Listen, I know I suck at five sentence fics, we’ve already established that, right? I’m sorry, but you’re stuck with me and my pathetic five-sentence attempts until the end of this month. Here, have another one.
Today’s fic for the Writer’s Month 2021 challenge (see @writersmonth for more info) focuses on Thorin and Dwalin. I’ve always wanted to explore this relationship in various ways and this is a very quick study that involves one of my ideas.
Today’s prompt: setting: genderbend world
Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: fem!Thorin x fem!Dwalin Rating:M Warnings: Guess what. Angst. Surpriiiise!
Ohhh I love this! So beautifully written, especially this: “Thorna welcomed Dwala into her arms, and Dwala welcomed Thorna’s braid in her hair; no words were needed that night, there were only tender kisses, sweet like forest berries, sighs soft like spring wind at dawn, gentle caresses falling on their skin like rose petals as they soared together on the wings of love and passion.”
It means a lot coming from you Thank youuu, you’re so sweet!
Listen, I know I suck at five sentence fics, we’ve already established that, right? I’m sorry, but you’re stuck with me and my pathetic five-sentence attempts until the end of this month. Here, have another one.
Today’s fic for the Writer’s Month 2021 challenge (see @writersmonth for more info) focuses on Thorin and Dwalin. I’ve always wanted to explore this relationship in various ways and this is a very quick study that involves one of my ideas.
Today’s prompt: setting: genderbend world
Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: fem!Thorin x fem!Dwalin Rating:M Warnings: Guess what. Angst. Surpriiiise!
Listen, I know I suck at five sentence fics, we’ve already established that, right? I’m sorry, but you’re stuck with me and my pathetic five-sentence attempts until the end of this month. Here, have another one.
Today’s fic for the Writer’s Month 2021 challenge (see @writersmonth for more info) focuses on Thorin and Dwalin. I’ve always wanted to explore this relationship in various ways and this is a very quick study that involves one of my ideas.
Today’s prompt: setting: genderbend world
Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: fem!Thorin x fem!Dwalin Rating:M Warnings: Guess what. Angst. Surpriiiise!
As usual, you can read this fic here and on AO3.
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Always Together
Always together they were, Thorna and Dwala, inseparable childhood friends, sisters in arms, confidantes; where one went, the other one followed: through happiness and hardships; through the loss of their homeland, wandering through wilderness, through sickness and peril; through the horrors of the war with Orcs, through the bitter victory; through the deaths of Thorna’s sister, young Frera, her grandmother, Queen Thora, Dwala’s mother Fundina and many others at the battle of Azanulbizar.
Always together they were, and together they found their way to each other on the night after that battle, when none of them wanted to wet their pillows with their tears in the lonely darkness of their tents; Thorna welcomed Dwala into her arms, and Dwala welcomed Thorna’s braid in her hair; no words were needed that night, there were only tender kisses, sweet like forest berries, sighs soft like spring wind at dawn, gentle caresses falling on their skin like rose petals as they soared together on the wings of love and passion.
Always together they were, but it was forbidden for a Dwarf-woman to lay with another Dwarf-woman, their duties being excellence in their craft or bearing children to their husbands; and so they never spoke about that one night again, that night when great despair intermingled with great happiness, never exchanging another kiss nor tender cares, even if their hearts always beat in unison.
Always together they were, as they worked hand in hand, building a new home for their people when Thorna became the Queen of Longbeards, and Dwala - the captain of her Guard, and none of them ever took a husband; together they set off to reclaim Erebor; together they fought, and together, at last, they entered their Mountain.
Here’s today’s fic for the Writer’s Month 2021 challenge (see@writersmonth for more info).
Here I was supposed to treat you with an exquisitely filthy smut piece with dragonsick!Thorin requested by Anon (it was also supposed to contain the other prompt for today, setting: angel/demon AU), but Thorin and Yrsa took over. Sorry, Anon, I hope you won’t be too mad, but I promise to fulfil the request at a later date. Your ask was too naughty and too delicious to ignore!
Today’s prompt: word: dream
I love you, my amazing readers, your support and scomments give me life!
Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Thorin x Yrsa (Dwarf Female OC) Rating:T Word count: 2,7 k words Warnings:This is the continuation of the “dystopian au” trope from a few days back; it’s not as cheerful as the previous parts and it contains mentions of bodily harm and sickness (also, I’m not a medical professional, any errors are totally my fault, don’t try this at home, kids, and so on). Also, I’m a bad, bad writer. In case you want anything from me, I’ll be right there, standing in the corner. Love you anyway
A special author’s note for @linasofia: Remember, you gave me a free hand ;) A special author’s note for @xmly-xo:The roast duck is for you! Bon appetit!
Forgive me for any errors in advance, I was in a hurry to finish this rather lengthy chapter on time and I’m barely awake now.
Recap: Yrsa met Thorin a year after the wedding, and there was a baby involved, and he turned out to be a king, and I left you with a cliffhanger. Care to see what happened next?
Khuzdul: Ursarusê - my tiny fire Khaglâ-dûm - Blue Halls (name of a Dwarven settlement shamelessly made up by me)
“Duck!” Thorin shouted. Yrsa lived on the road for too long to disregard the warning and immediately fell to the ground, shielding Ursarusê with her body. An arrow flew through the air above her with a whoosh. That was close. Without thinking, she crawled under the nearest wagon as fast as she could, pushing the basket in front of her. Her weapons were nearby, with her pony, but fighting was out of the question. The little one’s safety came first.
“there was something vaguely alluring about him, an animal magnetism of sorts" Oh this brought all kinds of delightful images to mind. And the ending perfected that.
I’m very glad it did! The poor hobbit princess won’t know what hit her ;)
Hello, my wonderful readers! Remember me? I’m (sort of) back! I’ve been trying to fight a writer’s block and since the Valentine’s Day is coming soon, let me treat you to a love story straight from the Middle Earth.
Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Rating: T (E later on) Author’s notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield’s quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike.
You can find this fic on AO3.
Special thanks to@legolasbadass for all your help and discussions and @linasofia for your unwavering support. Love you guys! (Feel free to check their stories here and on AO3, these two are really talented, you won’t regret it!)
Khuzdul: Kaminzabdûna - Yavanna Kheled-zâram - the lake of Mirrormere
“Uncle?” A chubby dwarfling crawled up on Thorin’s lap, joining his little brother.
“What is it, Fili?” Thorin ruffled the boy’s wheat-colored hair, careful not to wake up Kili who snored quietly against his tunic.
“Is the White Raven only a legend?”
This innocent question made the king in exile freeze for a heartbeat.
“Why are you asking?” He made his voice sound casual. Lighthearted.
Fili looked around and whispered, “I saw a white raven today when I went out with Amad.”
“Have you?” Thorin lowered his voice. Perhaps it simply was a child’s imagination. Fili was an inventive lad after all.
“It sat on a branch on that big oak on the way to the market, but when I went to see it up close, it just flew off!” The boy gesticulated lively. “Are you certain that it was a raven?”
“I’m not a little pebble like Kili, Uncle! I know a raven when I see one!” Fili protested. “It just looked weird, because it had white feathers.” His little brother sighed in his sleep and shifted, making Thorin wrap his arm around him tighter as he pondered Fili’s words. Was it truly possible after so many years?
“You were lucky then,” Thorin spoke carefully, “There are many stories about the White Raven and all of them say that it shows itself only to a few.”
“Stories? Please, Uncle, I want to hear all about the White Raven!” Fili pulled on his sleeve.
“White Waven!” Exclaimed Kili, suddenly awake.
“Very well,” Thorin said, unable to stifle a smile at their enthusiasm. This was the topic he himself had been passionate about and researched through the years. Even though his findings had not brought him any closer to the truth he craved, there was an urge inside him to speak of it, as if this simple act could make it more substantial. More real.
Thorin’s gaze travelled towards the flames dancing in the hearth as he chose his words with care.
Forest Gold is a story prompted by @tacosockos’s ask. Thank you very much! I hope you’ll like the story as much as I did when I was writing it!
Relationships:Thorin x Reader
Rating:T
Warnings:none
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Forest Gold
The warm sun shone through the canopy of tall pine trees, its rays illuminating the path before you. It was a summer morning, just after dawn, and you were walking through the forest at the foot of the Lonely Mountain. Looking around, you admired its natural ancient beauty, the softness of the moss beneath your feet, and enjoyed every breath of the cool, fresh air. Since you arrived in Middle Earth on a stormy night several months ago in mysterious circumstances, you still marveled at how unspoiled the nature in Rhovanion was. No pollution, no empty beer cans in the forests, no cigarette butts, no engine noises. Instead, there were crystal-clear rivers and lakes, plenty of animals everywhere you looked and the lush greenery. Never before have you seen so many shades of green. The newly sprouted blades of grass, the majestic ferns by a creek in the backwoods or the reeds growing by the Long Lake near the city of Esgaroth that was being slowly rebuilt.
