.

But that was before Nina Carren came into his life.

Nina. 

His stomach curdled with fury at her betrayal. Why couldn’t he simply forget about her? She’d played him false, pretended to care, all the while plotting to end his life. 

For five thousand in gold.

Trouble was, he couldn't forget about her and no matter how busy he tried to be, she was always there, lingering in the back of his mind. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't shake the memory of her, and as more time passed, he found himself on the verge of pining for her and that was the last thing he wanted or needed.

 “Thorin?”

“Yes, please. By all means, invite her to come stay for a bit. There is still much to be done here, but she will be comfortable enough. And, as you reminded me before I departed for Rivendell, I am growing no younger and should think about taking a wife and giving Erebor a queen.”

“And you wish to do this now? You told me at the time to mind my own matters.”

“Things change.”

“What things?” She gave his knee a squeeze. “Did something happen whilst you were in Rivendell? A romance with an elf that went sour, perhaps?”

He chuckled. “No, our relations with the elves are better than they were, but they will never be that good.”

“So what is it, then?”

“Nothing. It is only that I’ve traveled far and nearly died and realize that my life is passing and I’ve little to show for it in the way of personal matters.”

“Are you certain that is all? You haven’t seemed like yourself since you returned. And I know you hate when I pry, as you like to call it, but you just… you seem unhappy, Thorin. And I hate seeing you unhappy and you know that. So, is that all?”

A knowing look accompanied her words and he braced himself for her to ask about Nina—or the mystery mercenary, as Dís kept calling her. When she said nothing more, he offered up a silent prayer of thanks and shook his head slowly. “I am tired, is all. It was an adventure, both getting to and coming from Rivendell. We crossed paths with a determined orc pack just beyond Rivendell’s borders and I am fairly certain we met up with them again outside Mirkwood’s.”

“I told you that you should take more than just Dwalin.” She squeezed his knee again. “But don't tell him I said that.”

“I won’t. And you were probably right. But, rest assured, I have no plans on leaving Erebor to go any further than Dale or Esgaroth for the near future.”

“Good. Then I will extend an invitation to Elisin and perhaps we might have a party of sorts to welcome her?”

“I think that sounds doable.”

“Then I will see it done and posted before luncheon.” She rose, then peered down at him, her face lined with concern, her blue eyes, so like his own, troubled. “Are you certain nothing else troubles you?”

“I’m positive.”

“Very well.” 

She bent to press a kissing the top of his head, and then with a soft clacking, let herself out and silence fell upon him once more. As the door closed behind her, he let his head fall to the back of the sofa once more. All he wanted to do was forget Nina. Forget the magical night he’d spent with her.

Forget that he was on the verge of falling in love with her. 

Perhaps Elisin’s arrival would help him do just that. 

A low sigh leaked through his teeth. Somehow, he knew he was just lying to himself.

“Yer Sigrid’s friend, ain’t ye?”

Cold grey eyes alit on her and while those eyes sent a shiver along her spine, Nina managed to keep that to herself as she smiled and nodded. “I am, yes. She told me you needed serving girls and I’d like to apply for the job."

The tavern proprietor, Harald narrowed his eyes as he gave her a long up-and-down appraisal. “Sigrid told ye I needed help, did she? Ye have any experience?”

Drawing in a deep breath, she slowly shook her head. Although her fever had broken several days ago, after the doctor Sigrid brought to the flat treated her infected wound, Nina still felt a bit unsteady and tired easily. Hopefully, Harald hadn’t noticed. “No, but I am fast learner and I’m quick on my feet.” 

He didn't look at all convinced or inclined to offer her a job, but then he shrugged and with a heavy sigh, said, “I’ve nothing to lose, I s’pose. Business is still slow, and Margrete’s been complaining about needing help. When can ye start?”

“When do you need me to start?”

“Can ye be here this eve? ‘Bout half-six?”

“Done.” She held out her hand.

He looked down at it, then up at her once more, then slowly reached to clasp that hand. “Don’t be late, girlie.”

“I won’t be.”

“And try to dress up a little,” he advised, his smile becoming a bit of a leer. “Show some skin. Ye’ll thank me.”

The thought turned her stomach, but she managed to nod. “Of course.”

“Go on, then. Go home and change.”

“I will see you at half-six.” She turned and made her way back out into the warm sunlight to go home.

Home. 

It had been so long since she’d had a home—a true home—but now she did, as Sigrid had told her she was welcome to remain with her in the small flat at the end of the alley. Nina had her own small, cozy room, and as she recuperated, her friendship with Sigrid picked up where it had left off, with late night chats filled with laughter and gossip, although Nina had no idea who had the people Sigrid mentioned were. And it didn't matter. She would come to know them in time. As the days passed and her wounds healed, she was the one who insisted she needed to find a job. Sigrid told her to take as much time as she needed, but Nina couldn't bear the thought of being a burden for any longer than was absolutely necessary. 

So, that was when Sigrid suggested Nina come talk to the Black Swan’s owner, sure he would give her a job. And now, as she strolled along the alley toward the flat, she managed a slight smile. She was becoming adept at beginning her life anew. And that’s what this was as well, another chance. 

The alley ended at a low stone wall that overlooked the Long Lake and what would one day again be Esgaroth. As her ability to get around returned, Nina found herself out there, at the low stone wall, more than once, just gazing out at what had been her home.

She sighed as she reached that wall and sank onto the wide flat top, her back against the stone building it met. Day after day, she sat there, just gazing out at the city under construction. Despite her distance from Esgaroth, she could hear the faint sounds of men working to rebuild, watched as new pilings replaced the charred, ruined ones. Watched as the walkways and bulkheads and platforms were erected and houses framed out upon them. 

It was bittersweet, seeing the rebirth of Esgaroth. Her life there had been difficult, but happy. She loved her family, they loved her, and although they were not wealthy by any means, thanks to her father’s disappearance and the Master’s greed, they had still been happy. 

Until the dwarves of Erebor arrived. They changed everything. 

And one of them had changed her forever.

She never regretted anything as much as she did going to see Tarog. What a fool she was, thinking she could be a cold-blooded killer, no matter how angry she’d been with Thorin. Truth be told, by the time she spied him in the tavern, her anger had faded, her grief had not run its course, but had become manageable. When she’d spotted him, she felt an initial burst of fury, but by the time she caught up to him in the clearing and took the arrow meant for him, it had begun to fade.

He’d seen to it she was cared for, and allowed her to join them.

By the time they’d shared their first kiss, she knew she was in trouble. 

And now?

Now she sighed, gazing out at the Long Lake as the sun burned across it to make its surface shimmer like fire.

“Show some skin,” she murmured, smiling at the shimmering lake. “Somehow, that isn’t very likely.”

****

In the year since Erebor had been reclaimed, restoration had been at a steady pace. Day after day, the city reverberated with activity and Thorin had no complaints with how Dís had run things in his stead. If he and his nephews had succumbed to their injuries, she would have made as fine a ruler as their cousin Dáin, who would have inherited the throne. He’d often thought about naming her his heir, should something else befall both him and her sons. He still hadn’t ruled it out entirely. 

He stood at the landing that overlooked the treasure hoard of Erebor. It had been depleted some since they reclaimed the mountain, and while it had pained him at first, now, it no longer troubled him in the slightest. He had much to atone for and rebuilding both Esgaroth and Dale were a small price to pay. 

