Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What… who is that?”

“‘Tis a lass!”

“Do we tie her up?”

“Wait—she’s moving!”

“Out of the way!”

Unfamiliar voices rouse you from sleep. You shift in your sleeping bag, but freeze as something cold touches your neck. Opening your eyes, you find yourself surrounded by dark, looming figures. A blade presses into your throat—not hard enough to draw blood, but firmly enough that you know whoever wields it means business.

Your mind races, survival instincts kicking in. There are rangers around the park where you’ve camped for the weekend, but you set up your site in a remote part of the woods. Your phone is in your backpack. Your backpack is by your sleeping bag. If you make a move for it, they slit your throat. You swallow. Time to talk your way out.

“Who are you?” The tallest figure stands over you. Backlit by the rising sun, you can’t quite make out his face, but his voice is oddly familiar.

“Let me go, or I’ll scream,” you rasp, voice rough both from sleep and the blade against your neck. “My… my boyfriend is on his way back.” It sounds stupid and desperate. It is stupid and desperate.

“You are the intruder here,” he growls. “How did you get here?”

Intruder? “It… it’s a state park…” you stammer. Time to change tactics. “Look, I can’t see your face. Let me go, and I swear I won’t tell the cops!”

“Cops?” one questions. He sounds younger.

“I say we just get rid of ‘er,” another one grunts from behind you.

You start to shake. “Please just let me go,” you say, your voice very, very small. This is it. You’re about to become the topic of an unsolved true crime podcast episode.

A sigh comes from your left. “Let her up, Dwalin. Thorin, look at her. The lass is terrified.”

The blade withdraws from your neck. Your mind spins. Dwalin? Thorin?

With your eyes adjusting to the early morning light, you finally get a chance to sit up and look around properly. “No way,” you mutter. “This is a dream.”

Around you are four short, bearded men. But they’re not men, are they? They’re dwarves, and you know these dwarves. Standing over you is a dark-haired dwarf, glowering down at you with folded arms. Flanking him, two younger dwarves: one blonde, one brunette, peering at you curiously. And at your left, an old, white-haired dwarf with a kind face. Another one—bald and tattooed, it’s Dwalin—steps into view, running his thumb along the blade of an axe. He must have been the one holding you down. Past Thorin, you see the others crouched around a fire pit or rising from their bedrolls, all eyes fixed on you.

You back out of your sleeping bag slowly and lift a shaky finger. “Balin, Dwalin… Fíli, Kíli…” you point at each of them in turn. “Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Óin, Glóin, Nori, Dori, Ori… and Thorin.”

There’s a few seconds of silence as all thirteen dwarves stare at you in bewilderment. Then, in a flash, you’re pushed back down, a knife at your throat.

“How do you know who we are?” Thorin demands, his hand pinning your shoulder to the ground roughly.

“Is there a reason you’re holding a young woman at knifepoint, Thorin Oakenshield?”

That voice. You’d know that voice anywhere.

Thorin hesitates as a tall man cloaked in gray emerges from the trees, sucking on a long-stemmed pipe. Gandalf’s eyes are curious, if guarded as he looks down at you. He motions to Thorin to let you up. Reluctantly, the dwarf does so, and you scramble away, pressing your back against a tree. This definitely isn’t the forest you went to sleep in. All that remains of your campsite is your sleeping bag and backpack. No tent, and no car. Just thirteen dwarves, a wizard, and, stumbling into the clearing behind Gandalf, a hobbit.

“Where am I?” you whisper.

“The woods,” Bofur supplies.

“We’re still within the borders of the hobbits’ lands,” Ori offers more helpfully.

“You mean I’m in Middle Earth? Like, J. R. R. Tolkien, Lord of the Rings, Shire and Gondor and Mordor Middle Earth?”

Gandalf frowns at that last addition, but nods. “This seems to be distressing to you.”

“But… but you’re not real, you’re just stories,” you protest. Your mind races and you scramble for your backpack, digging around for the book. The Hobbit. You brought it along for some thematically appropriate reading.

Fíli smacks Kíli on the back of the head, making him yelp. “Seems real enough to me.”

“No,” you insist. “No, no, you’re fiction. You were made up by a brilliant man who wrote some of the greatest books of all time, and you’re not real, and–” you halt, staring down at your book in disbelief. The well-thumbed pages are blank. You flip to the beginning. All that remains is the first two chapters, just barely. The book falls from your grasp and you put your face in your hands.

Spying the book, Bilbo moves closer to you, though still maintaining a cautious distance. “Does that say… hobbit?”

“The Hobbit,” you reply, voice muffled. “It’s the title of the story. The story of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield journeying to reclaim the Lonely Mountain from the dragon Smaug. Told from the perspective of Bilbo Baggins. There and Back Again, a Hobbit’s Tale. A book for children.” Peeking over your fingers, you find Thorin’s face. His brow is furrowed.

“You are saying… you are not of this world?” he asks, slowly putting the pieces together. “And in your world, our quest is a mere story for children?”

You nod and clear your throat. “Have you gotten to the… the…” you trail off, racking your brain.

Something’s wrong.

“…I don’t remember what comes next.” Your heart pounds in your ears and your breathing quickens. “I know the story by heart, why can’t I remember what happens next?”

It’s silent as the dwarves watch you.

“Well, ‘tis no different than the rest of us,” Óin remarks eventually. “No one knows what’s to come.”

You wipe at your eyes and sniff.

“So…” Fíli scratches his beard. “What do we do with her?” He grabs your arm, pulling you to your feet and looking at Thorin questioningly.

“We can’t just leave her in the middle of the woods, Thorin,” Balin says quietly.

Thorin looks from you, to Fíli, to Gandalf, to Balin. “We leave her in the next village the moment she becomes a burden,” he grumbles. He leans close to Kíli. “You two keep an eye on her,” he mutters, just barely audible. “Pack up your things. We stop again at midday.”

That breaks the dwarves out of their silence. The morning fills with hushed voices as they bustle around, packing bags and rolling up blankets and bedrolls. Bombur pours a small pot of water over the fire.

Kíli jerks his head towards the ponies. “Flip a coin for who she rides with, Fee?”

Fili lets go of you and brushes you off. “I’ll take her—I’m the better rider anyway.” He pauses to let you gather your things. You were so exhausted after setting up camp the night before that you crawled into bed fully clothed. Seeing you struggle with your sleeping bag, he bends over and rolls it up, fiddling with the elastic cords to tie it shut.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

“No trouble.” He straightens up and gives you a small bow. “Fíli, at your service.”

“I know. I’m Y/N.” You keep your gaze lowered, hefting your backpack up on your shoulders and following Fíli to his pony. The tan beast snorts and stamps an impatient hoof. The others, even Bilbo, are already mounted and waiting.

Fíli plants a foot in the stirrup and swings his leg up and over. He holds out a hand. “Up you get, lass.”

Hesitantly, you grip his forearm, surprised at how easily he’s able to pull you up. You stand higher than the dwarf, but he clearly outmatches you in strength. The saddle doesn’t quite fit two, and you wobble, nearly slipping off the other side. Your arm flies forward reflexively to grab Fíli’s shoulder to steady yourself.

“Easy, there!” he cautions, scooting forward to allow you more room in the saddle. He looks back at you. “First time riding?”

You fidget, trying to settle comfortably. “It’s been a really long time.”

He smirks. “Try not to fall off, aye?” He moves your hand to his side and snaps his reins to catch up with the others. Gandalf brings up the rear.

Soon enough, the air is full of chattering and laughter as the Company trots along the path. Bofur starts up a rowdy riding song about a drunk horse. What a strange sight it must make for any passersby: thirteen dwarves with all manner of weapons, a stiff, nervous hobbit, a tall wizard on a great, white horse, and a young woman in strange clothing.

The April air is thick and humid, clouds heavy with the promise of storms to come. Woods gradually open up to rolling fields, back to more woods as your party leaves the Shire behind. Still clinging to the dwarf, you crane your neck and search your surroundings for anything to indicate where you are in the story. Your memories are fuzzy, something about trolls hovering at the back of your mind. All you can think about is losing supplies when a pony bolts and gets swept away in a river—how comforting.

“Lass?” Fíli elbows you, startling you from your thoughts. “We’re stopping.” He hops off the pony, holding out his arms to catch you.

You ignore them, sliding off yourself, but your heavy backpack causes you to stumble. Not completely zipped, its contents spill out onto the ground.

Fíli raises an eyebrow. “No shame in accepting help.” He crouches down to gather things up, but pauses with a puzzled expression. “What are these?” His hand lands on your phone first, staring at it in wonder as it lights up beneath his fingers. He nearly jumps out his skin when it vibrates, informing him that facial ID didn’t work.

You snatch it back from him and shove it in your pocket. “Later,” you grumble. With a sigh, your eyes sweep the rest of your stuff scattered across the leaves. A journal and pen, a few bags of trail mix, some granola bars, a bottle of water, and a half-finished soda from the drive up to the park. You hastily scoop them up and check your backpack for the rest. A fresh set of clothes, a hoodie, some pajamas, basic toiletries, and your solar phone charger. And, of course, The Hobbit.

Fíli frowns at the book. “Do you really know what happens on the journey? How it ends?”

You puff your cheeks out in a sigh. “I should, but it’s all… blurry. I can see the next couple days, though—we’re gonna lose a pony.”

“Fíli! Lass! Planning on joining us?” Balin calls from a short distance away.

You shake yourself, zipping your backpack shut and heaving it off the ground. Gandalf and a few others puff on long pipes, blowing out competing smoke rings. Ori and Kíli munch on apples in a circle of tree stumps. Thorin sits nearby, watching you through narrowed eyes.

“A lass looks good on you, Fee,” Kíli teases as his brother plops on the ground beside him. “Thought you’d never find love.”

Fíli rolls his eyes and punches Kíli’s arm.

You settle against a stump across from the siblings. Kíli rubs an apple on his shirt and tosses it your way. You catch it and nod your thanks. It’s large and sweet, sweeter than any apple you’d bought at the grocery store.

A shadow falls across your lap.

“You.” Thorin looms over you. “What is your name, daughter of Man?”

Daughter of Man? “Y/N,” you mumble.

“What skills do you possess? Can you wield a blade, a bow, tend to wounds? Fight, defend yourself?”

You get his point. “I, uh… I know how to throw a punch. And some basic first aid?”

He doesn’t look impressed.

Desperately, you search your brain for anything useful you could offer him. “I know a lot about Middle Earth history and lore?”

Across from you, a thoughtful look crosses Fíli’s face. “Y/N, what’d you say happens in a few days?”

“A pony bolts during a rainstorm and drowns in a river, and we lose supplies. Mostly food.” Your response is nearly automatic.

Fíli looks at Thorin pointedly. “Give it a couple days, and we shall see just how good of a prophet we have on our hands.”

Thorin presses his lips into a thin line. “We shall see.”

You knew the rainstorm was coming, but it’s still unpleasant. Your hoodie is soaked through, and you can only hope your things are safe inside the emergency plastic bag you keep in your backpack. Water seeps through your fingers from where you hold onto Fíli’s cloak. The wind tears at your hood, ripping it from your head. The only consolation is that the wind is breaking up the clouds, allowing a few rays of moonlight to filter through the woods.

At the head of the party, Thorin halts his pony. “We must find somewhere to take supper,” he mutters. “And where shall we get a dry patch to sleep on?”

“Should we not wait for Gandalf?” Bofur cries from the back of the group.

“What d’you mean, wait for Gandalf?” Kíli asks, puzzled.

“He wandered off a while ago,” you pipe up. “He’ll be back.”

Thorin grumbles something about “Mahal-damned wizards.”

Pulling their hoods tightly around their faces, Bifur and Glóin hop off their ponies, landing in the mud with a squelch and vanishing into the trees. Your butt is quite sore by the time they return.

“There’s nary a dry place to be seen,” Glóin reports. “We may as well camp as we stand.”

You slide from the pony with a groan. “Could’ve told you that myself.”

The rest of the Company seems no more pleased than you at setting up camp beneath the dripping leaves. To keep busy, you help Dori tie up the ponies, but you keep looking back over your shoulder off into the distance at the swollen river you’d forded.

Kíli frowns. “What’s wr–”

He’s interrupted by a screech from the pony Dori is handling. The rope rips from his hand and it bolts—straight for the river.

It happens in slow motion: Fíli and Kíli chase after it, ignoring your screams to stop. Kíli reaches the rope first, snagging it with a hand but instantly getting dragged to the ground. Fíli grabs his boot, only succeeding in yanking it off.

You sprint as fast as your legs will carry you, but Kíli’s already in the river, swept under. “Fíli, don’t you fucking dare–”

And Fíli dives in after, vanishing.

Footsteps pound behind you and a rope lands in your arms. “Move!” Thorin barks.

You run through the trees, chasing the current. Thorin pushes you forward. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you search the water. There!

You spot a dark patch in the water. You fling the rope at him. “Kíli!” you scream.

His hand shoots out and seizes the rope.

Thorin is at your side in an instant. “Pull!”

You yank on the rope for all you’re worth, bracing your legs against a rock. Thorin hollers back toward camp, bringing half a dozen dwarves racing through the forest. As they start hauling Kíli out of the water, you let go of the rope and scramble towards the riverbank. “Fíli?!”

A shout comes from further down the river. A yellow head pokes out over a log stuck in the bank, the dwarf clinging to it for dear life.

You struggle against the sucking mud, reaching out an arm. Fíli grips it tightly and you pull with all your might, clawing at his sopping wet sleeve. Strong arms wrap around your waist and heave, dragging you backwards, Fíli along with you. The momentum sends him crashing on top of you, and you both fall into the mud with a splat. The weight of the dwarf on your chest knocks the wind out of you. After fighting the current, the poor thing is too exhausted to do much more than collapse on top of you, his head resting on your shoulder.

You pat him on the back, chest heaving. “You alright?”

“I’m alive,” he wheezes.

You sigh and let your head fall back against the ground, for the moment not caring about the mud caking your hair. You’ll wash it out later.

Thorin’s face appears above you. He hauls Fíli off of you and offers you a hand. Pulling you from the ground, he wipes a smear of mud from your face.

“I told you,” you pant. “I told you we’d lose a pony.”

But Thorin doesn’t argue. He claps your shoulder. “Welcome to the Company,” he grunts.

Chapter Text

Something’s not right.

There’s a knot in your stomach that becomes more strained as you trek through the woods, yours and Fíli’s pony plodding tiredly beneath you. Thorin rides just ahead, grumbling under his breath. He’s been in a foul mood for days, under the combined stress of Gandalf’s sudden disappearance and the loss of the pony that carried a considerable amount of food. He won’t admit it, but you think Fíli and Kíli’s near-drowning has shaken him as well. It’s the first time so far the Company has encountered real danger, and for it to involve his closest family must weigh heavily on him.

Everyone’s nerves are strained, in fact. Even Bofur hasn’t felt up for a song. With one mount down, the dwarves are alternating between who gets to ride, and who has to walk. So far, you and Bilbo haven’t been in the line up—someone else is always quick to volunteer in your place.

“Something bad is going to happen soon,” you mutter in Fíli’s ear. “I can feel it.”

Thorin lets out a low growl. He may have accepted you as a member of the Company, but you can feel his patience waning. The warning you gave didn’t stop the pony’s loss, and since then all you’ve had to offer are vague, dark feelings.

Fíli reaches back and pats your thigh. “I’m sure we can handle whatever comes our way,” he says.

Thorin pulls back on his reins, halting his pony. “We’ll stop for the night,” he grunts. A sigh of relief ripples through the Company.