Your path led you to a bank of a forest stream. You smiled widely, seeing a glimpse of gold among the grass. There they were! You looked around. Yes, this was a perfect spot for what you had in mind. You rested your travelling gear against the trunk of a nearby tree and approached the patch of wildflowers growing in the watery ground at the edge of the stream, their yellow, almost golden petals seemingly shining with the light of their own. The people of Dale called them “kingcups” and used this plant for medicinal purposes. That is why you came here, at least partially. You promised a local healer to bring her some of these plants. But you had also another idea on your mind.
It took you a while to gather enough flowers to fill your basket. Your boots were a bit soaked, but it was worth it. Your eyes quickly found a patch of grass and your hands started picking out the flower heads and arranging them in a spiral shape on the ground. This was something you used to do with your grandmother in her garden. She’d often say these flower mandalas would draw fairies to them, and if you ever were to meet one, this magical creature would fulfill your wish. You have grown out from believing in fairies years ago, but your habit stayed with you, fueling your creativity. Back home, you’d sometimes make a picture of the finished mandala and upload it to your Instagram, sharing your art with the wide world. You didn’t need much to create art. Nature provided everything you needed.
Humming a half-forgotten song from your childhood as you finished arranging the flowers, you suddenly heard a sound of a snapping branch. Someone was coming. As quickly as you could, you gathered your things and hid in the nearby bushes. The local people warned you against strangers in these parts. After the great Battle of Five Armies that happened over a year ago, a constant stream of travelers flowed into Rhovanion. Those newcomers were searching for better life, but there were brigands among them, too.
Someone entered the clearing in a few long strides. He wasn’t tall, but his posture emanated power and strength. Dark, wavy mane of hair cascaded down his wide shoulders. His bearded face was focused on the surroundings. Judging from the clothes and the bow he held in his hands, he had to be a hunter. And… a dwarf. This was the first dwarf you saw from such a close distance. You heard much about these proud people and their great kingdom of Erebor that was currently being rebuilt, but you had never even talked with one before.
The dwarven hunter took a few steps towards your hideout. A pair of deep-set eyes scanned the area. You held your breath and crouched lower among the bushes, hoping that he wouldn’t notice you. As he turned to his left, his gaze fell on your golden flower mandala. After approaching it, he studied it carefully and then took one of the flowers, bringing it to his nose. As he did so, a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You blinked in disbelief. Weren’t the dwarves supposed to be underground folk, loving only stone, metals and precious gems? The last thing you expected today was to see a dwarf enjoying the smell of a delicate forest flower. A flower you arranged yourself.
“Hey! Leave my flowers alone!” you heard your own voice.
In a blink of an eye, he turned to you, his bow aimed at you. Or rather, at your hideout. You muttered a curse. Brilliant, just brilliant.
“Reveal yourself!” You heard his deep voice. So that was how a dwarf sounded like. You had to admit to yourself that hearing him speak made you think of molten dark chocolate, rich and full-flavoured.
You decided not to make a move. The last thing you wanted to do was to be shot by his arrow. It looked kinda… sharp. And something told you that this hunter had a good aim. A sigh escaped your lips. You just had to stay still. Maybe he’d leave you in peace. Maybe. Yeah, right.
“I mean you no harm. You can come out now. I have already put my bow away,” his words reached you. The way he spoke made you think of a horse whisperer trying to calm down a startled steed.
Feeling the taste of defeat in your mouth, you reluctantly came out from your hideout.
“I thought you were a bandit, Master Dwarf,” you admitted. Now, when you had the chance to take a better look at him, you could clearly see that he didn’t look like a brigand at all. His weapons and clothes were of good quality, and he wore several rings on his strong hands. Those rings definitely weren’t trinkets bought at a village fair. The dwarf looked more like a proud, ancient warrior than anything else.
“There are no bandits in the forests of the Lonely Mountain, my lady,” he shook his head. You heard the jingling of the silver beads in his hair, sunrays dancing among them. A peculiar thought appeared in your mind. What would be like to run your hand through this rich mane of hair? It looked so soft… Would he let you make a braid? Just like the ones that hung from his temples, falling all the way to his chest. You felt your cheeks burning up. What on earth made you think of such things about an unknown dwarf you’ve just met?
“I’m not a lady,” you stated. You’ve never been called a lady before, and especially not by a courteous dwarf.
“Who are you then?” his brilliant blue eyes set on your face. “A forest fairy protecting her magic circle?”
The dwarf pointed at your flower mandala.
You chuckled, “There’s nothing magical about my flower art. It’s meant to be looked at and enjoyed.”
“Are you sure?” he tilted his head and took a step towards you. Your eyes moved upwards, sliding along the intricate embroideries on his tunic hugging against the deep contours of his chest. The garment revealed a small patch of tanned skin at his throat, emphasizing his muscular neck. His strongly defined jaw was covered with a lush beard that hid a surprisingly soft line of his lips. The patrician nose set above it made you think of the gigantic dwarven sculptures that guarded the entrance to the kingdom of Erebor. And then there were his eyes, those twin mysterious cerulean pools that kept on searching your face. “There is an old legend among my people about the forests of the Lonely Mountain. They say that you can sometimes find a flower fairy ring here. If the time is right, its magic will take you wherever your heart longs to go.”
“It is a beautiful legend, but that’s all there is to it. An old tale,” you replied. Even a baby knew that there was no such thing as magic. And no, the way you arrived to this new, wonderous world had nothing to do with magic whatsoever. You were sure that science could explain it well. Perhaps a lightning struck too close to you that night, and there was a shift in the magnetic fields, and this was simply a parallel universe or…
A chuckle brought you back to reality.
“As you wish, my lady. Forgive me my manners, this unexpected meeting made me forget them completely,” he made a courteous bow. “My name is Thorin. May I ask how I should address you?”
You gulped. Your name was too unusual and too modern for this place. If the dwarf heard it, it would happen just like it did in Esgaroth and several other places. The locals weren’t fond of weird strangers. There would be strange looks, prying questions and tons of suspicion. Somehow, you didn’t want the majestic dwarf in front of you to look at you the way they did. You had to think of something.
“My name… Wait, did you say Thorin? As in Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain?!” even you, a newcomer to Middle Earth, heard about the dwarven king who led a bold charge against the Orc and Warg armies and defeated them, taking the life of their leader, Azog.
“These are just titles. Here, today, in the forest, I’m just Thorin, my lady without a name,” he smiled, but you could see a shadow passing his eyes, fleeting and deep.
Your mind barely registered his gaze, busy processing the current situation. You, a girl from far, far away, were standing in the presence of a real king! And a dwarf! What were you supposed to do? Bow? Curtsy? Call him “your majesty”? Or was it “your highness”? No, he said he was “just Thorin”. Pheew. But were you allowed to sit down in his presence? Or speak without being asked to? Oh, wait, he asked you a question and you haven’t answered it yet!
“I come from a faraway land. My name may sound alien to you and… and difficult to pronounce!” you blurted out.
“Would you allow me to call you Kingcup, my lady? Like these golden flowers?” his eyes traveled to the mandala you created on the ground.
“Kingcup…” you whispered to yourself, looking at the flower petals glistening in the sun.
“These flowers… We call them ‘forest gold’. Small and delicate, but sturdy. They run through the woods like veins of gold through the stone. And their reflections in water make forest streams look like molten gold,” his voice washed over you like smoothest silk.
“I think I can live with a name like that,” you smiled shyly at him.
“You do me a great honor, lady Kingcup,” his voice deepened, rumbling in his chest.
“I told you, king Thorin, I’m not a lady.”
“If you are not a lady then I am not a king,” he stated, responding to your smile with an amused glint in his eye.
“Sounds fair to me… Thorin,” you whispered his name, barely able to look into his eyes, hoping he would not mind your casual way of speaking to the king of the famous dwarven kingdom. He nodded in return.
“Since we are properly introduced now, may I invite you for breakfast? I must admit I haven’t eaten today yet and my friend Bombur, a brilliant cook, prepared some delicious scones with cheese for the road. I will gladly share them with you.”
The thought of a meal made your stomach rumble and you agreed almost instantly. The breakfast turned into a brunch when you discovered that you both were well equipped with delicious food. While you ate, you talked about everything and nothing; you were curious about Erebor, and Thorin asked about your recent travels through Rhovanion. You even shared a few amusing anecdotes from your lives and you quickly forgot you were spending time in the company of a king. To be honest, it felt as if you’d known each other for ages, sharing several interests, including the love of nature, both above and below ground.