Even with what the treasury of Erebor had parted with there was still a sea of gold. An ocean of gemstones of every cut and color. As he leaned against the railing of pure gold, against the wall of labradorite so green it looked almost black and had been polished to a mirror finish, and gazed out at that sea, a low sigh came to his lips. 

A feeling of restlessness came over him, and he pushed away from the wall to make his way down the one intact staircase leading to the hoard. In time, the second one would be refurbished, but for now, the one was more than enough. 

The stones and coins and other treasures shifted slightly beneath his bulk as he picked his way around all of it, wading into the center of the chamber. He didn't know what he looked for, only that he would know when he found it.

And find it, he did. A beautiful emerald the size of his fist. He scooped it up, the facets glittering under the torchlight as it rolled in his palm. The deep green stone reminded him of a pair of eyes almost that same rich shade. Eyes he’d lost himself in. Eyes he wished he could always lose himself in.

The eyes of a traitor.

He scowled at the stone and drew his arm back to fire it deeper into the chamber when Dís appeared on the landing. “What are you doing?”

His arm lowered of its own. “I’m bidding some old ghosts farewell.” He tucked the emerald into his trouser pocket. “What brings you here?”

“Elisin arrived earlier. I sent her to freshen up from her journey.”

“She made good time.”

“I think she was in a hurry to make certain no one else claimed your heart first.”

He forced a laugh to his lips. “Tell her there is no danger of that happening.”

“Isn’t there?” Dís came down the stairs, then carefully stepped into the sea of wealth. “You’ve been moping about here for the past fortnight as if someone has died. Now, give over and tell me. It’s your mystery mercenary, isn’t it?”

Annoyance bubbled through him, but he tamped it down as he shook his head. “No. It isn’t and there is nothing to tell, Dís.” He crossed over to her, holding out a hand as she stumbled over a jumble of gold plates. 

She caught it, her fingers tightening about his. “Thorin, do not lie to me. I know you better than you think.”

He sighed. “Dís, please… I’ve no wish to discuss it.”

“Very well. I’ll not press, but if you ever wish to—”

“I know,” he replied, offering her his arm. “Why don't we go above and I can reacquaint myself with Elisin?”

She looked as if she didn't believe him, but thought better of trying to force the issue. Instead, she nodded. “Very well.”

They crossed back to the staircase and once they were on the main floor, Dís pulled her arm free. “I’ll go fetch Elisin. You try not to look so broody. You’ll frighten her off.”

He scowled. “I do not brood.”

“I do not brood.”

“Thorin, you were staring off into the dark forever.” Nina affixed him with a long look. “That’s brooding.”

“I was thinking.”

“You were brooding. It’s all right. You can admit it.”

Why couldn't he stop thinking about Nina? She betrayed him. She was going to end his life for five thousand pieces of gold. 

So, why did thinking of her hurt as well as make him angry? In fact, why was the hurt overtaking the anger a little more with each passing day?

Because hurt was the only description he had for what could only be described as an ache in his heart. 

“Thorin?”

He started, jolted from his reverie. “What?”

Dís offered up a queer look. “Where were you?”

“Nowhere,” he waved off her concern, “so, go and fetch Elisin. I look forward to seeing her again.”

He hoped the smile he forced to his lips didn’t look so forced to his sister. She had an uncanny knack for seeing through any and all facades when it came to her sons and her brother. But the truth was, he cared nothing for seeing Elisin. In reality? He wanted to go and find Nina, to ask her why she’d chosen to hunt him. Why she instead stepped in front of that arrow for him, why she put herself between him and an orc’s blade, if she wanted to kill him? And had she truly attempted to kill him that last night?

But he had no idea where he might look for her, and even if he found her, there was no telling that his anger wouldn’t get the best of him. It might have faded some, but it hadn’t gone entirely. Not yet, anyway.

“Are you certain?” Dís asked.

“I am, indeed,” he assured her.

“Very well. Try not to brood too much longer.”

“I will do my best.”

He watched her leave, then turned back to the hoard, withdrawing the emerald from his pocket. It lay in the palm of his hand, glittering in the flickering torchlight. For a moment, he thought about hurling it back into the sea of gemstones, but then instead slipped it back into his pocket. 

#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here? #Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

[linasofia]

Little Moon

Armitage Summer Splash #15

Trope: Arranged marriage

Quote: “How can you possibly think that?”

RA character: Raymond de Merville

Warning: Angsty memories

The sun has just started its travel towards the horizon when I look into my daughter’s eyes. She has thick long hair just like me, the shape of our lips are identical and now, when she is a young woman, her feminine curves resemble mine. But she inherited her father’s icy blue eyes, the small frown she sometimes shows is like seeing him again and she has some of his temper. I watch her lower the veil over her face, but it cannot shield the sparkles of excitement in her eyes. She smiles at me. ”What do you think, mother?”

”You look like a dream, my dear. Henry is a very lucky man to have you as his wife.” A lump gets stuck in my throat as I speak, so I silence and avert my gaze. My old wedding dress, which has been worn on this day for generations, awakens memories of my own wedding day. The loneliness I felt in my chest. My father's indifference to my tears. He never asked for my opinion when he made the arrangements for my wedding. I was to marry Raymond de Merville, whether I liked it or not. The cold expression on my husband’s face as he lifted the veil from my face and kissed me in our bedchamber. He was the roughest-looking knight in the area and I was terrified of him. With my own mother no longer alive, I had no one to prepare me for what was going to happen on my wedding night. A night I spent the rest of my life trying to forget.

When my husband met his slayer on the beach, somewhere along the wild coast of Ireland, it was a great relief but I was already pregnant. Months later, I named my precious daughter Luna so that I would think of her every time I saw the moon, instead of my husband’s heavy body slamming against mine. She has no knowledge of how I stared at the pale moon outside our bedchamber’s window the whole time he claimed my inexperienced body on the night we were wed, and every other night after that.

”Mother, did you ever regret keeping me? You could have given me away. Started over somewhere else. It would have been easier for you like that.” My daughter’s voice interrupts my dark thoughts. Luna has always been perceptive when it comes to my emotions. Tears fill my eyes when I meet her gaze.

”How can you possibly think that? You are the only good thing that came out of your father’s and mine short union. But I loved you from the first moment I felt your movements under my heart.” I grasp her hands and bring them to rest over my heart. ”You are my greatest joy in life. All I pray for is that you will have a loving husband and a long, happy life. Today is your day. Let us see what the future holds.” I give her a smile and she once again shines like the sun. I let Luna choose her husband out of love and free will. She will have all the things I never did. My little moon.

Did you like it? Please like, comment or/and reblog! ❤️

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @i-did-not-mean-to @laurfilijames @enchantzz @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @s0ftd3m0n @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra

Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

#armitage summer splash #raymond de merville #raymond #pilgrimage #richard armitage #fanfiction #fanfic

[thorinthehottotty]

Hey 😈 it me Since it's past watershed where I am I was wondering if you could write some Thorin (how can I ask this without Tumblr stopping me) doing the rumpy pumpy for the first time headcannons whether that's him as a prince or him waiting for his one. If nsfw/nsft makes you uncomfortable to write how would Thorin seduce his one like does he have a plan in his head for how he will sweep them off their feet ? Thank you

I'm sorry. Rumpy pumpy has me dying! Thank you! Thank you! NSFW definitely doesn't make me uncomfortable!

Thorin would be a little raunchy pre-Smaug but he's still pretty young when Erebor falls. He's so busy trying to help his people, realistically he'd probably wait for his One, if he even has one.