The knot of anxiety in your stomach tightens. Something about this decision feels wrong, but you try to ignore it as you slide off the pony and busy yourself setting up camp. But it only gets worse, escalating to physical pain. Briefly, you wonder if your period has come early. When you sit down next to Bombur’s small fire, you hiss. It feels like someone’s stabbed you with a hot poker.

“Something wrong, lass?” Bofur asks, dumping wood on the ground.

“I don’t know,” you reply through gritted teeth. “I don’t think we should be stopping.” As you say it, the pain eases slightly.

Thorin frowns from his place across the fire. “We stop when I say so.”

“Something doesn’t feel right about it,” you say again. “The story–”

Thorin’s eyes flash dangerously. “This is not one of your stories.”

“No, we have to keep going,” you protest. You can sense his anger about to boil over, but you press on. “You have to do what Tolkien said you’re supposed to do!” You regret your phrasing as soon as the words leave your mouth.

“I do not want to hear another word of this Mahal-damned Tolkien and whatever nonsense he penned in your world,” Thorin snaps. “I will not suffer a challenge, least of all from someone who is only on this quest by unfortunate chance!”

Kíli jumps to his feet. “Thorin, you shouldn’t speak to her like that!”

“Be quiet, Kíli!” Thorin rounds on his nephew.

Several others rise and the air fills with a clamor of voices—some coming to your defense, others supporting Thorin.

Shouts ring out.

It’s too loud.

The noise is overwhelming.

Get out.

You can’t hear anything anymore.

You’re useless.

Everything is blurry.

This is your fault.

Your hands begin to sweat.

You can’t change anything.

You’re consumed by just one thought.

I need to get out. Get out. Get out get out get out get out.

You scramble to your feet and bolt, ignoring the cries of the Company and running blindly through the woods.

Get out get out get out.

Your foot catches on a root and the ground rushes up to meet you.

Your pulse races. Your breaths come quick and shallow, barely taking in any air before it’s forced right back out. Somewhere, in a detached part of your mind, you’re aware of what’s happening, but you feel like a passenger in your body as waves of panic slam over you.

“Y/N?”

Arms find you in the shadows. You flinch away, curling into a ball and burying your face in your knees. “I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t–” you gasp, the words tumbling from your lips out of your control. “I can’t breathe, I can’t–”

A hand grips your shoulder, hesitantly at first, then more firmly. “Hey,” a voice murmurs. “Hey there. Easy, lass. You’re alright. You’re alright.”

Even as you stiffen against the touch, an arm works its way between your knees and your chest. It gently uncurls your body and pulls you into a tight embrace. The hand moves from your shoulder to the back of your head, pushing it down lightly. Your face is buried in a mane of soft hair, cool beads pressing into your cheeks.

“That’s it, lass. Breathe.”

With trembling hands, you dig your fingers into the back of whoever holds you. It takes tremendous effort, but you suck in a deep, shuddering breath. The scent in your nose is musky and sweaty, grounding you in the moment. This is real, a voice whispers in the back of your mind. This is safe.

Your stiff body finally loosens, and the hand lifts from your hair. You raise your head and meet a pair of kind eyes.

It’s Fíli. His brow is slightly creased as he searches your face. He eases his hold on you, but keeps his arm wrapped around your middle.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears spilling over your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”

He squeezes your side. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” There’s a dark patch on the shoulder of his tunic from your tears.

You duck your head, avoiding his face. “I knew this would happen,” you say softly, bitterness lacing your voice. As the adrenaline drains from your blood, hot shame replaces your fear.

“Does this…” he hesitates. “Does this happen often?” Fíli lowers his head to get in your line of sight. “Y/N?”

“Sometimes.” You pause to take a few more deep, steady breaths, and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. “I ran out of my medicine last week. It was just a matter of time.”

“Medicine?” His eyes darken with worry. “Are you ill?”

You let out a hollow, mirthless laugh. “Mentally? Yeah. And all this…” you wave your hand in the air, “…it isn’t helping.”

“Nor is Thorin, I’m sure.”

“It’s not his fault,” you mutter.

Fíli shifts into a cross-legged position. He takes one of your arms and puts it around his neck, carefully pulling you into his lap. You sink against his chest, trying to match his even breathing and listening to his heartbeat. He rests his chin on your head and starts humming softly. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to him, to any of the dwarves, but you couldn’t care less. You’ll take comfort from any source. You close your eyes with a sigh.

“Uncle doesn’t mean it,” Fíli whispers after a long time. “He values you, I promise.” His chest vibrates as he chuckles. “If he didn’t, you’d have been left behind long ago.”

“Gandalf values me,” you reply morosely. “If it was up to Thorin, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. Or if it was up to me,” you add, voice small.

Fíli squeezes you. “Don’t say that,” he murmurs. “Kíli’s glad you’re here. Balin’s glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re here.”

You swallow down more tears. “Fíli, face it. The only thing I add to the party is a vague idea of what will happen in two or three days. And what good is that if Thorin won’t even listen?” You start to shake again as you finally put to words the thoughts that have plagued you for days. “I’m just dead weight.”

“You keep me going,” he whispers, voice cracking slightly. “You’re a member of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. You’re our lass.”

Silent tears course down your cheeks. Fíli starts humming again.

“I won’t let him say anything like that ever again,” he promises. He pulls back and gives you a small smile. “…markhûna.” [she who is desired]

The meaning of the Khuzdûl is lost on you, but you weakly return his smile.

“Y/N? Are you…”

Kíli pushes through the brush. You expect Fíli to push you away hastily or try to explain your entangled position, but he makes no attempt to move you. He merely stands with you in his arms, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist to support yourself.

“Has he cooled off?” Fíli asks warily.

Kíli shrugs. “He hasn’t said a word since she, uh…” he trails off, giving you a careful glance. “…Yes. He’s cooled off.”

Fíli nods slowly, and you drop your legs, letting him place you on the ground. “Will you be alright?” he whispers in your ear.

You nod, releasing your arms from around his neck and untangling your fingers from his hair.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll look after you.” Kíli grins and pats you on the back heartily. “You’re one of us now.”

Chapter Text

Dark clouds hang heavy in the night sky, blocking out the stars. The only light is a flickering orange glow from the fire at the mouth of the cave. Fíli stands and stretches with a groan, tossing a few sticks into the flames. He has to ration the wood out carefully to make sure it lasts the night. He dusts off his hands and sits back down against a rock, facing outwards.

Something stirs behind him. Fíli looks up, surprised to see you stumbling towards him. He frowns. One boot is on, one off, the sock picking up dust from the cave floor. Your shirt is halfway pulled off, hanging from your neck.

“Y/N?” he whispers. “What are you doing up?”

You look at him, but also not at him, eyes glassy. “I’m bambling for shoes,” you mumble.

“What?”

“The dog got out the back gate, Dad. ‘M gonna go get him.” You flop down next to Fíli.

He waves a hand in front of your face. You don’t react, staring placidly off into the distance. You’re sleepwalking, he realizes. Fíli tips his head back against the rock with a small sigh. But he starts when he feels your hand on his thigh. You grip the handle of his knife and pull it from its sheathe, starting to move it in long, smooth motions in the air above your lap. He resists the urge to snatch the blade from you, not wanting to startle you and make you hurt yourself. “What… what do you have there, Y/N?”

“Gonna carve a spear and kill the dragon,” you reply brightly. “And then I’ll get to come home to you, right, Dad?”

Fíli swallows hard. You wouldn’t speak of your family the last few times anyone asked. You’d eagerly explain strange things from your world, but the moment the conversation turned personal, you’d shut down. He reaches over and gently grasps your hand in his. “Of course,” he whispers. “Let me sharpen that for you first.”

“Okay.” You calmly pass the knife to him and lean your head against his shoulder. “I miss you, Dad.”

Fíli stiffens, holding his breath. He shifts slightly, peering back over the boulder to the rest of the Company. He wouldn’t want anyone to wake and discover the scene playing out at the mouth of the cave. Satisfied, he turns back to you. “I, uh, I miss you too,” he replies awkwardly, deciding it’s best to play along for now.

“You wouldn’t believe what I’ve seen,” you continue. “Middle Earth is even prettier than we thought it’d be. And there’s all the dwarves, and Gandalf, and Bilbo too…”

“Mm, sounds wonderful.” Fíli takes hold of your nightshirt—or jammie top, he’d heard you call it—guiding your arms back through the sleeves, and you let him. He’s careful to avert his gaze from your chest, even if you’d never know he’d peeked. Fíli wouldn’t dare damage your honor, especially in such a vulnerable state. Leaning forward, he unlaces your remaining boot and sets it against the rock.

It’s quiet for so long, Fíli thinks you may have actually gone back to sleep. He sits up slowly, preparing to lift you up and carry you back to your sleeping bag, but you jerk your head off of his shoulder.

“There’s this one dwarf,” you start back up.

He looks at you curiously.

“I think I like him,” you continue. A smile graces your lips as you stare serenely off over the hills. “Maybe even love him. He’s sweet, and funny, and kind…”

Fíli leans forward, but you’ve fallen silent again. His heart sinks, but he tries to conceal his disappointment from your still-sleeping eyes.

Abruptly, you stand up, tugging at Fíli’s hand. “Can I sleep with you and Mom tonight?” you ask with a small voice, like that of a child. “The cave is cold.”

Fíli licks his dry lips, slowly standing. “What about the dog?”

“He came back,” you say. You lead him back towards the bedrolls. As the two of you pick your way through, Fíli aims a kick at Bifur to rouse him for the next watch. But to his surprise, you don’t head for your sleeping bag—you make straight for Fíli’s bedroll. He looks at you incredulously, not resisting as you pull him down with you. His breaths come quick and shallow. You curl up on the padded surface, and he gingerly lies on his side next to you, keeping his distance.

It’s pointless. You immediately scoot in close, taking his arm and putting it on your waist. With a sigh, you snuggle into his chest and finally close your eyes. “I wonder if Fíli could love me too,” you whisper. Your breathing slows, becoming deep and even as you sink back into real sleep.

But Fíli lies there awake, staring at you in wonder. He doesn’t dare tighten his arm around you. He’s definitely never fantasized of exploring your warm body with his hands. He definitely doesn’t dream of holding you in his arms just like this, feeling you against him. He definitely doesn’t want to run his fingers through your long hair. And he definitely doesn’t want to wrap your soft lips in his own, to find out what you taste like, to hear you gasp and know that it’s him who sets your heart on fire.

I would never, he tells himself.

Oh, but he’s a good liar.

You whine softly, moving in his arms.

Fíli sighs, finally giving in. He carefully brushes a few strands of hair from your forehead. After a moment of hesitation, he ducks down and grazes his lips against your temple. Your mouth curls into a sleepy smile and you press even closer to his core. Fíli tightens his hold on you and tucks your head under his chin. Just this once.

That’s how Dwalin finds the pair of you when he wakes to the first rays of dawn’s light. He stands over the bedroll, peering down at the young woman in the arms of his friend’s nephew. You’re still smiling, hands trapped between your chest and Fíli’s. There’s a content smile on his face as well. It’s enough to stir the grizzled dwarf’s heart, ever so slightly. But he looks back over at Thorin, leaning up against the wall, fast asleep. Not yet, he decides. He’s got enough to worry about.

With a quiet groan, he crouches down next to Fíli and gently shakes him. “Laddy,” he hisses.

Fíli scrunches up his nose and blinks blearily. He tenses as his eyes meet Dwalin’s. “I-I–” he stammers.

Dwalin waits patiently for him to find his words.

“Don’t tell,” Fíli pleads. His arms grip you protectively, as if afraid Dwalin will try and take you from him.

The older dwarf snorts and shakes his head. “It’s not my place to say anything, lad. But if you’d prefer to keep this quiet, you’d better put her back where she belongs.”

Fíli’s heart sinks, but he knows Dwalin is right. Carefully, he sits up with you in his arms, pausing to smooth your hair, tousled from sleep. He stands, carrying you to your abandoned sleeping bag in the corner next to Bilbo. He lays you down and starts to walk back to his bedroll, but halts. Fíli stoops and takes hold of the blanket you share with the hobbit. Trying to avoid waking the little fellow, he tugs it to cover you more fully, tucking you in gently.

Dwalin nods approvingly. When Fíli returns to his bedroll, he claps the prince on the shoulder. “Well done, lad,” he whispers with a smirk.

The smell of sizzling bacon rouses you. Bilbo still slumbers under the blanket next to you, his body offering little in the way of shared warmth. You frown—somehow you thought you’d been warmer during the night, but it certainly hadn’t come from the hobbit. You gingerly slip from underneath the covering and adjust your jammie shirt. The smell drifts from the mouth of the cave, where you see Fíli, Kíli, and Dwalin sitting around a small pan.

“Mornin’ lass,” Dwalin grunts. “How’d you sleep? Warm enough?”

You frown at the knowing look he gives Fíli. What’s going on with those two? you wonder.

“I slept pretty well, actually,” you reply as you sit next to the blonde dwarf.

Kíli tosses something in your lap. It’s one of your boots. “Found this by the fire. Can’t imagine how it got there.”

“No clue.”

Fíli fidgets with one of his braids for a little bit. “Y/N,” he blurts. “Have you ever sleepwalked?”

You blink in surprise at the odd question. “Uh… a couple times, I think? It’s been a long time, though. Why do you ask?”

He looks at you strangely for a few seconds, then clears his throat. “I think Kíli’s been sleepwalking lately. Keep finding our things swapped when I wake up.”

You huff with amusement and snatch a piece of bacon out of Kíli’s hand. “Or he’s just playing pranks. You know how he is.” You pop the strip in your mouth and stand up, wiping the grease from your lips. “I’ll go wake Bilbo. He’ll be furious if we finish all the bacon before he gets any.”

Fíli watches you longingly as you tiptoe to the back of the cave.

“She’s got you wrapped around her finger and she doesn’t even know it,” Kíli snickers quietly.

Fíli punches his brother on the arm, but glows as he remembers your expression as you laid in his embrace, your sleepy confession. Yes, Y/N, he thinks. I could love you too.

Chapter Text

“Come on Kee, you’re better than that!”

The sound of metal on metal fills the air, muffled slightly by the cloth wrapped around the princes’ blades to protect themselves. Fíli has Kíli on the defensive, slowly driving him to the edge of the stream. It was Kíli’s idea: loser gets drenched.

You kneel in the shallows on the other side, rinsing blood out of your spare shirt and watching the brothers sparring. It’s been a few days since the nonsense with the trolls, and Thorin decided you could spare an afternoon to recover from your encounter.

Kíli grunts and jumps backwards, using the distance he’s put between himself and Fíli to lunge behind him, now putting Fíli closer to the water. His eyes are narrowed as he darts forward, arm raised to swing. But Fíli is ready, his blade flashing up to parry the blow.

With a flick of his wrist, he catches the hilt of Kíli’s sword and wrenches it from his grasp. The disarming throws Kíli off balance. He drops to a knee as his sword clatters to the ground, and Fíli places his blade at his brother’s throat.

Kíli raises his hand. “Fine!” he pants. “Give me a moment.”

Fíli steps back and lowers his sword—evidently giving Kíli exactly the opportunity he was waiting for. Suddenly, he lunges, arms wrapped around Fíli’s torso, and both dwarves land in the water with a tremendous splash. You put up a hand to shield yourself from the wave.

Kíli lifts his head. “I win,” he declares with a grin.

Fíli shoves him off, but he’s smiling too. “Round two? Maybe win without cheating?”

They’re thoroughly drenched, sopping clothes clinging to them as they clamber out of the water.

“You’re on.”