“So you say that the dwarves think gold is the most precious metal?” you swallowed the last bite of smoked cheese.
“A metal worthy of kings,” Thorin nodded, taking a sip from his water bag.
“What about forest gold?” you gestured towards the flowers in your basket, the ones that you gathered in the morning.
“It is the most precious part of the forest… Kingcup…” his glittering blue eyes traveled to your face and you had to look away. Did he mean the flowers…. Or…?
“Close your eyes, please,” you said suddenly, a new and crazy idea popping in your head.
“I beg your pardon?”
“If you close your eyes, I’ll show you the treasure of the forest,” you grinned mischievously. “It will just take a moment. Please?”
Apparently Thorin couldn’t say no to the pleading look on your face and capitulated. You reached towards the basket and soon your hands were working swiftly, binding the flowers together.
“Can I look now?” he asked, his back resting against the tree behind him.
“Patience,” you giggled. Your new “work of art” was ready. You moved towards Thorin and placed the golden flower crown on his temple. Your hand brushed against his hair. It was pleasantly soft under your touch. As you took a breath, a smell of pine needles, bonfire smoke and leather surrounded you. You expected a mighty king to smell like precious oils and heavy, exotic flower essences. Instead, his scent was simple, raw, and manly, and quickly went to your head. Looking at his calm features, all the worries gone from his handsome face, you almost missed the moment when he opened his eyes. You were kneeling next to him, your hands resting at his temples along with the flower crown. His face was surprisingly close to yours. You felt the warmth of his body and could almost brush your nose against his. Uh-oh. You swallowed. He blinked.
“What do we have here?” he cast a half-lidded glance at you and moved his hands to his head.
“Something worthy of a king. The golden crown of the forest,” you chuckled, recalling your idea, and desperately trying to forget the way his skin brushed against yours as he reached for the flower crown, and the pleasant sensation you felt. “No, no, don’t take it off! Come with me!”
You got up and quickly marched to the edge of the stream. Thorin joined you after a few moments.
“You are not going to drown me, are you?” he raised one of his dark eyebrows suspiciously, a smile dancing on his lips. It suited him well.
“It depends on how you are going to react to my gift!” you giggled. “Now, look into the water and tell me what you think!”
“It is truly a golden crown,” the dwarven king stared into his reflection in the stream and chuckled. “Who would have thought that the forest was full of such riches? I thank you kindly for this generous gift, Kingcup.”
“You like it? What a relief! I don’t have to drown you, then. All is well!” you grinned and then both of you burst out in laughter. Somehow, it felt good laughing beside him. It felt right.
“And to think such a treasure came from under your skilled fingers! I have been lucky to have met you here today. You are magical indeed, just like your fairy ring,” he winked at you, looking more like a playful young dwarf than a king.
“I tell you, this is just a flower arrangement, not a magical place!” you protested.
“There is only one way to find out, isn’t there?” he smirked and reached out his hand to you.
“Very well,” you agreed with a sigh and placed your hand in his. He squeezed it gently but reassuringly, smiling at you, as you both stepped inside your golden flower mandala.
There was a splash of emotion in his eyes when he said, “Let us see where your magic takes us.”
You barely managed to close your eyes when a warm breath of wind caressed your face and suddenly you felt dizzy. A sensation of falling flooded your senses. A few heartbeats later everything stopped. In the surrounding silence, you could only hear your and Thorin quickened breaths. You still felt how warm his skin was, his fingers wrapped around your palms.
“Is it done?” you asked, not daring to open your eyes yet.
“It is. Your magic is truly astonishing,” Thorin replied, and you recognized notes of admiration in his voice.
The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was his face. He was smiling, and there was something new in his expression; something that you couldn’t decipher.
And then you looked around.
“But we’re still in the same place!” you exclaimed. “It was just as I told you, there is no magic here.”
“Ah but there is. Your magic,” he looked at you expectantly, his features softening.
“My… magic?” you frowned. What did he mean by that? And why did he close the distance between you? Oh, and why did he raise your hand to his lips, kissing it reverently? By the way, his lips turned out to be even softer than you imagined, and even warmer, almost scorching.
“Your magic worked perfectly well,” he murmured huskily, his breath fanning the delicate skin on the back of your hand. “It brought me to the place my heart longed to be, sweet Kingcup.”
“And where is that?” you whispered back, trying to find the answer in the bottomless depths of his cerulean eyes. And then you heard his voice.
“By the side of my forest queen.”
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Don’t forget to let me know what you think about this story!
Happy Midsummer weekend to all who are celebrating!
You know how on Midsummer you are supposed to gather seven different flowers or herbs and put them under your pillow to dream about the person you are going to spend your life with?
I’ve been talking with @linasofia about how Midsummer would look in Erebor. I got a little bit inspired, and this is how this fic came to be. Thank you for the inspo and for your support
Let me know how you like it. If this little story catches your interest, I may write more, so let me know if I should continue!
Rating:G
* * *
Thistle. A Midsummer Night’s Dream
“Thorin, let’s go! Frerin is waiting for us! He has already left!” Dis tugged at Thorin’s sleeve.
“Patience, let us wait for a better moment,” he leaned towards her and whispered.
They were sitting at a large table in the Main Hall of Erebor, surrounded by song, dance, festive music, delicious food, and happy Dwarves. The whole Erebor was celebrating Midsummer. Everyone was there, even their Grandfather. King Thror had been lately avoiding the crowds and spending more and more time in the treasure chamber, which worried Thorin immensely. Now however, his long, elegantly coiffed silver beard glistened with beads and precious gems, and he seemed as cheerful as he used to when Thorin and his siblings were tiny pebbles sitting on his lap and playing with his crown. It warmed Thorin’s heart to see his Grandfather smiling once again, without that ominous dark frown on his face.
The King stood up and proposed a toast to the prosperity of the kingdom. Cheers and merriment followed, and in the commotion, Thorin and Dis managed to sneak out, leaving the sounds of the feast behind them.
“Do you think Frerin asked Dvala to join us?” Dis wondered as they were walking along one of the corridors leading out of the Mountain. Thorin frowned, “I thought we agreed on keeping this silly idea a secret.”
“Oh, come on, Brother, do not be so gloomy!” she nudged him with her elbow. “You can survive one evening of fun in a good company. Dvala is a sweet girl, I am quite fond of her!”
“Frerin should focus on his mining apprenticeship, not on girls.”
“Just like you are focusing on your dwarven law studies by training with Dwalin instead?”
They took a turn and walked down the staircase that led to the gates of Erebor. Frerin was supposed to meet them nearby. Thorin grunted, “Grandfather says he expects his heirs to be well-versed in many different…”
“You’re such a bore, Thorin! There’s more to life than duties and studying,” his sister insisted, making him groan inwardly. “You will see, one day you are going to meet a lovely girl who will steal your heart and show you that there are more things to life than musty old tomes and swords.”
“I doubt it. I do not wish to complicate my life with affairs of the heart. I am expected to wed someone chosen by Mother and Grandmother. My marriage has to benefit our kingdom. Now, we need strong allies more than ever,” a shadow passed Thorin’s face at the thought of the recent serious disagreement their grandfather had with his brother Gror, the lord of the Iron Hills, ceasing diplomatic relations between both dwarven strongholds. And then, there was that catastrophe of an audience when King Thror suddenly refused to hand over the necklace made of the Gems of Lasgalen to King Thranduil. As it turned out, the ruler of the Woodland Realm hadn’t planned to pay for the work of dwarven master jewelers in the first place, but Thorin had seen King Thror solving more delicate issues without any problems before. Now, whenever he looked into the eyes of his Grandfather, he saw only darkness and greed. But not tonight. Tonight they sparkled with joy, and that was a blessing from Mahal.
“Stop talking about politics, Brother!” Dis scolded him once again. “It’s Midsummer today, have you forgotten? We are going to sneak out of the Mountain, gather seven different flowers, make wreaths out of them, and then…”
I love the dynamics between Thorin, Dis, and Frerin. They are adorable together; it’s so nice to see them enjoying themselves and acting like kids without any danger ahead.
And the dream!! I’m so intrigued! I especially loved this line: “It seems like a wondrous place to live at,” she confessed, bringing a delicate white flower to her nose and smelling it with her eyes closed, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips. He wanted to smell it together with her. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. And he forgot that he was supposed to dislike flowers.” Thorin, you cutie!!
I’m always looking forward your comments @legolasbadass, thank you so much for reading and reblogging
And yes, young prince Thorin is still idealistic and meeting this mysterious maiden hit him hard ☺️ Let’s hope he doesn’t lose his head completely!
Happy Midsummer weekend to all who are celebrating!
