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middleearthpixie · 1 month

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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

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sauronnaise · 4 years

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Legolas: Ada, let's make one thing clear, you cannot be better looking than the bride.

Thranduíl: Why not?

Legolas: Because!

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aeonianarchives · 2 years

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Middle Earth Incorrect Quotes 9

Galadriel, when giving gifts to the fellowship:

Galadriel: *speaks Sindarin* Tell me, how's everybody doing in Rivendell?

Aragorn: The twins have started sword fighting workshops; Elrond sometimes has migraines; Erestor is grumpy because his favourite coffee has to be shipped from Harad and he's impatient; Glorfindel now dresses like a Hobbit; and Lindir sent him to Mirkwood to see if King Thranduíl would adopt his new fashion trend.

Boromir & Sam: The Elven language is beautiful, I could listen to it forever.

Legolas: Mhh yeah sure...

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i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years

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Autumn is waning into winter slowly...

and I think of

- Ori's knitwear

- the fur-trimmed coats being shaken out in Erebor

- Thranduíl's fall crown...

Reblog and tell me what absurd things you think of when seeing the weather...

#cakes #pumpkin spice in Bombur's kitchen #Bofur carving decorations #I wonder what they're doing #missing people I've never known

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hjbender · 4 years

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I just noticed that one of Thranduíl's rings... is a snake! You can see it clearly in teh scene when the camera is panning up his body when the dwarves are brought before him in The Desolation Of Smaug. Help! This pairing is killing me!

How did

I NOT

NOTICE THIS

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theotherodinson · 6 years

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ladansedesybil replied to your post “Hi are you going to update loki-ronan fic? I know it is hard with all...”

Hope you'll finally end it! Good luck with all your other fics!

Have rather lost the muse for that one, sorry to say. Maybe one day it’ll wander back.

ladansedesybil replied to your post “I have read that amazing fic about ronan and loki. They even didn´t...”

Nevermind, I thought you did another one than 'out there in the desert' (this world needs more Ronan x Loki, as well as Thranduíl x Loki ��)

Did a couple of short one-shots if you’re interested, 6 and 13 in this collection.

#ladansedesybil

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middleearthpixie · 28 days

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Something in the Night ~ Chapter Fourteen

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: Angst

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.7k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @xxbyimm @legolasbadass @lathalea @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.

The gentle knock on the door brought Nina out from a light sleep and she sat up, rubbing her eyes with one hand as she called, “Yes?”

“It’s Thorin.”

Her hand fell away from her face at the stiff coolness in his voice. Perhaps it was only her imagination. Perhaps Thranduíl had told them they could not remain in Mirkwood and had to leave immediately. Either way, her stomach knotted as she replied, “Come in.”

The door handle turned without a sound and as he came into the room, one would have to be an utter idiot to not see the storms in his eyes or the scowl tucked into his beard. An uneasy feeling swept through her. “What is it?”

“I don't know,” he said slowly, as if still gathering his thoughts. “I’ve heard some rather disturbing news.”

That unease grew worse and she tried to ignore it, gingerly getting to her feet. Her stitched leg ached, and stung, and that only made her feel even worse now. “What sort of disturbing news.”

“You tell me.”

He met her gaze then and she almost backed away from him at the fury in his cobalt eyes. Her mouth going painfully dry, it took every bit of will she possessed to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth in order to say, “I’m—I’m afraid I don't know what you mean.”

“Is that so?” He thrumped past her, out onto the terrace, his voice growing hotter as he continued, “A prisoner was taken from the battle. An orc. He spoke of the bounty Azog had placed on my head.”

She was going to be sick. No. Surely it was anything but what she thought.

Please. Let it be anything but that.

“Thorin,” she limped out onto the terrace, where she found him staring off into the forest, hands clasped behind his back, “I’m not following you. I told you about it, about how it remained in place. So, why are you upset?”

“I think you know the answer to that.” He slowly turned to her. “Don’t you? Tell me again, how you knew I was going to be in the clearing at Rivendell?”

“I told you. I was following you.”

“That’s right. You were following me.” His eyes grew colder, his voice devoid of all emotion now. “But, you never said why you were following me. And don’t play me for a fool, Nina. Admit what I already know to be true. Tell me why you followed me.”

A sour, brackish taste flooded her mouth, her pulse pounding through her head with such force, black dots danced before her eyes and the thumping almost hurt. “Thorin… “

“You weren’t there watching over me,” he growled, his voice low. “You were hunting me.”

“No.” She shook her head, her eyes stinging now. “No, I can explain. Really, I—I can.”

“Is that so?” He folded his arms over his chest and affixed a steely gaze upon her. “I am listening.”

“Yes, I—I admit I was in that clearing with the intention of being the one to collect the bounty on you. I was—I was just so angry with you for unleashing Smaug, or because I thought you’d done that intentionally. All I could think about was what you’d cost me and I—I thought it only fair.

“But, then I met you and came to know you and—and I wasn't going to harm you. I wasn’t. And—and I wanted to tell you—I tried to tell you, but then Dwalin appeared and…” Her throat squeezed shut on her and she swallowed hard against the lump rising in it. “You were never in any danger.”

“Or you were but biding your time,” he growled.

“Thorin, if I was going to do it, I had ample opportunity. More than once, in—including last eve while you slept, and in fact, I—”

She caught herself, but it was too late. His eyes widened and his, “You what?” was a growl so low, it was only barely audible.

“You have to believe me, Thorin. I wouldn’t do anything to harm you. Not now.”

“What were you going to say? What did you think about doing that I should be thankful you didn't do?”

She felt the slow, painful cracking of her heart as he continued to stare at her through eyes that were little more than slivers of silvery-blue ice. The eyes that had gazed upon her with such tenderness only hours earlier now regarded her with a frigid contempt she’d never had directed at her before. He knew. She didn't have to tell him because he already knew. He just wanted to see if she had the courage to admit it.

So, in actuality, what more did she have to lose if she admitted everything to him now?

“Thorin,” she reached for his arm, only to pull back when he stepped out of reach, “I wasn't going to do it. I couldn’t. Not now.”

“What couldn't you do? Enough already, Miss Carren. Tell me the truth for once.”

“I’ve not lied to you about anything.”

“Except that you planned to take my head to Tarog. Tell me, what was he offering? How much is my life worth to him or to you?”

Now fury crept into his words, the embers glowing brighter with each one. She swallowed hard, shaking her head. “I wasn’t going to do it.”

“Do not lie to me any longer, Nina!” His fury erupted, his voice reverberating off the walls around them, echoed through the forest behind him. “I am not stupid nor am I mad! Now give over and stop lying to me!”

“I’m not lying! I’ve told you everything. Why and why I didn’t. And I tried to tell you, Thorin. I did. But I knew you’d be furious, and rightfully so. But that’s it. Yes, I followed you toward Rivendell with the intention of collecting the bounty, but then I couldn't do it and I didn't want to do it any longer. I tried to convince myself that I did and that it was all right to want revenge because of what I’d lost.

“But then… then you were not the Mad King. You weren’t the greedy dwarf who lied to us and promised us a share in the riches of your mountain if only we’d help you. You weren’t the one who unleashed Smaug with the sole intention of destroying my home. And I realized that I didn't want to do it because I didn't hate you. Because I lo—”

“Do not dare,” he growled, shaking his head sharply. “Do not stand there and tell me you care for me when you hunted me as if I were some sort of animal.”

“I wasn't hunting you. I was—I don't know—avenging the loss of my sister. Of my brother. Of my home. Take your pick.”

“By planning to collect a bounty placed on me. And you’ve still not told me what my life is worth.”

“Does it matter? I stepped in front of an arrow for you. I put an arrow between the eyes of an orc coming up behind you today! Would I do that if I didn't care for you?”

“You lied to me, Nina,” he told her flatly. “Now, for the last time, tell me what it was you didn’t do.”

She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling and forced her gaze somewhere over his right shoulder. Her throat squeezed so tightly, it hurt, and it matched the relentless stinging in her eyes. But she didn't want to break down now, not in front of him. She swallowed hard, and when she trusted herself to speak, said, “While you slept last eve, I took my sword and held it to your neck. And it was then that I realized I could never do it. Not ever. I could never harm you nor could I allow anyone else to do so. And I know you don’t believe me,” she shrugged, “but I speak true. Because I do care for you, Thorin. And I know you don’t believe that, either, but it is also the truth.”

“You’re right,” he replied slowly. “I don’t believe you.”

“And I cannot fault that.”

“Your services are no longer required, Miss Carren.” He stepped around her and strode to the door without looking back.

“Five thousand.”

He paused, his hand just above the handle, and glanced at her over his left shoulder. “I beg your pardon?”

“That was what Azog offered and what Tarog would pay. Five thousand in gold.” She shrugged again. “And the bounty is still on your head, you know, so please, do be careful from here to the Long Lake. Or perhaps even all the way to Erebor. I’ll wager the rest of that orc pack still lurks just beyond these borders.”

“I will be fine,” he told her flatly. “I know who I can trust and whom I cannot.”

His figure blurred as her eyes filled with tears and without another word, he pulled open the door and disappeared through the doorway, not troubling to close it behind him. She wanted to go after him, to somehow try to make him understand why she’d done what she had, but it was pointless and she certainly couldn't fault him. She’d betrayed him in the worst way. There was no coming back from that.

The knots in her belly tightened, the sour taste rising once more and she swallowed hard against it as she sank onto the railing and just stared at that door.

“You damned coward,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut at the sharp pain stabbing their backs. “You should have told him the truth, but no… you were too stupid and arrogant enough to believe you could get away with this, that you could just wave this away as if it was nothing.”

Her heart hurt almost as much as her head did, and as she leaned back against one of the supports holding up the canopy above her, Nina gave up trying to hold her tears back.

By the time he reached Dwalin’s chambers, some of Thorin’s fury had abated, replaced instead by a cold numbness he had not felt in years. He rapped on the door. “Dwalin!”

“What?” Dwalin tugged open said door, then stepped back. “What happened? Ye look angry enough to take on that orc pack with yer bare hands.”

“Thirty minutes ago, I would have agreed with you. But now? Now, I just wish to take our leave.”

“But I thought we were waiting for Nina to—”

“Do not speak her name in my presence,” Thorin snarled, scowling at him. “Never again will you utter that—that kunbûna’s name in my presence.”

“Thorin?” Dwalin’s forehead wrinkled. “What happened?”

“I was a fool and I should have listened to you.”

“What? I mean, of course ye should have, but what?”

Thorin leaned back against the closed door. “She was planning on collecting the bounty the Defiler put upon my head.”

Dwalin’s eyes nearly popped clear from their sockets as he said, “She what?”

“You were the one who said I couldn't trust her, why do you sound so surprised?”

“I thought she might try to relieve us of coin, perhaps. I had never thought she might want to kill ye.”

Thorin’s gut twisted angrily at hearing it aloud. “I never thought so, either. And yet… she admitted it to me.”

“Admitted—how did ye think to ask?”

“That was what Thranduíl wished to see me about. They took an orc prisoner and he was the one who explained it. I confronted her and she did not deny it. Five thousand in gold is what I am worth, apparently, to that… that kunbûna…”

Dwalin let out a low whistle. “Oh, laddie, I am sorry.”

“As am I,” Thorin told him softly, shaking his head. “I… I let myself care for her… more the fool am I, I suppose.”

“No, laddie. Yer not a fool.”

“Of course I am,” he replied, trying, and failing, to smile. “But I will not dwell on it. We will be taking our leave within the hour.”

“And what about… her?”

“She can rot for all I care.”

****

It came as no surprise to Nina when two of Thranduíl’s captains appeared at her door and informed her that she was no longer welcome in Mirkwood. In fact, they stood over her as she packed her belongings and then each took hold of an arm and bodily escorted her out of the palace and to the edge of the forest itself. Then, without a word, they left and she stood on the wide pathway that would follow long the Forest River, where only hours earlier, orcs lay in wait for them.

She should never have gone to Tarog in an attempt to receive half of the money up front. If she’d thought better, she would never have made it possible for anyone to know what she planned. But at the time, she was desperate. Although she managed to find work here and there, the jobs were sporadic at best and paid little and by the time she made her way to Mount Gundabad, she had but pennies to her name.

But Tarog laughed in her face at her request and sent her on her way. Later than night, two orcs attacked her meager camp, and it was only through utter blind luck she was able to fend them off. From there, she tried to teach herself everything she could when it came to fighting, and whenever possible, sought out people who would be willing to teach her as well.

It never occurred to her that any orcs might follow her in order to get to Thorin and she felt so stupid now that it hadn’t occurred to her. She knew Tarog would never willingly part with the bounty if anyone other than another orc brought him Thorin’s head. She should have known it was but a matter of time before one of them thought to follow her. So much stupidity and in the end, it cost her everything.

So there she stood, on the rutted road leading from Mirkwood, her wounded, bandaged leg only barely holding her up, and the only person she’d let herself care for in a long time now hated her to the core of her being.

And with good cause. She couldn't even be angry at him. How could she? She had betrayed him, even if she’d made no attempt on his life.

Unforgivable.

With no where else to go, Nina limped her way down the road toward the Long Lake. She made it less than a mile down the road when she heard the sounds of approaching footsteps, and so she shuffled off into the woods on the western side.

She held her breath as the orcs tramped past her, willed herself to blend into the foliage for she was in poor shape to defend herself now. For the time being, she forgot her self-pity, far too concerned with not being discovered.

But to her horror, they diverted from the road, also into the western woods not far from her. To make matters worse, clouds slowly enveloped the sun and a while later, rain began to fall. It began as a soft mist, but quickly devolved into a steady downpour that soaked into her clothes and hair and as the afternoon gave way to evening, and the temperatures dropped, Nina found herself unable to halt the shiver that permeated her. She couldn't move for fear of alerting the orcs to her presence and even if she could, where was she going to go?

The hours stretched out into one of the most miserable nights of her life. The rain refused to let up. The wind picked up, howling through the treetops, whipping through the bushes to send sheets of rainwater splashing over her. Her leg throbbed. Her heart ached. She was almost ready to just jump out and let the orcs slaughter her.

But as the dawn arrived, the rain slackened and the winds died down. She drew the back of her hand across her forehead for what had to be the hundredth time, then slowly stretched her aching legs. Leaves rustled, but if the orcs remained nearby, they must not have heard.

What surprised her more was they didn't hear the involuntary gasp she’d made when she stretched her wounded leg and a sharp burn tore through her. Clamping her teeth upon her bottom lip, Nina clutched at the her thigh with one hand, tears stinging her eyes as she fought to control the pain rippling through her.

Breathing grew difficult, shorter and more shallow as she tried to will the pain away. All she could think about was being found by the orcs, and what would happen to her if they did. Her heart hammered her ribs, her fingers bit into the muscle around the stitches. Wave after wave of fiery pain swept through her.

But then, mercifully, it ebbed. Her fingers eased. Breathing became easier. She sank into the damp earth, swallowing hard as an icy sweat prickled across her back. Her eyes closed of their own. Exhaustion sank into her every fiber.

In that moment, she hated herself more than she ever hated anyone else. If the orcs got her, it would serve her right.

She lay there for a long moment, staring up at the pink and gold sky, where pale morning light broke through the thick grayness of the rainy dawn. Somewhere high above her, birds began to sing and she remembered something her mother told her once, about why the birds sang in at dawn.