Here we go:

The moment he meets his one, he cannot keep his hands off them.

Kisses. Like all the time.

Handholding is like breathing.

Constantly playing with your hair.

Constantly.

Butt touches. Loves the butt.

Marriage wouldn't be a must.

First time he's making sure your comfortable, going slow. You can stop him whenever.

His seduction is just pouring his love on you. He loves you. So much. Wants to show it with every kiss. Every caress.

He's going to go down on you at least twice the first time. There will be no rush. Plenty of time for you both. But he will eat you out on repeat!

He's surprisingly really good.

Follows instincts. Takes his time to learn his One's body.

He preps you as much as he can.

He's trembling the first time he pushes in.

He's a big boi. It'll hurt no matter what.

He's very patient.

He's loud too. Groaning, moaning, praising.

Dwarven. Stamina.

You'll be in ruins for days.

He's got a big praise kink.

King kink.

Very much appreciative of thighs, bottom, bewbs and belly. All the soft bits.

You will be half starved and exhausted and sore galore when he's done with you. You will have to swat his hands away.

Over all he does very good for his first time.

Honestly, who doesn't get swept off their feet by him?

#thorin #thorin fanfiction #thorin thursday #thorin durin #thorin x you #thorin imagine #thorin ask #kibleedibleedoo asks

[fizzyxcustard]

I'm glad you're feeling better hopefully this screen time won't make you feel worse. Would you be able to write headcannons for Thorin and his one during a trade delegation to different lands please

(Of course, hun. Thank you for your concern. I’m feeling generally better, but still have to be careful. Warning: it gets a bit naughty and smutty)

* You and Thorin are bored out of your minds, listening to self-important big wigs entertain the sound of their own voices. 

* You begin writing on a piece of parchment, doodling away to pass the time. However, a Dwarf lord from further down the table snorts at you. 

* Thorin tries his best to get the talks rolling, but some of the lords want to discuss tiny minuscule details that will be ironed out in the coming months. 

* You feel Thorin’s hand under the table. It starts at your knee and moves up your thigh. You can feel the pleasurable sensations that he always ignites within you. 

* Thorin smirks at you, knowing that he’s turning you on. 

* You retaliate and cup between his legs, squeezing a little. 

* Thorin freezes, sitting bolt upright. You notice a faint shimmer of sweat on his brow. By now his erection is rock hard and pulsing. 

* Another lord asks if Thorin is alright. The lords offer Thorin a break. 

* As all the Dwarves disperse for an hour break, Thorin grabs you and has his way with you on the table. 

#kibleedibleedoo #ask #headcanon #thorin oakenshield #thorin #the hobbit #thorin x reader #thorin x you #Thorin Oakenshield x you #Thorin Oakenshield x reader

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Five

A/N: I'd like to apologize for the delay in updates, but not only has the semester started up again, but I am also knee-deep in writing my thesis in the hopes of being able to graduate this spring. So, until that's done, updates are probably going to be a bit on the sporadic side. Thank you so much for your patience! 💜

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.1k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @xxbyimm @lathalea @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

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

Previous chapters can be found here. 

After they finished eating, Thorin looked over at Dwalin. “A word, if you don’t mind?”

Dwalin looked as if he very much minded, but still followed Thorin to the far side of the room, where they would be out of earshot of Elrond, Lindir, and Nina. “What is it?”

“I might ask you the same thing,” Thorin replied, folding his arms as he leveled a long look at Dwalin. He'd served as Thorin’s right hand for as long as Thorin could remember, and he held Dwalin’s opinion in high regard. So, if something troubled him where Nina was concerned, he wanted to know it and why. “You’d rather she not accompany us?”

Dwalin glanced over his shoulder at the table, where the three were deep in conversation, then looked back. “I would rather that, yes,” he said with a nod. “I don’t trust her.”

“Nor do I, simply because we know nothing about her. But, there are two of us and one of her and I think the numbers are in our favor.”

“They are, or they should be,” Dwalin replied, his voice lower than usual and a nod accompanied his words, “but she is no typical girl. We saw that for ourselves last eve, didn’t we?”

“We did. And she came to our aid.”

“Thorin, just because she fought off Orcs doesn’t make her automatically trustworthy or on our side. Ye know this.”

“I do. And I’m not suggesting she is. But, she had no cause to step between that arrow and me, so that weighs in her favor.” Thorin glanced over at Nina. In the light of dawn, it was a wonder he hadn’t noticed she was a girl instead of a boy. She was small, and compact, but her hair alone should’ve given her away, as it was a bushy mess of coppery curls that spilled halfway down her back. 

“Just take care. Ye don’t know her, don’t know why she stepped in the path of that arrow.”

He nodded. He understood that, of course. And he was just as curious as Dwalin as to why she’d done as she had.

“You’re right, I don’t know. Nor am I foolish enough to think if I ask, she will tell me the truth. But, she is only a girl. She would be no match for you and I together.”

Dwalin didn’t look all too convinced even as he nodded. “I suppose.”

“She won’t be. So, worry not. We will keep a close eye on her, and make certain she does not put a foot wrong.” He slapped a hand against Dwalin’s back. “So, let’s gather up what we need to take back to Erebor with us and think about being on our way. We have a bit of a journey ahead of us.”

Dwalin rolled his eyes. “Just a bit. Remember how long it took the last time we left here to go to to Erebor?”

“Ah, but this time around, we will not be being pursued by anyone—hopefully—and if Thranduíl is alerted ahead of time that we will be arriving, we shouldn’t have the same trouble we did the last time.”

“No, instead he’s dealing with the fact that yer nephew wishes to marry the captain of his guard.”

Thorin grinned at that. “Well, we will cross that bridge when we reach it. As of right now, Kíli remains in Erebor, Tauriel in Mirkwood and Thrandy isn’t at all aware of their plans.”

Dwalin chuckled. “How are those plans coming?”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Make no mention of it, please. Dís was driving me mad with trying to come up with a way to convince Kíli he really should marry someone a bit less elvish and a lot more dwarvish. But to do so in such a way as to keep him from figuring out she’s doing so.”

“And how is that going?”

They took their leave of the Great Hall before he answered with a soft sigh. “About as well as you’d imagine. Kíli feels he owes his life to Tauriel and I find it difficult to argue with him. She did save his life with her quick thinking. She’s done so twice. So, Dís is angry with me as well.”

“For you won’t step in and convince him?”

“Exactly. I see no need to convince him of anything. I think he knows his own mind better than any one of us does.”

Dwalin whistled softly as they strolled along the promenade. It was a glorious day in Rivendell, with plenty of sunshine and soft breezes, and it radiated peace and serenity. Thorin remembered it being the same the previous time the Company was in residence, but he couldn’t really appreciate it then, he’d had far too much on his mind with the quest of Erebor underway and the need to be there prior to the last light of Durin’s Day.

And now? Now he was under no time constraints at all. He could linger at Rivendell if he so chose and Elrond had no objections. But at the same time, he just wanted to return to Erebor as quickly as possible. There was so much work to be done, and he wasn’t thrilled with being away for any longer than absolutely necessary.

He sighed softly. “I told Kíli I would have a word with Thranduíl about Tauriel, so I have an ulterior motive for venturing there as well. That Elrond offered us use of the Southeast Passage is merely a happy coincidence.”

Dwalin narrowed his eyes. “I thought you didn't believe in happy coincidences?”

“No, it’s luck I don’t believe in.” Thorin managed a grin. “Now, if you will excuse me, there are few things I need take care of before we go.”