Fíli stoops and rolls up his soaked britches just above his knees, kicking off his boots. You inhale sharply when he yanks off his tunic and undershirt, leaving him bare in the late afternoon sun. Droplets of water slide down his tanned back as he shakes out his hair.

Kíli smirks and winks at you over his brother’s shoulder. He knows you’re watching Fíli.

You drop your head immediately, pretending to be very interested in your bloodied clothing. But it’s not long before you find yourself peeking again.

Kíli is shirtless as well now. But the younger prince isn’t even a thought in your mind. The two have pivoted, giving you a full view of Fíli’s front. His brow is knitted, and he bites his lip in concentration as he parries Kíli’s blows. Muscles ripple and jump beneath his skin. The hair on his chest is dark and dripping with water. You knew he had to be toned after spending years—no, decades—toiling in the forge. You’ve even felt the firmness of muscle beneath his tunic while hanging onto him as you ride, but oh, to see it on display… it makes something stir in you.

“Ha!” Fíli catches Kíli’s blade again, knocking it away and planting a foot on his chest. “I win,” he laughs as he pushes Kíli into the stream.

You’re too slow blocking the water this time, and it crashes over you.

Fíli winces. “Sorry, Y/N,” he says, as he pulls Kíli from the stream. You don’t hear him, though. Your attention is fixed on his hand clenched around Kíli’s arm. “Y/N?”

You shake yourself. “Yeah?”

Fíli raises an eyebrow at you. “Your blouse is halfway to the sea,” he says, pointing downstream. Sure enough, your t-shirt is floating away in the current.

You scramble to your feet and lunge after it, snatching it up. Your face burns.

A wicked grin spreads across Kíli’s face. He grabs you by the shoulder and pulls you in. “Fíli!” he calls to his brother, who is already crossing back to the trees and sheathing his swords. “I think it’s high time our lass learns some skill with a blade, don’t you?”

Fíli pauses, looking you up and down thoughtfully. He nods slowly. “Aye, I suppose it is. Kíli, would you–”

“Ah!” Kíli interrupts, slapping his forehead dramatically. “I just remembered—Bombur asked me to help him prepare supper!” He leans in close to your ear. “Have fun.” With a sly wink, he blows past Fíli, pausing only to grab his undershirt, and vanishes. His tunic is still on the ground.

Fíli shrugs. Turning back, he hefts a sword and extends it to you, hilt-first. “Your Men probably fight with longer, prettier blades,” he remarks. “I’m afraid this will have to do.”

“My men don’t fight with long, pretty swords,” you remind him, taking it in your hands. “They fight with long, ugly guns.”

It’s no longsword, but it feels good in your hands—not as heavy as you expected. Your fingers slide into indents along the grip worn by Fíli’s hands. The prince hasn’t had much need for fighting in his life, not real fighting, but he’s clearly still found excuses to wield a weapon.

Fíli turns you to face the stream. “Spread your legs, like this. Shoulder-width apart. Keep your knees bent, and don’t dig your heels in. Stay on the balls of your feet—you’ll move faster that way.”

You struggle to pay attention to his words as his hands position your body just so.

“Raise up like this to block.” Fíli’s arms hold yours from beneath, moving them along with his. His chest presses against your back. You feel his tight muscles through your shirt. “And down like this,” he pulls your arm down, “to swing. And this, to stab!”

You stumble as he lunges forward with you, not ready for the sudden movement. He lands on top of you with a thud, knocking the wind out of you.

“Y/N!” He leaps off of you and pulls you back up. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you wheeze. “Warn me next time, will you?”

Fíli nods. “Let’s trade some blows, shall we?” He grabs his other sword, twirling it in his hand. “We’ll start slow.”

You lick your lips and nod, gripping your sword. The two of you circle each other, both waiting for the other to move.

“Don’t hold it so tightly,” Fíli cautions. He darts forward, moving his blade in a downward arc—slow enough that you can see it coming and raise your own to catch it. “Good.”

You swing at him next, but he blocks easily. “Try not to let me know what your next move is.”

You nod and sink lower, looking at his face closely. Deliberately, you drop your eyes to his left, and move forward. As you hoped, he twitches left where he anticipates your blow, allowing you to swing at his unprotected flank. Fíli twists to block the unexpected swing, but you slip your sword under his arm and lock the hilt of his blade with your own. When he lifts his arm, it pulls you together, crossed swords between you. You grit your teeth in determination, but you’re also drinking in every detail of his face, so close to yours you can feel his breath.

His eyes glow. “Well done!”

With a smile, you lower your sword. As you do, his eyes darken slightly, and he whips his blade away, pivoting and knocking yours aside. There’s a ripping sound, and you’re knocked backwards into the stream.

“Never let your guard–” Fíli breaks off abruptly with wide eyes. “Mahal, Y/N!”

You frown as he rushes over and kneels by you.

“I’m so sorry!” His hands fly up to your shoulder and press down firmly.

Pain shoots through your arm, and blood seeps between his fingers. Now, you see why he was so alarmed. When he disarmed you, the cloth covering his sword slipped, and it cut through your shirt—and, apparently, you.

“Here, let me…” Fíli hesitates, clearing his throat awkwardly. His face is oddly flushed. “I’ll, ah, I’ll have to take off your shirt so I can clean it,” he mumbles.

Your face grows warm too, though perhaps for a different reason. You don’t protest as he slowly pulls your shirt over your head, but you hiss as the fabric rubs over the wound.

His face still red, Fíli gently leans you back in the stream to let the water flow over your shoulder. Some of the tension leaves his brow as the blood washes away. “It’s not deep. If we bandage it up quickly, it should heal in a few days.”

“My first battle scar,” you chuckle. The air stings against the wound as you sit back up.

Fíli’s eyes grow dark. “Scars should be earned through battle, not inflicted by an instructor,” he replies bitterly. He moves your long, wet hair to your other shoulder and lifts you from the stream. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Despite the cool water, you feel like you’re on fire with your skin against his. “I’m fine,” you pant. “Just, uh, tired.” Blood trickles down your arm and drips onto his.

Fíli sets you down by a tree and grabs his discarded tunic. He hesitates, then leans over and grabs Kíli’s instead, tearing a strip off. He binds it tightly around your shoulder. “This was his idea,” he grumbles. “He can pay the price.”

You frown at your own torn shirt in your hands. “I liked this one… and I only have one other.”

“I’ll see if Ori can stitch it back up for you,” Fíli offers. He retrieves his blades and sheathes them, extending a hand to pull you up. “Now, let’s go get you properly bandaged.”

Fíli toys with a dagger as he sits by the fire. His eyes dart over to you across the clearing, happily chattering away to Ori as he mends your shirt. He still feels a pang of guilt when he sees the bandage beneath your sleeve. His tunic is about the right length for you, but without his broad shoulders filling it out, it hangs off of your frame.

“Are you going to go over there, or gawk at her all night?” Dori asks.

Fíli bites his lip, considering the dagger in his lap. He’s had it longer than almost any of his weapons, and it feels familiar and solid in his hands. “You’re right,” he sighs.

“Y/N?”

You break off in the middle of your sentence as the blonde prince makes his way to you. “Ah, there’s the mighty warrior!”

Ori’s eyes land on the object in Fíli’s hands. “You two have a good talk,” he says, rising hastily and scurrying away.

Fíli gives him a strange look over his shoulder, but turns back to you. “You’re not too bad yourself, my lady.” Clearing his throat, he crouches down. “I, uh, I wanted you to have this. Since you don’t have a weapon of your own.”

You take the sheathed dagger from his outstretched hand. It’s well-crafted, with a rich, dark brown leather wrapping its handle. You unsheathe it, watching the light dance along the wickedly sharp edge. “Fíli, I couldn’t—this is yours!”

“I’ve got plenty of blades,” he replies with a chuckle, patting his side. And his boot. And his other side. And his back pocket. “Maybe we’ll stick with daggers for now, and try swords again later, hm?” He rocks back on his heels, considering you for a second. Suddenly, he leans in and knocks his forehead against yours. You barely have time to register the strange gesture before he’s back at the fire and sitting beside his brother.

Kíli looks at you, then Fíli incredulously. “Did you give her a weapon? Are you mad? She doesn’t know what that means!” he hisses.

“You’re the one who set this all up,” Fíli snaps back. His tone softens as he glances back at you, running your fingernail gingerly along the blade. “I’ll tell her. Eventually. And…” he swallows. “And if she does want to court, then…” The prince shrugs.

Kíli shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re bold, brother, I’ll give you that.” He frowns. “Where’s my tunic?”

Chapter Text

You toss and turn in your sleeping bag, struggling to get comfortable. Loud snoring fills your ears. Ever since the troll incident, the dwarves insist on keeping you and Bilbo in the inner circle to protect you. It’s touching, but you wouldn’t mind sleeping on the edge if it meant a bit more quiet. Thorin elbows you in his sleep, muttering.

You give up. Squirming out of the sleeping bag, you carefully pick your way through the cluster of dwarves to the fire, where Fíli and Kíli sit up on watch.

“Y/N, you should be in bed,” Kíli scolds you lightly. The dark-haired brother leans against a mossy, fallen log, stretching out his legs leisurely.

“I can’t sleep, and I’m bored, so I’m taking watch,” you reply, settling across from the boys. Your phone vibrates in your pocket, startling the dwarves. An alarm you’d forgotten to turn off, reminding you of a doctor’s appointment scheduled for tomorrow. But you won’t be making it.

Fíli peers at the device in your palm. “You’ve yet to explain your little… light tablet?”

“Phone,” you correct him. “It’s a phone. We use them for talking to other people who are far away, or sending them letters instantly. It plays music, it has books on it, pictures… it pretty much has my whole life on it.”

Fíli leans over and holds out his hand. Hesitantly, you pass him the phone. Kíli scoots in close to stare at it in wonder, the glow of the screen illuminating his face. “Is that your family? A sister?” He takes the phone and tosses it back to you.

You look down at the screen. It’s a picture of you and your best friend, a stupid selfie you hadn’t bothered to delete yet. Now, you’re glad you haven’t. “It’s my friend,” you whisper. Your thumb traces the edge of the screen, and you swipe through the gallery. Your dog. A bird’s nest in the eaves of your parents’ porch. A book you planned to get your dad for his birthday. Another one of your dog.

“Do you think they know I’m gone?” you ask softly, to no one in particular. Your vision blurs. “I miss them. I miss air conditioning, I miss hot showers. I miss home.”

Kíli shifts in the leaves, studying your downturned face. “Would it help to talk about it?” He offers you a sympathetic smile when he catches your eye, but you drop your gaze again. The only response comes from the crickets in the bushes.

“I miss our home as well,” Fíli says quietly, finally breaking the silence.

“But you’re going to Erebor,” you point out. “Your people’s true home.”

He shakes his head. “Erebor is but a story to us, Y/N. A bedtime tale. We were born in Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains. That is home.” Fíli pauses, looking out over the horizon. His pale blue eyes are distant. “And if we succeed, we leave it forever.”

You hadn’t considered that. “I guess we’re in the same boat, then.” You set your phone down. Rolling onto your stomach, you rest your chin on your folded arms. “Would it help to talk about it?” you ask, echoing his brother’s words.

A smile tugs at the corner of Fíli’s lips. “I will speak of our home,” he replies slowly, “only if you speak of yours.”

Kíli raises an eyebrow at you. “You cannot avoid the matter forever, Y/N.”

“Where would I even start?” you groan. “Our worlds are so different, Kee.”

He tips his head to the side in thought. “What do you enjoy doing?”

“I don’t know. Reading? Watching movies? Playing video games?“

They look at you blankly. You run a hand through your hair and puff out your cheeks. “Okay, so a movie is like a play, but you can watch it wherever you want. And a video game is… I don’t even know how to explain it.” You pause, considering the two dwarves before you.

Kíli’s bangs brush just above his eyebrows, parted slightly in the middle. He’s the only dwarf without beads or braids, opting for a simple clip that holds back some of his hair. But Fíli, he styles himself after Thorin, sweeping his hair back over his head to reveal a sharp widow’s peak, just like his uncle’s.

“You know, you two look exactly like you do in The Hobbit movies.”

“I thought we came from your book,” Kíli says, brow furrowed.

“They make books into movies,” you explain. “Of course, the book is always better, but they did a… a decent enough job.” You roll your eyes, thinking of the fierce debate over the movies’ quality. “But you said you’d tell me about Ered Luin. So, what do you do for fun? What do you miss?”

“I haven’t been in a forge in ages,” Fíli sighs, leaning back and folding his hands behind his head.

Kíli snorts. “Surely you do not mean you want to work?”

“It’s satisfying,” he protests. “You cannot tell me you don’t enjoy it at least a little bit!”

“If I must work, I would rather be out hunting, not toiling over an anvil all day.”

“I think it sounds interesting,” you offer, sitting back up. “What do you usually make? Swords and knives?”

“Far too many farm tools and horseshoes.” Fíli picks at the grass beneath him, twirling stems between his fingers. “There is not much use for weapons without active warfare.”

“Ah, you sell yourself short, brother!” Kíli says, leaning over and snagging the dagger from your belt. There’s a dark twinkle in his eye. “He made this very blade.” He tosses and catches it, handing it back to you hilt-first.

“I’ve made better,” Fíli cuts in hastily. “I made that when I was still practicing a new technique. It’s an older one.”

You pass the knife over your forearm, brushing away the hairs it shaves off. The moonlight glints off the steel’s edge, fine as a razor. “Could’ve fooled me. How old?”

Fíli shrugs. “Oh, thirty years, perhaps? I dusted it off for the journey in case I needed a spare.”

“Damn. Older than I am,” you remark.

The brothers look at you, stunned. Fíli drops the blade of grass he had been fiddling with, and it flutters away in the breeze.

“What?” you ask, growing hot beneath their eyes.

“Y/N,” Fíli says softly. “Exactly how old are you?”

You didn’t think their eyes could get any bigger when you tell them your age.

“You’re a child!” Kíli gasps. “You’ve no business being on your own, let alone on a journey like this!”

That comment makes you bristle. “I’m just as much an adult as either of you. You just age slowly.”

“But less than thirty? Mahal, you’re hardly more than a stripling!” Kíli gives his brother a strange glare.

“Look, obviously humans and dwarves are biologically different,” you snap. “You’re, what, sixty? Seventy?”

“Eighty-two and seventy-seven,” Fíli corrects quietly.

Despite your words about dwarves aging slower than humans, hearing Fíli actually confirm their ages makes you uneasy. “Well, most humans would be grandparents at that age. Great grandparents, some of them. If not dead. But you and I, we’re at about the same stage of life.” You do your best to seem nonchalant, rolling your dagger between your palms. “We come from different worlds, boys. Don’t forget that.”

Leaves rustle behind you. You jump and grip the dagger tightly, whipping your head around. A little squirrel scampers up a tree with chattering noises.

Fíli snickers. “A fearsome beast. Good thing we’ve you to protect us.”

You stick out your tongue.

Kíli smiles, eyes half-closed. But suddenly, he sits up, a thought occurring to him. “Do you have any suitors?”

“What?”

He smirks at you. “You’re a decent-looking lass. Surely, you’ve been courted?”

You fidget with your dagger. “Not really,” you shrug. “I tried asking a guy or two out, but nothing ever happened.”

Fíli glances up at you, but doesn’t quite make eye contact. “Is that common? For the woman to do the courting?”

“It goes both ways, I suppose. Maybe you meet on the internet, or maybe you meet in person, and you talk for a little bit, go out on some dates… it depends.”

