Middle Earth || OS

22. Thorin | The Task of Living

Tumblr : sotwk

Summary: Two years after his triumphant reclamation of Erebor, Thorin returns to his former village in Dunland, seeking the woman he has loved since long ago.

Prompt: "You have to come back to me. Because I cannot do this without you."

Word count: 2.4 k

Content: Romance, angst, drama, fierce dwarf-maiden, Everybody Lives AU, post-BotFA, King Thorin

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Some sensuality

*

Third Age 2943

Dunland

"Is she... is she yours?"

You smoothed a hand over the unbraided chestnut curls of the dwarf-child on your lap and shook your head. "My sister's. You probably don't remember her."

His coal-black eyebrows knitted together, but only for a second. "Rith," he spoke her name with a triumphant little smirk that made you itch with a desire to smack it off his face. He set down his tankard of mulled ale on the table and leaned forward, the rickety old chair creaking underneath this small movement. "And how is she?"

"She is dead," you said flatly, enjoying the flinch that wrinkled his perfect features. "Killed in an orc raid on the village six years ago, she and her husband both." You gave your niece a quick hug and set her down, patting her lightly on the back. "Why don't you go and help your Grandmother with the stew?"

"She needn't have bothered, truly." His keen blue eyes scanned the single-room cottage that presently housed three women across three generations. Although his gaze seemed mostly curious, his interest suddenly made you feel embarrassed about the dwelling's small size and worn-out shabbiness.

"Of course she had to," you hissed, rising abruptly from your chair. "What else are we expected to do when a king shows up at our doorstep, with no forewarning, but to scramble to pay respects and offer up what little provisions we have?"

Thorin rose to his feet, slowly, as though a dreadful weight burdened his stooped shoulders. Still, he towered over you, his regal demeanor undeniable despite his obvious attempts to dress in simple garb, with no raiment upon him other than the ancestral crown on his head.

"A caravan is on its way here," he said. "Two dozen wagons loaded with enough food and supplies for a year. Enough for this whole village and its neighbors. It should arrive in a few days. The cargoes are heavy and the roads are troublesome. I decided to ride ahead with my guard because..." He faltered, but took a breath and pressed on. "...because I could not wait to see you."

Oh no. You backed up a step, subconsciously resisting the allure of his presence, the implication of his words. Before you could turn away, he spoke again, "Perhaps we might move this conversation outside. There is still light out; we can take a short walk."

Perhaps it would be easier to breathe and keep a clear head outdoors with all the fresh air. As you exited the cottage, you felt Thorin's hand cup lightly around your elbow, in a courteous gesture to help you down the steps. You jerked your arm away, irritated by the silly nicety reserved for soft, high-society ladies who likely kept his company now.

In the corner of your eye, you spotted several armored soldiers by the sheep pen, tending to their ponies. You marched on in the direction of the little brook that bordered your property, determinedly and defiantly, leaving Thorin to hasten his steps to keep up.

"If I may say so, you look well–"

You stopped and spun around without warning. "Why are you here, Thorin?" You grimaced and corrected yourself. "Pardon me. Why are you here, your Majesty?"