They parted ways then and Thorin sighed as he stepped into his own chambers. They were small, but like most of Rivendell, open air so it gave the illusion of being larger. He leaned back against the door, the slight twinge in his lower stomach stronger than it had been earlier. 

He didn't have to lift his tunic to know what it was. All he had to do was close his eyes and he was transported back to the very moment when Azog the Defiler ran him through with the blade that took the place of his left forearm. 

There were two scars, one above the other, with the top one paining him far more greatly than the other at the moment. Although the wounds had healed several months earlier, the scars still pained him from time to time. More often than not, he’d lurch awake in the middle of the night, sweat pouring from him, his gut burning and cramping, the same cry of pain on his lips that lingered on since the day it happened. 

He tried not to think about that day at Ravenhill, tried not to think about how he’d watched Azog so very calmly run Fíli through, how his son, Bolg, did the same to Kíli. But when he slept, he had no control over what his mind conjured. He could still hear his now gasp of disbelief as he watched, helpless to prevent any of it simply because he was too far away and he’d sent his nephews to their fates.

It was nothing short of a miracle that both boys survived. Nothing short of a miracle that he himself survived. Had it not been for Amara and her expertise and Narnerra’s gifts as well, none of the Durin boys would have lived to tell the tale.

He lifted the bottom of his rough-hewn gray henley and ran a hand over the scars. They were still raised, and mostly pink, and he flinched as his fingertips brushed them. Still sensitive. Amara had told him they might be for some time to come, but he tried not think about it. He tried not to think about that day at all, if he could help it. Why linger in the past? It did no good to look anywhere but forward and now, he just wanted to return home, hopefully with good news for Kíli, and try to put all of it behind him. 

He crossed the room to his rucksack. They both traveled light, borne of a lifetime of moving from place to place and never really having a home. After Smaug sacked Erebor, they’d made something of a home in Ered Luin, but it still wasn’t their true home, and their return to Erebor meant a return to what actually was their true home. Over the last nearly two years, Thorin and his company had been on the move— from the Iron Hills, to the Shire, to Rivendell, to Mirkwood, to Esgaroth and Dale, and finally, to Erebor.

“And when I return, I will not leave again,” he said softly, letting his henley fall back into placed before he pulled the leather ties on the sack to tighten it. “And if Dís wishes to find a way to keep Kíli and Tauriel apart, she is welcome to do it herself.”

He would not try to interfere other than to get Thranduíl to offer his blessing. All he wanted was to see Kíli happy and he knew Tauriel would make his nephew happy. 

And perhaps once that was done, he’d see about finding a wife as well. He’d considered the idea before leaving Erebor, and thought perhaps the time had finally come. He’d long fought the idea of marrying and having a family of his own, but now, he’d begun to wonder if it was time. 

But that would wait until he returned to Erebor and that was still quite the ways off. The journey would take nearly five weeks, and that only if they ran into no trouble. 

Trouble in the form of, say, an orc pack.

Why were they near Rivendell, though? That made no sense to him. The Gundabad orcs were  now leaderless, rudderless, scattered about Middle Earth the way the dwarves had been so many years earlier when Smaug the Terrible sacked Erebor. Their leader, Azog and his heir, Bolg were gone. The filth wiped clean by his blade, and by the blade belonging to a Wood-Elf called Legolas, the son of the Woodland King. 

He sank onto the edge of his bed, the sack forgotten. He owed his life to that same elf and the captain of the Mirkwood guard, for Legolas’ arrival along with Tauriel’s quick thinking and elf magic, saved his life, saved the lives of his nephews. He might not get on with Thranduíl at all, but he owed so much to the other two.

Just as he owed Nina. 

He wondered where she’d come from, where she called home, and most importantly, why had she been where she was. It made no sense, as she was neither elf nor orc, obviously, but of Man. He’d known it the moment he saw her in the Healing Room. She did not bear the pointed ears or height of an elf, although she was every bit as pretty as one. That much, he had noticed. He had little trust in Man, but he certainly could appreciate a pretty woman when he saw her. 

But why was she on the Great East Road? It was widely traveled, but rarely by lone women. It simply wasn’t safe, as the road wound through the Wilderlands and Dunland and Bree—all towns that were home to ruffians, thugs, and all other unseemly walks of life. And Nina did not strike him as the least bit unseemly. 

A gentle knock came at the door and he rose to cross, calling, “Who goes?”

“It’s Kenia, Your Highness.”

He tugged open the door and looked up at the elf. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” she gestured to the room, “may I?”

“Of course.” He stepped back to allow her room to pass, but made certain to keep the door open. Just in case. “What can I do for you?”

“I understand Miss Nina will be accompanying you to Mirkwood.”

He nodded. “It would appear that way, yes. Why?”

“I know I said she would be all right to travel, but I’d be lying if I didn’t add I was a bit concerned. I don’t think the shaft that struck her was morgul, but at the same time, it can sometimes be difficult to tell at first.”

“So, do you think she should remain here?”

“I would love her to do just that.” Kenia offered up a slight smile. “But, I have the feeling she will fight me on it and will bolt as soon as she gets the chance. I obviously cannot force her to remain here, but I am worried.”

“And you think I might be of help?”

“In a way, yes. I think that, should the symptoms strike while you are somewhere between here and Mirkwood, you would need to treat her.”

He shook his head. “I am no healer, Miss Kenia. That would be Óin and he is back in Erebor, working alongside Narnerra.”

“I understand, but you would be able to offer basic aid. If nothing else, it would give you the time you’d need to reach Mirkwood, where Thranduíl’s healers would be able to take over.”

“And how would I do this?”

“I will give you an emergency kit—kingsfoil, water charged by the light of a full moon, valerian root, lavender, and chamomile.”

“And I am to do what with them?”

“I’ve written out instructions, in the Common Speech, so anyone might be able to help. Valerian and chamomile have calming properties, the kingsfoil is an antiseptic, and I’ll include linen bandages for binding as well.”

As she spoke, she held out a small, black velvet bag. “Everything you would need, including the instructions, are in this. Keep it with you at all times. The kingsfoil alone is almost priceless. It is very near a miracle cure for most ailments, including morgul poisoning.”

He nodded. “My nephew spoke of being treated with it when he was struck by an orc’s morgul arrow the last time we ventured to Mirkwood.” 

Kenia’s hazel eyes widened. “Which nephew?”

“Kíli.”

“Oh, the dark-haired one. We all were convinced he was your son.”

Thorin chuckled. “I have heard that many times over the year. He is my sister-son and Dís and I strongly resemble one another.”

She smiled. “I must confess, the others were a bit disappointed he was not in your company this time.”

“I’ll be certain to let Kíli know he’s been missed.” Thorin cleared his throat. “So, is there anything else I need keep in mind where Miss Carren is concerned?”

“Do you know the symptoms of morgul poisoning?”

“No, but I assume it would be obvious something was wrong. Kíli went gray when he’d been struck with a morgul shaft.”

Kenia nodded slowly. “Gray is definitely one of the signs. But, before that, Miss Carren would complain of fever and muscle fatigue and overall pain, so should she mention any of those, you would need to treat the wounds immediately or as soon as you possibly could.”

“I will keep an eye on her if her health appears to be deteriorating.”

“Perhaps I might speak to His Lordship about accompanying you, just in case.”