“Mama, do all birds sing?”

“They do, love. And for a very important reason. It’s to reassure the ones they love that they made it through the night.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Nina smiled. She made it through the night, not that she had anyone to sing to about it. But she’d made it and she would keep on doing so. And in time, she would forget Thorin Oakenshield had ever even existed.

She managed to sleep for a bit and when she opened her eyes, the sun had banished the clouds completely and she heard footsteps and voices and a shiver went down her spine.

Thorin and Dwalin. They’d taken their leave of Mirkwood.

They didn't know the orcs lingered still.

As quickly as she could, she got to her feet, swallowing hard as the movement sent a flaming arrow of pain through her leg, one that had her pausing and clinging to a skinny stick of a nearby tree.

A hint of dizziness rose, one she tried to fight off as she moved through the trees, toward the thicker, sturdier trees. The orcs must have heard the dwarves, for she heard them up head, gathering their things, organizing their weapons.

She moved as close to the orc pack as she dare, then steeled herself for the fresh fireball that would burst within her leg as she gripped a low tree branch, bent her wounded leg, and began to climb.

It was slow going, but she made her way up into the cradle of branches, high enough above the pack that she had a clear view of them, but they most likely could not see her, thanks to the new growth of leaves.

A fresh sweat broke out over her body, but she ignored it as she eased her bow free and set herself in position to keep watch over the roadway. The pack was down to roughly half a dozen orcs. If she was quick enough, she could take out enough that Thorin and Dwalin would be able to defend themselves, should Thranduíl not send any of his guard out with them.

From where she perched, she saw only the two dwarves and while that didn't necessarily mean there were no elves nearby, she was going to err on the side of caution and so slipped an arrow from her quiver and set it on the rest.

As Thorin came into view, her heart skipped a beat, and then broke all over again, the shards painfully slicing into her. More than anything, she wished she could go back in time, to confess to him why she was there to begin with, before anything else happened between them. Perhaps then…

Perhaps then what? She was of Man. He was the King Under the Mountain. That one night together was all they could ever have. No matter how she looked at it, this would have ended in heartbreak for her.

Or so she told herself.

But the fact of the matter was that she’d hurt Thorin. She’d betrayed him. He felt he could not trust her and she couldn't fault him one bit. Had she only been honest…

It no longer mattered.

“Move out!”

She didn't know which orc said it, but they moved as a unit toward the road. Nina watched without blinking, drawing the bowstring back as she tracked their movement.

Just as they’d done the previous day, the orcs attacked at once and although Thorin and Dwalin seemed ready for it, that didn't stop her from aiming and firing as an orc swung its axe at Thorin.

She hit the orc between the shoulder blades and he dropped like a stone. She waited for the elves to burst from the trees, but this time, Dwalin and Thorin were on their own. However, they must have anticipated trouble as well, for they were ready and it wasn’t long before what remained of that orc pack had been decimated.

Nina sank against the branches, her leg throbbing from being in one position and bearing more weight than it should’ve, and wished she could simply lower herself to the ground and collapse into Thorin’s arms, where he could cradle her for a moment, then spirit her back to Mirkwood, as he’d done when she was wounded yesterday.

But of course that was impossible. She could do no more than lay there, her head tucked into the small vee, propped on her arm, and watch as Thorin and Dwalin dispatched the last of the orc pack, and continued on down the road toward the Long Lake until they rounded a bend and vanished from view completely.

#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

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middleearthpixie · 9 months

Text

After the Fire ~ Epilogue

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a grievously wounded Thorin is brought back to the kingdom of Erebor, which is still mostly in ruins. Although he’s survived the wounds he received at the end of Azog’s blade, his recovery is far from complete. Grief, regret, anger, all are making his journey that much more difficult and the physical recovery isn’t quite the most difficult challenge he faces.

Jasna Stoneham is no stranger to loss, as she is a survivor of Smaug’s wrath upon Esgaroth. When she is asked to help the dwarves healers of Erebor, her instinct is to say no, but she needs the job, and so agrees to it. However, no one told her that of all the patients, she would be responsible for the king himself, Thorin Oakenshield.

Unfortunately, the road to recovery isn’t necessary a smooth one, but if there’s one thing Thorin will learn, it’s that Jasna is just as stubborn as he is and for every step back he takes, she is there to push him three steps forward. And Jasna will soon find out that there is a gentle, softer side to the dwarf king, one that very few people have ever seen and one he fights to keep hidden from her as well. But like his recovery, that is also easier said than done.

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Jasna Stoneham

Characters: Jasna, Thorin, Dwalin, Thranduíl

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 737

Tag: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketchy-loo6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @buckybarnes-thorin @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms

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

Previous chapters can be found here.

A Year Later

A gentle breeze rustle through the grass, through the leafy canopies on either side of the river and the sun filtered through to keep the chill from the breeze. That didn't stop Jasna from unfolding a small, pale blue blanket from the bag she’d brought to place over the baby, who slept peacefully in her basket, which was set alongside Jasna on the bigger blanket Thorin had spread out for them earlier.

At not quite three months old, Elina already resembled her father with her shock of thick black hair and pale blue eyes, and Erebor’s newest princess had no idea how much of a celebration her arrival brought. In some ways, the dwarves were still celebrating.

“Was she cold?”

Jasna looked up to see Thorin on the edge of the blanket, standing just far enough away so the water dripping from his hair and body didn't land on his daughter, and she smiled. “No, but you know me. I worry. And I know she’s fine and will let me know if she’s too cold, but I cannot help myself.”

She peered about Thorin to smile at the laughter and splashing still coming from the river. It was a glorious day and the dwarves had all decided to treat themselves to a day off. It had quickly become something of a party, with fires being built and food and drink brought out as well. The tang of roasting meat hung in the air, as both Óin and Glóin manned those fires to cook for everyone else.

Thorin sank onto the blanket on the far side of Elina’s basket. “She’s up.”

“Is she? I thought I had at least another half an hour to go.”

“She thinks otherwise.”

“She usually does.” Jasna smiled, passing him a towel. “Just in case.”

“She’s fine.” He gently eased Elina from her basket and cradled her against him and for probably the millionth time, Jasna could not believe how at ease he looked with the infant in his arms. He’d been terrified of hurting her at first, but once she and Narnerra convinced him he truly had nothing to worry about, he relaxed.

It was a sight to see, the mighty King Under the Mountain and his daughter, for no one could reduce him to mush quite the way this one tiny girl did and anyone who saw them together smiled and sighed wistfully at the sight.

Jasna sat up, shifting to sit beside him, and leaned her head against his shoulder. “This has been a wonderful day. I don't wish to see it end. Look at them.”

She nodded toward the river, where Fíli and Shael splashed about, oblivious to everyone around them as he caught her around the waist and drew her in for a kiss. “He is so happy now.”

“He has everything he wanted, and that’s because of you, mesmel,” Thorin told her, leaning to press a kiss into the top of her head. “We all have everything we wanted because of you, you know.”

“I just happened to be able to help.”

“And you did.” He shifted to set Elina back in her basket, where she lay there just watching them with wide blue eyes, which slowly closed once more. “I survived and found my One, I saw my daughter born, and am able to finally, finally be happy, Kíli has survived to marry his Tauriel and see his son born, and Fíli has survived to walk again and to find his One in Miss Whitbow. And Mahal willing, they will also be blessed with pebbles of their own. And none of this would have happened, had it not been for you.”

She smiled, tucking her head against his shoulder once more. “You should go and enjoy yourself. It isn’t often the King Under the Mountain is allowed a day off.”

“I will.” He reached to catch her by the chin, and tilted her face to his. “It also isn’t often you and I are afforded a quiet moment, either.”

With that, he bent to her and his lips met hers in a soft, teasing kiss. No, they weren’t often given many quiet moments these days, but Jasna didn't mind that so much as it meant she savored these moments so much more. And with that, she slid an arm about his neck and lost herself in the fire of his kiss.

The End

#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 #Everybody Lives AU #The Hobbit BOTFA

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middleearthpixie · 10 months

Text

The Escape ~ Part Two

Summary: Thorin and his Company have found themselves imprisoned in Mirkwood, only to have help from one of the most unlikeliest of elves…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Carys Greenleaf

Characters: Thorin, Carys Greenleaf, Thorin’s Company, Thranduíl, Legolas, Bilbo Baggins

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.3k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketchy-loo6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @buckybarnes-thorin @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms

Part One can be found here.

“You took it upon yourself to let them go, Carys?”

Thranduíl never raised his voice, but the iciness in his words was more than enough to make Carys’ stomach clench into painful knots, which in turn made her feel sick as a sweetly brackish taste flooded her mouth. Although she’d heard him use this same tone on others, such as members of his guard who disappointed him and enemies in his dungeons, he’d never used it with her before.

Swallowing hard to try to calm her roiling gut, she squared her shoulders and met his furious stare. “I did. It was wrong to hold them and you know this, Father. They did nothing to merit imprisonment.”

His eyes grew colder, his gaze unwavering. “That was not your decision to make. You deliberately went behind my back, stole from me, and let them go and I cannot forgive that.”

“I could tell you I was sorry,” she countered, shaking her head. “But it would be a lie. And if you were honest with yourself, you would agree. Why do you harbor such resentment, such hatred, toward them? What could they have possibly done to warrant it?”

“That is none of your concern.”

She stared up at him. “I do not understand this at all. You’ve never before laid eyes on this group and yet you treat them as if they were your mortal enemy. Why?”

“Again, that is not of your concern. You went against my wishes and did so deliberately and I cannot let that stand.”

She swallowed hard, her heartbeat speeding up to the point where black dots dance before her eyes. He continued to simply stare at her, and the urge to shuffle her feet, to sink her hands into her skirts and worry the velvet swept through her. She hated the suspense of waiting for his next words. “Father?”

“I need to decide how such a deliberate act should be punished, for it must be. There are consequences to such actions, Carys, and you are not a child who knew no better.”

“But—”

“Taras,” Thranduíl cut her off sharply, his gaze sliding to the guard standing to his right, “take the princess back to her chambers.”

He looked back at her. “You will wait there until I decide. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good.” Thranduíl now turned to the guard on his left. “Have your captains been dispatched to round up the prisoners, Belanor?”

Carys winced as Belanor nodded. “They have. It should not be long before we have them again.”

“Good.” Thranduíl spun about to make his way out of the chamber. “So, you will return to your chambers at once and remain there until I come to a decision regarding your punishment. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father.”

Taras caught her by the elbow. “If you would come with me, Princess.”

“I can find my own way, thank you,” she replied, jerking free and striding off, leaving him to catch up to her.

He shadowed her the entire way back to her chambers, but she ignored him, taking a great, if childish, delight in slamming the door to her chambers in his face. Then, with a soft sigh, she leaned back against it, letting her eyes close as her head thunked dully against the wood. She expected her father to be angry with him, but she did not expect the cold fury he showed. Why did he harbor such animosity for those men? What could they have possibly done to him? They were lost travelers, nothing more and nothing less. And if her father expected her to feel remorse for doing what she felt was right, he was going to be disappointed.

But at the same time, she hated waiting. Especially when she knew she was in serious trouble and somehow, she didn't think trouble could be more serious than this. Certainly, she’d never made him so angry, not that she could remember, anyway. In fact, the last time she’d seen him this angry, he’d banished the elf responsible and she had no idea whatever became of Elré. All she knew was that he was taken to the front gates, his bow and arrows were broken in front of him and he was sent off into the wilds to fend for himself. That was the last any of them saw him, as far as she knew.

Her bow and quiver of black-tipped arrows stood in the corner, where she’d put them every night before going to sleep since she was a wee girl. The thought of seeing them destroyed before her eyes was heartbreaking. She couldn’t imagine not having them within reach.

Of course, she couldn’t imagine being forced to leave her home, either, and although she didn't think her father would do something so cold, she couldn't say for certain he wouldn’t, either.

And what about the dwarves? He’d sent his best soldiers out after them. What would happen if they found the company and Thorin and his men refused to come without a fight? She had the feeling her father’s archers would have no qualms at all about riddling each member of Thorin’s company with arrows.

She couldn’t sit there and just wait for that word to come in. Her conscience wouldn’t allow that, just as it wouldn’t allow her to let the dwarves simply rot in the dungeons, either. With that in mind, she changed from her lovely, but impractical, flowing velvet gown into comfortable trousers and a warm dark green tunic that would help her blend into the woods, tugged on her favorite soft-skinned boots, and she was ready to go and see for herself.

The door was locked, as she found when she squeezed the handle. Expected but aggravating all the same. And she didn't doubt Taras was stationed right outside, either. He was her bodyguard as well as her jailer and while most times she could sweet-talk him into looking the other way while she snuck out, she had the feeling he would not be so complacent this time.

With that, she moved to lift her quiver from the floor and slid into it, then crept across the floor, mindful of the loose floorboard that creaked on occasion, toward the windows. They opened without a sound and she’d just gotten one leg over the sill when footsteps sounds beyond her door. She paused, half-in and half-out, her mind whirling with excuses she might offer up, should someone come into her chambers, until the steps receded once more.

Then, she slipped all the way out and disappeared into the forest the way Legolas taught her to do when they were children. She moved without a sound across the leaves and debris littering Mirkwood’s floor, and at her favorite tree, she caught a lower branch to effortlessly swing herself up into the branches. Moving above the forest floor was far faster, much quieter, and easier to camouflage herself, and it wasn't long before she’d reached the far end of the forest, where the Forest River wound out of Mirkwood toward the Long Lake where Esgaroth had been built. There was no sign of dwarves, or barrels, but she grimaced at the sight of dead orcs, in various stages of dismemberment strewn about like abused and neglected dolls that some giant child grew tired of playing with and just let them lay were they fell.

Easing down from her tree to the now-silent stone bridge that spanned the river, Carys’ stomach clenched at the pools of sticky black ooze that was orc blood. Her mouth painfully dry, and swallowing nearly impossible, she forced herself to look for any sign or dwarven or elf blood. There were no shattered barrels or remnants of barrels anywhere to be seen.

Hopefully that meant the dwarves made it to freedom.

She didn’t know why she cared so much about making certain they escaped. She’d never met dwarves before and what she’d been told of them hardly endeared them to her. Rude. Boisterous. Messy. They were everything elves were not. She would have been perfectly happy to never have clapped eyes on a single dwarf ever.

So why did she free this group?

She couldn't explain it. It defied reason.

A soft sigh rose to her lips as she vaulted over the edge of the bridge to the river bank and without a look back at Mirkwood, followed the river as it wound away from everything she’d ever known.

Two hours later, Carys was absolutely questioning the wisdom of her decision as her stomach growled. She had some lembas with her, but was hardly in the mood to stop and eat. She sat up in the branches of a towering oak and tried to find the sun, which was next to impossible since iron gray clouds had effectively blocked it from view. But that didn't stop her from trying to find it. She simply had to do so.

In other words, she, who knew these woods like the back of her hand—or so she’d thought— was lost.

Everything was fine at first, but then she crossed paths—well, almost crossed paths—with a pack of orcs, most likely the ones who survived the battle at the bridge. She vaulted up into the trees when one spotted her, and in her haste to get out of range of their filthy arrows, she not only managed to do that, but she managed to get herself turned around to the point where she couldn't even find the river itself, and that had never happened before. And without being able to see the sun, she had no way of knowing which way she actually traveled.