You know how on Midsummer you are supposed to gather seven different flowers or herbs and put them under your pillow to dream about the person you are going to spend your life with?
I’ve been talking with @linasofia about how Midsummer would look in Erebor. I got a little bit inspired, and this is how this fic came to be. Thank you for the inspo and for your support
Let me know how you like it. If this little story catches your interest, I may write more, so let me know if I should continue!
Rating:G
* * *
Thistle. A Midsummer Night’s Dream
“Thorin, let’s go! Frerin is waiting for us! He has already left!” Dis tugged at Thorin’s sleeve.
“Patience, let us wait for a better moment,” he leaned towards her and whispered.
They were sitting at a large table in the Main Hall of Erebor, surrounded by song, dance, festive music, delicious food, and happy Dwarves. The whole Erebor was celebrating Midsummer. Everyone was there, even their Grandfather. King Thror had been lately avoiding the crowds and spending more and more time in the treasure chamber, which worried Thorin immensely. Now however, his long, elegantly coiffed silver beard glistened with beads and precious gems, and he seemed as cheerful as he used to when Thorin and his siblings were tiny pebbles sitting on his lap and playing with his crown. It warmed Thorin’s heart to see his Grandfather smiling once again, without that ominous dark frown on his face.
The King stood up and proposed a toast to the prosperity of the kingdom. Cheers and merriment followed, and in the commotion, Thorin and Dis managed to sneak out, leaving the sounds of the feast behind them.
“Do you think Frerin asked Dvala to join us?” Dis wondered as they were walking along one of the corridors leading out of the Mountain. Thorin frowned, “I thought we agreed on keeping this silly idea a secret.”
“Oh, come on, Brother, do not be so gloomy!” she nudged him with her elbow. “You can survive one evening of fun in a good company. Dvala is a sweet girl, I am quite fond of her!”
“Frerin should focus on his mining apprenticeship, not on girls.”
“Just like you are focusing on your dwarven law studies by training with Dwalin instead?”
They took a turn and walked down the staircase that led to the gates of Erebor. Frerin was supposed to meet them nearby. Thorin grunted, “Grandfather says he expects his heirs to be well-versed in many different…”
“You’re such a bore, Thorin! There’s more to life than duties and studying,” his sister insisted, making him groan inwardly. “You will see, one day you are going to meet a lovely girl who will steal your heart and show you that there are more things to life than musty old tomes and swords.”
“I doubt it. I do not wish to complicate my life with affairs of the heart. I am expected to wed someone chosen by Mother and Grandmother. My marriage has to benefit our kingdom. Now, we need strong allies more than ever,” a shadow passed Thorin’s face at the thought of the recent serious disagreement their grandfather had with his brother Gror, the lord of the Iron Hills, ceasing diplomatic relations between both dwarven strongholds. And then, there was that catastrophe of an audience when King Thror suddenly refused to hand over the necklace made of the Gems of Lasgalen to King Thranduil. As it turned out, the ruler of the Woodland Realm hadn’t planned to pay for the work of dwarven master jewelers in the first place, but Thorin had seen King Thror solving more delicate issues without any problems before. Now, whenever he looked into the eyes of his Grandfather, he saw only darkness and greed. But not tonight. Tonight they sparkled with joy, and that was a blessing from Mahal.
“Stop talking about politics, Brother!” Dis scolded him once again. “It’s Midsummer today, have you forgotten? We are going to sneak out of the Mountain, gather seven different flowers, make wreaths out of them, and then…”
Honey… You know that it would catch our interest! Everything you write does, tbh!
I love this so much! Thorin, Frerin and Dis’ dynamic was amazing! How Dis has her older brothers (and Dwalin) wrapped around her little finger through her genius shenanigans is absolute perfection!
Their encounter through the dream left me wanting for more. When would they meet? How? Who is she, after all? Because we have only her name and looks.
I can’t wait for another chapter!
Ahhh now I’m blushing and don’t know to say!
Thank you so much @justfollowtheroad for your wonderful words of encouragement, I’ll definitely keep in mind what you like and think of it when planning to fill the next chapter :) It may contain more info about Saga from the elven realm.
Happy Midsummer weekend to all who are celebrating!
You know how on Midsummer you are supposed to gather seven different flowers or herbs and put them under your pillow to dream about the person you are going to spend your life with?
I’ve been talking with @linasofia about how Midsummer would look in Erebor. I got a little bit inspired, and this is how this fic came to be. Thank you for the inspo and for your support
Let me know how you like it. If this little story catches your interest, I may write more, so let me know if I should continue!
Rating:G
* * *
Thistle. A Midsummer Night’s Dream
“Thorin, let’s go! Frerin is waiting for us! He has already left!” Dis tugged at Thorin’s sleeve.
“Patience, let us wait for a better moment,” he leaned towards her and whispered.
They were sitting at a large table in the Main Hall of Erebor, surrounded by song, dance, festive music, delicious food, and happy Dwarves. The whole Erebor was celebrating Midsummer. Everyone was there, even their Grandfather. King Thror had been lately avoiding the crowds and spending more and more time in the treasure chamber, which worried Thorin immensely. Now however, his long, elegantly coiffed silver beard glistened with beads and precious gems, and he seemed as cheerful as he used to when Thorin and his siblings were tiny pebbles sitting on his lap and playing with his crown. It warmed Thorin’s heart to see his Grandfather smiling once again, without that ominous dark frown on his face.
The King stood up and proposed a toast to the prosperity of the kingdom. Cheers and merriment followed, and in the commotion, Thorin and Dis managed to sneak out, leaving the sounds of the feast behind them.
“Do you think Frerin asked Dvala to join us?” Dis wondered as they were walking along one of the corridors leading out of the Mountain. Thorin frowned, “I thought we agreed on keeping this silly idea a secret.”
“Oh, come on, Brother, do not be so gloomy!” she nudged him with her elbow. “You can survive one evening of fun in a good company. Dvala is a sweet girl, I am quite fond of her!”
“Frerin should focus on his mining apprenticeship, not on girls.”
“Just like you are focusing on your dwarven law studies by training with Dwalin instead?”
They took a turn and walked down the staircase that led to the gates of Erebor. Frerin was supposed to meet them nearby. Thorin grunted, “Grandfather says he expects his heirs to be well-versed in many different…”
“You’re such a bore, Thorin! There’s more to life than duties and studying,” his sister insisted, making him groan inwardly. “You will see, one day you are going to meet a lovely girl who will steal your heart and show you that there are more things to life than musty old tomes and swords.”
“I doubt it. I do not wish to complicate my life with affairs of the heart. I am expected to wed someone chosen by Mother and Grandmother. My marriage has to benefit our kingdom. Now, we need strong allies more than ever,” a shadow passed Thorin’s face at the thought of the recent serious disagreement their grandfather had with his brother Gror, the lord of the Iron Hills, ceasing diplomatic relations between both dwarven strongholds. And then, there was that catastrophe of an audience when King Thror suddenly refused to hand over the necklace made of the Gems of Lasgalen to King Thranduil. As it turned out, the ruler of the Woodland Realm hadn’t planned to pay for the work of dwarven master jewelers in the first place, but Thorin had seen King Thror solving more delicate issues without any problems before. Now, whenever he looked into the eyes of his Grandfather, he saw only darkness and greed. But not tonight. Tonight they sparkled with joy, and that was a blessing from Mahal.
“Stop talking about politics, Brother!” Dis scolded him once again. “It’s Midsummer today, have you forgotten? We are going to sneak out of the Mountain, gather seven different flowers, make wreaths out of them, and then…”
This was….amazing, wonderful, sweet and beyond my expectations!! I love how you captured the connections between Thorin, Dis and Frerin. And I would love to hear the talk Thorin is planning to have with Dwalin. Poor Dwalin, he better be honest! And the dream!!! I will keep the warm feeling in my heart for a long time. You picked the perfect name for her ”Saga”. Thank you so much for writing and sharing this. Please continue the story, we all need a Midsummer Night’s Dream! ❤️❤️
As always, your reblogs leave me speechless and I’m melting inside You’re encouraging me to write more in such a wonderful way! Thank you so much
I’m happy you liked her name, it’s so telling. And those two definitely have a story to tell…
P.S. I’m already thinking about the next chapter :)
Happy Midsummer weekend to all who are celebrating!
You know how on Midsummer you are supposed to gather seven different flowers or herbs and put them under your pillow to dream about the person you are going to spend your life with?
I’ve been talking with @linasofia about how Midsummer would look in Erebor. I got a little bit inspired, and this is how this fic came to be. Thank you for the inspo and for your support
Let me know how you like it. If this little story catches your interest, I may write more, so let me know if I should continue!
