If You Will Marry Me

Thorin was, admittedly, a gifted metal smith. He could wield and manipulate gold into the finest of jewelry. He had keen eyes, and could find the most glittering sapphires or rubies. And, he knew just how to fasten them into the crowns, necklaces, and bracelets that he constructed.  His attention to detail was one that rivaled his father, a famed smith in his own right. It was a trait of the royal family to be particularly gifted in beadwork and jewelry making. It showed their heritage, their good breeding.

Or, at least, his mother had often told him this.

Thorin loved to please his mother. Loved her praise.

But mostly, he came to find, he loved the solitude, the ability to focus on something so completely and shut out the rest of the world. It was a great relief for him.

And his mother only encouraged his fascination with creation and working with gold and mithril and fine gems.

"It's a grand escape," She'd often murmur in his ear with a smile and a wink.

After she passed, though? Metal work wasn't as important. His father and grandfather pushed Thorin to step into his role as the heir to the throne, to understand the diplomacy of his position, the various ways in which one could display power and so forth.

No, the metal work waited, cast aside until he could return to it.

Thorin huffed in annoyance though.

None of that mattered right now.

Because none of that mattered to her.

He'd seen the way she'd preferred to stare up at the trees, especially in Rivendell. Her eyes were always drawn upward, inspecting, smiling, and breathing in the heady scents of the woodlands and the earth.

He watched the way she smiled at the animals at Beorn's, marveling at the large bees and the honeycomb and the simply architecture that spoke of a nearness to the outdoors.

It must have reminded her of her own home, that little hobbit hole covered by lush, green grass, shining in the sunlight. All was peaceful there.

It was this fascination with the world around that the hobbit had that first made Thorin annoyed. He found her preference for trees and good food to mean that she was soft, weak, and incapable. It irked him that someone so...so nurtured on sunlight and peace would be recommended for his venture. It didn't make sense. It was impractical.

"You are a fool to think that this...halfling will ever be of any use to me," He'd spat at Gandalf.

The grey wizard, for his part, seemed completely unruffled by Thorin's contempt for his choice of burglar.

It would never last, he'd decided. He'd drive the foolish master Baggins back to his comfortable armchair and be done with the issue.

Except, that's not how it worked out.

Master Baggins, who turned out to be a Mistress Baggins, ended up showing more stubbornness and tenacity than he ever thought possible in the form of a comfort-loving, Shireling.

Thorin paused his walk and smiled at where his thoughts had tended.

"Lyla Baggins," He murmured staring out at the sloping hillside of the lonely mountain.

Certianly a strange creature, a most unexpected ally.

But, an ally that Thorin was loathe to part with.

All the memories of the battle for Erebor came hard and clear to his mind, making the King under the mountain wince. He remembered his harsh words, his cruelty and coldness towards the one he professed to hold dearer than anything. He remembered casting her aside, casting them all aside and subjecting them all to danger.