Irritation rippled through her as she sat there, in the cradle of that blasted oak tree. The wind picked up and rain began to fall and she scowled as cold droplets soaked into her tunic, into her hair, into her trousers and boots and made her colder still.

She peered down through the leafy canopy. No sign of any orcs. No sign of anyone, period.

Carefully, she lowered herself from the branch to the path that could only barely be called such. It was narrow and overgrown with tree roots and branches, vines, and other debris that made moving along it more than a little difficult. But night was creeping in and she had to at least try to find her way to some sort of shelter. Once night fell, orcs seemed to multiply and appear everywhere and she had no desire to come face to face with them again.

So, she pushed on. The path narrowed further and she bit back a sharp oath when a branch she’d been pushing aside slipped and slapped back, the thorns raking across her left cheek in the process. The hot sting brought tears to her eyes, which mingled with the rain that now fell harder still.

Carys pressed on into the thickening darkness. Thankfully, the rain stopped, but the damage was already done, so to speak, and she couldn't remember the last time she was so miserable. Cold. Soaked to the bone. Lost in the woods she’d spent her entire life. Could it possibly get any worse?

The footsteps ahead of her answered her question.

Of course it could.

She stopped and carefully reached for one of the arrows in her quiver, then carefully laid it against the rest. The bow lowered but ready, she crept forward as noiselessly as she could. The footsteps quieted, but then she heard voices. Low. Rumbling. Definitely male.

And more than two, as the voices ranged in timbre and pitch.

She drew the bowstring back as she crept closer to the sounds. Foolish, but she couldn't go back. The pathway behind her disappeared as the branches and various other flora snapped back into place and now it was too dark to even see where the path was, let alone navigate it.

Finally, she came to a clearing. The crackle of a fire greeted her.

The rush of water came softly behind that crackle.

She’d found the river.

The voices grew louder and she eased her grip on the bowstring as she realized she recognized them. Or at least, one of them.

Bow and arrow went back to where they belonged and she paused, hands on the branches in her way, and took a deep breath before parting them. She stepped out into the clearing, where she found herself staring, and being stared at by, the same group of dwarves she’d let out of Mirkwood’s dungeons less than twenty-four hours earlier.

Thorin held up a hand to cut Dwalin off mid-sentence. “Hush. Something approaches.”

The hobbit, who somehow found them just beyond the curve in the river where the current spit them out, looked from him to Dwalin and back. “Do you think it’s orcs?”

Thorin shook his head as he looked about for something, anything, that they might use as weapons, since Thranduíl had taken it upon himself to relieve Thorin and his Company of any and all of their own weapons. His gut tightened at the thought of possibly facing off against orcs with no way to defend themselves.

Dwalin crouched to swipe a large rock from the ground behind them. “I’m ready.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “A rock? Against their arrows? Do you truly think that will work?”

“I think it better than nothing.”

“I think you’ve gone—” He stopped then as the bushes before them rustled madly. Whoever their company was, stealth was not their strong suit.

Dwalin lifted his rock higher and the rest of the company—Bilbo included—also snatched up rocks of their own. They all went absolutely silent, just waiting to see what would emerge from the forest and how heavily they might be armed.

“There you are.”

They all stared as the elf princess from Mirkwood burst forth from the trees as if she’d been tracking them for ages. She certainly looked as if she’d been lost in the woods since the beginning of time. Water beaded her cheeks, dripped from the tip of her nose, her chin, from the hem of her tunic and when she took a step, it sounded as if her boots actually squished.

“What are you doing here?” Thorin asked, letting his rock hit the ground with a dull thunk. The others followed suit, and then all just waited to hear her explanation.

“I’m here because I got myself completely turned around thanks to the blasted rain and some fool orcs.” She came out into the clearing, looking from him to Dwalin, then to Balin, and back. “You should be miles from her by now. Thranduíl’s best captains are at this moment combing these woods looking for you, and I’ll wager the orcs who saw you off are as well.”

“I agree, we should be miles from here,” he replied, slowly turning away from her. “And we would be, if not for the fact that we lost the current and this is where the river dumped us out.”

“You need to keep moving,” she told him, as if he didn't already know that. “It won’t take them long to find you here.”

“Is that why you’re here?” He moved back to where Óin was attempting to light a fire, only to find any of the wood he tried to ignite was too wet to catch. It wouldn’t be long before they were all shivering, sitting in wet clothes as the night temperatures dropped.

He looked back at the elf. What was her name again?

“Listen, Miss—”

“Carys,” she said, meeting his stare. “My name is Carys. No Miss. Just Carys.”

“You should return home, Carys,” he told her flatly. “We needed no warning. We are well aware of what hunts us from back there.”

“And yet you dawdle here?”

“Did you miss the part where I said we’ve lost the current?”

She rolled her eyes as she strode past them and up onto the large rocks near the water’s edge. He remained where he was, exchanging looks with Balin as he waited for Carys to realize that without a current, they weren’t getting far.

It took a few minutes, but then she turned back toward him. “I know a path through the woods, it will take us a bit further south, but you should be to—”

“Us?” He arched one brow at her. She couldn’t honestly think she would be accompanying them, now did she?

To her credit, she hesitated and he had the feeling that, had there been light, he see her blushing as she said, “I—that is, you—well, to be honest, yes. Us.”

“My dear lady,” Balin broke in, his tone the one of diplomacy Thorin knew and counted on more times than he liked to think about, “you cannot go with us. It’s far too dangerous.”

The elf just stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head. “No, I’m afraid you don’t understand. I cannot go back home. Thranduíl is furious with me that I helped you and he has not said what my punishment will be, but has made it very clear that there will be one. So, if I were to return to his palace, the best I can hope for is that he will break my bow and confiscate my arrows. The worst? I will be banished. Without my bow or arrows, mind you.”

She said it softly, but there was no mistaking the definite apprehension in her soft voice. Despite Thorin’s better judgement, sympathy for her predicament swirled through him. “He would banish his own daughter?”

“For something of this magnitude?” She nodded slowly. “Yes. I believe he would.”

He couldn’t help his sigh. This quest grew more complicated by the hour. It went from reaching Erebor and dislodging a dragon, which was complicated enough on its own, to having to find a way to Erebor, find weapons, and then dislodge the dragon.

And now? Now, it seemed they had no choice but to allow Carys of Mirkwood to accompany them. Of course, if nothing else, at least she had a weapon, but that was a small consolation.

Dwalin looked over at him. “Ye cannot seriously be thinking of allowing a girl to come with us?”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Carys. Her name is Carys. And if we leave her, what will become of her?”

“What will become of us, when her father, the king who is already displeased with ye, Thorin, finds us? And finds her with us?” Dwalin let out a mirthless snort. “Ye’ll find yerself as his son-in-law, living here instead of in Erebor.”

Both Thorin and Carys snorted at the same time, which made Balin chuckle. “Why do I think that won’t be a problem?”

Thorin just stared at him for a long moment, then decided it didn't even warrant a response, and so instead, said, “It is settled. She knows a way around, where we won’t run across Thranduíl’s guards or the orc pack, hopefully, and so we will let her show us this way. We are running short of time and I’d rather just make our way to Erebor instead of standing here debating the matter.”

He turned to Carys. “We can pay your for your service.”

“Fine.” She nodded, coming over to where he stood, and held out a hand. “We have a bargain then?”

“It depends on the cost,” he replied.

“We can settle that in Esgaroth.”

“I’d rather settle it now.”

“Very well.” She offered up an impish smile that for some strange reason made his heart skip a beat. “Then consider my services a gift. They will benefit us both in the end, so there is no need for payment of any sort.”

“Oh, now, I am not at all certain—” he began, only to have Ori cut him off.

“Uh… Thorin?”

He turned toward Ori, only to see another man had appeared out of the darkness, high above perched up on a large rock. Not only that, but he was armed with a bow of his own, aimed at Ori, and there was no hint of friendliness in his voice as he said, “If any of you moves, he is dead.”

42 notes · View notes

middleearthpixie · 11 months

Note

Hellooo, I love your work, and I would love to request something! If you don't end up writing it, that is completely fine. Please don't feel obligated to!

I'm not sure if you write for Kili, so if you do not, Thorin would be perfectly fine!

But imagine when the company is in Mirkwood and they are sitting in the cells. They are visited by (what they believe to be) a Dwarrowdam, while she is beardless, she is Dwarven in size and has long hair with a few braids in it (They consider her to be like Kili, relatively ugly for Dwarven standards). They get excited when she talks to them, but she doesn't seem to know anything of dwarves culture.

When the guards come, they ask her to hide, which she does not, and is thus greated by the Guards as their Princess, Legolas little Sister. They company realises they've met Thranduils Daughter, who might look a little dwarven but is an elf through and through, with long pointed ears, ethereal seemingly glowing long hair, and royal blood.

How it end is up to you! I hope you have a wonderful day! Take care <333

Hi there, Nonny!

Thank you so much for this and for your patience! 💜

I don't write for Kíli and probably couldn't do him justice if I tried, so I wrote for Thorin, since he is my first dwarf love. :)

Anyway, I hope you like it.

The Escape

Summary: Thorin and his Company have found themselves imprisoned in Mirkwood, only to have help from one of the most unlikeliest of elves...

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Carys Greenleaf

Characters: Thorin, Carys Greenleaf, Thorin’s Company, Thranduíl, Legolas, Bilbo Baggins

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.9k

***

“Did he offer you a deal?”

Thorin bobbed his head, a hint of triumph surging through him as he replied, “He did. And I told him ish kakfê ai-‘d-dûr-rugnal! Him and all his kin!”

“Well, that’s that, then.”

“I will not bargain with elves,” Thorin told him flatly, moving to the far side of the cell. Of course, calling it the far side was a bit disingenuous, as the cell itself was too small to actually have sides. Small. Damp. With cots of woven tree branches that had poked through the packed earthen walls. There was barely enough room for him and Balin, and Balin was one of the smaller dwarves. Thank Mahal he wasn't locked away with Bombur.

Thorin peered through the iron bars that made up the cell door. Across from them, Bombur and Bifur were crammed into one cell together, and Bifur couldn't be seen behind his cousin. Thorin just knew he was there, for every now and again, Bifur muttered something in khuzdul.

“Without a bargain,” Balin was saying, “we are not getting out of here, you know.”

Thorin shook his head, moving away from the door to sink onto the edge of the roughly woven bunk. It was rough and uneven, and he couldn't imagine getting a peaceful night’s sleep on it, even if his mind wasn't already weighted down with their situation and the fact they were quickly running out of time to make it to the Lonely Mountain before the last light of Durin’s Day.

Still, he had his principles and bargaining with elves violated every one of them. Especially bargaining with Mirkwood elves. Out of the question entirely. “We will find our way out. Our burglar is still among the missing, remember.”

“True, but we don't know where he is, or if he is even within the palace,” Balin pointed out, sinking onto the bunk across from Thorin’s. The cell was so narrow, if he reached out, Thorin would be able to touch Balin. Thank Mahal small spaces didn't trouble him, since it looked as though they might be there for some time.

Best not to think about that.

“Are you thirsty?”

Thorin jumped at the unexpected voice that floated through the bars and when he looked over to see who their visitor might be, he couldn't help but stare. How was it possible a dwarrowdam walked freely in Mirkwood, of all places? And not only a dwarrowdam, but one of the oddest looking women he’d ever seen, with her shimmering, white-blonde hair sleek as it spilled over her shoulders. He would have thought her to be an elf, were it not for her diminutive size (she was shorter than even Balin, and that was saying something,) and the fact that her face was completely devoid of any hair whatsoever. Her pale skin almost glowed in its bareness, making her wide eyes seemed even wider and incredibly dark. But then his gaze alit on the braids woven into that otherwise sleek golden fall. Two on the left side of her head and one on the right, each adorned with small silver ornaments of some sort. An outcast, no doubt, and probably some sort of elf-servant, which sent a rush of pity for her surging through him.

“We want nothing from the likes of you,” he told her bluntly. “Leave us.”

She stepped closer and he realized then that her eyes were not dark at all. Instead, they were blue. A deep blue the color of the perfect sapphires that were once mined in Erebor. Deep blue and just as sparkling. Those beautiful eyes held his as she replied, “Stubborn fool. Think you anyone else will pass by and offer you water or anything, for that matter?”

“I deal with no dwarf who serves an elven master,” he told her flatly. “So take yourself off, and leave us be.”

“Thorin,” Balin’s voice was low with both warning and scolding, “there is no need to be rude to the girl.”

Thorin glared at him. “Mind yourself, Balin. We need nothing from the likes of her.”

She remained where she stood, unfazed by his dismissal. “Are you always one to cut off his nose to spite his face?”

“Begone with you, unless you’ve come to release us.”

“I couldn’t do that if I wanted to,” came her pert reply, “as Thranduíl would be furious with me and I’d rather avoid that, it’s all the same to you, dwarf.”

He held her stare as he debated about whether or not to scold her again. But when she held his stare without flinching or looking away, he relented with a muffled sigh. He was cutting off his nose to spite his face and in all honesty, he would gladly kill for a sip of anything liquid at the moment. “Very well. I beg your pardon. Water would be appreciated.”

“There,” she bobbed her head, “was that so difficult?”

Thorin felt Balin step up behind him, and he looked over at the older dwarf as Balin asked, “Who are you, lass? What clan do you claim as yours?”’

“Clan?” Her blue eyes clouded with confusion as she shook her head. “I’m afraid I don't know what you mean.”

“Whom do you call husband? I assume he’s the one what wove those into your hair.”

“Again, I’m not following you. I’m afraid I don't understand at all what you’re asking me.”

“The braids.” Balin gestured to his own woolly white hair. “The man you’ve pledged yourself to, was he killed in battle with these elves? Is that how you came to be indentured to them?”

“Indentured?” She shook her head, the silver ornaments in her braids thunking softly against one another. “I’ve pledged myself to no man. And I am indentured to no one. In fact, I have no idea what you’re going on about at all.”

Thorin wasn't exactly sure how to respond to her. “You don’t understand the significance of your braids?”

“Other than they keep my hair out of my eyes?” She smiled then. “There is no significance and I’ve pledged myself to no man. At least,” a glint came into her pale eyes as she met his, “not yet.”

To his surprise, his cheeks grew hot. She must have noticed it herself, for her smile grew winsome. “You, dwarf, are blushing.”

“Dwarf?” Balin broke in, shaking his head. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but he is no ordinary dwarf. He is—”

“That’ll do, Balin,” Thorin broke in, shaking his head as he glanced over his shoulder at him.

Balin’s eyes widened briefly, then he nodded. “Of course.” And to the girl, he said, “Have you a name?”

“I do, of course. Surely you don't think they simply call out You! and hope I turn around, do you?”

Now it was Balin’s turn to blush and Thorin almost laughed aloud at the rare sight. Clearing his throat, Balin bobbed his head. “Of course not. That would be silly.”

“It would, indeed.” She smiled once more. “I am—”

Footsteps sounded and Kíli hissed, “Someone’s coming!”

Fíli appeared at the door of the cell he shared with his brother. “You should leave, miss. I should hate to see you in trouble.”

“Trouble?” She twisted toward him and Thorin couldn’t help noticing how her hair seemed to come alive, spilling like molten gold over her shoulder. “I’ll have nothing of the sort. Why would I?”