“For dwarves, the dwarrows make the first move—there are so few dwarrowdams, after all,” Kíli explains. He starts making a list on his fingers. “First, he’ll give her a special gift to show he’s interested, like a weapon.”

Fíli, who had been watching you closely, suddenly seems very interested in a beetle crawling on a root.

“Then, when he really wants to court, he’ll ask to braid her hair, and give her one of his beads. Marriage comes with different beads and braids.”

“Oh, like a ring. We use rings to propose,” you explain when Kíli frowns. “The guy gets down on one knee, puts the ring on her hand, there’s lots of crying.” You wave your hand in the air dismissively. “Sappy stuff. But what about you? Any special ladies back in the Blue Mountains?”

There’s a small knot in your stomach as you ask. Something in you hopes the answer is no, that maybe you’re the one who’s caught their eye. The eye of one of them, anyway.

You’re a fool to keep denying it to yourself—something about Fíli draws you in. His gentler ways. Even now, sitting quietly by the fire, he looks thoughtful, pensive. His brow is furrowed slightly as he watches the little bug, his lips pursed. But you know better than to get your hopes up. Yes, you may be the only girl any of them have seen in months, but they’ve lived far longer lives. Fíli has had plenty of time to fall in love already.

Kíli shakes his head with a smile. “Nay, too soon for that. Dwarves only fall in love a single time.” His eyes flicker to his brother. “With our Ones.”

“What’s a One?”

It’s Fíli who answers this time. “The one person Mahal crafted for a dwarf to be with. But not every dwarf has a One, not necessarily.” His lips press into a thin, strained line. “There aren’t enough of us for that.”

“Like soulmates?” Your eyes fall to the dagger in your lap. Something about Kíli’s explanation of courting gnaws at the back of your mind.

“Do Men have Ones?” Kíli asks.

“Some people think so. I don’t know if I do or not. It must be nice, though,” you remark. “Not having to wonder if you’ve got it right or not. Not having to go through the heartbreak of failure.”

He hums in agreement. “I suppose so. For someone who hasn’t courted much, you know an awful lot of songs about heartbreak.”

“It’s a popular subject,” you reply with a shrug. Fíli’s eyes are still downturned, though his little beetle has vanished. “You good, Fee?”

He jumps slightly, face hard to read in the dimming light. “I’m fine.” He clears his throat and starts to stand. “The fire could use some more wood–”

“I’ll get it,” you interrupt, swifter to rise than the dwarf. “My legs are killing me, just sitting here.” You arch your back, moaning as something pops. Grabbing a small hatchet by the fire, you tramp through the brush to a small, dead tree you’d spotted Bifur hacking away at earlier. You swing at some of the lower branches, bracing your arms against each blow. Low murmuring comes from behind you. Glancing back to the fire, you see Kíli crouching by Fíli, muttering with him.

“Yes, Kíli, I can tell you’re doing your damnedest to–” Fíli breaks off abruptly as you haul the branches back. He rises quickly to take them from you. “Allow me, lass.”

Before you can assure him that you have it handled, he’s taken the wood from you and arranged it in a pyramid atop the embers. With a gentle breeze from his mouth and a few added twigs, he coaxes the flames back to life. You scoot closer to the fire. “That’s better,” you sigh. “I never knew summer nights could be so chilly.”

“Sit here, then,” Kíli says, shifting and making room between him and Fíli. He pats the space invitingly, wiggling his eyebrows. “It’s warm.”

Your lips twitch. “Ah, why not.”

He was right; both dwarves pressing in on either side of you creates plenty of heat.

“You can go to sleep if you wish,” Fíli comments, glancing at you. “We hardly need three people on watch.” He dips his shoulder, and you oblige, sliding down slightly to lay your head on his tunic.

His fingers stray to your thigh, lightly tracing his thumb over the hilt of the dagger.

“You can have it back, if you want,” you offer. “I didn’t know it was something you’d made yourself.”

A small, wistful smile graces his lips. “No. It was a gift.”

Chapter Text

Rivendell. Holy shit, Rivendell.

The beauty of the elves’ valley in the movies always stunned you, but it pales in comparison to the real thing. The grumbling and muttering of the dwarves fades in your ears as you look around, following Elrond up to his home. Wind whispers through the leaves. A cardinal twitters in a stately elm tree, its fiery red feathers blending into the sunset behind it.

“What are you gawking at?” Fíli asks from beside you. His lips are set in a frown.

“Everything,” you breathe. “Are you seeing this?”

“Looks like the woods.”

“Fíli, I’ve never seen a view like this in my life. I swear, if I dropped dead now, I’d die happy!”

He rolls his eyes. “Try to stay alive just a bit longer, aye? We’ve got a job to do.”

“Y/N?” Gandalf looks over his shoulder at you.

You prick up your ears and quicken your pace. The wizard ushers you in front of him to fall in beside Elrond. “I was just telling Lord Elrond of your unique arrival,” he explains. The Company pulls to a halt at the threshold of Elrond’s house.

That’s Elrond, that’s Elrond, that’s Lord fucking Elrond. You can barely hold his gaze. The elf arches an eyebrow at you. He’s asked you a question.

“Sorry,” you mutter, ducking your head sheepishly. “You’re just, uh… it’s all a bit overwhelming.”

“Is there anything we could offer you to make your stay more comfortable?” the elf lord asks. He looks you up and down with a slight frown.

You grow even hotter under his scrutinizing eyes. Your shirt is dark with sweat stains, and your jeans are plastered with a paste made of mud and pony hair.

Gandalf hides a wry smile in his beard. “I am sure that we could all do with a good bathing,” he remarks lightly.

Elrond nods, lips twitching slightly. “That can be arranged.” He opens the door and lifts a hand to a passing elf, saying something in their elegant tongue.

She dips her head and smiles at you. “This way, my lady.”

The she-elf leads you back out into the trees to a wide pool, fed by a small spring. It’s shielded from the rest of the valley by a mossy cobblestone wall. “Please, take your time. Dinner will begin at eight.” She vanishes.

You set down your backpack and pull out your small bag of toiletries with a frown. The shampoo and conditioner are almost spent—something tells you the dwarves, with their obsession with hair, may have stolen from your precious supplies. “I’m going to murder Kíli the next time I see him,” you mutter.

But next to the pool, you find three small bars of soap. You rub them between your fingers, determining that two of them must be for hair from the silky texture.

Your clothes stick to your skin with sweat. You peel them off and drop them by your bag, shivering as you slip into the cool water. A pleased sigh escapes your lips, and you sink below the surface. Your hair swirls around you, tugged by a gentle current. Coming back up, you whip your head back like in one of those fancy shampoo commercials. It’s less graceful than you hope, your wet mane slapping your back unceremoniously. Even in Middle Earth, physics must prevail. Oh well.

The elvish soap feels like satin against your skin as you lather up, the sweet scent of vanilla filling your nose. Weeks of blood and grime slide from your body. You run your fingers gently over the line on your shoulder. To Fíli’s dismay, the cut you earned during your training session left a thick, pink scar. Every time he looks at it, you can see the guilt in his eyes. It’s frustrating—you’re proud of the mark. It proves that everything that’s happening is real, but he doesn’t seem to understand.

Fíli. Thinking of him makes you frown. He’s been acting strange lately. A few nights ago, you’d sat up with the brothers on watch, swapping stories and sharing things about your respective cultures. But the normally chatty prince had grown quiet when Kíli asked you if you had any romantic tales for them, and began explaining dwarven courting rituals. Since then, he has avoided your eyes.

“Lady Y/N?” A soft call comes from behind the wall. “Your presence is requested.”

With a startled look at your watch, you realize you’ve lost track of time, and swim to the edge of the pool. “I’m coming!”

A dress drops over the cobblestone wall, followed by a pair of sandals. It’s a light green gown with an ivory trim, and long, gauzy sleeves. You slip it over your head, sucking in a breath and fumbling with the corset laces. Tying a crude bow in the back, you can only pray you don’t spill out during dinner. Without a hair dryer, all you can do is wring the water from your locks. You brush your hair quickly and weave it into a tight braid down your back, securing it with one of your few hair ties. Looking down at your feet, you frown. The delicate elvish sandals look out of place on your battered and bruised feet. What you wouldn’t give for a good bottle of nail polish.

“Lady Y/N?” The elf maiden pokes her head around the corner. “The table is laid, my lady.”

“Actually, the thing that surprised me most was seeing how everyone looks like they do in the movies. See, in the book…”

You’re chattering away with the elves, though Fíli notices you never hold eye contact with Elrond for long. Something about the dark-haired elf intimidates you. Elrond sits at the head of the table, Gandalf on his right, Thorin on his left. Elrond seated you next to Gandalf so he could speak with you, but other elves keep ducking in to ask you questions or offer to refill your glass of wine. Fíli shifts in his chair across from you, teeth clenching each time one of the pointy-eared creatures bends over you.

You glow as you talk. Fíli unconsciously wets his lips as he watches the way your dress hangs off of your body. Thus far, he’s seen you only in your strange, blue trousers and your formless “t-shirt” that mask your figure. You fit right in with the dwarven men, matching their rowdy demeanor when it’s called for and occasionally joining in with Kíli’s roughhousing. But in elvish fashion, you’re the very picture of femininity—despite your lack of beard. The soft, translucent sleeves make every gesture seem almost unbearably elegant.

He’s smitten.

“See something you like?” Kíli smirks. He spears a couple pieces of lettuce on his fork and elbows his brother. “Better close your mouth before a fly wanders in.”

“Take Fíli and Kíli, for instance.”

Fíli perks up when he hears his name.

“So, Kíli obviously has brown hair, and Fíli is blonde, right? But in the book, they both have yellow hair. But!” Your eyes sparkle with delight as everyone hangs on your words. “But, then some things have happened that only happen in the book. Like losing the pony and the boys nearly drowning.”

The boys. You’ve begun to refer to Fíli and Kíli as “the boys.” It warms him, knowing that you’re comfortable around them. You seek them out more and more often now, even offering to take watch with them. He closes his eyes and leans back in his seat, turning the past few days over in his mind. Sitting up at night with you under the stars, you napping with your head on his shoulder and arms around his waist as you ride, even your elbow stabbing him in the side in your sleep is a pleasant reminder of your presence.

Your voice rising in song breaks him from his thoughts.

“Oh, misty eye of the mountain below, keep careful watch of my brothers’ souls…”

He recognizes the song. The first few words, at least. You were always quick to skip past it when you played your music, saying it wasn’t time for it yet. Now, he understands why—it’s about them.

“Keep watching over Durin’s sons…”

Fíli gazes at you, transfixed. He’s heard you hum, mumble softly along to your songs, but to hear you actually sing… Mahal, it’s enchanting. The way you roll your r in Durin just like how the dwarves do, the emotion you put into the words. No, your voice isn’t perfect—the notes fall a bit flat here, rise a bit too sharply there, and you wince slightly every time your voice cracks. But that just makes it even better to his ears.

“You’re staring,” Kíli whispers. His eyes widen when he glances down at his brother’s lap. There’s a distinct bump. “Fíli!” he hisses, hastily covering Fíli’s legs with a napkin. “For Mahal’s sake, control yourself!”

But the fire in Fíli’s core only grows as he listens. All too soon, you finish, dipping your head with pink cheeks at the applause from the Company. One of the elf musicians lays a hand on your shoulder, leaning in with a smile.

And something snaps.

Abruptly, Fíli stands, pushing his chair back roughly. “I’m full,” he mutters, turning on his heel and storming off. His shoulders are tight, fists clenched by his sides.

You break off mid-sentence, jaw hanging open as you watch his retreating back. “Kíli? Is he, uh…?”

Kíli tips his chair back and rolls his eyes. “He’ll be alright. He doesn’t feel well, that’s all.”

You rise from your seat. “Maybe I should go see–”

Kíli’s eyes widen and he leans forward quickly. “No! No, just let him be. He gets in a foul mood when he feels poorly. Best to leave him alone.”

“Oh,” you say quietly, sitting back down. You wish now you had paid more attention to him during dinner. But it seems you’ve missed your chance.

“Oi, lass!” Bofur calls from down the table. He grins at you and raises his wineglass. “How ‘bout another song, then? One of those ‘hop-hip’ ones you told us of? Hammy-ton?”

“Hamilton,” you correct him. Kíli’s eyes light up, but you shake your head. “Sorry, I’m not really… it’s been a long day. I think I’m ready for bed. Thank you, Lord Elrond, really. I look forward to our stay.” You stand and give your best curtsy, tripping slightly over the hem of your dress. Gathering your skirt in your hands, you make for your room. Maybe you can talk to Fíli in the morning, make sure he’s alright.

Fíli paces back and forth in the small bedchambers, pulling at the collar of his tunic in agitation. He found some elvish nightclothes neatly folded on the bedspread. At first, he disregarded them, but he remembered how you had marveled at the elves’ clothing. And that’s how he found himself clad in the silver silk.

“That was stupid,” he scolds himself. “Good job, Fíli, you went and made a fool of yourself in front of her. What must she think of you now, storming off like that?”

“Fee, shut up,” Kíli groans. His little brother lays his forearm over his eyes to block out the moonlight. “I covered for you, I promise. She just thinks you were feeling ill and needed to turn in early.”

“I should go to her. Say something to her,” Fíli mutters, ignoring him. “Apologize. Explain myself—no, no, that wouldn’t do!” He flops backwards onto the bed, outstretched arm smacking Kíli in the face.

“Oi!” Kíli shoves him away. “Get off me, you dolt!” He rolls over onto his face. “Fíli, you’ll see her in the morning. And then the next day after that, and the next, and the next. You’ll have plenty of time to apologize to her. It’s past midnight—go to sleep.”

Fíli sits back up, shaking his head. “You were right, Kíli. It was rash of me, giving her that weapon. I extended a courting gesture without her understanding. And now,” he waves his hand towards the door, “now we’re in Rivendell, the place she’s been the most eager to see, full of some of the fairest beings she’s ever seen. What chance does a dwarf like me have with a woman like her? Please, tell me I still have a chance, Kee.” He pauses. “Kee?”

But his brother is fast asleep, snoring softly.

Fíli sighs. He stands and crosses over to the window, squinting into the moonlight. The river lies just a few hundred yards from their room, starlight reflecting on its glassy surface. Some lyrics from one of the love songs you’d played drift through his head, something about city lights and water. A plan begins to form in his mind.

Nodding slowly, the prince swings a leg up and over the windowsill, dropping to the ground and heading up the path.

Heading up to you.

Chapter Text

Soft, silvery moonlight floods your bedchambers, casting everything in an eerie glow. You groan and pull the blanket over your head, doing your best to block out the light that has kept you from sleep for the past two hours. Normally, you’d be in awe of how clear the night sky is in Middle Earth, how bright the moon. But tonight, all you want is sleep. It was a long, hard day before the Company reached Rivendell—to say nothing of the encounter with the pack of orcs. You close your eyes and focus on the sounds of the valley.

Running water and cascading waterfalls.

Crickets and cicadas.

Footsteps outside your room.

Footsteps outside your room.

You sit bolt upright and fumble for your dagger by the bedside, cursing as it clatters to the floor.

“I hope you weren’t planning on stabbing me.” Fíli appears in the doorway, hands up in surrender. “May I come in?”

You sigh in relief. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Jesus, Fíli, you scared the shit out of me.”

The golden-haired dwarf steps through the threshold, slowly lowering his hands. He looks calm, but you can see a nervous twitch in his right hand. “I was wondering if you would join me for a walk?”

“Now? Fíli, it’s–” you check your watch, “–one a.m. Why are you even awake?”