* * *
Thistle. A Midsummer Night’s Dream
“Thorin, let’s go! Frerin is waiting for us! He has already left!” Dis tugged at Thorin’s sleeve.
“Patience, let us wait for a better moment,” he leaned towards her and whispered.
They were sitting at a large table in the Main Hall of Erebor, surrounded by song, dance, festive music, delicious food, and happy Dwarves. The whole Erebor was celebrating Midsummer. Everyone was there, even their Grandfather. King Thror had been lately avoiding the crowds and spending more and more time in the treasure chamber, which worried Thorin immensely. Now however, his long, elegantly coiffed silver beard glistened with beads and precious gems, and he seemed as cheerful as he used to when Thorin and his siblings were tiny pebbles sitting on his lap and playing with his crown. It warmed Thorin’s heart to see his Grandfather smiling once again, without that ominous dark frown on his face.
The King stood up and proposed a toast to the prosperity of the kingdom. Cheers and merriment followed, and in the commotion, Thorin and Dis managed to sneak out, leaving the sounds of the feast behind them.
“Do you think Frerin asked Dvala to join us?” Dis wondered as they were walking along one of the corridors leading out of the Mountain. Thorin frowned, “I thought we agreed on keeping this silly idea a secret.”
“Oh, come on, Brother, do not be so gloomy!” she nudged him with her elbow. “You can survive one evening of fun in a good company. Dvala is a sweet girl, I am quite fond of her!”
“Frerin should focus on his mining apprenticeship, not on girls.”
“Just like you are focusing on your dwarven law studies by training with Dwalin instead?”
They took a turn and walked down the staircase that led to the gates of Erebor. Frerin was supposed to meet them nearby. Thorin grunted, “Grandfather says he expects his heirs to be well-versed in many different…”
“You’re such a bore, Thorin! There’s more to life than duties and studying,” his sister insisted, making him groan inwardly. “You will see, one day you are going to meet a lovely girl who will steal your heart and show you that there are more things to life than musty old tomes and swords.”
“I doubt it. I do not wish to complicate my life with affairs of the heart. I am expected to wed someone chosen by Mother and Grandmother. My marriage has to benefit our kingdom. Now, we need strong allies more than ever,” a shadow passed Thorin’s face at the thought of the recent serious disagreement their grandfather had with his brother Gror, the lord of the Iron Hills, ceasing diplomatic relations between both dwarven strongholds. And then, there was that catastrophe of an audience when King Thror suddenly refused to hand over the necklace made of the Gems of Lasgalen to King Thranduil. As it turned out, the ruler of the Woodland Realm hadn’t planned to pay for the work of dwarven master jewelers in the first place, but Thorin had seen King Thror solving more delicate issues without any problems before. Now, whenever he looked into the eyes of his Grandfather, he saw only darkness and greed. But not tonight. Tonight they sparkled with joy, and that was a blessing from Mahal.
“Stop talking about politics, Brother!” Dis scolded him once again. “It’s Midsummer today, have you forgotten? We are going to sneak out of the Mountain, gather seven different flowers, make wreaths out of them, and then…”
Did this little story interest me? Do you really need to ask? Please write a sequel (imagine me sitting on my knees, looking up to you with my sweetest puppy eyes)
I loved their sibling dynamic, there isn’t much young Thorin, Frerin and Dis content around. Also, Dís and Dwalin? Yes please!
Great work as always
You’re not only super sweet, but you’re making me blush! I’m glad to hear you enjoyed the trio and their shenanigans. What a shame the happiness will soon end…
Happy Midsummer weekend to all who are celebrating!
You know how on Midsummer you are supposed to gather seven different flowers or herbs and put them under your pillow to dream about the person you are going to spend your life with?
I’ve been talking with @linasofia about how Midsummer would look in Erebor. I got a little bit inspired, and this is how this fic came to be. Thank you for the inspo and for your support
Let me know how you like it. If this little story catches your interest, I may write more, so let me know if I should continue!
Rating:G
* * *
Thistle. A Midsummer Night’s Dream
“Thorin, let’s go! Frerin is waiting for us! He has already left!” Dis tugged at Thorin’s sleeve.
“Patience, let us wait for a better moment,” he leaned towards her and whispered.
They were sitting at a large table in the Main Hall of Erebor, surrounded by song, dance, festive music, delicious food, and happy Dwarves. The whole Erebor was celebrating Midsummer. Everyone was there, even their Grandfather. King Thror had been lately avoiding the crowds and spending more and more time in the treasure chamber, which worried Thorin immensely. Now however, his long, elegantly coiffed silver beard glistened with beads and precious gems, and he seemed as cheerful as he used to when Thorin and his siblings were tiny pebbles sitting on his lap and playing with his crown. It warmed Thorin’s heart to see his Grandfather smiling once again, without that ominous dark frown on his face.
The King stood up and proposed a toast to the prosperity of the kingdom. Cheers and merriment followed, and in the commotion, Thorin and Dis managed to sneak out, leaving the sounds of the feast behind them.
“Do you think Frerin asked Dvala to join us?” Dis wondered as they were walking along one of the corridors leading out of the Mountain. Thorin frowned, “I thought we agreed on keeping this silly idea a secret.”
“Oh, come on, Brother, do not be so gloomy!” she nudged him with her elbow. “You can survive one evening of fun in a good company. Dvala is a sweet girl, I am quite fond of her!”
“Frerin should focus on his mining apprenticeship, not on girls.”
“Just like you are focusing on your dwarven law studies by training with Dwalin instead?”
They took a turn and walked down the staircase that led to the gates of Erebor. Frerin was supposed to meet them nearby. Thorin grunted, “Grandfather says he expects his heirs to be well-versed in many different…”
“You’re such a bore, Thorin! There’s more to life than duties and studying,” his sister insisted, making him groan inwardly. “You will see, one day you are going to meet a lovely girl who will steal your heart and show you that there are more things to life than musty old tomes and swords.”
“I doubt it. I do not wish to complicate my life with affairs of the heart. I am expected to wed someone chosen by Mother and Grandmother. My marriage has to benefit our kingdom. Now, we need strong allies more than ever,” a shadow passed Thorin’s face at the thought of the recent serious disagreement their grandfather had with his brother Gror, the lord of the Iron Hills, ceasing diplomatic relations between both dwarven strongholds. And then, there was that catastrophe of an audience when King Thror suddenly refused to hand over the necklace made of the Gems of Lasgalen to King Thranduil. As it turned out, the ruler of the Woodland Realm hadn’t planned to pay for the work of dwarven master jewelers in the first place, but Thorin had seen King Thror solving more delicate issues without any problems before. Now, whenever he looked into the eyes of his Grandfather, he saw only darkness and greed. But not tonight. Tonight they sparkled with joy, and that was a blessing from Mahal.
“Stop talking about politics, Brother!” Dis scolded him once again. “It’s Midsummer today, have you forgotten? We are going to sneak out of the Mountain, gather seven different flowers, make wreaths out of them, and then…”
“Only if you’re going to make the wreaths for us, Dis!” Frerin exclaimed, jumping from behind one of the green marble columns.
“Do you want everyone to hear us, you clot?!” she hissed, making Thorin smirk. Dis wasn’t of battle age yet, but she already started resembling their mother more and more, growing just as fearless and fierce. She rested her fists on her hips, stomped her foot, and declared, “You are going to make your midsummer wreaths yourselves! That’s what the tradition says!” “Remind me, brother, why are we doing this?” Frerin rolled his eyes and looked at Thorin helplessly.
“Dis bribed you shamelessly, and I… may have lost a bet,” Thorin admitted reluctantly. Indeed, he made a bet with his sweet, little, supposedly innocent sister. A simple bet, and a very stupid one. He still couldn’t believe he let himself be tricked so easily. Dis was supposed to challenge Dwalin to an arm-wrestling match. If she were to win, Thorin would fulfill her wish. Just one simple wish. But if she were to lose, she would write a two-scroll essay on the history of settlement in the Blue Mountains for him, a week’s worth of work. He hated history, but his tutor was very exigent. Besides, since Dwalin was a formidable arm-wrestler, Thorin was sure his best friend would win. To his dismay, Dwalin didn’t, and Thorin still had trouble wrapping his mind around that fact. Dis. Won an arm-wrestling match. With Dwalin, one of the strongest Dwarves he knew. He still remembered how Dwalin grinned at him in triumph, pushing her arm down slowly, but then Dis gasped quietly. Dwalin looked at her as she said, or rather purred, “Oh, my, you are really strong!”, and then she batted her eyelashes. This was enough for the mighty Dwalin: distracted, he loosened his grip – and that was exactly what Dis was waiting for: she slammed his arm down in a blink of an eye.