“Princess?” One of the Mirkwood guards appeared, scowling as he addressed the girl. “You should not be down here. It’s not safe.”

“Oh, do I answer to you now?” Her voice remained mild but there was no mistaking the amusement and annoyance threaded through her words. “Because I’m fairly certain I do not.”

“Your father would be displeased, should he know you’ve come down here.”

Princess. Thorin straightened at hearing her addressed this way. This girl was no dwarrowdam after all. Which explained so much, and yet left so many other questions clanging around in his head, beginning with why a princess was wandering about the dungeon, for starters.

“Carys!” A deeper voice rang out along the cells. “What mean you by this?”

“By what? Being here?” She didn't seem at all nervous or afraid as the elf who’d rounded Thorin and his company up in the Mirkwood forest stepped out of the shadows. “Legolas, you didn't even offer them a drop to drink and after battling the spiders, no less. What is the matter with you?”

Thorin almost smiled at the disappointment and scolding in her voice. It served the uppity elf right, to be put in his place. He not only accused Thorin of lies, but of thievery as well, and took it upon himself to relieve Thorin of the same sword Elrond had gifted him not a two months ago.

Thorin looked from Carys to Legolas and almost groaned at the resemblance between them. She was not a dwarf at all, but merely a very small elf. A child, perhaps? He thunked his head against the iron bars. A child would not go against her father’s wishes and free them. The most she would do would be to offer them water. What else could she do?

But if Legolas was chagrined by her words, he hid it well, snorting before he replied, “Why would I do such a thing? And you should not take it upon yourself to—”

“Oh, hush,” she snapped, shaking her head at him. “Don’t be that way. Papa is angry that they dared trespass, and while he’s within his rights to be annoyed, I think imprisoning them is overkill. They were lost in our woods and he had them arrested for it. They’d done nothing to warrant it, you know. Lost is not a crime, unless our laws have changed, which I’m fairly certain they’ve not.”

Legolas’ dark eyes flicked up and Thorin almost smiled as he met the elf’s stare easily. Stepping around his sister, he said, “Do not think I am as soft as she. I care not if you lot are left here long enough to turn to dust.”

“I’ve noticed,” Thorin replied dryly, mindful of Balin’s dark eyes boring into his back at the moment. “Although, I confess, I was not aware being lost was a crime, unless, as she’s pointed out, your laws have changed.”

“You are guilty of more than simply being lost. You took it upon yourself to attempt to hunt one of Thranduíl’s prized deer, and that is a crime in these lands,” Legolas told him, shaking his head. “You are fortunately this cell is all the punishment he’s ordered.”

“I certainly feel fortunate.”

“Thorin, mind yourself,” Balin growled behind him.

Thorin ignored the warning, adding, “We were lost and hungry and thirsty. You would do the same, were you in our boots.”

“I would never be in dwarven boots. I value my feet far too much.” Legolas turned to his sister. “Come. I will have one of the others deal with this lot.”

“I wish to bring them water first. A little kindness won’t hurt, you know.”

“Not now. Let’s go.” He grabbed Carys by the elbow and steered her away, calling over his shoulders, “She will not be back, you know.”

Carys scowled as she glared up at her older brother. “Would it have hurt to give them a sip of water? When did you grow so cold, Legolas, that you would deny anyone a basic necessity such as that?”

“You are too soft, is the problem,” he replied without looking at her. “And you know Father would agree with me.”

She pulled free. “We will see about that.”

“Carys, wait—”

She ignored him, marching ahead of him along the open walkway that led toward her father’s throne room. Although she knew her pleas would fall on deaf ears, she had to try. Thorin Oakenshield and his company had broken no elven laws, save for that attempt to shoot one of Thranduíl’s white deer, and she felt one hundred years in a cell was not exactly a warranted punishment for that. If they’d hit the deer, perhaps, but since he’d missed…

Besides, she’d heard tell of Thorin Oakenshield and had, for some time now, wondered whether or not he actually existed. Now that she’d seen him for herself… well… she was somehow going to convince her father to let him go. What harm had befallen her family from having the dwarves in their forest? Absolutely none.

With that, she marched into the throne room where she found Thranduíl perched high atop his throne of woven branches, adorned with gilded versions of oak leaves, acorns, maple seeds, and pine cones. He blended with the surroundings in his flowing robes of gold, orange, brown, and red silk that floated about him like a mist. The sunlight that filtered through the treetops reflected off his crown of sticks and twigs, also adorned with gilded acorns and polished stones that in some lights appeared golden, and in others, almost black.

“Papa, a word?”

His eyes were as green as spring leaves after a rainstorm, calm and tranquil as they met hers. “What is it, Carys?”

“The prisoners.”

“If you mean the dwarves, you should simply stop right there,” he replied sternly, “for I will not discuss them.”

“What have they done that is so terrible? They were lost.”

“That does not excuse them their trespasses.”

“They didn't kill the deer, mind you.” She shook her head as she stepped closer. “They did nothing except walk along our paths. They sipped not even a drop of water. Let them go.”

“I will do no such thing and we will not discuss it further. They stay until Thorin Oakenshield is willing to return to me that which is rightfully mine.”

“What?” She cocked her head slightly to stare up at him. “What are you about, Papa? What of yours can these dwarves possibly have?”

Thranduíl shook his head, sending his shimmering blond hair spilling like molten gold over his shoulders. “Never you mind about it. You have my answer. And I’ll not change my mind, so do not even try.”

“But, Papa—”

“No!” His low voice echoed all around them and his robes swished softly as he rose to sweep carefully down the staircase from his throne. “I’ll not settle for any less.”

“You are being impossibly stubborn, do you know this? You make no sense and this is just cruel. They’ve not even been offered so much as sip of water since you locked them away.”

“I needed not make sense to you, daughter, to have my wishes obeyed. Now, you are to stay away from the dungeons. Legolas,” Thranduíl’s pale eyes flicked up over her head, “see your sister to her chambers, please.”

“I can see myself there, thank you.” She spun about and swept out of the throne room through the doorway along the eastern wall, that led to a corridor traveled only by her family. Her rooms were at the far end, and she didn't slow down as she made her way through her chambers and out to the small garden behind them.

Hints of jasmine and honeysuckle hung in the air. If she closed her eyes, Carys could almost see her mother, for those scents would forever be associated with her mother. She had very little memory of her, but for her scent remained burned into Carys’ brain and would remain there. This garden was the only place were honeysuckle grew, as Thranduíl did not know she’d cultivated it. Had he, and Carys had no doubt he’d have ordered it burned. Not out of cruelty, but out of self-preservation, for he’d never gotten over her murder.

Carys was but an infant when it happened and had no memory of her mother aside from the flowers. And she could not even be sure that she linked them because she remember them or because her father told her that her mother’s favorite scent was honeysuckle. It didn't matter. Carys found comfort in the smell, just has her father found sorrow in it.

A low stone wall ringed the garden and as she sank onto it, Carys sighed softly. Thorin and his men did not deserve to be locked away in a dungeon for a crime that was hardly a crime. The longer she sat there, her back against her favorite tree, watching the fireflies as they flashed through the growing darkness, the more strongly she felt they did not deserve this.

The Feast of Starlight, Mereth Nuin Goliath was to begin shortly, and once the wine began flowing, no one would notice if she slipped away from the others. So she joined them all in the Great Hall, and by half-eleven, even her father was well into his cups. As she thought, no one seemed to take notice when she slipped out of the hall and down into the kitchens, where the keys were kept on a hook near the doorway.

The iron ring was cold and far heavier than it looked, and she wrapped her fingers about the numerous equally cold and heavy keys to keep them from clanking together as she descended into the damp depths of the Mirkwood dungeons. That dampness bit into her, the cold made her feet ache through her thin silk slippers, and she wished she’d brought a wrap with her.

But, she’d be up in her chambers and warm again soon enough, and so put her discomfort from her mind. It was temporary and it would pass.

“What time do you suppose it is?” The low male voice floated out from one of the cells.

“It must be nearly dawn by now.”

“We will never make it in time.”

She crept up to Thorin’s cell and softly rattled the keys. “I beg to differ.”

Thorin appeared in the doorway, his eyes pale blue slivers in the soft light afforded by the torches affixed high above them. Those eyes stood out starkly against his long tangle of black har and equally dark, heavy brows. “What are you doing?”

“I do not believe trespassing is deserving of a hundred-year sentence.” She slid the key into the lock and turned to set the tumblers opening. “And so, I’ve come to let you all go. But, you’ll have to move quickly, for it won’t take much for them to notice I’ve gone. They’re drunk, but not dead, you know.”

The door opened noiselessly and a moment later, Thorin stood before her. Up close, he was strikingly handsome. Far more so than she would have ever thought and definitely more so than she’d ever expected. And since he was tall for a dwarf, and she was short for an elf, they were the same height, which meant they stood nearly eye-to-eye.

Those eyes were friendly now, and almost warm as he said, “Princess, thank you.”

“There is no need for that.” She glanced over her shoulder at the sounds of people moving in the kitchens. “We need to move. Now. Follow me.”

“How do we know this isn’t a trap?” A dwarf almost as tall as Thorin and far more menacing-looking, with his balding, tattooed head, growled.

“Why would I trap you when you were already trapped?” She shook her head. “There really is no time for this. Come with me or remain here for the next hundred years. The choice is yours.”

“Where is the hobbit? Is he here?” a dwarf with two jet-black pigtails asked.

“I’ve no idea what hobbit you might be referring to, as I’ve seen none. Now, please,” Carys tried to force as much urgency into her whisper as she could manage, “it will not be long before someone comes into the kitchens and notices this enormous key ring—” she held up the ring in question, jangling it softly for effect—“is missing. And they will know why it is missing. So, if you’d be so kind, please, follow me.”

“Do as she says,” Thorin hissed, then to her surprise, caught her by the elbow as he added, “Please, lead on.”

She did, moving swiftly along the all-too-familiar treads, deeper into the palace, until they reached the bottommost level, where at least two dozen casks stood carefully stacked, waiting to be filled with goods to be sent down the Forest River to Esgaroth and points beyond.

Thorin stared at her in disbelief. “You cannot mean what I think you mean.”

“You will be fine. Trust me. I used to do this myself as a child. It might give you butterflies in your stomach, but that’s the worst that should happen.”

“Thorin, you cannot mean to listen to her!” The dwarf with the pigtails stared in wide-eyed horror. “She’s meaning to drown the lot of us. And we cannot leave without finding Bilbo.”

“Please,” she looked from one dwarf to the next, shaking her head as dust filtered down from the boards above, “someone has noticed and you are almost out of time. Get in the barrels. Otherwise, my efforts will have been in vain and you will find yourselves back in your cells.”

“In with you all,” Thorin whispered sharply. “Waste no more time!”

More dust filtered down around them and the dwarves reluctantly climbed into the barrels, muttering and mumbling the entire time. She ignored them as she met Thorin’s gaze. “You should get in as well. I’ll pull the lever and get you on your way. Hopefully, the current will be swift enough to have whisked you out of reach of the archers, but I will try to stall them as best I can just the same.”

“Thank you, princess.”

“You’re welcome.” Footsteps thudded dully overhead. “You should go.”

He glanced up. “What will happen to you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never defied my father this way. He will be quite angry, I imagine. But, that certainly won’t be the first time.”

The footsteps grew louder and now her heart beat faster. Thranduíl would be beyond furious with her, really. He might even banish her. She didn't know. She’d seen him banish other elves for lesser offenses, but they were not his daughter, either. Certainly she would not have to fear such a punishment.

At least, she hoped she wouldn’t.

The boards directly over their heads creaked and voices, muffled at first, grew clearer. The seriousness of her actions bit into her then and without hesitation, she said, “Get in now!”

Thorin climbed into a barrel and looked back at her once more. “Thank you again.”

“Think not of it,” she told him, forcing herself to smile as she moved to the lever that wold turn the floor into a ramp. “Safe travels.”

Though kept well-oiled, the dampness still caused rust to form on the giant cogs and they squealed as she pushed against the lever with all of her might. At first, the floor only barely moved and fear bit into her with sharp teeth, urged her to push with more force. The muscles in her back screamed, the ones in her legs burned, but finally, the ramp lowered and one by one, the barrels splashed into the river far below. Another moment later, and they were out of sight.

The ramp clapped shut just as the first guards burst into the chamber, Thranduíl right behind them, his eyes ablaze with utter fury unlike any she’d ever seen. When those eyes fell on her, she stepped back, her stomach twisting into hot knots of fear unlike any she’d ever felt before.

***

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middleearthpixie · 1 year

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After the Fire ~ Chapter Forty-Seven

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Jasna Stoneham

Characters: Jasna, Thorin, Thranduíl, Dwalin, Glynne, Tauriel, Rainisa, Keenor

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.3k

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @buckybarnes-thorin

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Previous chapters can be found here.

In many ways, Mirkwood reminded Jasna of Erebor, although she would never say as much to Thorin, knowing exactly how he’d take that. But to her, there were a few similarities. Where their chambers were, it was cool and damp, like Erebor. The thick canopy of leaves and vines and branches made seeing daylight impossible, just as it was in Erebor.

And everyone in Mirkwood seemed to stare at her. Just as they did when she first arrived in Erebor.

Jasna didn't notice it at first. Their first morning, she offered up a warm smile at every curious look, but by the end of that day, it seemed the stares just wouldn’t end. And she hated every moment of it.

Being around the wood elves was like being surrounded by the most perfect women in Middle Earth. Even the men were stunningly beautiful. Every where Jasna looked, she saw tall, lithe bodies and striking faces and she never felt shorter or dumpier than she did in Mirkwood.

She kept those thoughts to herself, though, as she and Thorin strolled through the forest after supper on their second night. Thranduíl played tour guide and perhaps it was only her imagination, but he didn't seem to put out by it as he pointed out this enchanted river or that statue covered in lichen and barely visible.

They’d been wandering for nearly an hour when a tall, slender he-elf with shimmering straight blond hair seemingly dropped from the trees. “Father, there you are.” His blue eyes slid in their direction. “I beg your pardon, Thorin, Queen Jasna, but I’ve an urgent matter that will not wait.”

Thranduíl sighed softly, turning to his son. “What is it, Legolas?”

“An orc pack has been spied off the Northeast Road.”

Jasna felt Thorin’s arm stiffen beneath hers as he said, “Orcs?”

Legolas nodded. “Gundabad orcs, no less.”

Jasna looked from Legolas, to Thranduíl, and then to Thorin, who looked visible pale at the news. “Gundabad?”

Thorin nodded slowly. “Azog’s kin, no doubt.”

Her stomach curdled and without thinking, she tightened her fingers on his arm. “Perhaps we should—”

“My lord,” a tall, slender she-elf with long red hair also dropped from the trees, “you are needed at the north gate at once.”

“Tauriel?” Thorin turned to her.

She smiled. “You and the queen should return to your chambers, Your Majesty,” she told him as her smile faded.

“Take Jasna back,” he told her, easing Jasna’s arm from his, “and make certain she remains there.”

“Wait,” Jasna shook her head, “Thorin, you are not going out there, are you?”

Thorin bobbed his head. “I am, indeed. I need to see for myself, if one has taken Azog’s place and with his quest in mind.”

“Thorin, you and your bride will remain here.” Thranduíl’s low voice brooked no argument. “You do not know this terrain nor do you know what you face. Allow my soldiers to—”

“I’m not asking for your permission,” Thorin cut him off, shaking his head, “nor do I need it.”