“I could not find sleep.” With just a few strides, he’s beside your bed, hand outstretched. You take it and let him pull you to your feet, smoothing your nightgown with your other hand. He glances at your chest for a moment and quickly turns his head away, cheeks flushing. You’re suddenly very conscious of your appearance. The elves gifted you several nightgowns made of sheer, white fabric, leaving little to the imagination. Your cheeks flush as well and you cross your arms over your chest tightly, mumbling something about a chill.

The stones are cool beneath your bare feet as you and Fíli make your way down a winding path to the river at the bottom of the valley. “I found a nice place to sit,” he says, taking your hand and leading you to an outcropping of large, flat rocks that hang over the water. You lower yourself down and let your legs dangle over the edge, toes just barely brushing the water’s surface. Fíli settles beside you. For the first time, you notice that he, too, is wearing clothes of elvish make. A plain, silver tunic over matching pants. He starts when you touch his sleeve, rubbing the silky fabric between your fingers.

“Better not let Thorin see you in this,” you chuckle. “He’d throw a fit if he knew his heir was wearing elvish jammies.”

Fíli shrugs. “He can say what he wants—it’s comfortable.” His eyes find yours, and he lifts a hand to brush against the flowing sleeve of your own elvish nightwear. He trails his fingers along the back neckline until they reach your other shoulder, where he changes trajectory, bringing his hand down to your waist. Fíli doesn’t break eye contact, but his touch is shaky, hesitant, as if waiting for an answer.

With your heart in your throat, you settle into him, laying your head on his shoulder. Giving him permission. “Is this still part of Thorin wanting you and Kíli to keep an eye on me?” you murmur.

Fíli smiles slowly, tightening his arm around you and pulling you closer. “No,” he whispers. There’s a pleasant pressure as he rests his head against yours. “This is just me.”

The two of you sit like that for a while in silence, holding each other up. You wonder if he can hear your pulse racing. You had always admired the pair of princes as the youngest and prettiest dwarves from the movies. The two were obviously intended to be heart-throbs, and it worked. But it’s completely different actually being in Middle Earth, seeing them in flesh and blood and learning their personalities. Kíli is hotheaded and impulsive. Fíli shares his fire, but tempers it with more caution as he watches out for his little brother. It was that caring nature that first attracted you, making you long to be the object of his attention, his protection.

And here, beside the river, wrapped in his warmth, a wicked thought enters your mind.

“Fíli?”

“Hm?”

“You can swim, right?” You pull away from him, tilting your head with what you hope is an innocent face.

“Of course. Why–”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish as you push him into the water, dodging the splash and giggling. Fíli pops back up and shakes his long hair from his face, looking back up at you in shock. “You little devil!” he cries, grabbing your foot and pulling you down into the cool water with him. You shriek as you go under. Your feet find the bottom quickly, and one push into the mud sends you back above the surface, the water reaching up to your shoulders. Opening your eyes, you find yourself face-to-face with the dwarf. Fíli’s impossibly blue eyes are wide, as if seeing you for the first time. Then his gaze shifts down to your chest, where the wet fabric clings to every little curve. He bites his lip.

You blink innocently. “I guess we should go change out of our wet clothes before the elves find us.”

Fíli frowns. After a few seconds, a slow, devilish smile spreads across his face. He moves his arms beneath the water to grip your waist, heaving you up onto the riverbank before pushing himself up. He lets you gather your dripping skirt before scooping you up with a grunt. You lean into his broad chest and wrap your arms around his neck. Through his wet tunic you can hear his racing heartbeat. It’s oddly comforting, knowing he’s just as nervous as you are. Or excited…

But you’re disappointed when Fíli leaves you alone in your chambers with a polite bow. Crestfallen, you slip into a dry nightgown and retrieve your dagger from the floor, replacing it on the bedside table.

“I thought we agreed there’d be no stabbing?”

A shirtless Fíli leans in your doorway with a sly smile. He closes the distance between you, placing his hands on your hips. His expression turns tender as he leans close, resting his forehead against yours. Heat coils in your stomach, and you press into him. Droplets of water from his still-dripping braids sneak down the back of your nightgown, making you shiver. Fíli’s grip moves up to your waist, and he places you on the bed. He pulls back, lightly running his knuckle down your jawbone. In his eyes is a question, a request for permission.

Instead of speaking, you reach out and finger the bead at the end of one of his braids. Fíli reaches up and catches your hand, sliding the bead off and into your palm in a single motion. “Turn,” he orders softly.

You do, and he gathers your long, wet hair in his hands. His deft fingers work quickly, intertwining strands like weaving together cloth. In no time, you have two delicate braids joined at the back of your head.

He reaches for the bead in your hand, but stops. “Y/N,” he murmurs in your ear. “Do you understand what this means? If I put this bead in your hair?”

Breath hitching, you nod. Fíli takes the bead and ties off the braids. He turns you to face him, and in his eyes is a new look of wonder, a new tenderness, but it’s still tempered by hesitation. The unasked question remains unanswered.

You answer it now. Leaning in close, you tangle your hands in his hair and press your lips to his.

Fíli smiles against your mouth and deepens the kiss, pushing you down onto the bed. “I’ve waited so long for this,” he murmurs, breaking the kiss and pulling back to look at you. “For you.” He drags his fingers lightly down your jaw, your neck, brushing your collarbone so gently with his calloused hands. It draws a whimper from you, and you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back down, the two of you rolling over to put you on top.

“I’ve waited longer,” you breathe, kissing him again, running your hands down his sides, now slick with sweat. His warm hands sneak up your arms and pull the loose sleeves from your shoulders at the same moment that you hook your thumbs around the waistband of his pants. The rest is a blur, until the two of you collapse in a sweaty, euphoric daze, drifting into a warm and hazy sleep.

Kíli knows something is wrong as soon as he wakes and his brother is not beside him. You and Bilbo received private quarters, while the dwarves were doubled up in rooms lower down in the valley. He kicks off the blanket, and stumbles sleepily to the door.

“Fíli?” His shout is met with nothing more than the faint twittering of birds in the misty dawn light. Frowning, he climbs the pathway to where he saw you head last night after dinner and drinks—maybe Fíli passed by your room on his way to… wherever he is.

“Y/N? Have you seen–” Kíli can’t even finish. His jaw hangs open as he takes in the sight before him: his brother, his big brother, tangled in the sheets with a woman. With Y/N. “Heh. Heh heh heh.”

Kíli’s building laughter rouses you from sleep. You blink blearily, sitting up with a deep sigh. You look around in confusion for the source of the noise and yelp when you find Kíli doubled over in your doorway. Color blooming on your cheeks, you snatch up the blanket to cover your chest and smack Fíli on the arm. “Go get your brother,” you groan in lieu of a good morning.

Fíli leaps from the bed with a strangled cry and tackles his brother, nearly choking him to shut him up. “Have you never heard of knocking?” he hisses.

Rolling your eyes, you gather the blanket around your shoulders and get out of bed, yanking Fíli off of Kíli before he smothers him. “I was having such a lovely dream,” you grumble.

“Was it before or after the se–” Kíli doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Fíli is on top of him again. He shoves his older brother away, then freezes, staring at your hair.

“What?” you ask with a glare.

“Fíli,” Kíli says quietly. “Thorin is going to kill you.” He picks himself up from the floor and reaches for your hair, lifting the bead at the end of the braids to the light.

Fíli scrambles up off of the floor as well and swats Kíli’s hand, pulling you against his side protectively. “I– she–” he stammers. Kíli raises an eyebrow, and Fíli takes a deep breath. “We won’t tell him. Or anyone. Right?” He fixes Kíli with a stern glare, an expression nearly identical to Thorin’s own glower.

“Fee, it’s not a matter of telling or not telling. A courting braid? That is telling enough. You know that.”

It’s strange to hear Kíli be the voice of reason, scolding his brother. Gently, you release yourself from Fíli’s hold, laying a hand on his arm. With the other, you reach behind your head and remove the bead from your hair, pressing it into Fíli’s palm. Then you lower yourself back onto the side of the bed, pulling him with you. “Fíli,” you murmur. From the look on his face, his dejected eyes, you’d think you’d kicked a puppy in front of him. “Fíli,” you say again. “I don’t want to make any trouble for you with Thorin.”

“But–”

“Shh,” you interrupt, squeezing his arm and doing your best to smile. “Let’s see this whole quest bullshit thing through first, hm?”

“Gandalf doesn’t seem too eager to leave Rivendell for at least another week,” Kíli adds. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to fu–” This time it’s you who shuts up the younger prince with a well-timed pillow aimed at his face. Kili holds up his hands in surrender, finally relenting and ducking out of the room.

Satisfied, you lean in for a soft kiss, Fíli’s mustache braids tickling your cheeks. He returns the kiss, placing his hand on your back to pull you in. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. “Now get out of here before Thorin wakes up.”

Chapter Text

“No way.”

“Lass…” Bofur rolls his eyes.

”No, I am not doing it.” You cross your arms, glaring down at the dwarves in the river from your seat atop the boulder. They’re all stark naked. Thankfully for you, the water isn’t quite clear enough for visuals, and the sunlight is quickly fading. Bilbo crouches in the shallows, refusing to remove his britches. “I’ll wait back at camp and then you can fetch me when it’s my turn.”

“No one is to be alone. Too dangerous.” Thorin walks up from behind you, shedding his layers. “And it is not likely we will find a better opportunity to wash up.”

You quickly turn your head away as he moves into your field of view. The last thing you want to see is the bare ass of Thorin Oakenshield.

You hear footsteps behind you, and suddenly you’re flung through the air. Your shriek is cut off as you plunge below the surface, almost landing on top of Ori. Kicking frantically, your feet find purchase on the riverbed, and you propel yourself up. Wiping hair from your face, you turn to see your tormentor.

Kíli stands on your vacated rock. “Oops,” he says with a grin. He strips and dives in gracefully, hardly making a ripple.

You expect Thorin to scold Kíli for the sneak attack, but he struggles to hide an amused smile. “Y/N, we are all likely to see certain things sooner or later.”

You throw your hands up in defeat. “Fine!” Making your way to the shallower water, you face away from the dwarves and peel off your shirt. It falls to the ground with a wet splat. Next to go are your shorts, showing far more leg than usual. You hear a low whistle from someone behind you. You pause in your undressing to flash a middle finger back towards the Company. Unfortunately, the meaning of the gesture goes over their heads.

All that remains are your bra and underwear. You sneak a glance over your shoulder. “Could you at least look away for this bit? Please?”

Thorin shrugs and turns his back. The other dwarves follow suit as you unclasp your bra and yank down your underwear, folding them neatly. You wade slowly into the river until the water covers your chest. “You can look now, I guess.”

A few turn back around, but most just continue their washing. You frown. Soap seems to be in very limited supply. With a sigh, you wade back to the bank and stretch your arm as far as you can to try and snag your backpack, but it’s in vain.

“Need help?”

You look up. Fíli stands over you in just his braies. He nudges the bag closer with his foot, lips twitching as if holding back a smile.

“Thanks,” you mumble, rifling through for your toiletries.

The two little bottles of shampoo and conditioner tumble from the bag, followed by a bar of soap. You squirt a bit of shampoo on your hand and start lathering up your hair, sighing in relief as you wash away dried mud and grime. You duck under the water to rinse it. The suds float away in the current.

Fíli sheds his last article of clothing—don’t look, don’t look—slipping into the water and holding out his hand. “Do you have any to spare for a poor, filthy dwarf?”

You toss him the bottle. “That’s the last of it.”

The shampoo and conditioner get passed around the Company. Even Thorin takes some, unraveling his braids and running it through his long hair.

You sink below the surface again, savoring the feeling of the current gently tugging at your body. Despite your initial discomfort, the longer you spend in the water, the less self-conscious you feel. The dwarves don’t seem fazed at all by your naked body among their own. No one is trying to sneak a peek, no one is making fun of you. It’s… nice. They treat you like one of the guys. You do your best to return the respect, but your eyes can’t help but linger on Fíli. You haven’t seen him shirtless since those nights in Rivendell. He still looks very, very good.

A wall of water crashes over you. You whirl around to find Kíli, face lit up with what can only be a wicked idea. He raises an eyebrow and tips his head slightly towards Fíli. You smirk and pointedly look down at the water, then back at Kíli with a small nod.

He grins. “Hey, Fee!” he calls. “Come look at this!”

As you’d hoped, Fíli turns and makes his way to Kíli. The other dwarves watch as you duck below the surface, some starting to snicker as well. Thorin leans against a rock with his arms crossed, lips curled up ever so slightly.

Without anything to protect your eyes, everything is blurry, but you find your prey quickly. The Jaws theme flashes through your head. Your hand flies out, and you seize Fíli’s leg. He screams as he’s yanked underwater. You pop back up, grinning, and give as best a bow as you can as the other dwarves roar with laughter.

Fíli resurfaces, gaping at you. “I’ll get you for that!” he cries, tackling you and wrapping you in a loose headlock. You laugh and squirm, trying to ignore the spark between your legs as his naked body presses against yours underwater.

“Say you’re sorry!” he growls.

“Never!”

“Say it!”

“No! I won’t–” your breathless giggles end in a sharp gasp of pain as your stomach cramps.

Immediately, Fíli releases you. “Are you alright?” His eyes are anxious. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”

Another stabbing cramp. “It’s fine,” you hiss through gritted teeth. Your face grows warm looking around at the dwarves. The very masculine, male dwarves, all watching with concern in their eyes. “I, uh, I think it’s almost that… that time of the month.”

Fíli still looks puzzled.

“Her bleeding, Fíli,” Balin says quietly, giving you a sympathetic look. “Have you never been around a lass before?”

You nod sheepishly. It’s definitely your period. But… wasn’t it supposed to come a week and a half ago? Why so late?

You shake it off. It’s probably just because of the stress of the journey.

With your hair finished, you grab the bar of soap, running it gently over your shoulders. The bar slips from your hand, landing in the water with a plop. As you turn around to retrieve it, you collide with Fíli.

He snags the soap, moving even closer until your bare chests are almost touching. “You dropped this,” he whispers, handing it to you.

“Easy, tiger,” you reply softly, eying Thorin’s back nervously. “We have company.”

Fíli sighs and moves away, but not before pinching your waist below the water, making you squeak. You do your best to stifle it when Thorin looks in your direction.

Most of the dwarves are finished washing up, getting dressed and heading back to camp. But you want to enjoy the water a little longer, swimming to the deeper area where you can’t quite touch the bottom. You let the current gently push you downriver to the rock Thorin leans against, still fiddling with his hair.

You sink a little lower in the water to hide your body, resting against the rock and tipping your head back. “I could get used to this.”

“Don’t,” Thorin replies. “It is unlikely we will come across another good place to bathe until we pass Mirkwood.” He rakes his fingers through his hair one last time and quickly weaves it back into braids. “Time to go.” He straightens up, making for shore.

When you don’t immediately follow, he looks over his shoulder. “Y/N,” he says sternly. “I am not leaving you alone in the river with a pack of orcs tailing us. Time to go.”

You sigh, ducking back underwater and swimming to shore. Resurfacing, you find Thorin still waiting on the bank for you. At least he has pants on now. He turns his back as you get closer. Carefully, you pull yourself up onto the rock where you left your clothes and backpack, putting an arm across your chest to guard your modesty.

But they’re not there. All that remains are your bra and underwear. You stare blankly at them. Peering around the rock, you don’t find anything on the ground either. You put them on, grumbling.

“Thorin?” you call out.

“Mm?”

“Someone took my stuff.”

He doesn’t reply for a few seconds. “Are you… decent?”

“As decent as I can be without a shirt and pants.”