And now Thorin had to fulfill his little sister’s wish and follow her out of the Mountain instead of drinking ale with Dwalin and discussing his latest axe design. Who would have thought that younger sisters were such a menace?
“You are doing this because you are my beloved brothers and care for me greatly,” Dis grinned and added with a wink. “We can’t win with her, Thorin, can we?” Frerin looked at him pleadingly.
“A warrior knows when a battle is lost. We must wait for a better opportunity to counterattack,” he offered, making an imitation of Lord Fundin and his lectures on war strategy, causing his brother to chuckle.
When all three of them finally found themselves on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain, the summer evening surrounded them with warmth. Scents of nature wafted into Thorin’s nose. It was long after sunset, but the surroundings were bathed in the silvery light of the moon. In the clear air, Thorin could see the silver ribbon of the River Running below and the distant lights of Dale. “Granny says it’s the perfect time for picking the midsummer flowers!” Dis announced behind him. Frerin groaned in despair and followed her, but Thorin didn’t move. Perhaps if he pretended he hadn’t heard her she would let him be, he thought. “Thorin! You lost the bet, remember?” his sister addressed him pointedly and he had to capitulate.
“I do. Something tells me that you will never let me forget about it for as long as we live,” Thorin offered, disheartened. It turned out that picking flowers was much easier than he thought. Besides, he wanted to be done with that silly flower business as soon as possible and return back to the Mountain.
“So, Frerin, why haven’t you invited Dvala tonight?” Dis asked in a light-hearted tone after they wreaked sufficient havoc on the meadow. She was busy weaving her wreath that consisted of lots of red, yellow, and blue flowers. Thorin hadn’t the slightest idea what each of them was called nor did he care. After a pause, Frerin responded, sticking his tongue out as he tried to copy her movements, working on a bunch of pink flowers, “I did, but her aunt wouldn’t let her go.” “Oh, bother, that aunt of hers. Oh, I know!” Dis smiled mischievously, “I will talk with Mother, and she will invite them both for a picnic, so you and Dvala can…” Thorin’s sister’s voice drifted off into the air as he shook his head, focusing on his own cursed wreath. After having his fingers assaulted with thorns, he came to the conclusion that neither thistle nor blackthorn twigs were the best choices for this pointless task. “Great! Now, put your wreaths on your heads and show me how you look!” Dis ordered. Thorin raised an eyebrow, “Is this really necessary?” “Dwalin says that if you give me any problems, he will stop training with you!” she crossed her arms across her chest. “Traitor,” Thorin muttered. He expected many things but not his best friend taking his sister’s side.
“Are you surprised, Thorin?” Frerin chuckled, putting his pink wreath on his head and making a funny face. “You should have seen them both in the northern passage! Oh, Dwalin, those flowers are so pretty! – Not as pretty as ye are!” He imitated Dis’ and Dwalin’s voices and then proceeded to make kissing noises.
“Be quiet, Frerin, or I’ll tell Mother that I’ve found Principles of Love and Lust under your bed!” Dis furrowed her brow. It was interesting, Thorin observed, to see how Frerin’s face turned from pale to strawberry red. And as for Dis and the kissing noises, he decided to procure a cask of ale and visit Dwalin to assess the intentions that he might have towards his little sister. They will either drink the ale together or he would smash the wooden cask on his best friend’s stupid head. That thought put him in a somewhat better mood.
“Tell me, sister, how do I look?” Thorin put that misery of a wreath on his head. The things he has to endure for his siblings.
“Thorin!” she clasped her hands and beamed. Thorin tried to ignore Frerin’s chuckling from behind. “You look stunning! Like the Forest King in his flower crown!” “Are you telling me I look like the ruler of Mirkwood? Like an elf?” he huffed. “Not at all, silly! More like one of those fairy tale creatures, with horns, furry legs, and hooves. Like a grumpy satyr!” giggling, she closed the distance between them, stood on her tiptoes, and placed a wet, affectionate kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered into his ear.
“How long are we supposed to wear those wreaths?” Frerin said before Thorin could say anything.
“Until you go to bed tonight. Make sure to put them under your pillows and then each of you is going to dream about the love of your life. At least that is what Granny says!” Dis explained, putting her own wreath on her head.
“That means Thorin is going to dream of Deathless and his anvil!” Frerin sniggered.
***
Thorin hadn’t given much thought to his sister’s last words until he returned to his chambers. Getting ready to retire for the night, he removed the prickly wreath from his head with a grunt as it turned out to be entangled in his braids. It took him a while to separate his hair from the stems, twigs, and flowers and Thorin solemnly promised himself to comb and wash his hair properly first thing in the morning. Falling on his bed in exhaustion, he managed to put the mutilated plants under his pillow, just like he promised his sister. And in the morning, he would have a serious talk with Dwalin.
Sleep came to him quickly, mere moments after he closed his eyes.
He stood at the edge of a forest clearing, breathless. She was there, sitting with her back towards him, in the middle of a runestone circle. He could make out the shapes and Khuzdul runes carved into them, but he paid them no heed, his eyes drawn to her bright silhouette. Bathed in sunlight, she seemed like a glowing, luminous being and not a… dwarf maiden. Clad in a long white gown, with a flower wreath and a couple of simple braids adorning her flowing hair that made him think of pale marble with gold veins, she seemed like a benevolent spectre from another world, like a glittering pearl found at the bottom of the sea.
And then he realized she was singing. A soothing, soulful melody reached both his ears and his heart, and it was as if the day became even brighter, the air even clearer, and he felt a sweet taste in his mouth as if he had been drinking the sweetest mead.
Wanting to hear her voice better, Thorin took a step forward, but the song suddenly stopped.
“Who are you?” she turned towards him and asked in a gentle voice, a curious smile dancing on her lips.
“Thorin, son of Thrain, my lady,” he made a customary bow and approached the circle.
“A dwarf… here?” she tilted her head.
“You seem surprised, my lady,” he replied, trying not to think of how bright her eyes were and how pink and full her lips were against her sun-kissed cheeks. “Indeed I am. No one ever comes here, only me,” she said absentmindedly. “Then I am honored to be your first guest,” he added quickly. “Welcome to my meadow, Thorin, son of Thrain,” after a hesitant pause, the maiden stood up and curtsied elegantly, as if she was in Erebor’s throne room and not in the middle of an ancient forest.
She gestured at him to enter the stone circle and asked him to sit down beside her, just before she lowered herself gracefully on the grass. His heart was beating fast, but he moved slowly, carefully, not wanting to startle her, as if he was on a hunt and she was a prized doe.
“Tell me where you come from, Thorin, son of Thrain. Tell me of your homeland,” she whispered, and he noticed a faint blush appearing on her cheeks. It was at that moment that he realized that her eyes were green as priceless emeralds, like the soft grass beneath them, and he drowned in the boundless sea of her gaze completely.
He spoke of the kingdom of Erebor, of its beauty and wealth, of the skilled miners, jewelers, and stonemasons. He spoke of the wonders hidden deep inside of the Mountain and of the breathtaking view from its top. And she listened and listened like no one ever before has listened to him, and she asked insightful questions, and wanted to know more and more. “It seems like a wondrous place to live at,” she confessed, bringing a delicate white flower to her nose and smelling it with her eyes closed, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips. He wanted to smell it together with her. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. And he forgot that he was supposed to dislike flowers. “If you ever happen to travel to Rhovanion, it will be my pleasure to show you the beauty of Erebor,” he offered with an encouraging smile. The thought of walking beside her through the endless passages of the Mountain and having her smile back at him just the way she was smiling now was making him almost dizzy with inexplicable joy. This is what he wanted more than anything else.
She nodded in reply, and the blush on her lovely cheeks deepened, and his heart skipped a beat.
“May I ask you something, Master Thorin?” her sweet voice reached his ears. Hearing her speak his name, as she wrapped her shapely mouth around it, made his breath hitch. He didn’t even notice that she hadn’t called him ‘my lord’, as it was customary since he was a prince. He didn’t care. She simply glanced at him shyly from under her eyelids and it was everything he needed, and more. “Do all the dwarves of Erebor have as unruly hair as you do?” her question rang in the air, her eyes glittering with mischief. Trying to mask his surprise, he ran his hand through his hair, realizing that he had his wreath on his head only when his fingers bumped against its prickly surface. His hair underneath seemed indeed tousled and unkempt. Thorin grunted, feeling warmth spilling on his cheeks. That was not the first impression he was hoping for.
“Forgive me, my lady, I must look like a wild beast to you.” “You are too well-mannered to be a beast, Master Thorin,” she giggled. “But wild, yes, I have to agree with you.” That will teach me not to pick thistle for my midsummer wreath. A truly useless plant,” he shook his head and chuckled.
