Multifandom One-shots

39. Beneath the Stoic Surface, Part 1 - Thorin x reader (The Hobbit)

Sitting beside Bilbo while the rest of the company is engrossed in their tasks, I observe the lively conversations, laughter, and banter swirling around us. However, one figure remains conspicuously silent. Intrigued, I tilt my head, attempting to discern his expression. To my surprise, I don't find the usual sourness etched on his features. Instead, his lips form a straight line, and his eyes betray a profound contemplation.

Excusing myself from Bilbo, who offers a small smile and a nod in response, I make my way slowly towards Thorin. But of course, my movement didn't go unnoticed by the rest of the company.

Whispers flutter through the air like leaves in the wind, and curious glances follow my path. The lively atmosphere seems to hush momentarily as I approach the usually stoic dwarf.

Thorin, though aware of the collective attention, doesn't glance up immediately. His focus remains fixed on some distant point, deep in thought.

Sitting myself beside him, I could hear the soft murmur of whispers circulating through the group.

"Look, who's going to have a chat with our brooding uncle?" Kili teases, his voice carrying a lighthearted tone as he nudges his brother.

Oin raises an eyebrow, exchanging a knowing glance with Bombur. "Seems like we've got a brave one in our midst. Wonder what they'll be talking about?"

Dwalin, ever the observant one, grunts in agreement. "I never thought I'd see the day Thorin became the center of gossip."

Tuning out the rest of their banter of whispers, I found my gaze turn to where Thorin was looking. His distant focus intrigued me, and with a subtle clearing of my throat, I tried to engage him in conversation.

"Thorin," I spoke softly, testing the waters of his contemplation. The whispers of the company echo softly in the background as he acknowledges my presence with a subtle turn of his head. Finally breaking free from his deep contemplation, he shifts his focus to meet my eyes.

Seeing that he didn't lash out at me for interrupting, I continued. "Are you okay?" I asked, my voice soft and filled with compassion.

In response, with a two-word answer, "I'm Fine." His voice was gruff as normal, but I could hear and sense a difference.

Sensing the unspoken depth in his response, I remained undeterred. "You know, Thorin," I began softly, "when a person's reply is the word 'fine', it always means that they are not indeed fine."

I slowly took Thorin's hand in mine; the contact revealed a paradoxical blend of rugged strength and a subtle vulnerability. His large and calloused hand bore the marks of a life spent in hard work and adventure. The fingers, strong and slightly weathered, displayed a quiet resilience.

The hand, now cradled in mine, held a quiet power that transcended words. The campfire's glow flickered, casting a gentle light on this intimate exchange. Our gaze locked, and in that shared moment, the whispers of the company faded into the background.

For a moment, his guard seemed to drop. His eyes, usually guarded and filled with the weight of leadership, betrayed a vulnerability that resonated with the flickering flames of the campfire.

Breaking the silence, Thorin spoke with a sincerity that surprised me. "It's a heavy burden, leading this company," he admitted, his voice carrying the weight of responsibilities and unspoken worries.

"Well, maybe it wouldn't be so hard for you if the company knew. If they knew, they could try making your job of leading this company easier." I tried tilting my head to the side, which has seemed to become a habit.

Thorin's gaze held mine, and for a moment, the weight of his leadership seemed to lift as he considered my words. The crackling campfire underscored the gravity of our conversation, casting dancing shadows on his face.