Thorin turns around, looking a little unsettled by your nearly naked appearance. So much for his earlier nonchalance at nudity. “I believe I know who took your things.”

“The boys?”

“The boys.”

“You’ll have to find yourself some new heirs,” you huff, storming past him towards camp. “I’m going to kill them.”

Crossing your arms tightly over your chest, you enter the small clearing. “Would anyone happen to know what happened to my stuff?”

Bilbo sputters when he sees you, covering his eyes. Most of the dwarves politely avert theirs as well—except for two. Fíli reclines on his bedroll, hands behind his head, his broad shoulders stuffed tightly into your shirt. Kíli lounges by the fire, his hairy legs exposed by your shorts. He’s pawing through your backpack.

“I haven’t the slightest clue,” Kíli says, looking up and blinking innocently.

“You really ought to keep better track of your belongings, Y/N,” Fíli adds.

You fix them with a glare worthy of Thorin himself. “Give them back.”

“But they’re so comfortable!” Kíli protests. “Besides, you wouldn’t want them anyway—they’re soaking wet.”

“And whose fault is that?” you fire back. “I seem to recall someone throwing me into the river fully-clothed.”

“Ah, leave ‘em alone,” Bombur chimes in. “They’re just having a bit of fun.”

You stomp over to Kíli. Leaning down, you yank the shorts down his legs. They slide off easier than expected—he didn’t get them entirely fastened.

His eyes widen. “Hey!” he protests. “Now what am I supposed to wear?”

His own pants are right next to him. You pick them up and throw them in his face. Grabbing your backpack, you pull out the dagger and stand over Fíli next. “I swear to God, I will cut you out of that shirt if you don’t give it back.”

He puts up his hands in surrender, squirming out of the tight shirt. You snatch it back and lay the wet clothing by the fire to dry. But when you open your backpack, you don’t see any more clothes. A bundle of cloth smacks you in the face. A jammie shirt, followed by a bra and jammie pants. Fíli has his arm cocked back, ready to lob a pair of underwear at you as well.

Instead of waiting for his next attack, you tackle him, flattening him on the ground. “Give them back!” you shout, grabbing his fist and trying to pry his fingers apart. He finally relents, but not until you’re lying directly on top of his bare chest.

Fíli smirks as he lets you take back your undergarments. He may have lost the wrestling match, but he achieved what he set out to do. There are a few whispers from the other dwarves. Face red, you roll off of him and take your things back to your sleeping bag. You zip yourself up inside and dress yourself, a task made more difficult by the darkness and limited space.

As you finish, someone grabs your legs through the polyester fabric, dragging you to who-knows-where. You squirm in vain. They lay you back down, and a weight settles on your stomach. Popping your head out of the sleeping bag, you find Fíli laying his head on you.

“You make a lovely pillow,” he comments brightly.

You look at Thorin, hoping he’ll scold his nephew. But their uncle just shakes his head at the boys’ antics with a small smile. You sigh, wiggling into a more comfortable position. Fíli shifts so that his head is instead resting on your chest. “Bold move,” you whisper, glancing at Thorin.

”Shh.” Fíli’s eyes sparkle in the firelight. “Pillows aren’t supposed to talk,” he scolds lightly, putting a finger to your lips. It takes all your resolve to resist biting it.

You lay your head back, allowing yourself to enjoy the feeling of his weight against you. “Fine,” you whisper, giving in. “But I get to use you as a pillow tomorrow night.”

“Oh, I look forward to it.”

Chapter Text

You sit hunched over by the fire, poking at the cinders with a long stick and watching the rising smoke disappear into the leaves overhead. The stars are just barely visible as twilight descends over the woods. In the distance, a lonely wolf howls. You shiver, missing the security and sturdy walls of Beorn’s home. A sharp pain runs through your abdomen, and you unconsciously wrap an arm around yourself. The cramps are coming more frequently. You aren’t sure how much longer you can hide them before the rest of the Company catch on. For now, the dwarves seem preoccupied with making camp, too distracted to notice your discomfort. Bilbo sits beside you, his nervous eyes darting in your direction every once in a while. If anyone is on the verge of finding out, it’s the burglar.

Gandalf left the party a week ago, mentioning some vague business he had to attend to. Now, more than ever, you wish he had stayed—he was centuries old, surely he’d have some advice. But he’s gone, leaving you, a human woman, with thirteen dwarves and one hobbit. And he took the ponies, too. Your feet are in agony.

Another stabbing pain makes you grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut.

“Y/N?” Bilbo nudges you gently. “Are you alright?”

You force a smile. “I’m fine, Bilbo. I’m just… thinking ahead.” You glance down at the book beside you. The Hobbit. The other members of the Company had clamored to read it once everyone had recovered from the shock of a young human waking up among them the morning after leaving Bag End. You refused to hand it over, and guarded it fiercely. Even if they were to read it, it’d be little help. Still, it’s a comfort you take solace in, even if you can’t remember what will happen beyond a few days.

Bilbo’s eyes follow yours. The hobbit doesn’t seem quite satisfied, but he doesn’t press further. You pick up the book and thumb through its blank pages. It’s about halfway full, the story only showing events that have already happened. At least, events as Tolkien wrote them. Events that didn’t account for a twenty-something woman crashing into the story.

Another cramp—a bad one. You quickly turn away from Bilbo, biting your tongue so hard you’re surprised you don’t bite right through it. You can’t take it any longer. With a sigh you get to your feet, absentmindedly adjusting your bra strap. “I’m going to get more firewood,” you announce to nobody in particular. A few of the dwarves grunt in acknowledgement. You scan them, evaluating who would take the news the best. Glóin? He’d have first-hand experience, but you haven’t spent much time with him. Not enough to talk about this. There’s the kind-hearted Bofur, but you don’t trust him to keep your secret for long. Finally, your eyes reach Balin. Perfect.

Balin was the first dwarf to readily accept you into the Company. He had taken a fatherly attitude toward you since the beginning, comforting you when the homesickness became too much to bear.

“Balin? Would you help, please?”

The old dwarf furrows his brow. There is already a small stack of firewood near the bedrolls. You put on your best pleading face. Still a bit confused, Balin shrugs and makes his way over.

Bilbo stands, brushing off his waistcoat. “Believe I’ll come along, if you’ll have me,” he says. “I could do with a brisk walk.”

Again, you bite your tongue. You consider the hobbit before you. The two of you have the most in common out of the Company, both thrust into some strange adventure and completely out of your depths. You relent with a sigh, leading your companions away from the fire until you can no longer hear voices bickering over who should sleep where and who took the first watch last night.

“Whatever you mean to tell us, I do believe we are quite far enough from the others,” Balin comments.

“What makes you think I want to tell you anything?” You keep your tone light.

“You’ve no tool for felling wood. What’s on your mind, lass?”

You stop, curling and uncurling a fist nervously before turning back to him.

“I… I’m not sure how to say this,” you mutter. Deep breaths. “I skipped my period. Two weeks ago. I never skip.” You begin pacing.

Bilbo glances back and forth between you and Balin with concern. “Period?”

“Shark week. Aunt Flo. The crimson tide. Bloody Mary. Japan is attacking. For fuck’s sake, my bleeding, Bilbo,” you snap, grabbing at your hair in frustration. “At first I thought maybe it was the stress of the journey, but I’ve been so tired, and my boobs have been sore, and my clothes haven’t felt right, and I wake up nauseous, and–”

“Lass,” Balin interrupts quietly, reaching a hand out to pause your pacing. Concern is etched into every line on his face as he looks up at you. “Are you telling us that you are with child?”

Without even thinking, you place a hand on your belly protectively. “I think so,” you whisper. Tears fill your eyes and spill onto your cheeks.

Bilbo gapes at you. “You’re pregnant?”

A sniffle and a nod. “Eight weeks along, I think.”

“Oh, lass,” Balin murmurs. He pulls gently on your arm, easing you to the ground and wiping your wet cheeks with his cloak. “How do you feel about it?”

“Scared,” the word escapes your lips before you have time to think. You look down at your lap, tears dripping onto your faded denim jeans.

Balin nods. “I imagine that’s the proper way to feel.” He pauses, searching your face. “You must tell Fíli.”

Your eyes widen and you snap your head up. “How…?”

“Well, it’s rather obvious,” Bilbo interjects. “Anyone with eyes could see it.”

Heat pulses from your reddening cheeks. “We were trying to keep it secret,” you mumble. “Especially from Th–”

“Y/N? Balin? Bilbo?”

A shout from the trees makes you jump. Fíli comes stomping through the leaves and pushing through the undergrowth. “Bombur’s got a stew going, and…” his words die on his tongue as he takes in the scene before him: Bilbo crouching nervously by your side while Balin gently rubs your back. “What’s going on?”

Balin stands. “I believe Y/N has something she needs to tell you.” He beckons for Bilbo to follow, patting Fíli on the arm as he passes. “Congratulations,” he whispers.

Fíli frowns. His little mustache braids sway as he looks between you and the retreating figures of Balin and Bilbo. “What was that?” He kneels and gently strokes your cheekbone with his thumb. Concern fills his blue gaze, the gaze that had ensnared you, stolen your heart back within the safety of Rivendell. “Are you alright?”

You sniff and clumsily wipe at your eyes with your sleeve. “I didn’t know how to tell you, but… I’m…” You trail off, the words sticking in your throat. Instead, you take Fíli’s hand from your face and slip it beneath your shirt to rest on your stomach. Slowly, you look up at him, willing your eyes to say what your lips cannot.

He stares at you blankly. But as his eyes flicker from your face to his hand under the cloth, you watch the realization slowly dawn on him. “Y/N…” he whispers in disbelief. “You’re…?”

You nod, bracing for anger, rejection, disappointment. Instead, you find yourself wrapped in his arms and lifted into the air as Fíli spins you around, laughing. He stops abruptly and sets you back on your feet, gripping your shoulders and holding you back at arm’s length. “You really are?”

The boyish excitement on your dwarf’s face brings a small smile to your lips. “I really am.”

He lets go of you and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m going to be a father,” he breathes. Suddenly, he pales. “It… it is mine, isn’t it?”

That finally coaxes a laugh from you. You step forward and wrap your arms around him, burying your face in the hollow of his shoulder. “Of course,” you murmur. “No one else but you.”

“I love you, ghivashel,” he murmurs back, lips gently brushing your neck. You stay like that for what feels like hours, melting into each other.

“Fíli! Y/N!” A sharp call comes from the trees behind you.

Hastily, you push away from Fíli and clear your throat as his uncle pushes through the brush. Thorin jerks his head back toward the fire. “You two have first watch tonight,” he grunts. Seeing the two of you standing so close, he narrows his eyes and opens his mouth as if to continue, but shakes his head and starts back toward camp.

You take Fíli’s hand and intertwine your fingers as the pair of you follow the path of broken twigs left by Thorin’s heavy steps. Fíli starts to pull his hand away as you reach camp, and reluctantly you let go. The agreement still stands between you: no one finds out until the quest is fulfilled.

But with the secret now bearing literal fruit, you wonder how much longer it can last.

Chapter Text

“Fíli, we’re supposed to be keeping watch.”

“I’m watching you, aren’t I?” Fíli drapes an arm over your shoulders, the pair of you leaning against a stump while the Company sleeps. Stars peek out from behind clouds, sparks from the fire swirling up to join the cosmos.

“I don’t think that’s what Thorin meant, exactly.”

“To hell with what Thorin meant.” Fíli pulls you sideways into his lap. One arm supports you while his warm hand sneaks beneath your shirt to caress your belly. “A baby, Y/N,” he breathes. “We’re going to have a baby.”

“I know.”

“Us, parents! Our own little one!”

“I know, Fíli.”

“Aren’t you excited?”

You bite your lip and duck your head.

“Y/N?” He gently lifts your face to look at him, cupping your cheek in his hand.

You lean into his touch while you gather your words. “Fíli, I’m scared,” you finally whisper.

His face falls. “What’s there to be scared of? Don’t you want this?”

“Of course, but… Fíli, what if something goes wrong?” There’s a knot in your stomach just from thinking about what’s to come. A journey across Middle Earth isn’t easy at the best of times, let alone while pregnant. As difficult as the road has been so far, it will only get worse. The Company hasn’t even reached Mirkwood yet, and you can’t remember when you will see Gandalf again.

Fíli strokes your cheek. “I won’t let anything happen to our baby. Or you, my love.”

“‘My love,’” you echo softly. “We never talked about that, Fíli. What are we?”

Fíli cradles you to his chest. He rests his chin on your head. “Well,” he muses. “I’m a dwarf, and you’re a… what do you call the race of Man in your world, again?”

“Human.”

“And you’re a human.”

“No, what are we?” you ask again, shifting slightly to look up at him. “You and I. Are we dating? Was it a one night stand? Friends with benefits?”

Fíli doesn’t reply for a long time. His embrace is so warm, you’re almost falling asleep by the time he speaks. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper.

“Then that’s all that matters.” Fili leans down and kisses you tenderly. He slips his hand beneath your shirt again, where a new life has taken hold. “There’s a little dwarf in there.”

“A little human.”

“Both,” he replies softly. “Strong, like me, and smart, like you. What will it be—a dwarrow or a dwarrowdam?”

“A boy or a girl?” You place your hand over his. “I don’t know… I think I’d like a girl.” Images flash through your mind: A chubby, blue-eyed baby resting on Thorin’s knee. A little dwarfling toddling along, arm reaching up to cling to Kíli’s hand. A young girl with Fíli’s blonde hair riding atop his shoulders, or running down a stone hallway in the mountain.

Fíli’s mind is far away, the orange light of the fire flickering in his eyes. “A little dwarrowdam,” he murmurs. A small, wistful smile spreads across his lips. “She’d be a princess.”

“Princess?” you repeat, puzzled. “How would she be a princess?”

Fíli blinks in surprise, looking back down at you. “Well, if we are to be married, that would make you the crown princess, and our children would be princes and princesses as well.”

Married? You hadn’t even considered that.

The dwarf notices the alarm in your eyes. “You… you do want to be married, do you not? To me? Us, together in Erebor?” He’s almost pleading. “I can make you happy. You’ll want for nothing!”

“Fee, I don’t know if I’ll stay in Middle Earth. I’ve felt wrong ever since…” you trail off, expecting that familiar pain in your chest, that cold feeling, as if part of your soul is missing. It has become almost a companion, reminding you that you do not belong here. But in Fíli’s lap, with him stroking your belly, you feel nothing but warmth. It feels complete. It feels right.

“Since when? What do you mean by wrong?” Fíli asks. He shifts you in his arms, laying you down so that your upper body is in his lap, and you’re looking directly up into his concerned face.

“It’s gone,” you breathe. “I don’t feel it anymore.”

Frustration clouds his eyes. “You don’t feel what?”

“I belong here now,” you continue, not really answering his question. “I’m not going back.”

Relief washes over you, coaxing a smile onto your lips. Middle Earth will be your home now. Here, with Fíli, with Kíli, with Thorin, with all the rest. But just as quickly as the relief comes, it’s replaced by sorrow. “I’m not going back,” you repeat, your voice cracking. “Fee, I can’t go back. I can’t tell my dad that I found a boy that I love. I can’t tell my mom that I’m having a baby.” Tears flood your vision, rolling sideways off of your upturned face.

“Oh, ghivashel,” Fíli whispers. He leans down and gently kisses away your tears. “I’ll take care of you. I promise. We’ll win back the mountain. We’ll have a proper home to raise a family. And we’ll be king and queen someday!” His kisses travel down your cheeks to your mouth, becoming rougher, more insistent.