“Thorin,” Thranduíl lowered his voice and looked over at her before saying, “may I speak to you a moment?”

Thorin didn't look at all happy, but he stepped away from Jasna, who looked over at Tauriel, whom she hadn’t seen since her and Thorin’s wedding, and then only briefly. “What’s going on?”

Tauriel glanced at Thranduíl and Thorin. “I think they are searching for him.”

“For Thorin?” Jasna stared up at her, her belly kinking even more tightly now. “Are they the same orcs who—”

Tauriel nodded. “They are. We need to send to word to Erebor as well. Where is Dwalin?”

“He remained behind,” Jasna told her softly. “Said once through this forest was enough for him and went back to his chambers.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Thorin’s back and shoulders stiffen and she looked up at Tauriel once more. “What happens now?”

“We’ve sent a regiment out to meet them. But, Legolas felt Thranduíl should know as well.”

Jasna bit back a sigh and fought of a shudder at the same time. Her encounter with orcs in Esgaroth had been horrifying and she had no desire to see one, even from a distance, ever again.

But even worse, the memory of the horrible wounds their now-deceased leader had inflicted upon Thorin made her belly churn with more force. The last thing she wanted was for him to go charging out with the elven warriors to face off against another orc.

“Thorin, I will not allow you—”

Thorin cut Thranduíl off with a sharp, “Then it is well and good that I am not asking for your permission, and since I have no need for it—”

“You and your wife are my responsibility and I have no desire to explain to her or to your people how I let you fight on my behalf.” Thranduíl’s voice, usually calm and smooth, like oiled silk, rose slightly. “And I will not argue it, nor will I debate it. You will allow my people to handle this.”

Both Jasna and Tauriel stared at one another with eyebrows raised and Jasna held her breath as she waited for Thorin to erupt with indignation.

But, to her surprise, a low sigh bubbled to his lips and he glanced over his shoulder at her and Tauriel. Then, turning back to Thranduíl, he said, “Of course.”

“Good.” Thranduíl’s hand came to rest briefly on Thorin’s shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon with your queen. I assure you, no orcs will get past our borders.”

He looked up then. “Tauriel—” He lapsed into Sindarin and Jasna understood not a word he said, and as she glanced over at Thorin, she wondered if he did, for he glared at the woodland king.

But then, Tauriel nodded, excused herself, and started off down the path back toward the heart of the woodland palace at a brisk pace, easing her bow from her back.

“And now,” Thranduíl turned to her, “I will leave the two of you to your own devices and I will see you both at supper.Try not to worry, as I’m certain we will run them off handily.”

Thorin shook his head. “If you need us—”

“I understand. For now, just enjoy your time together.” Thranduíl strode in the same direction Tauriel had gone, only to pause and glance at them over one shoulder. “I only recommend you do not go near the waters here.”

“I remember all too well,” Thorin called.

“Yes,” Thranduíl’s eyes flickered with hints of amusement. “I gather you do. I will see you both later.”

And with that, he was gone and Jasna turned to Thorin. “What happened, with the water here?”

He offered up a slight grin. “It’s enchanted, but mostly with black magic. The last time we passed through here, we… let’s just leave it at it slowed us down some and made us easier targets.”

“Targets?”

He nodded, easing an arm about her shoulders. “You’ve nothing to fear, mesmel. You are perfectly safe with me.”

“Well, I know that,” she told him leaning her head against him, “but I am curious about these enchanted waters.”

“Dark magic is found in them and I cannot say how that might affect you. I know it left us dwarves a bit out of sorts, and I imagine you’d not fare much better.”

She turned toward the narrow river that ran through the heart of Mirkwood, the brackish waters rushing melodically along the tree roots and over rocks studding its bed. The sound was peaceful, but the longer she listened, the more menacing the undertones grew and little by little, the urge to just keep walking down the path wound through her.

Tucking her arm through his, Jasna leaned her head against his shoulder and said, “We could go back to our chambers, you know. There we don't have to worry about magical water or orcs.”

A low rumble of laugher touched her ears. “I do like the way you think, mesmel.”

“I thought you might.”

The door closed softly behind them and Jasna’s eyes closed as Thorin came up behind her, eased an arm about her waist and with his free hand, swept her hair to send it spilling over her left shoulder. His lips came warm and soft upon the slope of her neck, sending a teasing chill rippling through her. The tip of his tongue swept gently against her, making her shiver as she whispered, “I do love how that feels…”

“Good,” came his husky murmur as he brushed his lips up toward her ear. The hand on her belly splayed, slid upward to curve about her left breast, where his finger tightened and his thumb slowly slipped about her nipple.

Jasna caught her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes heavy lidded and sliding shut on their own as the sensations ran riot through her. Tension swirled through her, her heart beat faster with each slow, teasing kiss and each slow, teasing caress. Her head spun, gently at first, but as Thorin’s hand slid down over her belly, along her right inner thigh, it spun faster, more wildly.

His fingers curled into her skirt, slowly tugged it up. The warm air stirred as the fabric swept upward and she held her breath as his fingers crept higher, brushed flesh that was so very sensitive, slid into the dampness of her arousal.

He moaned softly into her hair as she rocked back against him, her backside pressing into him, the firm ridge of his growing erection nestled against her.

She reached for him, curved her hand against that bulge, smiling as he exhaled heavily against her, whispering, “Mesmel…” as he slid a finger inside her.

She sucked in a sharp breath at the teasing stroke, her hips moving with him. Her body tightened about him, her hand tightened about him briefly, then her fingers moved nimbly to open the fastenings of his trousers. The sinews in her wrist burned from the odd angle, but she ignored it as she angled her hand into those trousers, and slid down to find him. Her fingers closed about him, and she smiled as he shivered against her and whispered, “Maralmizi…”

“I love you, too,” she managed to whisper back.

She tried to shift then, to spin toward him, but he wouldn’t let her. Instead, he whispered, “Stay just like this, amrâlimê.”

She bit down on her bottom lip once more as he eased his finger from her and caught her skirt to lift it higher still. Then, he caught her wrist to withdraw her hand, tugged his trousers out of his way and then—

“Oh…” She couldn't hold back her heavy sigh as he entered her slowly and thrust slowly. Gently. Fire ribboned through her with that one thrust, her eyes closed, her body hummed.

His fingers curved about her hips, his voice a low growl as he murmured, “Jasna…”

He moved slowly, his fingers tightening against her, holding her completely still even as she tried to move, tried to rock back into him. “Hold still, mesmel…”

“Thorin…”

He bent to sweep a hot kiss along the curve of her neck, up toward her ear. As he did, he slid one hand back between her thighs, into her heat, and teased her mercilessly. Her blood boiled its way through her veins, the tingles grew hotter and sharper, swirling through her, wrapping around her, and as he brought her to the edge, he gave a hard thrust, and as she shattered around him, he arched hard, crushed her against him, and gave himself up to the moment with a breathless, “Jasna!”

“Thorin!” Her voice echoed about their chambers, her fingernails digging into the door’s rough, parklike surface, her body tensing and pulsing about his. Her head spun so wildly, left her so breathless that, if it wasn't for his arm about her, Jasna would have crumped to her knees at the spiky hot pleasure rushing through her.

He slowed against her, wrapped his arms about her, and whispered, “Amrâlimê,” before nuzzling her.

Her eyes closed of their own, her forehead came to rest against the door, and she whispered, “Don’t let go of me, dwarf. I’ll hit the floor for certain.”

“Worry not,” he assured her, a hint of laugher in his voice, “for I am not letting go. Not ever.”

He shifted to slip from her and as her skirt slid back into place, she smiled at him over one shoulder. “When I suggested we come back here, I thought we might at least make it to the bed.”

“I couldn't help myself,” he said with a shrug and a grin. “Have you any idea how irresistible you truly are, Queen Jasna?”

She shook her head as he tugged his trousers back into place and re-fastened them. “Tell me.”

He winked. “Firstly—”

“Thorin!” Dwalin pounded on the door. “Is Her Highness with you?”

“Where else would she be?”

“Thranduíl has requested her presence in the Mirkwood infirmary.”

Jasna looked up at first Thorin, then the door. “What?”

“Aye, the battle… it seems the orc pack was far bigger than they’d expected. Bigger and angrier.”

“She is not—”

Jasna tugged open the door. “Yes, she is, Thorin.”

“Jasna, wait, you—”

“Thorin, I’ll be in no danger in the infirmary, just as I wasn't in Erebor’s.”

Thorin sighed. “Are we needed, Dwalin?”

“Thranduíl has not asked, and I doubt he will, but—”

Thorin moved to the far side of the room, where the Orcrist stood propped against the wall. As he slipped it from the sheath, Jasna stated at the brilliant blue glow engulfing the blade. “Thorin, you are not going out there.”

“If they’ve come in search of me,” he replied grimly, brushing by her to join Dwalin in the doorway, “they will find me, for I am not going to live that way again. I’ll not spend the rest of my days looking over my shoulder. As with the Defiler, this will end here and now.”

He looked over at Dwalin. “You stay with Jasna.”

“Thorin, wait—”

She and Dwalin said it in unison, only to have Thorin ignore them both as he shoved by Dwalin and disappeared down the path.

She looked up at Dwalin. “Go with him and keep him safe. I’ll be fine.”

“Your Highness—”

“Do not argue with me. I’ll be fine. Go and watch over him.”

As Thorin had done, Jasna also didn't wait for him to respond, but hurried out of the room as well, leaving Dwalin to stare after her.

She grabbed the first wood elf she passed. “Where is your infirmary?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your infirmary? Where is it?”

“Do you know where the throne room is?”

“I do.”

“There is a staircase before it. One floor below, there you will find our healers.”

“Thank you.” She sprinted off toward where she thought Thranduíl’s throne was, got herself turned around once, and finally managed to find it, where three tall, slender she-elves looked up at the same time.

“Who are you?”

“Jasna Durin, of Erebor. I understand you need an extra pair of hands,” she replied evenly, as other elves began arriving with the wounded. “I worked with Narnerra, trained with her and Óin in Erebor. I am more than capable.”

“But, you are their queen—”

“That matters not now,” she replied, shoving her sleeves to her elbows as she spotted the row of basins along the far wall and moved to wash her hands. “You need my help and I gladly offer it.”

“Very well, if you insist. I am Rainisa.” She pointed then to the other two she-elves, both redheads. “This is Glynne and that is Keenor.”

Jasna bobbed her head. “I’m Jasna and it’s lovely to meet you..” She glanced around at the wounded. “And we should probably get to work.”

With that, she washed and dried her hands, and then dove into the wounded. For the first time since Óin and Narnerra pronounced her ready to treat patients on her own, Jasna wasn't at all frightened. Not nervous or unsure. Instead, she heard Óin’s calm voice, Narnerra’s soft encouragement, and she set to work alongside the elves as if she’d been there for years.

The casualties were not nearly as terrible as the ones following the Battle of the Five Armies, but they were bad enough that Jasna had time only to wash her hands between patients before the next one was laid out before her.

But then the flood slowed to a trickle, and Jasna smiled as she snipped the end of the silk thread she’d used to stitch up the last elf. “Glynne, are there any others?”

“I think he’s the last.”

“Oh, thank—”

“Dwalin, let go of me. I do not need to be here.”

“Ah, hush now and let yer wife do what she doest.”

Jasna spun about at the sound of Thorin and Dwalin’s voices and turned to see him with an arm draped about Dwalin’s neck as Dwalin helped him into the infirmary. “Thorin? What happened?”

“He took an axe to the leg, is what happened,” Dwalin grunted, none-too-gently dropping Thorin into the nearest chair. “And the blasted fool still wouldn’t stop.”

Jasna crouched to take a look. The back of his leather boot was sliced and stained red even as he said, “It’s only a gash and I am fine.”

“Thorin, let me be the judge of that, will you?”

He sighed as she unbuckled the boot and eased it from his foot, but his sigh turned into a gasp as she peeled down his ruined hose. A nice chunk of flesh had been taken from the back of his leg, above his ankle, and it bled freely without the pressure of his boot on it.

“Glynne,” Jasna looked up, “please bring me a poultice of comfrey, a kingsfoil solution, and linen to wrap this.”

“Of course.”

“Jasna,” Thorin tried to pull his foot from her grasp, “I am fine—”

“Stop it, Thorin,” she snapped, taking hold of him once more, “and let me work, please. I’d rather you not lose your foot, if it’s all the same to you.”

He scowled, but relaxed enough, wincing as he wiggled his toes. “It does sting a bit.”

She smiled up at him. “I can have some mead or ale brought to you.”

“Do you need sew it?”

“It’s too large a wound for stitching, and too much is missing to get clean edges,” she told him. “I’ll bandage it with the comfrey and it should heal on its own. Although,” she managed to smile, “you will have a scar from it.”

“What’s one more at this point?”

“Somehow, I thought you might say that.”

Glynne returned then with the supplies and as Jasna went to work cleaning the wound, she said, “Please tell me it’s over.”

“I wish I could, mesmel,” he replied softly, wincing as she washed out the wound with great care. “But, whoever has stepped into the Defiler’s boots was too much the coward to show his face.”

“Do you even know his name?”

“I do not.”

She looked up. “So, someone n-new is hunting you and you don't even kn-kn-know his n-n-name.”

“I do not know it yet. But I will.”

Her stomach curdled. “And then what?”

“What do you think?”

“Thorin.” She patted the wound dry with a clean towel and then set about treating it with the comfrey before wrapping it.

“We will return to Erebor and I will go and find him and when I do, I will end him.”

“Thorin—”

“I will not discuss it, Jasna. My mind is made up. We take our leave come morning.”

She scowled as she finished bandaging his leg, but wasn't about to get into a fight with him over it there, in the infirmary.

But they would be discussing it later.

53 notes · View notes

middleearthpixie · 1 year

Text

After the Fire ~ Chapter Forty-Eight

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Jasna Stoneham

Characters: Jasna, Thorin

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.7k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @buckybarnes-thorin

Previous chapters can be found here...

Thorin limped his way out of the dining hall, toward the palace’s main gate. Night had fallen, but he wasn't much concerned with any more trouble from the orcs. The Orcrist remained silver. No orcs lurked about. He just needed to get away from the crowd of elves before he lost his mind. His leg hurt, he was aggravated over the whole idea of being hunted again, and he was in no mood to make polite conversation with Dwalin, never mind Wood Elves.

He made his way along the path toward the southern edge of Mirkwood, where he and his Company had, not quite two years earlier, first happened into the forest under Thranduíl’s rule. Back then, his quest had been simple; make his way to Erebor, find the hidden door, vanquish Smaug, reclaim what was rightfully his.

Simple in theory. In practice, however?

Not so much.

It was amazing, really, how much one’s life could change when one least expected it. When Gandalf had led them from Beorn’s barn to the edge of Mirkwood, Thorin had no idea what awaited him. He had no idea his days were, in fact, numbered.

He had no idea his life would end, only to begin anew.

Hands clasped behind his back, he stared out over the expanse of fields that he and his Company had once traversed to get from Beorn’s to Thranduíl’s front door. Beorn had loaned them ponies to cross the treacherous ground, and they’d moved at a brisk pace, so this was the first time he was actually seeing what lay between there and Mirkwood. It was far more bucolic than he recalled, but then again, things tended to be that way when one wasn’t being pursued by a pack of bloodthirsty and none-too-smart orcs.