“I was rather happy to see your head adorned with these flowers. As you can see,” she pointed at her own wreath,” I too chose thistle. My hosts say that it is prickly and unpleasant to touch, but it symbolizes bravery, strength, and determination. A thistle wreath becomes you.” Thorin had to stop himself from puffing up his chest proudly, trying to convince himself it was simply courteous flattery, nothing more. “I thank you for your kind words, my lady. May I ask who your hosts are? Does this forest,” he gestured around them, “not belong to you?” “Not at all, Master Thorin,” she shook her head, pale golden locks spilling down her shoulders, making him want to run his fingers through the soft sea of her hair. “We are in an elven realm called… In Khuzdul, we would say ‘The Flower of Dreams’. We are dreaming, so it sounds very fitting, do you not think?” “Yes… it does. We are indeed dreaming, are we not?” he spoke slowly as the realization washed over him. This was indeed a dream, he remembered clearly the moment when he fell asleep in his bed in Erebor. What was surprising, this dream felt more coherent, more vivid than any other dream he had before. He smelled the sweet scent of flowers in the air, he touched the soft grass, he heard the birds chirping, and he saw a lovely maiden’s face in front of him, so real that he had to ignore the sudden urge to kiss her soft lips. Yes, this dream was different. “It is the Midsummer Night, the night of wonders and magic,” she nodded. “You said this place lies in an elven realm. Is it elven magic that brought me here?” Thorin frowned. He knew the history of his people, he read of the great friendship between the great artisan of Durin’s folk, Narvi, and the elven prince Celebrimor, of the creation of the Doors of Durin. His Grandfather’s dealings with the king of the Woodland Realm, however, taught him to be suspicious of elven intentions. Silvery laughter rang in the air. “Neither of us has pointy ears, Master Thorin. I have never heard of dwarves dabbling in elven magic. Or are you an elven wizard in disguise?” Thorin chuckled, “Not that I know of.” “Then it very well may be dwarven magic, the magic of Mahal and Kaminzabdûna bequeathed upon us on this very night. Or perhaps it is just an exceptionally vivid dream, nothing more,” she offered, looking away, her small hands resting in her lap idly, the flower forgotten between them. “No, my lady, you are not a dream, you cannot be merely a figment of my imagination!” he protested vehemently and, on the spur of the moment, he took her hand into his. Her skin was cool under his touch, but as soon as their fingers met, a tingling sensation rushed through his body.
She gasped, “Have you felt it too…?” Thorin looked into her widened eyes, her lips parted in astonishment, her hair glowing like a halo around her head. “As well as if I were wide awake, my–” he interrupted, bringing her delicate hand to his lips and kissed it gently, reverently.
“May I know what I shall call you, my lady?” Her melodic voice reached his ears in a whisper as if she was entrusting him with her greatest secret, “My name is Saga.”
Thorin opened his eyes. His chest heaved. He took a deep breath. It was dark, except for the faint light of a forgotten candle. Instantly he knew where he was. His bedchamber in Erebor. He closed his eyes again, hoping to return to that meadow, to her. To no avail. Sleep wouldn’t come. He felt hot. Something prickled against the skin of his palm. Thorin brought his closed hand to his eyes, but before he opened it, he knew what he was about to see.
A thistle flower.
* * *
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Hello, my wonderful readers! Remember me? I’m (sort of) back! I’ve been trying to fight a writer’s block and since the Valentine’s Day is coming soon, let me treat you to a love story straight from the Middle Earth.
Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Rating: T (E later on) Author’s notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield’s quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike.
You can find this fic on AO3.
Special thanks to@legolasbadass for all your help and discussions and @linasofia for your unwavering support. Love you guys! (Feel free to check their stories here and on AO3, these two are really talented, you won’t regret it!)
Khuzdul: Kaminzabdûna - Yavanna Kheled-zâram - the lake of Mirrormere
“Uncle?” A chubby dwarfling crawled up on Thorin’s lap, joining his little brother.
“What is it, Fili?” Thorin ruffled the boy’s wheat-colored hair, careful not to wake up Kili who snored quietly against his tunic.
“Is the White Raven only a legend?”
This innocent question made the king in exile freeze for a heartbeat.
“Why are you asking?” He made his voice sound casual. Lighthearted.
Fili looked around and whispered, “I saw a white raven today when I went out with Amad.”
“Have you?” Thorin lowered his voice. Perhaps it simply was a child’s imagination. Fili was an inventive lad after all.
“It sat on a branch on that big oak on the way to the market, but when I went to see it up close, it just flew off!” The boy gesticulated lively. “Are you certain that it was a raven?”
“I’m not a little pebble like Kili, Uncle! I know a raven when I see one!” Fili protested. “It just looked weird, because it had white feathers.” His little brother sighed in his sleep and shifted, making Thorin wrap his arm around him tighter as he pondered Fili’s words. Was it truly possible after so many years?
“You were lucky then,” Thorin spoke carefully, “There are many stories about the White Raven and all of them say that it shows itself only to a few.”
“Stories? Please, Uncle, I want to hear all about the White Raven!” Fili pulled on his sleeve.
“White Waven!” Exclaimed Kili, suddenly awake.
“Very well,” Thorin said, unable to stifle a smile at their enthusiasm. This was the topic he himself had been passionate about and researched through the years. Even though his findings had not brought him any closer to the truth he craved, there was an urge inside him to speak of it, as if this simple act could make it more substantial. More real.
Thorin’s gaze travelled towards the flames dancing in the hearth as he chose his words with care.
Fed up with the tediousness of the crypt like feel of your clan’s mountain home you had snuck through the gates unaccompanied. The forest had often proved your friend. The quiet solitude away from the complaints and constant buzz of activity of your fellow clansmen (clanspeople?) and surrounded by only the comings and goings of the woodland creatures and insects allowed you to unwind.
Travelling down the narrow path to your favourite spot that led to a small babbling brook you noticed that the path had been travelled recently. The brush had been damaged, the wild flora trampled. It was unusual as the path was hidden, unknown to most occupants of the mountain. You made a note to be weary of anything suspicious but continued on your way.
After a pleasant walk you found yourself at the small brook. Signs of a large, abandoned campsite were scattered around the clearing surrounding the stream. Yet you found nobody there and made yourself comfortable at a distance to the leftover clutter. Unpacking your small satchel, you began to fetch your lunch when a glint caught your eye. Surprised you crawled forward on your knees and retrieved the object from the river.
Fed up with the tediousness of the crypt like feel of your clan’s mountain home you had snuck through the gates unaccompanied. The forest had often proved your friend. The quiet solitude away from the complaints and constant buzz of activity of your fellow clansmen (clanspeople?) and surrounded by only the comings and goings of the woodland creatures and insects allowed you to unwind.
Travelling down the narrow path to your favourite spot that led to a small babbling brook you noticed that the path had been travelled recently. The brush had been damaged, the wild flora trampled. It was unusual as the path was hidden, unknown to most occupants of the mountain. You made a note to be weary of anything suspicious but continued on your way.
After a pleasant walk you found yourself at the small brook. Signs of a large, abandoned campsite were scattered around the clearing surrounding the stream. Yet you found nobody there and made yourself comfortable at a distance to the leftover clutter. Unpacking your small satchel, you began to fetch your lunch when a glint caught your eye. Surprised you crawled forward on your knees and retrieved the object from the river.
A pendant sat in your palm, the gold chain and pendant gleaming from the droplets that still clung to it from its icy bath. A ruby as red as blood was set in the middle surrounded my small runic inscriptions. Despite recognising the dwarven runes of your race you could not make out what they said. You could only guess that they were centuries old from a forgotten sub-dialect. Finding a clasp on the side you opened the pendant to find that it was in fact a locket containing a new family portrait. A family of five was proudly posed in the portrait and you stopped to admire the eldest son. He was rather regal and handsome. You blushed and scolded yourself at your snooping, though it did nothing to quell your heightened excitement of finding the lockets owner. Quickly gathering up your belongings you slipped the antique pendant securely in your bag and rushed back to your kingdom to find out as much as you could about the newfound treasure and the occupants of the camp.
It turned out that a small group of dwarves from the newly lost kingdom of Erebor had sought out the safety and aid of (Y/K/N) as they continued their search of a new home. How you had missed such news you did not know. You were excited and disappointed in equal measures. Learning about where such a treasure had come from thrilled you and yet you felt guilty in being unable to return such a valuable and likely prized possession to its owner, especially one who likely had lost most of their possessions in the Sack of Erebor. Alas, all you could do for the time was keep the antique prize safe.