You part your lips to accept his. Fíli lifts you up higher to get a better angle, his tongue begging for an entrance. You let it slip past your lips, the taste of your dwarf making you dizzy. He pulls you completely upright, putting his hand against the small of your back so that your bodies are pressed together. Hot desire builds in the pit of your stomach, your tears entirely forgotten. You wrap your legs around his waist and sit up high on his lap, so Fíli has to tilt his head up to meet you. You nibble at his bottom lip, and he shudders with pleasure.

His pants are tented beneath you, pressing against that sensitive spot between your legs through the fabric. “Careful, love,” he moans, pulling back just enough to speak. “You're already occupied.”

With his lips separated from yours, you bend your head and attack his neck instead, sucking at the skin and marking him as yours. He’ll have to come up with an excuse for the little bruises come morning, but you couldn’t care less. You don’t even care that the rest of the Company, that his uncle, slumber just a few dozen feet away. All that exists in this moment is him and you, and you want him.

With great effort, he tears his neck away. “My turn.”

You let out a breathy moan as he nips at you, starting at your collarbone and traveling upwards, leaving angry, red marks. The cool metal of his mustache beads trail over your skin. You tilt your head back to allow for better access, eyes closing in bliss. While he assaults your throat, your hands stray to his tunic, fumbling with laces.

Without missing a beat, he undoes his tunic and flings it aside. Fíli pauses just long enough to yank your shirt over your head and unclasp your bra. His ministrations move south of your collarbone, lighting your skin on fire. You haven’t been intimate since your final night in Rivendell, and all the pent-up frustration speeds both of you along. Sweat beads on your brow, dripping onto Fíli’s cheeks like salty raindrops.

“I love you,” you mumble. You cup his cheeks in your hands and pull his head back up so you can nuzzle his face, probing at his mouth with your tongue. He grants it entry. It tastes even better when it’s your tongue exploring his mouth. His fingers struggle with the ties on his pants.

“Do you honestly have to be doing this now?” comes a harsh whisper.

You gasp, snapping your head around to see a very tired, very grumpy Kíli leaning against a tree, watching you. Fíli pulls you tightly against him to guard your bare chest from his little brother’s eyes. You grope for your bra. Fíli finds it first, hastily wrapping it around you—upside down. You push his hands away and remove it, fastening it on right side up, followed by your shirt.

Kíli snorts and shakes his head. “You two are animals, you know that?”

“We’re celebrating,” Fíli rasps. He clears his throat.

His brother raises an eyebrow, looking between the two of you. “Do I want to know what kind of news would warrant this sort of celebration?”

Briefly, you look back at Fíli. He nods.

“I’m pregnant.”

Kíli is wide awake now. He rushes over and drops to his knees in front of you, staring at you. “You’re lying,” he whispers. “No, no, you’re not… you’re really…?”

It’s like telling Fíli all over again. You beam.

His shock turns to glee, and he claps Fíli on the shoulder. “Congratulations, brother!” But it fades quickly. “Thorin will be furious,” he says quietly.

It kills the mood instantly. Your shoulders slump, and you rest your head on Fíli’s.

“We have to tell him,” he whispers.

“Not yet,” you insist. “Once… once it starts to show. Then we can tell him.”

Kíli shakes his head. “You really should tell him sooner. He’ll only be more angry that you kept it from him.”

“When I start to show,” you repeat firmly.

The dark-haired prince looks at his brother, then you. His lips are pressed into a thin line, a very Thorin-like expression. “You should get some rest, Y/N,” he says, changing the subject. He sits down next to Fíli. “I’ll stay up the rest of the shift.”

Instead of returning to your sleeping bag, you just shift to lay your upper half more comfortably in Fíli’s lap and close your eyes.

He bends over, planting a kiss on each of your eyelids. “Sleep, amrâlimê,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep watch over you.”

Your lips curl into a smile, and you let yourself drift into a half-awake, half-asleep daze.

Chapter Text

You’re starting to get really fucking tired of this forest.

You trudge along behind Dwalin, following your captors to God-knows-where. Well, you know where, as fragments of the events to come slowly start to return to your mind. But your irritation starts to subside as you reach the cave system where the woodland elves’ fortress lies, replaced by awe. Beside you, the red-headed Tauriel smirks at your reaction. You were surprised to find her among the Mirkwood elves, turning this Middle Earth into some strange mix of book and movie canon. But movies really didn’t do the palace justice, and you almost forget your predicament when the large stone doors swing open, and you are led along winding paths and into the hall of the Elvenking.

Thorin is clearly not impressed, launching into an argument with the king. You tune him out and rise up on your tiptoes, peering around to count the Company members. Bilbo. Bilbo is missing—he’s already used the Ring, you realize with a shiver.

“You. The lady.”

You jump. Thranduil regards you with a curious gaze. “You are no dwarf. What is a daughter of Man doing with this foul bunch? And in such strange clothes, too.”

Indignation stirs in your chest, and you cross your arms. “None of your business,” you snap.

Thranduil takes a step closer and lowers his voice. “We can save you from these dwarves. Just say the word,” he whispers, eyes narrowing as he reaches out to raise your chin.

As soon as his cold fingers make contact with your skin, a hand pulls you back by your shoulder roughly. Thorin plants himself between you and the king. “She stands with us. Touch her again…” Thorin doesn’t continue, letting the threat hang in the air.

Thranduil curls his lip and turns away. “Very well, then. She goes with the others.”

One of the elven guards grabs you and Thorin by your arms, dragging you along with the rest of the Company. Your heart quickens as you reach the cells. There’s not enough.

Tauriel has realized it as well, pursing her lips in thought. “Double them up, then. Careful with the woman,” she adds, looking you up and down. “She carries a child.”

The blood drains from your face and you gape at the elf in horror. How can she tell?

A confused murmur ripples through the Company. Before you can say anything, you and Thorin are pushed into a small cell, the door clanging shut behind you. Your head spins. Of course, you were going to tell him eventually, but surely not this soon. Thorin is shouting through the bars, but you only vaguely register the sound, curling up into a shaky ball in the corner.

At last, he relents—but not before spitting through the door. “They mean to divide us,” he growls, starting to pace the length of the cramped cell. “Making up filthy lies—”

“It’s not a lie,” you whisper, trying to cut his rant short before it can even begin. It works.

He turns to you slowly. Dangerously slowly. “What?” Thorin’s voice is low.

“She wasn’t lying,” you repeat, uncurling and lifting your top with a trembling hand to expose your midriff. The bump is just barely noticeable if you know to look for it.

Even in the dim light, Thorin finds it immediately. “You said you had no paramours in your world,” he says slowly. His thick eyebrows draw into a frown, blue eyes impossibly dark.

“I don’t.”

“Then how…” he trails off as you look over his shoulder, and turns to follow your gaze. In the flickering torchlight of the hallway, in the cell directly across from yours, stands Fíli. His knuckles are white as he grips the bars tightly, pressing his body against the door as if he could melt through it and reach you if he just tried hard enough.

“Fíli.” Your love’s name is barely a breath from Thorin’s mouth. “You?”

When Fíli meets his uncle’s eyes, he straightens up, chin raised. “Yes.” That one word, that first public acknowledgment of the love between you and your prince, shatters the tension in the air. A clamor breaks out among the rest of the Company, who had been watching the exchange with bated breath.

“Enough!” A shout cuts through the noise, silencing the other dwarves. To your surprise, it comes not from Thorin’s lips, but Balin’s. The old dwarf sighs and shakes his head. “Thorin. They’re young and in love. Something was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“In love?” Thorin repeats, dumbfounded. “You knew of this?”

Balin glances around at his companions—at least, as well as he can from the confines of his cell. “I believe you’re the only one who hasn’t noticed them.”

Murmured agreement and nodding from the dwarves. “The will-they-won’t-they was starting to get quite unbearable,” Dwalin grunts.

“Oh please,” snorts Kíli, standing from where he had lain sprawled out behind his brother. “They passed ‘will-they-won’t-they’ ages ago.”

Fíli goes to smack him, but Kíli dodges. “I caught them together in bed in Rivendell one morning. In her bed, no less,” he continues with a lazy grin. “Can’t imagine what she sees in an oaf like him, but to each their own.”

Thorin looks down at you, then back to his nephews. He leans against the wall, sliding down to the floor with his face in his hands.

You exchange a nervous look with Fíli. “Thorin?” you venture.

He doesn’t look at you. “Where’s Master Baggins?” he asks after a long silence, voice muffled. “What comes next?”

His question brings the reality of your situation rushing back to you. “Oof,” you exhale loudly, puffing out your cheeks. “He’s… he’s okay. Just trust him. He knows what he’s doing. Well… he doesn’t yet. But he will. We’ll be here for a while, I think.”

Thorin finally lifts up his head wearily, as if a hundred years descended upon him in mere moments. “Do you understand how incredibly foolish the pair of you have been? A pregnant woman on a journey like this? That child could jeopardize this entire quest.”

A hot flash of anger burns through you. You leap to your feet to argue, but it quickly turns to pain. You feel like an ice pick has been jammed into your abdomen, and you sink back to the floor with a groan. Fíli echoes it, the desperation in his eyes heartbreaking as he can do nothing but look upon you from afar.

Thorin’s face falters, but he makes no movement toward you.

“Thorin,” Balin says after another long silence. “The babe carries Durin’s blood. The first in nearly eighty years—it will be an heir to the throne someday.”

It’s as if Balin’s words slapped him in the face. Thorin stares at him, then whips his head back around to you, then Fíli. You can almost see the gears turning in his head. “An heir…” he mutters.

Clanging from down the hall makes you jump. To your surprise, Legolas appears before your cell, carrying a cloth bundle.

Thorin is on his feet in an instant, blocking the elven prince’s view of you with his bulk. “Come to gloat?” he sneers.

Legolas’s lip curls in distaste, but he looks past the fuming dwarf to you. “For the lady,” he says, holding out the bundle through the bars. “From one of our own women.”

You rise shakily, nudging Thorin out of the way hesitantly and taking it from him. “Thanks, Legolas,” you murmur with a small smile.

Thorin and Legolas give you identical looks of confusion, and you remember too late that Legolas doesn’t know you the way you know him. “You’re… welcome,” he replies slowly.

Within the blanket you find a small amount of food, some herbs, and a little vial with a bubbly liquid sloshing around in it.

“It’s for the baby’s health,” he explains, glancing at your belly. “We’re not monsters.”

You repeat your thanks and settle back into the corner, wrapping yourself in the blanket. The events of the past few days collapse over you, and you give in to the exhaustion, falling into an uneasy sleep.

“Y/N.”

A gentle hand shakes you from sleep.

You squirm beneath the blanket. “It’s too early, Fee,” you grumble, screwing your eyes shut even tighter. “Gotta… sleep for the baby…”

“Y/N.” The shaking is more insistent this time, and you reluctantly crack open an eye. Thorin stands over you, bringing you back to reality.

By your count, you’ve been in the cells of Mirkwood nearly four weeks, anxiously awaiting Bilbo’s barrel-riding rescue. The days pass slowly, with little to fill time other than teasing Kíli from across the hall about the growing flirting between him and Tauriel, constantly reassuring Fíli that you’re not on the verge of labor, and playing the same ten songs over and over from your phone—before the battery died. Your solar-powered charger is useless here beneath the earth. The elves have been noticeably kinder towards you than your dwarven companions. Whatever herbs and elixirs Legolas continues to deliver have dampened your morning sickness significantly, and Tauriel often escorts you on walks around the lower palace levels for the baby’s health. If either suspect who the father is, they don’t show it—you and the dwarves agreed it was best the elves not learn you were carrying a half-dwarf child, in fear that they revoke their preferential treatment of you.

You blink up at Thorin in surprise. He has rarely spoken to you despite sharing a cell, always seeming to be brooding over something or another. But now he holds out a hand and helps you to your feet, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips.

He clears his throat. “This has been on my mind for quite some time,” he says, stepping back and glancing over his shoulder at Fíli, who watches from his cell apprehensively. All the dwarves’ eyes are on you and Thorin, in fact.

“It is true that you are not… entirely what I had in mind as a bride for my heir.”

You wince, but Thorin places a hand on your shoulder and squeezes it. There is an odd look in his eye, a familiar expression, but one you struggle to place.

“Y/N. The child in your womb is of the line of Durin. You may not carry Durin’s blood in your veins, but you carry it all the same.”

As he speaks, it dawns on you. The look in his eyes—it’s pride. The same pride and affection you’d only seen when he watched his nephews when he knew they were not looking. “Before today, I claimed you as a member of my Company.” Finally, he smiles. “Now, I claim you as my kin. And when all this is over…”

Thorin trails off and looks back at Fíli again. “When all this is over, and our home under the mountain is restored, I will see the pair of you properly wed. You have my blessing.”

He gently wipes tears from your cheek that you hadn’t realized were there, and leans in to rest his forehead against yours, that tender dwarven expression of affection you’d come to love. “Take care of that little one, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice oddly thick with emotion.

Your throat tightens and you open your mouth to speak, but the clattering sound of metal-on-metal draws your attention back to the cell door. It’s Bilbo, fumbling with a large keyring. “Come on, come on,” he whispers urgently.

You smile. Barrel time.

Chapter Text

“That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!”

Cheers rise from the dwarves gathered around the table as they finish their song. Bofur stands in the middle of the table, immediately launching into the next drinking song. You dodge splashes of ale from the mug he holds aloft. Spirits are high after your welcome in Lake-town, and the generous house and pantry provided to the Company by the Master.

You and Thorin are the only ones not caught up in the revelry. Thorin’s chair is pushed back from the head of the table to avoid the food flying through the air and the alcohol splashing about—though he has the largest mug of beer out of any of them. Bilbo, understandably, opted to take his dinner in the kitchen when they started up their song.

All the noise is just a bit too much for you after spending a whole month in a cell. Quietly, you take your plate and slip away, heading for the living room. A fire roars in the hearth, a very attractive prospect after being stuffed in a barrel and tossed around in a river.

“Y/N!” Arms seize your waist from behind.

You jump, nearly dropping your plate. Before you can get a word out, you’re turned around. The plate is snatched from your grasp and any protest is immediately silenced by Fíli’s lips covering yours. He puts the plate on the small side table by the couch. One hand pulls your head down closer to him, the other rubs up and down your back. The kiss is rough and desperate. He breaks away breathlessly, resting his forehead against yours. “I’ve missed you so much.”

You’re out of breath as well. “Fíli, you’ve seen me every day.”

”You know what I mean.” He kneels down and lifts up your shirt. “Is the little one alright?”

Your bump has grown steadily, straining against the confines of your clothing. “It probably got quite the roller coaster ride, but I think it’s okay,” you reassure him. A loud cheer comes from the dining room, followed by a few voices raised in drunken song. “They’re celebrating. You should be with them.”

“They can spare me for a while. I have to make sure my ghivashel is well.”

You smile, taking one of his mustache beads and rolling it between your fingers. “I’d be a lot better if I had the opportunity to eat,” you say with a glance at your untouched plate.

Fíli pulls your shirt back down, giving your belly a pat. He takes your hand and leads you to the worn-out couch by the fireplace, then retrieves your plate. “Why did you not stay with the rest of us?” he asks as he hands it to you.

“Dwarves can be a bit much sometimes,” you answer with a shrug. “No offense.”

Fíli places his hand on his chest. “Your words, how they hurt me! I fear I shall never recover from this wound!”

You roll your eyes. “Do you want me to kiss it and make it feel better?” you mumble around a mouthful of potatoes.

His eyes sparkle, and he scoots closer to you. “Is that an option?” he whispers, his breath on your neck giving you goosebumps.