But, now that he was able to just stop and gaze about, he saw it was, in fact, beyond serene. Overhead, seemingly thousands of stars sparkled like white gems against the ink black sky and a gentle breeze rippled the wildflowers and wheat grass that made up the meadows. It looked so peaceful now, so calm and tranquil.

And yet, he knew just how deceiving that tranquility was, both beyond Mirkwood’s borders and within.

“Thorin?”

He turned with a wince as the hot sting in his calf shot up the back of his leg. But that sting was forgotten as his gaze alit on Jasna. The silvery light of the full moon gleamed down as he stood at Mirkwood’s edge, no longer blocked by the leafy forest canopy. Behind him, lay that large expanse of field and wildflowers, the rolling hills and lush meadows that stretched out between Mirkwood and Goblintown. But all he saw at that moment was his wife. The love of his life.

His Jasna.

The silver moonlight played along her coppery curls, loose and spilling over her shoulders. She came toward him, dressed not in her usual garb of trousers and tunic, but in a dress of pale green silk that was only slightly wrinkled from their travels. And as she drew near, his heart beat that much faster, his breath became that much more difficult to catch. He wondered if there would ever come a time when she wouldn’t have that effect on him, when he wouldn’t see her and marvel at how she was there, with him, and had chosen to him above all others as the one she wished to love.

“Are you all right?”

He nodded, smiling at the notes of concern woven into her voice. “I’m a bit sore, but I’ll live. What brings you out here? You seemed to be making friends with everyone in the dining hall.”

She smiled. “They were all asking me about you, Your Majesty,” she told him, coming up to slip her arm through his. She must have seen him wrinkle his nose, for she added, “Do you think elf maids are immune to handsome dwarves because they are dwarves? Because, I promise you, that is not necessarily true.”

He snorted then, and didn't even try to hide it. “I highly doubt that.”

“Why?” She turned toward him and as her hand came to rest against his cheek, his blood rushed hotter through his veins. “You should see what I see, Thorin, for you’d not be so quick to sh-shrug it off.”

“I care not what they think of me,” he told her, slipping an arm about her waist to draw her closer. “I’m sure they’ve all made their minds up about me based on my last visit.”

“Were you your surly self or were you more charming?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I told Thranduíl ish kakfê ai-‘d-dûr-rugnal.”

He waited for her forehead to wrinkle, for her to ask him what that meant, but instead, her eyes widened and she whispered, “You did not!”

“Oh, but I did, indeed. It means—”

“I know what it means. I’d heard your cousin say the same thing to one of the others in the infirmary and made the mistake of asking him what it meant.” To his relief, she smiled. “He took great pleasure in telling me, I’ll have you know.”

“Dáin will never change.”

“I daresay no dwarf changes willingly.”

“Come now,” he eased his other arm about her waist now, “I’ve changed.”

“How do you figure?”

“I was mad when we first arrived back at Erebor. I brought war upon us with my idiocy. But, I think I’ve since made amends for it.”

“You’ve more than done that, Thorin and I won’t hear you suggest otherwise.” She rose onto her tiptoes and swept his lips with a kiss. “So, what brings you out here?”

“I grow tired of being stared at like an exhibit in a zoo,” he told her softly, nodding toward the palace, “and it seems elves cannot help but stare at dwarves.”

“I think it’s who the dwarf is,” she told him with a pert smile. “I wasn't lying when I said they asked me about you. You turn heads, you know. Even elven ones.”

He rolled his eyes. “Prisses, the lot of them.”

“Stunning prisses.”

“They do not hold a candle to Erebor’s queen, however.”

“Good to know. I should hate to have to put my medical knowledge to nefarious purposes.”

He smiled down at her. “Never fear, mesmel. As I said, they do not hold a candle to you.”

Resting her chin against his chest, Jasna peered up at him. “You haven’t answered me, Thorin. What’s on your mind?”

“What makes you think anything is on my mind at all?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and he recognized that look all too well, bracing himself as she replied, “Because I know you far better than you think. You brood.”

“I brood?”

“Are you pretending to be surprised? Thorin, you brood unlike anyone else I’ve never known. So, what’s on your mind?”

“I’m not brooding, Jasna. I’m… thinking…”

“Brooding.”

He pulled away from her and turned toward the fields behind them. “I’ve no desire to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. I thought that ended when I killed Azog and to that I’m wrong, that it hasn’t ended yet?” He clasped his hands behind his back once more and, staring out at the thickening darkness, drew in a deep breath before adding, “It’s rather exhausting, you know, when someone hunts you. And now, it’s not only me I need worry about.”

“I’ll take your word for it, as I’ve never been hunted.” She stepped up alongside him and her head came to rest against his shoulder, as was her habit. “But, isn’t that something you have to worry about regardless? I mean, you are a king.”

“This is no joking matter, Jasna.”

“I’m not joking.” She looked up at him, shaking her head. “That’s why you traveled here with Dwalin. To keep you safe.”’

“No,” he shook his head, “it’s to keep you safe. I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“And I’m not?”

“I didn't say that, Jasna. But, you are not a fighter. Your skills come into play off the battlefield.”

“I know, but I did manage to kill an orc with a scalpel, you know.”

This was something he hadn’t heard before. “What?”

She offered up a winsome smile. “Anissa and I were in our dormitory when the orcs descended on Esgaroth in search of you.”

“And you killed one with a scalpel?”

She nodded. “We had to do something. He certainly wasn’t looking to apologize for bursting through our window and he certainly wasn’t about to leave us unscathed. She hit him with a chair and I just swung and stabbed him in the eye.”

As she said it, her face scrunched a little and a hint of sadness crept into her eyes as she reached up and touched the owl resting against his right shoulder. “We panicked.”

“And you thought to pick up a scalpel?”

“Yes and no. I just grabbed it because it was the closest thing to me. I snatched it up and swung and—” She grimaced. “I’m trained to save lives, not to take them. But, I just reacted. And I was horrified by what I’d done.”

“You did what you had to do. That filth wouldn’t have let you or Anissa walk out of that dormitory. Ask Kíli. He told me that while he was at Bard’s, the orcs there went after Bard’s daughters.”

“They’re evil, soulless creatures. But still… I felt terrible.” She sighed. “I’m not good at killing things.”

“You don't have to be,” he told her, turning to catch her face in his hands and tilted it up to his. “That’s why you have me. I promise you, I have no such qualms about killing. Especially should you be in any danger.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, then whispered, “I know. And that’s why I think we should continue on to Rivendell as we planned.”

His gut kinked. “Jasna, it’s not sa—”

“I am safer with you than I am anywhere else. And you have Dwalin and between the two of you—” At his long stare, she sighed and looked away. “Very well. I just looked so forward to seeing it. After all I’ve heard from Kíli and Fíli and Mr. Baggins about it, I was looking forward to seeing it myself.”

She said it with a deep regret in her voice that made him twinge with guilt. He had promised her a tour of Middle Earth, had promised her of all the things she would see, now that she had the means to see them. He knew how she’d looked so forward to the adventure.

He’d looked forward to it as well, for it was chance to see things through her eyes and not his own weary ones. “Jasna—”

“You’re right,” she told him, pulling away from him. “It’s too dangerous and it will keep. After all,” she shrugged, “I’ve waited this long. What’s a bit longer, right?”

He reached for her, but she stepped back and turned with a soft, “I’ll leave you to your thoughts, Thorin.”

“Jasna, don't do this. It’s not that I don't want to go, it’s that it isn’t safe.”

“So you’ve said. And you’re right. And I’m foolish for wanting to go on.” She shrugged as she started back toward the palace. “I’ll have my things ready to head back to Erebor come the morning.”

“Jasna.”

She didn't stop, didn't look back, but left him there, in the dark, his fists clenching and relaxing. He knew she was disappointed, but she had to understand. It wasn’t simply that the road to Rivendell meant traveling in the open, with little between here and there, and it wasn't just that he had no idea who still hunted him.

He knew how they would not stop until they found him, until they thought they had him pinned down. He knew they would not stop until they made certain they ended his line.

And that meant targeting her as well.

Although he knew otherwise, whoever decided to come after him would have no way of knowing Jasna wasn't pregnant. They assume she was and would kill her as well as him to ensure the line stopped there, and then he had no doubt they would target Kíli and Fíli next. Just as Azog had done. And he would not take that chance with Jasna. Not ever.

Jasna closed the door to the chambers she and Thorin shared and let her forehead come to rest against it. She was being childish and she knew it, but at the same time, for one who’d spent her entire life in Esgaroth before coming to Erebor, the thought of seeing places such as Mirkwood and Rivendell thrilled her to pieces. And seeing them with Thorin would have been just perfect. So it was difficult to not be disappointed, to not pout.

Although their chambers were technically indoors, at the far end, doors led out to a small garden of sorts, ringed by a low wall of woven vines that overlooked a narrow promenade. Jasna made her way out to that wall and to her relief, found that the top of that low wall had been designed with sitting in mind, as it was flat and smooth. So, she settled at the end of the sill, her back against the wall, and gazed out at the nighttime forest.

At this end of Mirkwood, the air was lighter, the atmosphere far calmer than the far end, where they’d been earlier. Here, it was peaceful. Crickets and other nocturnal creatures clicked and chirped and chittered as they went about their business. She leaned her head back, and just let her gaze wander over the shadows and into the darkness until her eyes adjusted enough that she could almost see what moved through the weave of foliage all around her.

Almost.

Still, she didn't feel uneasy or as if she was being watched in return. Unlike the far end of Mirkwood, here, she felt at home almost. If only her spirits weren’t quite so low.

She couldn't believe how disappointed she was in Thorin’s insistence they return to Erebor. She understood it, of course, but still couldn't deny she wanted to stamp her feet and cry until she got her way, and that troubled her, for those were things she hadn’t done since she was a little girl. But, there was no denying that was exactly how she felt and what she wanted to do and while she understood, it didn't make her any happier or lessen her disappointment.

Never mind that now she had another thing to worry about as well, for she did worry. She’d seen firsthand what Azog had done to Thorin, had seen the incredible pain Thorin had suffered from those injuries. She’d sat at his bedside when it wasn’t even clear he’d survive those first few hours, and she’d been there for every step of his recovery, and while it brought them together, she certainly did not want to see another orc take Thorin from her.

She had no idea how long she sat there for, but little by little, the chirping and clicking died down until the only sound that remained was the whisper of a breeze through the canopy.

“Jasna?”

She started as Thorin appeared suddenly at the garden’s edge, but stopped short of stepping out into the garden itself. “You can come closer,” she told him softly. “I promise I won’t bite.”

He didn't respond, didn’t really even look at her, actually. Instead, his gaze seemed to be focused somewhere out into the darkness, beyond the garden wall. A few minutes passed, then his eyes met hers. “I’ll not apologize for wanting to keep you safe, Jasna. And that’s all it is. I’ve no wish to deny you this trip, as I know how you’ve looked forward to it. And there is nothing I want more than to be able indulge you on it. But, I will not risk an attack from this pack somewhere between here and Rivendell, with only me and Dwalin for protection.”

“I understand that, but I also know you and Dwalin and I feel perfectly safe—”

“Nonetheless, it’s a chance I’ll not take.”

“I’m not asking you to.” She shook her head, then glanced down at her hands, folded in her lap, at the way her mithril wedding ring reflected the low light of the torches tucked into the garden’s corners. It sparkled, almost as if faceted and lit from within.

He stepped closer and the light nearest him hit him at the right angle to make the scar along his forehead plainly visible. It had healed nicely into a slightly jagged, thin white line, but in that light, it stood out against his otherwise darker skin. As her gaze fell upon that scar, her mind went to the others inflicted upon him by Azog—the one in his chest, and along his belly, the warg bite across his chest and back—and hot shame poured into her. She knew for a fact he would get between her and any orc, regardless of the danger to himself. He wouldn’t think twice about it, either.

With that, she eased down from her ledge and faced him. “I’m sorry, Thorin. I’m behaving as a spoiled child would. You’re right.”

“And while I know I’m in the safest hands I could be,” she crossed to him and caught his hands in hers, “I also know I’m not willing to put you at risk any more than you’d be willing to put me at risk.”

His thumbs moved along hers. “We will see Rivendell, mesmel. I promise you, we will.”

“I know.” She smiled up at him. “And I look forward to it.”

“As do I.” He gave a gentle tug on her to draw her into his arms, which he then wrapped about her. “There is an amazing fountain there and we discovered the last time we passed through, that the water is as warm as a bath and if thirteen dwarves can share it, it stands to reason you and I could as well.”

As he spoke, his eyes darkened slightly to send a flutter through her. “Thorin, are you suggesting that I should believe you played about in a fountain? You?”

“I’m not always brooding, you know.” He lifted her easily. “And I should think you and I will make good use of that warm water… we certainly did in cool water.”

She smiled. “Promise me, dwarf.”

“I promise you, amrâlimê.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, you know.”

“I expect no less.”

“Thorin?”

“Mmm…?”

“Are you asleep?”

“Yes.”

Jasna lifted her head from where it had been resting against his chest and scowled at him, although he couldn't possible see her expression in the dark. “You are not.”

“So why did you ask?”

“Thorin.”

His fingers swept lightly along her arm. “What troubles you, Jasna?”

“It isn’t so much that I’m troubled. More that I’m curious.”

“About what? What is it that has you curious enough to ask me about it in the middle of the night?”

“How do you know the orc pack isn’t expecting you to do exactly what you’re planning to do?”

“What?”

She rolled away from him and fumbled for the flint and steel to light the bedside lamp. As the small flame burned into being, she turned back to see him stretched out on his back, one arm up behind his head, his black hair streaming across the starkly white pillow linens. “I mean just that. You think they hunt you once more, right?”

“I think so, yes.”

“So, what if they’re regrouping on the road back to Erebor? What if they thought this was exactly what you would do, and so they’re lying in wait on the road that would take us home instead of the one that would take us to Rivendell?”

At first, he looked sleepy, his eyes heavy-lidded, but then, that look vanished as he rubbed one eye. “Jasna, I know you want to venture on, but—”

“No, this has nothing to do with that.” She shifted, turning toward him, crossing her legs as she faced him. “It just popped into my mind as I was trying to sleep. What if that was the plan all along?”

“I don't suppose it’s beyond the realm of the possible, no.”

“No, it would be perfect, if they are, in fact, hunting you.”

“But, what if they think I would already think they thought that, and so thought to go onto Rivendell, where they could then ambush me?”

She stared at him for a long moment. “What?”

He offered up a sleepy grin. “What if they thought I would think what you do?”

“That it’s a trap?”

“That it’s a trap.”

“I—I—I don't know,” she murmured, shaking her head. “It could go either way, I suppose.”

“And we can’t be in two places at once to test it.”

“No. But… you can tell Thranduíl what you think. Perhaps there’s a way to test the theory.”

“Test the theory by luring them out?”

“Why not?”

“What if Thrandy doesn’t agree to go along with us?”

She shrugged. “Then I guess we find out on our own. But, he seems to have a bit of respect for you now, so I think he’ll be reasonable.”

Thorin’s grin widened. “Our families will soon be related. I think he has no choice.”

“I want to be there when you both realize the other one isn’t nearly as terrible as you think you are.”

“I highly doubt that will ever happen.”