He smiled. Elves and dwarves might not have always had the best of relationships, but since the Battle of the Five Armies, the elves of Rivendell had proven to be rather stalwart allies. “I appreciate the thought, Kenia. But, I think we will be fine. Should we run into trouble, we hopefully will be close enough to Mirkwood and their healers.”

“Well, they would be competent enough,” Kenia hedged, looking from him to his rucksack and back, “but…”

“I know. And I will not make you say it aloud,” he told her as he reached for his leather and fur great coat to shrug into. “And I agree, their healers are only competent, but several of the Guard’s captains would fit in here beautifully.”

“Captains of the Guard?” Kenia’s forehead wrinkled along with her nose to let him know what she thought of that notion.

“Trust me.”

“Well, I cannot speak to that, as I’ve no experience working with them. But, if you trust them…”

“It’s not so much I trust any wood elf,” he hedged, shaking his head, “but that I’ve seen for myself what this one particular elf can do.”

“Then if you’d rather I not ask my Lord Elrond, I won’t.”

“I don't think it necessary.”

She smiled. “Very well.”

As she turned to leave, Thorin said, “Kenia?”

She paused. “Aye?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

She gazed at him over her shoulder. “Of course. I’m rather fond of you, you know. I look forward to your visits.”

He bobbed his head. “As do I. But now, it’s time for me to head back to where I belong.”

“Well, safe travels and hopefully we will meet again. Under happy circumstances.”

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

She swept from his chambers and with a soft sigh, he moved out to the wide terrace off the back of the room. Rivendell was so very peaceful and he knew that, if he wished, Kenia would be more than happy to have him settle there with her. Theirs was a special relationship, born of a trust he did not share with many. She’d seen him at his worst, had seen him through his worst, and in some ways, he wished he felt for her the way she seemed to feel for him.

But, it hardly mattered one way or another, for she was unwilling to leave Rivendell and he was equally unwilling to leave Erebor now that it was finally theirs once again. Which left them at an impasse of sorts even if theirs had been a passionate, fiery love for one another instead of a deep and treasured friendship. 

He gazed out across the rolling lush lawns of Rivendell, at the waterfall in the distance, the one that spilled into an elegant gold and marble fountain that the Company had played about in during their previous visit. A smile tugged at his lips as he wondered how Elrond felt about having thirteen naked dwarves splashing about in that fountain. 

There was no more time to dwell. Despite Dwalin’s misgivings, Thorin felt no such hesitation at having Nina accompany them. He would, of course, keep a watchful eye upon her as they made their way toward Mirkwood, but until she actually gave them reason to doubt her, he would be grateful for the extra eyes and extra blade. So, with that in mind, he hefted his pack from the floor, slung it over his shoulder, and left his chambers to meet Dwalin and Nina and begin the trek home. 

#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here? #Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

[middleearthpixie]

Better Days ~ Chapter Nineteen

A/N: If you or a loved one is in crisis, or experiencing suicidal thoughts or suicidal ideation, help is available 24/7/365. Call or text the Suicide Crisis Lifeline at 988 or visit their website at www.988lifeline.org. 

Summary: Frerin Durin had the perfect life, until he found out his wife was cheating on him. Now, he’s navigating uncharted territory as an about-to-be divorced single dad. Dating is a mess, he’s dealing with the fallout where his kids are concerned, and really, he would just love a vacation away from all of it. 

Elena Madison is new to Sidleburg, and also navigating life as a newly single parent. The last thing she needed was for her daughter to come down sick, when she hasn’t even had time to unpack the moving boxes, never mind find a pediatrician. And the last thing she ever expected was to meet a man like Dr. Frerin Durin…

Neither Elena nor Frerin were looking for anything, but fate has a way of messing up even the best laid plans. However, both have been hurt and both aren't at all sure they trust themselves, never mind trusting someone else...

Pairings:  Modern!Frerin x ofc Elena Madison

Warnings: Spontaneous kitchen sex, attempted suicide

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.2k

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

Previous chapters can be found here. 

Elena rubbed her eyes as she waited for the Keurig to brew her much-needed coffee. Alyssa had called her near midnight and it was almost two by the time she got off the phone. Although she enjoyed being at her grandparents’ house, Alyssa was homesick and thought she was getting sick again and it took Elena that long to get her to take a wait and see approach to how she felt and reminded her that there were doctors in Florida if she needed one. 

She’d originally planned to go to the gym, but when the alarm went off at seven, she turned it off and promptly fell back asleep, only to wake up an hour and a half later groggy as anything. And that was why the coffee was so desperately needed.

She was halfway through that cup when the doorbell rang. With a low sigh, she rose from her chair, padded into the living, to the front door and when she peered through the peephole, she was shocked to see Frerin on the other side.

She unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Frerin, what’re you doing here?”

He offered up a smile that was beyond tired and she tried not to notice the purplish smudges shadowing his eyes. “I just got off work and I wanted to see you.”

“You should just go home and get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, then rubbed his face with both hands, “I probably should, and I will eventually. But, I know you’re pissed at me and I don't blame you, and that’s why I’m here.”

“I’m not pissed.”

“Really?” He lowered both hands. “Because you haven’t asked me in yet.”

“You’re not the only one who had a long night.” She stepped back. “Come on in. No offense, but you look dead on your feet.”

“I just got out of surgery.”

“Surgery?” Elena closed the door as he stepped into the apartment. “Since when are you a surgeon?”

“I’m not.” He shrugged out of his jacket to drape it across the back of the armchair. “I was keeping a twelve year old with an ectopic pregnancy company.”

“What?”

“Yeah.” He followed her into the kitchen and gestured to the Keurig. “Mind if I steal a cup?”

“No, not at all.”

“Thanks.” 

She returned to her chair as he stumbled over to the counter to brew himself a cup. “A pregnant twelve year old?”

“Yep. Her dad died at Sidleburg a few months ago and she and her mother were terrified, so when she asked me to stay with her, I did.”

“You’re allowed to do that?”

“The doc doing her surgery is a friend as well. We were in med school together. Reese was pissed, but he’ll get over it.” Frerin turned toward her, leaning back against the counter as he lifted the cup to his lips. “And even if he doesn’t, I don't give a shit.”

It didn't surprise her in the least, that he’d chosen to stay with a frightened child and risk the wrath of his boss. In the short time they’d been seeing each other, that they’d known each other, really, Elena had seen how he cared about his patients, and his job as well. “I’m sure it meant a lot to the little girl.”

“Yeah. Well, I like kids. It’s why I went into Pediatrics to begin with.” He lowered the cup and met her stare. “And I’m sorry I stood you up again. You should only know how much I wanted to tell Reese to go to hell.”

Thinking of the lingerie she had tucked away in her underwear drawer, Elena smiled. “Not nearly as much as I wanted you to.”

“I swear, I will make it up to you.”

“Frerin—”

“No, I will.” He set the cup on the counter. “I don't know when, but I will.”

Elena rose once more, moving over to stand before him. “You can’t promise it, Frerin. We both know the odds of you being pulled in to work a double shift are far too great.”

He let out a low sigh. “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

“So, why don't you go home and get some sleep? You look almost dead on your feet.”

“I don't want to sleep and if I push through, I’ll sleep tonight instead of totally screwing up my system by going to sleep now.” 

With that, he reached for her hand and gave a gentle tug to draw her up against his chest. He bent to her, his lips warm and soft as they caught hers and when they met, Elena slid her hand up along his neck to tug him closer still. 