You had followed the news that flowed into (Y/K/N) of the Ereborian refugees for several years since you had come across the pendant. The dwarves had finally settled in the Blue Mountains, their leader Thorin carving them out new halls. Thorin’s halls were said to be much more modest than the riches that the Long Beards had once been accustomed to. Though you supposed after all this time they were relieved to have finally found a place to settle.
Deciding that you had held onto the possession for long enough you decided to make the trek to the Blue Mountains with a caravan of traders from your kingdom who were headed there. There was safety in numbers, and you were far too timid, and perhaps smart, to travel the roads on your own. Your companions proved friendly enough and made sure to make you feel included amongst their ranks, something you deeply appreciated.
However, after a month of travel you were relieved to set your sights upon the Blue Mountain settlement. It had been a long and tiring journey as you were unused to such conditions or lengths of travel. Unsure of where to start you decided to accompany your companions to Thorin’s halls. You were unsure of who would greet you but were hopeful that they could perhaps recognise one of the dwarves in the portrait.
A kindly dwarf who was getting on in his years greeted you and took a log of the merchants and their goods. Having introduced himself as Balin, friend and aide to Thorin Oakenshield, you knew that he would be a good person to ask about the locket. So, once the formalities were finished and the merchants had begun to disperse you approached him.
“Forgive me Balin, my name is (Y/N). I travelled here with the caravan from (Y/K/N). Many years ago, I found a locket in a campsite near to our mountain and was told that it likely came from one of your people. There is a portrait in the locket, and I was hoping that you may recognise the family” you politely questioned. Balin looked surprised, “You are very kind to have travelled such a journey to try and find the owner. I would be happy to help. Show me the image and I will try to help.”
Retrieving the locket from a secure pocket in your pack you unclasped it and gestured for Balin to take. Upon casting his eyes upon it the elderly darrows eyes bulged. “I do not have to see the portrait to know who this belongs to” Balin breathlessly spoke, “Follow me.” With that he turned and began too hastily pace away. Left with the locket in your hand and your pack undone you quickly gathered your things together and raced after him.
After rushing down several long hallways Balin came to a stop at a large door. Knocking heavily on the door he did not pause to hear the answer before he pushed it open and gestured you inside. You found a darrow sat at a large desk pouring over some maps, though he had paused to look at the two of you. Though he had aged slightly since the drawing had been done, you recognised the darrow as the eldest son in the locket.
“This dam has found something of yours and has come all the way from (Y/K/N) to return it Thorin” Balin grinned. Thorin. As in the Prince of the sacked kingdom. Mahal. You stepped forward timidly under the intense stare of the darrow. Reaching into your pocket you pulled the locket out and stretched it out towards him. “I found this in a brook outside of (Y/K/N) not long after your people had passed through. I felt guilty holding onto it as it looked like a family heirloom, so I travelled here to return it to the owner not realising it was yours my prince. Balin was the one who recognised that you were the owner.”
Thorin, who had risen from his desk and made his way over to the pair of you, carefully took it from your hand brow furrowed. “What do you want for it? Surely you did not do this from the kindness of your heart” Thorin interrogated cautiously. “I only ask that I may have a dry place to sleep until I can return with the merchants home” you asked sincerely. Thorin taken aback by your answer nodded. “Very well, you will stay with my family in our home.”
anonymous asked: Can I request the reader and Kili having to talk about the fact that you’re human and won’t live nearly as long as him? :) Written by: Anna Pairing: Kili X OC Notes: it’s kinda short, sorry about that, but I’ve been in a little bit of a writing slump, so hopefully cute, short little things like this will get me out of it!
You had been trying to avoid this for a while now, it was something that you never wanted to think about, but, as of lately, Kili had been increasingly persistent about it. So here you two were, sitting together in his room, neither of you wanting to actually start the conversation.
Kili cleared his throat as he started to twiddle his fingers, not meeting your gaze. “So… (y/n),” He began slowly, as if not entirely sure what to say.
“I know,” You said. “If we’re going to make this work we need to talk about it.”
He nodded almost solemnly, “It’s just, because you’re a human, you’re going to age faster than I am.”
You nodded in agreement, only wanting to pull the older dwarf into a hug at the moment and forget about this conversation as a whole, but you knew there was no way that was happening. “Well, you’re already older than me, so that’s good for us, but what does your age equate to in human years?” You inquired.
Kili gave a small shrug, looking up to meet your eyes. “I’m not really sure, dwarves normally live until we’re about 250 years old, well, that’s if we’re lucky, how long do humans live for?” He asked curiously, cocking his head to the side adorably.
250 years… that was much longer than you were ever going to live! “Well… One hundred years is considered lucky for a human, the average is about seventy five.” You mumbled.
The brown haired dwarf’s eyes widened as he furrowed his brow. “Seventy five?” He asked in disbelief. “That’s almost how old I am now…” The dwarf trailed off, turning his head down once more.
You gave a nod in agreement, “Yes, that’s my point. Kili, I love you, but I… I don’t know if this will work.” You choked, tears beginning to well up in your eyes.
Kili immediately noticed, and he sprung up from where he was sitting, moving next to you to and pulling you into his warm embrace. “(y/n), I promise you, everything’s going to be alright, we’ll figure something out.” He soothed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his chest.
You pushed your head into his body, wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling into his side. “I love you.” You sniffled, closing your eyes.
His lips pressed against the top of your head. “I love you too, Miz Duzkak.” Kili mumbled into your hair.
Kili pulled away from you, holding you by the shoulders to look into your eyes. “Maybe… maybe we could talk to Thorin, he might know something, or Balin, even.” He said hopefully.
You laughed lightly at his enthusiasm. “Yes, hopefully.” You agreed, a small smile gracing your face.
The dwarf grinned, apparently happy with your agreement. “But not now, right now, I just want to be with you.” He murmured and a second later, he was pulling you closer to him once more, right onto his lap.
You curled yourself up on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck to get closer to him. “Thank you, Kili.” You whispered.
Kili kissed your head once more, moving one large hand into your hair to tangle his finger in the strands. “Anything for you, Miz Duzkak.”
locked-winchesters-middleearth asked: Hi! I absolutely adore your guy’s work! Could I request a Thorin X Reader where they’re secretly in love and he takes her behind a tree one night and ravishes her, trying to keep quiet? Thank you! Written by: Anna Pairing: Thorin X Reader Notes: I’m not all that comfortable writing smut at the moment… More like I’m just a crappy writer, so this is more pg-13, sorry >.< Hope you like it all the same though c:
You were roused suddenly by a soft rustling noise from behind where you had set up your bed roll. “(y/n)!” You heard a gruff voice whisper from behind you.
Rolling over so you were on your side, you looked up to see Thorin crouched over you, his hair dangling down the side of his face as his hand rested on your shoulder. “What are you doing?” You hissed in reply. “It’s practically midnight.”
“Get up.” He ordered, his voice still in a almost harsh whisper as he wrapped his hand around your bicep.
You groaned, rolling back over so you weren’t facing him any longer, trying to lull yourself back into your peaceful slumber. But of course, the future dwarf king was having none of that.
A second later, you found yourself being tugged back over so you were facing him once more, but this time he pulled you upwards and into his arms, tugging you to his feet. You suppressed a shriek of surprise, not wanting to wake the others as you were unwillingly jerked from your comfortable bedroll.
“Thorin!” You demanded, “What in Mahal’s name are you doing?!”
He began to pull you along behind him, his hand wrapped gently around your wrist as he tugged you away from the group. But he didn’t say a word, only moving forwards until the two of you were hidden in the edge of the trees along the clearing that the company had settled down in.
A second later you had found yourself being spun around and pushed back against the rough bark of a nearby tree. You were shocked for a moment as you tried to comprehend what had just happened, but when you saw Thorin standing in front of you, his body pressed up against yours, you realized what he was doing.
You let out a tired breath. “Thorin, I’m exhausted, can’t we just get a little bit of rest?” You practically begged, meekly trying to push him away, but being unsuccessful.
A growl burst from his throat as his eyes bore into yours. You were about to try and push the dwarf you loved so dearly away once more, but before you could, he had surged forwards and pressed his lips tightly against your own, fiercely kissing you.
You groaned against his mouth, the tiredness from a moment ago diminishing by the second. Thorin was pressing you tightly against the tree, one of his arms wrapping around your waist while the other trailed up your side, drawing closer to your chest. You had pulled your arms up around his head and wound your fingers into his curly hair, tugging it slightly as the kiss became more and more heated.
He broke away from you, both of you breathing heavily as your mouths hovered closely to each others. “Are you still tired?” He breathed, his nose brushing against yours.
A moan escaped your lips, as you closed your eyes in ecstasy. “No.” You got out, only wanting him to kiss you again.
You could see the grin on the prince’s face now as he adjusted his grip on you, shifting you further into his arms. “Good.”