“Why? Stranger things have happened.”

“This is true.” He sat up and in a flash, had her pinned beneath him at the foot of the bed. “Such as my falling in love with a daughter of Man.”

“Exactly.” She wound her arms about his neck, smiling as his dark hair spilled all around them and his eyes softened as they locked with hers. “I love you, dwarf.”

“As I love you, Jasna.”

He bent to her then, their lips meeting in a soft caress that quickly deepened. Thranduíl was forgotten. Rivendell was forgotten. Orc packs and their endgame were forgotten. They would all wait. The sensations Thorin brought to life inside her would definitely not.

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middleearthpixie · 1 year

Text

After the Fire ~ Chapter Fifty

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Jasna Stoneham

Characters: Jasna, Thorin, Dwalin, Thranduíl, Rainisa

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.9k

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Previous chapters can be found here.

Thorin couldn’t sit still. Impatience swirled through him as elves unceremoniously shoved him aside and whisked Jasna somewhere deep within Mirkwood, leaving him in their wake. Dwalin appeared on forest’s threshold. “What happened?”

“We were ambushed,” Thorin growled, gesturing for him to fall into step. “We were—Jasna was—I knew we should have but remained in Erebor…”

“Ye make no sense,” Dwalin told him, shaking his head as he stopped to turn back out toward the meadow. “If they’re out there, we should—”

“We should what? There are but two of us and an army of them, and I cannot even think about that at the moment. Oy, you!” Thorin bellowed at an elf sprinting in the direction the others had taken Jasna. “Where do you treat your wounded?”

The elf barely slowed, calling over her shoulder, “Down below. Our healing room is between here and the kitchens.”

“Yes, but how do I—” The question died on his lips as the elf vanished around a corner and fury twisted his gut into tight knots. “Mahal, if she dies…”

“Thorin, what happened?”

“Jasna took an arrow. The filth cut her down.”

“An arrow? The filth? What filth?”

Thorin stopped, fury dropping a red haze before his eyes. “Orcs!”

“Are ye joking?”

“Do I look as if I joke?” That fury mingled with a fiery hot sense of helplessness that left him pacing the entrance of Mirkwood endlessly. “They came out of nowhere and without warning and now I know not where they have even taken her.”

As if he’d heard them, Thranduíl swept down the corridor toward them. “I have just heard what happened,” he said by way of greeting. “How badly was the queen hurt?”

“I know only that she took an arrow,” Thorin gestured toward where he’d last seen Jasna. “And your people thought to just shove me aside.”

“Their concern was where it should be, with your wife.” Thranduíl did not halt his stride as he passed. “And bringing me abreast of the situation. Worry not, I’ve sent some of my finest warriors after them.”

“How did this even happen? “Dwalin growled as he strode alongside Thorin.

“How do you think it happened?” Thranduíl asked without raising his voice at all.

Thorin rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter at the moment, but should you take any prisoners, I would like a word with them.”

“I will see what I can do.”

“No,” Thorin shook his head, “I will speak with any and all of them.”

“Thorin, you need focus only on the queen. I am more than capable of questioning any and all prisoners.”

“Thrandy—”

“No,” Thranduíl stopped the, his long, golden brown robe swishing elegantly as he spun about to glare at them, “you will kindly remember this is my realm and as such, I will deal with this as I see fit.”

Thorin’s gut twisted and his fists clenched on their own as he took a step forward, only to have Dwalin grab him by the upper arm. “He’s right, laddie,” Dwalin growled in a low voice. “And now is no’ the time ta be fightin’ about it. Save yer fury for the ones who deserve it.”

He was right, of course, but that didn't put Thorin’s mind at ease nor cool his fury one bit. He looked first at Dwalin, then at Thranduíl, and said, “Know this… if she is mortally wounded, or even permanently harmed, there is no force in all of the realms that will keep me from the one responsible and if that means I step on your toes, Thranduíl, so be it.”

“Fair enough.” Thranduíl spun about once more, this time sending his shimmering white-blond hair spilling over his shoulders. “Come with me and I will take you to our healing room.”

“Finally.”

“Thorin.” Dwalin nudged him sharply.

He ignored it, following Thranduíl as the elvenking led them down along an open air walkway that looked to be under the very trees and bushes that made up the walls of the palace. Roots twisted this way and that above their heads to block out the light, torches descended by chains from those roots making up for the lost beams. The air grew cool and had a hint of dampness to it, and the rush of water sounded in the distance. It reminded him all too well of the last time he’d been led into the depths of Mirkwood, when he and his Company had been taken prisoner and shown to the dungeons.

But this time, they went no further than one or two floors below the earth’s surface, and Thranduíl turned to his right to lead them down a narrow corridor. Voices floated out to greet them and Thorin’s gut kinked when he heard the words morgul shaft.

All he knew of morgul arrows was they could be lethal. Kíli had taken one the last time they’d been in Mirkwood and it was only thanks to Bard and Tauriel that he lived to tell the tale. Thorin remembered his nephew growing paler until he went almost completely gray, and grew weaker until he could no longer stand of his own power. Had they not gotten help…

He didn't want to think about it. And now Jasna had been felled by the same weapon.

Gundabad orcs could not be dead enough.

Those words added a sense of urgency to his stride, the pain in his still-sore calf forgotten, and he thought nothing of pushing by Thranduíl as the voices grew louder. He ignored the elvenking, ignored Dwalin, ignored everyone else as he strode into the healing room and his stomach clenched at the sight of the bloodied toweling on the floor and two elves standing over Jasna, who was unconscious on their table.

Both women looked up and the taller of the two turned to her assistant. “Pack the wound and bandage it. I will talk to His Highness.”

Before Thorin could march up to them, Dwalin’s fingers clamped down on his upper arm once more. “Wait for them to tell you everything, Thorin. Do no’ be jumpin’ to conclusions.”

“Your Highness?” The healer came around the table, her dark eyes tranquil and her equally dark hair pulled away from her face and piled atop her head. “I am Rainisa.”

“Thorin,” he said without looking away from Jasna. She looked so deathly pale, so still. His stomach churned to send the sour taste of bile up into the back of his mouth. His heart beat so hard and fast, he felt dizzy. “Please… I need to see her.”

“In time,” Rainisa told him softly, taking him by the elbow. “Come and I’ll apprise you of your wife’s condition.”

“Was she hit by a morgul arrow?”

“Your Highness—”

He glared at her. “Was she?”

Rainisa drew in a deep breath. “Yes. But,” she held up a hand as he opened his mouth, “we were able to clean it entirely and she should be fine.”

Relief surged through him, turning his knees to sponge as he whispered, “Thank Mahal.”

Thranduíl touched his shoulder. “I will be by later to see how you both fare. And I will let you know what my scouts turn up.”

Thorin nodded, his throat so tight he was almost afraid to speak. He cleared it and said, “I thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Dwalin,” Thorin turned to him, “go with him.”

“Are ye sure?”

“I am, yes. I just wish to sit with Jasna for now.”

“Very well.”

Thorin sighed softly as Dwalin and Thranduíl left the healing room, then he turned to Rainisa. “Can I sit with her?”

“Of course,” Rainisa said with a tranquil smile. “I would wonder if you didn't ask to.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Rainisa gave a gentle tug on his arm to propel him forward. “She was very lucky. Had the arrow hit her more toward the right, and it might have pierced her heart. As it is, we were able to remove the entire arrowhead and the pieces of the shaft that splintered off. We’ve packed the wound and will keep an eye on it over the next few days to make certain we didn't miss anything.”

“Will she have full use of her arm?”

“She should, yes.” Rainisa smiled up at him. “But tell me, has she told you yet?”

He stopped, his stomach twisting once more. Only this time, there were hints of butterflies within the twisting. “Has she told me what?”

“That she’s with child.”

Those words, so softly uttered, were like a blow to the stomach, knocking him back a step. But unlike such a blow, there was no pain, no discomfort, only a sense of disbelief as he whispered, “What?”

“She’s with child.” Rainisa repeated softly. “You didn’t know?”

“I had no idea, no.”

“She most likely didn't know herself. I cannot say for certain without speaking with her, but I’d say she’s only a few weeks along.”

“She’s… only a few weeks…” His gaze went to Jasna, and his heart beat even faster now as he shook his head. “A baby… Mahal… she’s having a baby.”

“If I am correct, she should be due sometime in early to mid-summer.”

“A baby…” He smiled, shaking his head. “She will not fight me over returning to Erebor, I hope. For she will not win that battle now.”

“That I cannot say. Why don't you sit with her until she wakes? I think she might like to hear this news from you rather than from me.”

He almost chuckled at the notion. “Somehow, I doubt this is how she thought she would ever learn such a thing.”

“Probably.” Rainisa slid her arm free. “Let one of us know if you need anything.”

“I will. And thank you.”

“Of course.”

She left him then and he limped over to Jasna’s bedside, where he sank onto the stool one of the others brought over, and reached to slip her hand into his. “Amrâlimê, you need open your eyes, for I have wonderful news to share with you.”

He brought her small hand to his lips, brushing the back of it with a light kiss. A baby. Mahal saw fit to bless them with a pebble of their own. There were no sweeter words Rainisa could have uttered to him than she’s with child.

Her fingers tightened about his and with his free hand, he smoothed her coppery hair away from her face. “Have you any idea how I love you, Jasna? Any idea at all?” he murmured, stroking her hair with light fingers. “Every bit of happiness I thought I would never have, has come to me and that is all because of you and now… we will have a little one of our own soon. And I look so very forward to spoiling the both of you.”

“What?”

He smiled at the soft confusion in Jasna’s whisper and when she turned her head toward him, he nodded. “We will. Rainisa told me.”

“A little one?”

“Did you know?”

She offered up a sleepy smile and slowly nodded. “I had a suspicion, yes. But I’m only a week late, and with all of the traveling, and then what happened to you…” Her eyes opened all the way. “I suppose you’ll want to return home now.”

“And I hope you’ll not fight me on it.”

“No.” Jasna shook her head. “I won’t. I know better. But, promise me you will not fuss over me. You’ll drive me mad if you do.”

“Mesmel, I promise nothing.”

“I am in trouble, aren’t I?”

He stood and bent to press a gentle kiss into her forehead. “Most likely. Have you any idea how special this is? Dwarves see the birth of a child as a momentous thing, for it does not happen for ever every dwarf couple. Some are never blessed.”

“Ah, but I am not a dwarf, remember?”

“As if I could forget.” His hand went still on her hair. “How do you feel otherwise?”

“I’m all right, Thorin. Rainisa gave me something for the pain and I must find out what it is, for I think it would be something we should definitely keep in the infirmary back in Erebor.”

“I will be sure to ask her if you don’t.”

“We are having a baby, dwarf,” she whispered, her eyes shiny as they met his.

“We are having a baby.”

“I love you.”

He rose and bent over, whispering, “I love you, too,” as his lips came down to meet hers in a soft kiss that spoke far more than he ever could with words.

Her shoulder ached, but Jasna tried not think about it as she snuggled up to Thorin that night. It had taken some doing, convincing Rainisa to let her leave the healing room. It was only after she reminded the healer that she, too, was a trained healer and knew full well what the symptoms of morgul poisoning were, that the elf relented.

Thorin’s arm came carefully about her shoulders. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“I’m fine, dwarf,” she told him with a smile. The last time her spirits were this high, was on a rainy night when a certain dwarf confessed his feelings for her.

“What are you doing here?”

He hung the cloak on the rack just behind the door. “I am a fool, Jasna. A fool and a jackanapes, and a mule and I… I owe you an apology at the very least.”

“I am listening.”

He turned back to her and she tried not to notice how his very presence seemed to fill the room. Water still dripped from his beard, and he swiped at it with his sleeve. “I should have told you about Shael, I should have been honest about her from the beginning.”

A shiver traced down along Jasna’s spine even as she folded her arms and stared at him. “Yes, you should have. If nothing else, you should have before you and I were together.”

A hint of color swept along his cheekbones, disappearing into both his hair and his beard. Still, to her surprise, he nodded. “You’re right. I should have. But, I wasn’t lying when I said I was selfish. I was. I didn't want you to turn me away and I was afraid you would. And in all honesty, I wasn't certain she was even coming to Erebor.”

It was all she could do to not roll her eyes. “Thorin—”

He held up both hands. “I know, it sounds weak, but I didn’t. She and I were never an actual couple. She is Dís’ closest friend and it just became a given that I would ask her to marry me. But then, I got word about my father and I happened to meet up with Gandalf and that led to the Shire, and to Ravenhill and to you.” He hesitated, then closed the gap between them, catching her face in his hands and her heart threatened to burst clear from her chest as he whispered, “And I am ever so thankful it led me to you, Jasna. And I didn't lie when I said I wanted to see where we led to, I do want to see it. And not just to my bed, but beyond that. Well beyond it.”

As he spoke, his thumbs moved lightly along her cheeks, his blue eyes as soft as his touch and she pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling, squeezed her eyes shut to keep them from overflowing, and when his lips brushed her forehead, she felt her insides melt.

“Thorin, if you are t-telling me what you think I w-w-wish to hear and not what you truly m-mean—”

“I’m not. I promise you, I’m not,” he whispered back, brushing another kiss against her forehead. “Open your eyes and look at me, amrâlimê.”

She did just that, her belly alive with butterflies wildly beating their wings to leave her lightheaded and breathless. His eyes were soft and her toes curled against the floorboards as he whispered, “I love you, Jasna. And I am so very sorry I hurt you. I will never hurt you again.”

His fingers brushed lightly along her shoulder, taking care to avoid the small bandage just below her collarbone. “What are you thinking about?”

“The night you finally told me you loved me.” She carefully eased onto her side to face him. “Do you remember that?”

“It was raining and you were furious with me and rightfully so.”

She smiled. “And you suggested I should forget about ever wearing a corset again.”

His grin grew wolfish. “I like the way you look without one.”

She traced along the lines inked into his skin, along the scars left behind by a warg’s teeth. Then, she leaned in to brush her lips across one scar. “And you asked me to marry you that night.”

“I did, indeed.”

“And now here we are.”

“Here we are.” He slid his fingers into her hair, drawing it away from her face. “And there is nowhere else I would rather be, amrâlimê.”

“Nor would I.”

“And you will not fight me when I tell you we are going home.”

“I already said I wouldn’t, remember?”

“I’m just making certain.”

She smiled as she leaned into him and their lips met. No, she wouldn’t fight him. Truth be told, she just wanted to go home at that point. Rivendell would wait, she and Thorin had far more important matters to think about now. And she couldn't wait to see the looks on everyone faces when she and Thorin told them their news.

A baby.

How wonderful.

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middleearthpixie · 1 year

Text

After the Fire ~ Chapter Forty-Six

A/N: I originally planned to end this with Thorin and Jasna’s wedding, but since there is still some story left to tell… I hope no one minds if I continue it a little longer…

Fandom: The Hobbit - Post BOTFA AU Where Everybody Lives

Summary: Thorin and Jasna arrive in Mirkwood in the middle of the night…

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Jasna Stoneham

Characters: Jasna, Thorin, Thranduíl, Dwalin

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,256

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @buckybarnes-thorin

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

Previous chapters can be found here.