That was all it took. Fire met kindling and as his tongue met hers, her fingers went to the top of his button-down and as nimble as anything, flew down the column of buttons, then tugged the wrinkled cotton from his shoulders while he just as hurriedly swept her tank top over her head.

 Her head fell back, her skin prickling from his beard as he swept a hot kiss along her neck, and down into the valley between her breasts. There was nothing slow or teasing about those hot lips, and he wasn't at all gentle when they closed about her beaded left nipple to suck hard at it, and that was just fine with her. He caught it between his teeth, flicked the tip of his tongue over it, and she couldn’t hold back her gasp, knots already twisting deep within her core. 

His hands curved about her ass, cupping her cheeks to pull her hard against him and when he thrust against her, the firm ridge of his erection ground into her mound, the damp heat between her thighs erupting almost at once at the sensation. Almost of their own volition, her fingers caught his belt, tugged to unbuckle it, and as he caught her tongue to draw into his mouth, she unbuttoned his trousers, slid her hand into the dark heat of his boxer briefs, and when her fingers curled about his cock, he exhaled hard into her mouth and shuddered against her. 

She slipped her fingertip over his slit, caught the silky fluid bubbled there to stroke it along his heated, veined length, then wrapped him in her hand to offer up a slow, teasing stroke that had him moaning into her mouth now. 

With each stroke, he met her, and in response, he slipped a hand into her sleep shorts, into her heat, and when those thick fingers slid through her dampness, through her slick, it was her turn to moan into his mouth. A shower of tingles rained over her at his touch, at the sensations he sent rocketing through her. 

He played with her, his fingertips teasing as they moved along her aching, damp flesh, dragged his thumb roughly over her clit to sent a jet to fire streaking through her. She gasped, that gasp becoming a moan as he then circled her clit with a slow, teasing stroke. Her body hummed from the pleasure thrumming through her, her desire for him growing into a ravenous hunger, that had her digging her fingernails into his shoulder, tightening her grip on his cock, as he teased her and tortured her in the most sensual way possible. 

She shivered with each lazy circle, with each rough sweep over her clit, her head spinning like crazy and her entire body begging to have him inside her. Her fingers teased along his shaft, swept lightly along the ridge, back to his slit and toward his body once more.

He thrust a finger inside her. Fire burst through her, her body tightening about him a little more with each slow stroke. Her body hummed with pleasure, hot and sweet, and his kisses grew hungrier with each thrust. She rocked to meet him, that humming growing even stronger as he crooked the finger inside her and stroked over the sweetest, most sensitive part of her body.

She clamped down on him, her back arching as the knots erupted and tingling white hot bliss flooded her body. He teased her with that finger, tortured her in the sweetest way possible as she rolled her hips to meet him, his name a breathless cry on her lips. 

“Fre-Frerin… oh… God…” Her moan rolled through the kitchen, her orgasm hard and sharp and making her head spin like crazy as fire flooded her.

He slid his finger free, but before she could protest, he lifted her onto the counter, crouched down to fish his wallet from his trousers with a sheepish smile. The smile made sense and made her smile as well as he fished a condom from it. “I was optimistic.”

“You are wise, Dr Durin.”

His smile went from sheepish to sinful as he tore open the packet and unrolled the condom over himself. She shivered at the fire in his eyes, the promise in his smile, as he pushed between her thighs, and a moment later, he breached her and offered up a powerful thrust. Then another. And another. He surged hard. He thrust deep. His moan mingled with hers as she wrapped her legs about his hips and rocked to meet him, a second orgasm building as the dark, coarse curls at the base of his cock ground hard against her already too-sensitive clit to offer up a delicious sensation that was half-pleasure, half-pain and had her melting all around him as he pumped into her. 

The kitchen grew hotter by the moment a fine mist of sweat rising along Frerin’s back as she dug her fingernails into his slick skin and surrendered to the moment. The knots were back, tighter and hotter than ever, and her throat felt raw from her cries but she couldn't hold them back. Each thrust fired her desire hotter still, fed her arousal, her need to come yet again and as she reached the summit, Frerin growled low in his throat, “Squeeze me, baby… squeeze my cock… just like that… oh, yes… oh, baby.. oh, holy fuck, Elena, yes… yes!”

He thrust hard, arched deep, and she clung to him as his released triggered hers and they came together, his pleasure feeding of hers, her body devouring his. She dragged her fingernails across his back as she shuddered and pulsed about him, as she tightened her thighs, to pull him deeper still. Her head spun. Her heart threatened to erupt from her chest. Stars burst before her eyes as he surged one last time, then sank against her, his body trembling as he whispered, “Oh… holy fuck… Elena…”

He wasn't the only one trembling. Black dots danced before her eyes as she clung to him, the pleasure swirling through her still so hot and sweet. She couldn’t breathe. Didn't trust herself to speak. She just wrapped her arms about his neck and pressed her cheek into his soft hair, whispering, “Oh, my God…”

A soft laugh brushed her shoulder, followed by an even softer kiss and he murmured, “I love you…”

The spinning in her head subsided, her vision cleared, and when he drew back and she met his blue eyed gaze, she whispered, “What?”

A hint of a sheepish smile came to his lips. “Yeah… I didn't mean to blurt it out like that, but… damn… Elena, I do.”

Her stomach fluttered at the low purr of his voice, and the soft heat in his eyes, and the aftershocks of her orgasm still rippled through her as she whispered, “Frerin… I—”

“It’s okay if you don't love me back,” he broke in gently. “I know it’s kind of sudden and I’m kind of a mess of a man, but—”

It was her turn to cut him off and she did so by gently pressing her hand to his lips. “Hush.”

The outer corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled and nodded and she lowered her hand to say, “And you are only a little bit of a mess, you know. But, you’re also in the middle of a divorce, so, are you sure that’s not just the post-fuck euphoria speaking?”

“It could be,” he admitted with a nod, stepping over to the trash can, and then coming back to her, pausing only to reach for the towel on the kitchen table. “But, I don't think so. I think about you all the time, Lena. When I’m with you, the time just flies by, and when I’m not, it drags. I want you to meet my kids.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the seriousness in his voice and she met his serious blue-gray eyes. “Frerin, are you sure? I mean, we haven’t been seeing each other all that long.”

“I know. That’s my one hesitation.” He eased his boxer briefs and trousers back up and fastened them. “I’ve proven I’m not that great at relationships, either. I got married when I probably shouldn’t have and stayed married long after we should have split up. And I—”

A hint of color swept along his cheekbones and she waited for him to continue. When he didn't, her stomach gave an odd lurch. “Frerin?”

“Toni wasn't the only one cheating. I had an affair after I found out about her and the kid. It was short and purely physical, but… I did it. I’m not proud of it, but I have to be honest with you.”

Elena swallowed hard as she carefully eased down from the counter. “With someone you work with?”

He nodded. “Yeah. She is one of the hospital social workers. I met her when I called her down for a consult and bumped into her a few days later at my brother’s bar. Next thing I knew… well… it was only that once, but I felt like such a shit over it. The neighbor kid had been going balls deep into my wife for months at that point, so I thought what was good for the goose and all.”

Elena stepped into her shorts to pull them up. “So it was only that one time?”

“Yeah. I was pissed off at Toni and envious of my brother, because he and his then-girlfriend, now-wife had just gotten together and I thought the world owed me. It was a waste of time, though, because once it was over? I hated myself for it. But, Lena, I swear to you, I don't normally fuck around and I will not fuck around on you. And I—I don't know where this is going to go, and I don't know if you’re seeing any other guys, but I’m not seeing anyone else and I don't want to see anyone else.”

Elena’s tank top skimmed softly along her as it fluttered down. “I’m not seeing anyone else, either, Frerin. And I don't really want to, but…”

“But…” He caught her hands in his. “But what?”

“But… you’re still in the middle of what sounds like a messy divorce, Frerin. And I guess I’m a little gun-shy myself. My ex-husband was a serial cheater and—”

“I’m not a cheater, Elena. In twenty years with Toni, it was one time. I swear to you, it isn’t something I make a habit of.” 

With that, he stepped up to her, catching her face in his hands, and she bit back a sigh as his thumbs swept lightly along her cheeks. “I promise you, honey, I am not going to fuck around on you. And it’s not post-fuck euphoria, either. I love you.”

She wanted to believe him. She so wanted to believe him and in her heart of hearts, she did, but at the same time, she couldn’t help her hesitation. 

His eyes softened. “Elena, you can trust me. I swear to you, I am not going to hurt you. And if you want to slow it down, or throw me out of here, I won’t stop you, but I’m hoping you won’t.” A hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Because I have to admit, sex with you is the best sex I’ve ever had and I really hate to give that up.”

She stared at him for a long moment, but then she smiled. “Are you serious?”

“I am dead serious, Lena. I mean, about all of it, but definitely about the sex.”

“Frerin!”

He slid his arms about her waist and lifted her to meet his gaze. “Sex with you is amazing, honey. No sane man would want to give it up.”

“You are terrible, do you know that?”

“I’m tired and not in my right mind.”

“So, then you don't love me?”

“Oh, no, I meant that.”

She curled her legs about his waist. “How do I know that?”

He offered up a sinful—if tired—smile. “I’ll find some way to prove it to you.”

“You asleep?”

Elena smiled as Frerin nuzzled her, her eyes heavy lidded and her entire body gone to mush. “Not yet, no. I’m just very cozy.”

He lifted his head. “Cozy, eh? Cozy is good.”

“Cozy is wonderful.” She trailed a fingertip lightly along his bearded cheek. Her body still tingled from his attentions. “I am a lucky girl…”

He shifted to stretch out alongside her, and she sighed softly, curving up against him to rest her head against his chest. “You should get some sleep,” she murmured, slipping her fingers through the dark gold hair sprinkled across his chest. “You’ve had a long day.”

“Yeah. I know.”

His fingers moved slowly along her hair, then down over her shoulder and along her arm. Little by little, they slowed and his breathing slowed as well. Rising slightly to gaze down at him, she whispered, “Frerin?”

“Mmmm?”

“I love you, too.”

He didn't open his eyes, but he did smile. “I knew it.”

His arm tightened about her and he pressed a kiss into the top of her head when she settled back alongside him. With a soft sigh of contentment, Elena let her eyes close and drifted off to sleep in Frerin’s arms. 

****

The buzzing of a cell phone roused Elena from sleep and she lifted her head to see Frerin’s phone dancing across her bedside table. “Frerin? It’s yours.”

He sat up. “What? Who?” 

“Your phone.”

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he grabbed the skittering phone with his other and brought it up to his face. “”What is it, Toni?”

Elena came more awake at his growl, smiling when he said, “Yeah, it’s kind of a bad time. What is it?” A brief pause, then an incredulous, “What? When? Yeah… I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

With that, he tossed the phone down and bolted up from the bed to snatch his pants and briefs from the chair in the corner. He practically jumped into them. “I’ve got to go, Elena.”

She sat up. “Why? What happened?”

He looked up, the blood drained from his face and what could only be described as fear in his eyes. “It’s Jake… my youngest… Toni’s in the ER with him. He… uh… he tried to hurt himself.”

Her stomach kinked. “What?”

“Yeah. He—uh—look, I’ll call you when I can, okay?”

She jumped up from the bed. “Why don’t you let me drive you, Frerin?”

“I’m fine. I just… I have to go.”

“Yeah, okay. Call me when you get a moment.”

“I will.” He tugged his shirt over his shoulders, snatched up his shoes, brushed her lips with a kiss and then was gone. A moment later, her front door slammed and an eerie silence filled the apartment. 

#Gerard Butler #Frerin Durin #Frerin x OC #AU #Frerin Fic #Is it hot in here? #Romance #Modern AU #ER AU #Hospital AU #Richard Armitage #The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Two

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: none 

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.3k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

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Previous chapters can be found here. 

One Year Later

Nina hated rain. The only good thing about it was that if it fell hard enough, it muffled the sounds of her footsteps and that made sneaking up on people far easier. The downside was the mud sometimes pulled at her boots, it was slippery, and more than once, she lost her footing. More than once, she landed on her backside in the process.

That’s what happened this time. Lost her bloody footing and went sprawling arse over teakettle as her mother would say, and in the process, her bow went in one direction, her arrow in another, and she was damn lucky she didn't land on her own blade. 

She lay there, staring up at the night sky, raindrops spattering her face and blinding her until she gathered her wits enough to at least sit up. The sodden ground soaked into her trousers, but she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to stand, as she’d knocked the wind out of herself when she hit the ground and was still a bit dizzy.

A stagger to her left. A stumble to her right. And finally, her head cleared enough for her to drag a damp sleeve over her face to wipe her eyes and a few minutes later, she’d found both her bow and the wayward arrow. More importantly, she’d also found her footing once more as well.

“A fool’s errand, this,” she muttered, jamming the bow back into the quiver, then hefted the quiver to slip over her shoulders. She wasn’t finding him tonight. Not in this downpour. No, the best thing to do would be to find shelter and hope the storms passed by dawn. 

So, that’s what she did. She traipsed through the mud—carefully this time—until she reached the town of Dunning. It was small and rough, on the outskirts of the Wilderlands, where people didn’t ask names and minded their own business as if their lives depended on it, which it often did. 

The Grey Bear was at the far end of the main road, which was sloppy and rutted and she slipped and slid what seemed the entire length of it before she was shoving herself through the front door. 

Curious eyes flicked her way and then just as quickly flicked elsewhere, but she paid them little heed as she marched over to the bar. “A pint of your darkest stout, if you’d be so kind.”

“You got money?”

She slapped a gold coin onto the scratched and dinged wood. “Will this do?”

The barkeep arched an eyebrow, but fetched the stout and with a sigh of satisfaction, Nina shrugged out of her rain-beaded cloak to hang it on the nearest hook, then settled onto a barstool and took a long drink. 

Sitting with her back to the room made her uncomfortable, so after a few minutes, when a table in a corner opened up, she hurried to snag it, setting with her back to that same corner. There she had a perfect view of the room and all who entered or left. Her gold coin bought her another pint and a bit of bread and cheese, so she ate, and as she did, she watched the room. The regulars, such as they were, weren’t much different from her. Some looked as if they’d been in jail until that morning, some looked as if they belonged living beneath a bridge, and others as if they would kill someone for looking at them the wrong way.

Perhaps they thought the same of her, for there were no second glances, no suddenly narrowed eyes. Heads turned, then bent back to who or whatever and she was forgotten, which was fine with her.

She was halfway through her second bowl of soup when Oakenshield and another dwarf stepped into the taproom, shaking the rain off their oilskins. The hunk of bread she was chewing caught in her throat as it turned into a hunk of glue and before she choked on it, Nina grabbed her pint to wash it down. Her gut twisted as he and the other dwarf, who was about the same height only bald and heavily tattooed, came into the taproom, gave a quick look about, then settled at a table nearest the crackling fire.