The coach bounced about along the rutted road and not for the first time, Jasna found herself wondering how badly her spine might be rearranged as a result. She looked over at Thorin, marveling over how he could sleep so soundly when they were tossed about seemingly from one side of the coach to the other. No matter how she tried, she simply could not get comfortable. And when she did manage to fall asleep? The coach hit a rut or ran over a branch and the would rock hard enough to slam her into the side and wake her up.

All the while Thorin snored on.

She scowled at him. Nothing kept him from sleeping. Nothing. And it seemed nothing could help her sleep. How unfair.

They headed south toward Mirkwood, taking the same journey he’d undergone with the Company, only in reverse. Part of her looked so forward to seeing Mirkwood, but part of her was terrified at the very thought. The spiders he’d spoken of weighed heavily on her mind. He promised she would’t come into contact with them, but could he really make such a promise?

The coach rocked wide to the left and Jasna had to throw up her hand to brace herself and keep from slamming into the side yet again. But, just as she’d righted herself, they swung the opposite way and the momentum threw her into Thorin, who bolted up with a growled, “Who goes?”

“Me, Thorin,” she grumbled as she found herself almost buried face-first in the thick fur of his cloak. “I go and I am tired of going. How much further do we have?”

He plucked her from his chest to seat her beside him once more and with one hand, rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Where are we?”

“I have’t a clue,” she told him, turning to peer through the window at the growing dusk. “I’ve never been beyond Esgaroth, remember?”

Lowering his hand, he offered up a sheepish smile. “My apologies..”

He leaned toward the window on his side and peered out. “We aren’t far from Mirkwood, if memory serves. But,” he looked over at her, “you have to remember, I did this part of the trek in a barrel on the Forest River, and aside from some ugly orcs, saw little of anything.”

She smiled then. “I’d forgotten about that. Mr. Baggins mentioned it at our reception, didn't he?”

“I cannot say, mesmel, for I was not there when he did. But, considering it was his idea and it saved our hides…”

With a sigh, she settled against him, smiling as he draped his arm about her shoulders and pressed a kiss into the top of her head. Despite the discomfort of traveling by coach, it was cozy there with him, and without thinking, she eased her arm about his hips and slipped her hand beneath his tunic to sweep against his belly. He sighed softly, tightening his arm about her, and whispered, “Maralmizi.”

Tucking her head against him, she murmured back, “Maralmizu.”

She didn't mean to doze off, but the next thing she knew, Thorin’s voice was soft in her ear as he said, “Wake up, mesmel. We have arrived.”

“What?” She sat up, yawning as she did so. She leaned across him to peer out the window, but it was far too dark to see much. And what she did see made her heart sink to a certain degree. Trees. Vines. Leaves. That was it. Somehow, she thought there’d be… more.

The coachman hopped down and opened their door. “Your Majesties, we have arrived.”

Thorin stepped out of the coach, and turned to hold out his hand. “Take care, mesmel. I’d hate to see you turn an ankle here.”

Leaves crunched beneath her boots as she alit from the cabin. A chilly breeze rustled through the canopy of leaves and branches, a hint of staleness in its arms as it wound around them as well to send more leaves scuttling into the darkness. Jasna pulled her cloak tighter as she glanced about. Yellow orbs glowed at her from the treetops—owls, she thought. A husky hoo! confirmed her suspicions.

“It’s about time we’re here,” Dwalin grumbled as he alit from the coach behind theirs. Jasna smiled at the grouch in Dwalin’s voice. She felt that grouch herself.

“Hush,” Thorin told him. “We are not here to cause any incidents. I’d rather not find my way back into the dungeon here, if it’s all the same to you.”

“I’m not the one who got us tossed in there,” Dwalin retorted, shaking his head. “Seems to me, ye were the one insulting the prissy wee elf lord.”

Jasna pressed her lips together to hold back both her smile and her chuckle, then looked from Dwalin to Thorin. “What did you say to him?”

Thorin cleared his throat, a hint of color rising above the line of his beard. “It is of no matter now,” he replied, shooting Dwalin a look. “We are still not here to cause trouble.”

“Aye, I’ll make sure I smile and thank them for their hospitality in not locking us in cells this time.”

“Dwalin—” Thorin began.

“Who goes?”

The voice emerged from the darkness, but neither Thorin, Dwalin, nor the coachman jumped. In fact, the coachman sounded almost arrogant as he said, “I bring with me the King and Queen of Erebor to see His Majesty Thranduíl.”

“It is the middle of the night, you fool!”

“We were waylaid by weather,” Thorin said, his low voice never rising beyond conversation level even as it carried through the woods as if he shouted. “And since I’d rather not remain out here, at the mercy of Mahal only knows what, you will allow us entry at the least.”

“I beg your—”

“Let them in.”

The voice was somewhat familiar to Jasna, and Thorin’s hand came to rest at the small of her back as he said, “Ah, Thranduíl. A voice of reason.”

“That’s not something I thought I’d ever hear,” Dwalin muttered behind them.

“Hush,” Thorin hissed.

“The hour is late, Thorin,” Thranduíl replied evenly. “And I should like to get back to sleep, if you don't mind.”

Jasna pressed her lips together as the heavy oaken doors before them slowly swung open. She had no idea where Thranduíl was, she couldn't see him, but perhaps Thorin could, for he chuckled as he looked off to his right. “Ah, as gracious a host as always,” he replied dryly, urging her to follow the coachman into the darkness beyond the gates.

“Am I required to be gracious to travelers who arrive without warning and in the middle of the night?”

“Yes.”

“I beg to differ.”

Jasna bit the inside of her mouth to hold back her smile as her eyes adjusted and she saw Thranduíl before them, a torch of oak and leaves in one hand. He wore a long, gold and brown silk robe, his normally sleek, white-blonde hair poking up at odd angles and his eyes heavy-lidded with dark shadows beneath them. A hint of guilt twinged her insides. “I’d like to apologize,” she told him glancing first up at Thorin, then at Mirkwood’s king, “for our late arrival. We hit terrible weather halfway here, and the coaches became stuck in the mud on a less than perfect road.”

Thranduíl smothered a yawn with one hand. “It is of no matter now. Come and I will have Rychell show you to your chambers. Unless,” he peered at Thorin over one shoulder, “you are both hungry.”

Jasna’s stomach growled, but she shook her head. “I think bed sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“Good. Rychell?”

The elf seemed to appear from the shadows, his long, reddish hair sleek and smooth. “Yes, my lord?”

“Please show the king and queen to their chambers. And then show Mr. Fundinson to his. And make certain places are set for them for the morning.”

“Yes, my lord.” Rychell looked over at them. “If you will follow me.”

“I bid you all good evening,” Thranduíl said with a slight bob of his head. “And I will see you in the morning.”

Thorin nodded in return. “Thank you, of course.”

“Thank you.” Dwalin managed to sound almost friendly.

“It is my pleasure. Rychell, make certain they have anything and everything they need.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Thorin, Jasna, do not hesitate if there is something you wish. Rychell would be happy to help. And the same goes for you, Mr. Fundison.”

Dwalin bobbed his head slightly. “I thank ye.”

“Of course.” Thorin’s fingertips pressed harder into her back. “I think for now we wish only to sleep. It’s been a long day.”

“Very well. I will see you come the morning.”

“That you will.”

With that, she, Thorin, and Dwalin fell into step behind Rychell, who led them down an open-air corridor away from the front gates. The air was damp, heavy with the smells of earth and rainwater. Vines made up the palace walls, tree trunks here and there in the place of columns and supports. Overhead, the roof was no more than a tightly woven basket of branches and vines, the scent of wet leaves lingering on the chilled night breeze. The hoots of the owls had grown softer, as had the flutter of wings and the scratch of talons on bark. Meanwhile, the songs of other nocturnal creatures grew louder, more rhythmic as Rychell paused beside a door that appeared to be carved from the side of a massive maple tree.

“Is there anything I might fetch for you, Your Majesties?”

Thorin shook his head. “Thank you, but I think my wife and I would just prefer to go to sleep.”

Rychell bobbed his head. “Of course, Your Majesty. Sleep well. Mr. Fundinson, if you will come with me.”

Dwalin bobbed his head again. “Aye, of course. Good night, Thorin, Miss Jasna.”

“Good night,” Jasna told him with a hint of a smile. “Sleep well.”

“I’ll do my best. Thorin, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Of course.”

And with that, Rychell led Dwalin down the corridor and around a bend and they vanished from sight. Thorin gave her a gentle nudge. “I don't know about you, mesmel, but I am tired.”

“Tired does not even begin to describe it,” Jasna told him, smothering a yawn.

She stepped into their chambers and if she didn't know any better, Jasna would think they were sleeping outdoors. Three of the walls were just that—rough-hewn, but walls nonetheless—but the fourth?

“Thorin, have you ever seen anything like this?”

This was the outer wall, which looked more like roughly woven vines that wouldn’t keep out a chipmunk, never mind anything else. The ceiling reminded her of a forest canopy, much like the one back along the river at Erebor. The chilled night air rustled though the fronds of leaves that were various shades of green, gold, and brown.

He came up behind her, easing his arms about her waist. “Mesmel, we are behind a wall, remember. No one will enter without an invitation through the doorway and a fight through any other way. I’m a light sleeper and you have nothing to fear.”

She sank against him, exhaustion seeping into the very marrow of her bones. For one who’d never ventured further than Erebor, Jasna had no idea how tiring travel could be. Her eyes stung with fatigue, but she thought if she let them close, she might simply collapse into a heap on the floor. The room was far more open than she’d expected, but the cool air would make sleeping cozy.

Or so she hoped.

“Tell me the beds here are at least comfortable,” she murmured, biting back a sigh as Thorin swept a teasing kiss along the side of her neck.

“I could not tell you,” he murmured back, the coarse hairs of his beard tickling along her ear, “for I spent my time here in first a cell, then a barrel. We were not exactly welcomed guests, you know.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “A cell, dwarf?”

“Oh, yes. I was dragged away from the others and brought before Thranduíl and when I refused to agree to his terms, he had me tossed into the dungeon with the others.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” She slowly turned toward him, slipping her arms about his thick waist. Gazing up at him, she added, “You have a way with people, you know.”

Thorin’s eyes, every bit as tired as hers felt, softened and a hint of a smile played at his lips. “I do, when properly motivated. I trusted Thranduíl about as far as I could toss him.”

“And now?”

“It’s about the same, but since the odds are that his kingdom and mine will be entangled by marriage? We may not trust one another, but we can get along. For short periods, anyway.”

“Is Tauriel his daughter?”

“Not that I’m aware. She’s a captain in his guard. But elves view themselves in similar fashion as dwarves. Family, but not bound by blood.”

As he spoke, his large hands came up to cradle her face between them. “And you look beyond tired, mesmel,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing along the curves of her cheeks, “so perhaps we should think about going to sleep.”

“I think that is a wonderful idea.”

He smiled and bent toward her. As his lips met hers, Jasna curled her fingers about his thick wrists. Suddenly, she wasn’t quite so tired…

It was so peaceful, lying there beneath the canopy of leaves and branches. Jasna tucked against him, her head on his chest, her arm draped over his hips, and her breath came slow and deep, skittering across his bare chest with each breath.

But Thorin couldn't sleep. Oh, he was tired enough, to be sure, but the unfamiliar sounds carried on the breeze woke him at every turn. Moonlight slitted through that canopy, and it is beams, the Orcrist gleamed silver.

Silver and not blue. Neither orc nor troll lurked nearby.

And yet, he still couldn't sleep.

The bed was comfortable enough—a far cry from the cramped cell he’d shared with Balin the last time he was in Mirkwood—the sheets smooth and soft, the blanket warm and soft. And yet, he couldn't sleep.

His fingers moved of their own along Jasna’s bare arm, down along her equally bare back. She was soft as well. Warm. Fit against him as perfectly as if Mahal had made her just for him. He smiled into the darkness. His wife. When he’d first opened his eyes in the infirmary, following the battle with Azog, and saw her, he never dreamed this was where they would find themselves. All he knew was he was in agony and she made the pain stop. She made the nightmares more bearable.

She made him whole, in every way possible.

She sighed in her sleep and rolled away from him, tugging the quilt and blanket to her ear as she did. He smiled into the darkness and took that as his sign, moving to the edge of the bed to reach for his trousers. He slid into them as he stood and as quietly as he could manage, he moved to the far wall, to a courtyard of sorts that was just beyond their chambers. A low, stone wall ringed the courtyard, a hint of jasmine in the air, heady and sweet, and with a low sigh, he sank onto the wall. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he wasn’t entirely comfortable in Mirkwood. He had no cause to not be. Thranduíl had been as welcoming as he knew how, and Thorin didn't feel as if they’d be shown back to his cell any time soon.

And yet, he just wasn’t comfortable.

From where he sat, he could still keep an eye on Jasna. And so that is exactly what he did. He sank back against what felt like an actual tree trunk, and just watched her sleep from across the room. From Mirkwood, they would travel west toward Rivendell, and from there, possibly the Shire.

Thorin wasn't certain how he felt about venturing out to pay a call on Bilbo. On one hand, the invitation to come visit had been extended, but on the other? The last time dwarves alit upon the Shire, Bilbo found himself hosting a party he hadn’t planned on, and dwarves weren’t the best of houseguests.

But at the same time, he wanted to stop by and visit. He owed his life to Bilbo, as it was because Bilbo threw himself at an orc about to behead Thorin. Tackled him and ran him through as if he—Bilbo—had been a seasoned warrior when in fact the opposite was true. And then out on the ice, when Thorin faced off against Azog, Bilbo had stayed with him, talked to him to try to keep him conscious long enough for help to arrive.

With a soft sigh and and even softer rustle of linens, Jasna rose from the bed, drawing on a light robe as she padded toward him. “Thorin? What are you doing?”

“I couldn't sleep.” There was no point in lying to her about it. She knew him well enough by now to have seen how troubled sleep plagued him from time to time.

Sure enough, she rubbed one eye as she said, “Nightmares?”’

“Not this time.” He reached for her, catching her by the hands to draw her in between his knees. “Why are you awake?”

“I had an odd dream.”

“Tell me about it.”

She shook her head. “I don't really remember all of it, but we were on our way to the Shire and orcs were chasing us.” She looked up at him. “But, I wasn’t afraid. And when one caught up to us, I slapped him soundly across the face and told him to leave us be and he did… it was so odd. They all just vanished at that point.”

“Well, that is a good thing, for they rarely just vanish.”

“I wouldn’t know. I only ever met any right after you and your Company left Esgaroth.”

He sighed softly. “I had no idea they were still following us at that point.”

“They were determined to find you, I guess.”

“They were determined to end me.” He let his fingers slip lightly along her hair.

She snugged closer to him, letting her head come to rest against his chest as she said, “And I am so glad they didn’t.”

“You are not the only one, mesmel.”

Jasna picked her head up and smiled at him. “You should come to bed, Mr. Durin,” she murmured, trailing her fingers up his chest, along the curve of his neck.

His belly fluttered at the soft invitation in her voice, in her eyes, even as he asked, “And why is that?”

“Because I think I might find a way to make you sleepy.”

Her fingers danced lightly along the nape of his neck, the tingles she left in her wake sweeping through him, becoming warmth that soon grew into heat with a each light, teasing stroke. He gazed down, whispering, “Is that so?”

She nodded as she drew him down to meet her lips. As their kiss deepened, he carefully rose from the wall, scooped her up into his arms, and spirited her back to the bed, pressing her down beneath him.

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