The room was far too crowded for her to make her move now, tempting though it was. She eyed her sword, resting against the wall to her left, her quiver on the floor next to it. Too many people around. She wasn't about to share the bounty with anyone and while she had no way of knowing if anyone else in that smoke-choked room had the idea to collect on it, she simply couldn't take the chance.

Which was unfortunate, really, for this was the closest she’d been to him since that night at the Master’s House, when she’d pushed her way through the crowd to the front, close enough to the dwarf that she actually managed to brush the back of his coat when he’d turned to go up the wide, bowing steps and into the ramshackle house that was still grander than any other ramshackle house in Esgaroth. The ends of his long, curly black hair swept along the back of her hand that night—softer than it looked, and as he’d turned, the light glanced off an ornament woven into a braid along the right side of his face. All she saw was it was silver and inscribed with lettering of some sort and then he’d moved up the stairs, into the house, and that was the last she’d seen of him.

The serving girl came by with a smile. “Get ye anything else?”

“Another pint, please.”

“Will do.”

Nina sat back, just watching the dwarfs and wondered if they could feel her stare, for the bald one’s back was to her, but every now and again, he’d turn and look about. Once, her gaze locked with his and she refused to look away before him. He cocked one brow, then slowly turned back toward Oakenshield. He hadn’t changed much since that snowy night. He looked a bit older, perhaps. There were hints of silver woven into his hair and threaded through his thick beard, but that was all.

Bastard was still strikingly handsome.

An image of Lenna lying on the sand, pale and lifeless, her glorious copper hair tangled like fishing net around her head, her skin marred by burns and cuts and bruises from falling debris, sprang into her mind. Without thinking, Nina reached for her sword, curled her fingers about the leather grip to tug it toward her.

Then they rose from their chairs and reached for their oilskins. The bald one tossed coins onto the table and they wove along through the crowd toward the door.

She couldn’t let them slip out into the rain. She’d never find them if that happened.

Keeping one eye on the dwarves, she slipped from her chair and grabbed her weapons with every intention of following them, when the serving girl stepped in front of her. “Ye didn’t pay yer bill, miss.”

“I’m coming back,” Nina said, rising onto her toes to keep her eye on Oakenshield and his mate. “Now, let me by. I need to speak with those men.”

The girl caught her by the elbow. “Not until ye pay yer tab, miss.”

“I said, I’m coming back.” Nina tried to shake her off. “Now, if you don’t mind—”

“Oh, no ye don’t! Yer not gettin’ away with it!”

The crowd that had parted for the dwarves closed back up and Nina bit back a growl of frustration as the door closed. “Fine!” she snapped, digging into her purse for another gold coin. She came up with it, grabbed the serving girl’s free hand to turn it palm up, and slapped the piece into it. “Happy now?”

“Aye. Yer free to go.”

“Thank you so much.” Nina shoved by her, shoved through the rest of the crowd, but as she burst out of the tavern and into the downpour, a swear rose to her lips. There was no sign of either one of them. It was as if they’d vanished into thin air the moment they stepped out of the tavern. 

“Wonderful.” Nina drew the back of her wrist across her forehead, which only served to send more water droplets splashing against her cheeks. 

Ah, well… it wasn't the first time she’d lost him and it most likely wouldn’t be the last. There was still plenty of distance between where she stood and Erebor. 

Of course, that didn't meant she wasn't disappointed or frustrated, and so when she went back inside, she marched up to the bar and ordered a last pint, then inquired about a room for the night. There was nothing to be gained by attempting to find someone in a rainstorm, where she could fall and injure herself, or worse.

So, as much as she’d rather have gotten Oakenshield, this would have to do. And when she finished her pint and went above, she stood at the door, fighting with the key in the lock, and winced when it finally gave with a whine. The door creaked open and she managed a smile despite her gloomy thoughts. The room wasn’t much—small and a bit musty smelling, but it had a bed and a door that locked and that was a vast improvement over the last three nights of sleeping out on the ground. 

Not to mention, it was dry. And she did find the patter of rain against the windowpanes rather soothing when she tried to sleep, so there was that. 

After tossing the key onto the small, scratched and gouged table, Nina hung up her cloak to let it finish drying overnight, tugged the lone chair from the table and with a sigh, dropped into it. She was beyond tired. Beyond exhausted, really. Was there a word to describe beyond exhausted, because that was how she felt. Her eyes burned with fatigued and her first fully belly in days only made the drowsiness worse. She felt like a bear ready to hibernate, and so pulled off her boots and trousers, stripped off her tunic, and slid beneath the faded, also-slightly musty-smelling quilts, and closed her eyes. 

****

She slept peacefully for the first time in months and when she opened her eyes, Nina actually smiled. Sunlight managed to find its way through the grime and smudges on the windowpanes to slant into the tiny room. She lay there for a long while, cozy and warm beneath the quilts. It reminded her of Sunday mornings, when Mama would allow them to sleep in and not worry about their chores until after luncheon. Sunday was her favorite day for that reason. Well, that and Mama’s Sunday meals, which far outshone anything she’d cook during the week, when both time and money were in short supply.

But Sundays… Sunday was the day where Mama would spend all afternoon cooking and the tiny house would be filled with the heavenly aromas of roasting meat—chicken, beef, or pork, depending on what the butcher had on sale—mingled with spicy pepper and or cinnamon or nutmeg or whatever spice blends Mama’s imagination led her to create. They’d have roasted vegetables to go with the meat, sometimes potatoes as well. And the leftovers would be use throughout the coming week, as they had to make what they had stretch.

She closed her eyes now, almost able to smell that tang, those blends, the soft blend of wet wood pilings and lake water wafting in through the drafty window on the far side of the room she shared with her sister. 

But as she lay there, the smells faded and the voices she heard now were not those of the lake men moving along the walkways below her window. They were not the fishermen who made their living from the lake’s bounty or the slimy lackeys who licked the Master’s boots. These were not the voices of those she’d known her entire life, and whose lives she mourned in the wake of a single, terrible night.

Her eyes stung as the memory of the scent of cedar and lake-water darkened into fire and soot, into the acrid stench of scorched wood and melted flesh. The sounds of the voices below became the agonized screams of those enveloped in dragon fire and its aftermath. 

She bolted upright as the images swam before her eyes, clouding them with tears almost as hot as that dragon fire. Her gut roiled, a brackish taste flooded her mouth, one she choked back the last thing she wanted was to be sick. Her purse was already dangerously light. The last thing she wanted or needed was to have the tavern owner add on to the room charge.

“Only a few more days,” she muttered as she threw back the covers and rose from the bed. Her trousers and tunic were thankfully dry, as was her cloak. She tried to open the window to see how cold the morning was, but the wood had swelled to the point where it wouldn’t budge. Two attempts yielded nothing, so she shrugged, slid the quiver onto her back and drew the cloak about her shoulders. 

As she stepped out into the chill of a late-autumn morning, she shivered once and exhaled a puff of silvery mist. Only a few more days.

That was all she needed. A few more days, and she’d have Oakenshield. She’d march right into Gundabad with him as her prisoner and wouldn’t think twice as she collected the bounty on his head from Tarog. Once that happened, she would never have to worry about money again, the Mad King Thorin Oakenshield would pay for unleashing the dragon that wiped out her entire family, and she would be free from the memory and shadow that had haunted her since that awful night. 

#Richard Armitage #The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here? #Romance