“Maybe once I finish my dinner.” You scoot away, giving Fíli a pointed look.

He huffs, but relents. You eat slowly, savoring your first proper meal in ages. Fíli fidgets with the laces on his tunic, sneaking peeks at you every few minutes. Your lips twitch—the prince is getting antsy.

But you feel the same pull that he does. It’s been over a month since you’ve even been close enough to hold hands. Every cramp, every wave of nausea seemed so much worse without Fíli at your side.

Sitting in a cell for so long gave you plenty of time to reflect on your relationship with Fíli. Everything happened so quickly. Even now, you’ve known each other barely six months. And yet you’re no longer just two young adults acting on lustful urges, or even romantic partners. He’s the father of your child. You’re a mother now, so early in your life. Impossibly early by dwarven standards.

There’s a little thought gnawing at the back of your mind. A tiny voice you try your best to ignore, reminding you that dwarves live far longer than humans. Your relationship is guaranteed to end in heartbreak for Fíli as he lives on for decades after your death. He might even outlive your child.

“You’re doing far too much thinking over there.” Fíli takes the empty plate from your hands. “I’m still mortally wounded, remember?”

“Of course,” you say, shaking away your anxious thoughts. “Where does it hurt?”

“All over,” he replies with a mischievous wink.

You crawl over to him and curl up against his side. “That’s quite the wound. How about if I start right here?” You plant kisses in the bristly hair of his beard, slowly traveling closer to his mouth with each peck.

But the impatient dwarf turns his head to capture your lips. His hands creep down to the hem of your shirt and start to lift it.

You push them aside gently. “Uh-uh, Fee, we’re not doing anything unless it’s in a locked room. We’ve traumatized Kíli enough.”

“Mm, but I can’t get to all of you with your blouse still on.” Fíli lowers his head and nibbles on your neck, just above your pulse point. “How will you hide all of my marks?”

“I don’t have to hide them anymore,” you reply softly. You pull away, smiling and brushing strands of golden hair from his face. “We’re free. No more sneaking around. No more secrets.”

”So we don’t have to hide when I do this?” And his lips are on yours again, his tongue in your mouth, one hand fisted in your hair. Clutching you tightly, Fíli lets himself fall backwards on the couch, so you’re lying on top of him.

You brace yourself with an arm on either side of his body to keep from rolling off the edge and straddle him to take any pressure off of your swollen belly. “Don’t squish the baby,” you mumble in between kisses. You try your best to stifle any noise, keenly aware that the rest of the Company is just in the other room.

Someone clears their throat. You freeze, lips still pressed against Fíli’s, almost afraid to look. Thorin stands in the doorway, looking at you with an odd expression. His face hovers somewhere between surprised and disturbed. Your relationship is no secret anymore, but you realize he’s never actually seen you be physically affectionate. And certainly not in a position like this. Past him, Balin shakes his head in amusement, while Bilbo wears a similar expression to Thorin.

Your face pulses with heat, but Fíli doesn’t seem fazed. When he sits up, he keeps you close to his chest. He holds Thorin’s gaze steadily, almost defiantly as he combs through your hair where his fingers had tangled it.

Thorin’s jaw clenches, just for a second. You can tell he’s barely biting back a comment. He sits in the armchair across from you, staring into the fire. Deliberately not looking at the two of you. “What’s next?” he asks at last. Balin takes a seat in the chair next to him while the hobbit paces behind them.

You concentrate, trying to tease the memories out from the back of your mind. Flashes of Lake-town, Erebor looming over you, glimpses of the moon. “It’s even fuzzier than normal. We keep getting further and further from how the story is supposed to go.” You push away from Fíli, wincing as a stabbing pain shoots through you. “At this point, I can’t tell if the pains are from us deviating from the story or from the baby.”

“Hey!” Kíli pokes his head through the doorway with a dismayed expression. “Why is Fíli part of your little council and not me?”

“Fíli was already here,” Thorin points out with an impatient huff. “He seems to be attached to Y/N, or else I would send him off as well.”

Kíli leans against the wall and crosses his arms. There’s a short staring contest between him and his uncle, but Thorin finally breaks away. Kíli strides triumphantly to the couch, perching on the arm and ruffling your hair playfully.

You smack his hand away and start to stand up. “Let me get the book.” Your backpack appeared on the house’s front porch within hours of your arrival, intact.

Fíli is faster, pushing you back down. “I’ll fetch it.” He dashes from the room and swiftly returns with the small, green volume. He tosses it to you, and you nod your thanks.

Bilbo stops his pacing, scurrying around the couch to peer over your shoulder. As the most bookish of the Company, and the namesake of the novel, he’s taken the most interest in it. However, his curiosity has grown greatly since you passed under the mountains, and he picked up the Ring. You wonder if he’s looking for mentions of it as you flip through the pages.

”Is that all that’s left?” Balin asks quietly when you reach the last page with text on it. There’s barely a hundred pages left. A few more words appear: “A large house was given up to Thorin and his company…”

And then they stop.

You bite your lip, looking up at Thorin. “That’s all.”

His face grows grave. A solemn silence fills the room, broken only by pops from the fire and clattering from the dining room.

It’s Fíli who breaks the silence. “Y/N, didn’t you say there were other stories about Middle Earth?”

“Well, yeah, there’s Lord of the Rings,” you reply slowly. “What are you getting at?”

His eyes light up. “Do you remember it?”

“Of course I remember it!” you scoff. “How could I forget… oh.” Your eyes widen.

Kíli frowns, looking between you and Fíli. “Am I missing something here?”

“Yes, I would quite like to know what you are getting at,” Thorin interjects, leaning forward.

Balin nods knowingly, stroking his beard. “If the lass remembers the other stories, she would know if we are in them,” he explains. “She would know our fates.”

All eyes are on you. You look at the faces of the dwarves around you, the pieces slowly clicking into place in your head.

Thorin. Balin. Fíli. Kíli.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

A lump forms in your throat, nearly choking you. “No.”

Thorin stares at you. “What do you mean, ‘no?’”

“I won’t tell.”

His eyes darken and he stands, looming over you. “You alone know our fates. You hold our lives in your hands—and yet you will say nothing?”

You shoot up, looking him dead in the eye. “I’ve already fucked up the story enough,” you snap. “Do you think Fíli is supposed to–”

”Uncle.” Fíli cuts you off. He reaches forward and takes your hand, pulling you down. “She said no.” He rubs your back gently, but you push him away and wrench your hand free.

“This is serious, Fíli. Don’t try and calm me down,” you hiss. “I’ve fucked things up. Just by being here, I’ve fucked things up. I have no idea what effect this will have in sixty years when important things are at stake!” You stand back up, storming over to the doorway. Breathing heavily, you rest your forehead against the frame. There’s a jerking, tumbling feeling in your belly.

You close your eyes and rub your bump. “It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, trying to slow your heartbeat. “Mama’s just… frustrated.”

A hand lands on your arm. You tense.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Bilbo assures you. He gives you a strained smile. “No need to worry the, uh, the little one, right?”

Bilbo. Alive.

Taking a deep breath, you nod, placing a hand beneath your belly to support it.

Thorin is seated again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Then we are back where we started.”

“Not quite,” you say, letting Bilbo guide you back to your seat. “We know we’re reaching the end. Whatever the ‘end’ is.”

“We’ve one month until Durin’s Day,” Balin comments. “It would be swiftest to take the river.”

Thorin scratches at his beard, eyes sweeping over his little council. He nods slowly. “We rest. Restock our provisions, gather what weapons we can. We will head down the river in a fortnight. And the Valar help whatever stands in our way.” With one last nod, Thorin strides from the room.

”Well then.” Kíli slaps his thighs and hops off of the couch. “I’m going to make sure the lads haven’t finished the ale yet. You two have fun,” he adds, ruffling your hair again on his way out. Balin chuckles, winking at you and following the younger dwarf.

You snuggle into Fíli’s side with a sigh, laying your head on his shoulder. “I think I could sleep until the Fourth Age.”

“I did find a cozy room upstairs,” Fíli murmurs in your ear. “But I’m afraid there’s only one bed.”

“Perfect.”

Chapter Text

You hum quietly, nestled in the gnarled roots of an ancient tree, watching Fíli and Kíli spar with sticks through half-closed eyes. Exhaustion finds you more easily now, so you demurred when Kíli tried to rope you into their training session. Absentmindedly, you run a hand over your swelling belly. You have no need to conceal your pregnancy any longer, but you don’t exactly have access to proper maternity clothing in Middle Earth, so you’re clad in borrowed clothes from the dwarves. Óin, the Company’s de facto doctor, assures you that as you’re nearly halfway through your pregnancy, the worst of the symptoms should be behind you.

You reach over to your backpack and rummage through it for the blanket you were given in Mirkwood—your pack reappeared “mysteriously” in Lake-town, along with a few of Kíli’s weapons. You wonder if Tauriel is still following the Company from afar.

“Y/N?”

It’s Thorin. You sit up a bit, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders against the October evening’s chill. “Thorin,” you greet him, patting a space on the root beside you.

He sits against the tree and tips back his head with a deep sigh. The pair of you sit in amicable silence. After spending a month sharing a cell, you don’t find the future king as intimidating as before. Between the crackling of the fire and the thwacking of sticks, you find your eyelids beginning to droop. But any oncoming sleep is interrupted by a loud yell from Fíli—he’s disarmed Kíli, who in response tackles his brother to the ground with a whoop.

A small smile appears on Thorin’s face as he watches his nephews scuffle in the dirt. It vanishes when the princes roll too close to the bedroll where poor Bilbo is trying to turn in early. “Fíli! Kíli!” he barks. “Do not crush our burglar before he gets a chance to do his burgling!”

Kíli pops up and tosses an apology over his shoulder to the hobbit. He grabs Fíli by the back of the shirt and drags him further from the bedrolls before resuming their wrestling match.

“Boys will be boys,” you remark with a smile.

Thorin grunts. “I wanted to speak with you about something.”

“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

He clears his throat. “It is about Fíli.”

“I guess I did do him.” Adjusting the blanket, you twist to face Thorin as best as your belly allows.

Thorin ignores that last quip. He looks at your stomach for a while. Then his gaze shifts back to Fíli, who holds a wriggling Kíli in a headlock. “He smiles more now,” he comments with a glance in your direction. “I don’t believe I have seen him this cheerful since we set out from Bag End.”

You squirm shyly.

“You make him happy,” Thorin continues, in case his meaning was unclear. “I… appreciate that.”

Heat creeps up your neck and you duck your head. “I don’t do much,” you deflect.

A hand tilts your chin back up gently. “You do a great deal,” Thorin insists. But his expression becomes more solemn, and he releases your face. “I wonder though… what you… what you see in him,” his words are stilted, as if trying to tiptoe around something.

You frown. “Um. I’m sorry?”

The dwarf sighs and rubs the back of his neck. Looking toward the others, now beginning to settle down for the evening, he shifts closer to you and lowers his voice. “I named Fíli as my heir long ago. He stands to inherit a great deal—and I am not young,” he adds with a dry chuckle. “There are many dwarf lords who would see their daughters wed to him for the throne. If he is to marry, I want it to be for the right reasons.”

You’re not sure if his request is endearing or insulting, but his face is earnest. “He’s…” you trail off, eyes softening as you watch your prince. Fíli flashes a triumphant smile at you as Kíli finally gives in. It still makes your heart flutter like a lovesick teen. “Kíli and I are a lot alike,” you start over.

That statement seems to surprise Thorin, who looks at you curiously.

“We’re fiery, impulsive. We know when we’re right and we won’t let it go without fighting. Not that Fíli isn’t passionate either,” you add hastily. “But he looks out for Kíli. He protects him. I guess I wanted that, too. And he’s funny, he’s kind, he’s noble… he’s anything I could ask for in a prince.”

Thorin doesn’t respond for a long time. Finally, he tips his head toward you. “And do you know what he sees in you?”

If you were flushing before, now you’re beet red.

“Beauty, naturally. But you are brave, too. You face all the same dangers as any of us with fewer of the skills. Kindness, intelligence, and stubbornness to rival that of any dwarrowdam.” He gives you a fond smile. “You will make a fine queen.”

Right now, in your bashfulness, anywhere but Thorin’s face seems to be a good place to look. The moon peers down through the golden leaves as if trying to catch a glimpse of the pile of dwarves snoring under its light. An owl calls from afar, voice nearly lost on the wind.

You fiddle with the hem of the blanket in your lap, earlier words from Thorin bouncing around in your head. “Thorin?”

“Hm?”

“What you said back in Mirkwood, about claiming me as kin…” you swallow hard. “Do you really mean it?”

He blinks in surprise, brows drawn together. “Of course, Y/N. I would never go back on my word.” He leans over and touches his forehead to yours. “You are of the clan of Durin now, and you will have a place of honor under the mountain. I swear it.”

He pulls back and claps your shoulder. “Get some rest. We head for Erebor at dawn.” Thorin stands and arches his back in a stretch, grunting as something pops. Before he leaves for his bedroll, he looks back down at you. “What was it you were humming earlier?”

Your lips quirk upward. “Oh, just an old love song of my people,” you murmur, rising as well and picking your way to the sleeping bag next to Fíli’s bedroll. You sit down and wriggle into it, pressing close to the now drowsy dwarf.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and gently kisses the top of your head. “What did Thorin want?” he whispers.

“Nothing important,” you reply sleepily, snuggling into his chest. He smells of leather and campfire smoke.

In the morning, you’ll face the last stretch of your journey and confront the fiery reality that stirs beneath the mountain. But right now, in the arms of your dwarf, nothing could seem further away, and you slip into a warm and easy slumber.

Chapter Text

Freezing wind bites at your face as you follow Kíli through the watchtower. He slows and presses to the side of the wall when you reach the end of the passage, pulling you close protectively and leaning out into the cold air.

“Anything?” you whisper.

Kíli doesn’t answer.

You shouldn’t be here.

You don’t know how you got here.

How did you get here? Why–

Boom.

A drumbeat echoes around the stone. Your heart drops. Vibrations pulse through the bricks beneath your feet. Little rocks rain down around you and Kíli. You tear away from him and scramble out into the wind, squinting against the light as you search the crumbling stone above you.

It’s Azog—but you knew that already. He’s got Fíli—but you knew that too.

He drags Fíli by the back of the collar and lifts him into the air like he’s nothing, dangling the dwarf over the edge.

“This one dies first,”  Azog rumbles. You don’t know the language, but you know what he’s saying. You know it by heart, by broken heart. “Then the brother.”

Kíli lifts his head slowly, confusion, recognition, terror all battling for dominance on his face. Terror wins as he stares up at Fíli.

You glimpse Thorin, Bilbo, and Dwalin on the other tower. Thorin rushes forward as if he could actually reach his nephew and skids to a halt. You’ve never seen him afraid. Never truly afraid, until now.

“Then you, Oakenshield. You will die last,” the orc sneers.

For a brief moment, Fíli struggles, squirming against the hand holding the last moments of his life in its grasp. It’s pointless, and he knows it, but you will him to keep fighting, to do something.

He stares across at his uncle. “Go,” he chokes out. You don’t know if you actually hear him say it or if it’s your mind filling in the blanks. His eyes dart down to you, as if in apology, then back up to Thorin. “Run!”

The blade rips through him as if he’s not even there. Fíli gurgles for a second, and his head falls against his chest. Even Dwalin cannot watch.

“Here ends your filthy bloodline!” Azog releases Fíli unceremoniously. The limp dwarf plunges to the stone before you, landing with a dull thud.

It’s so strange, that thud, because it wasn’t nearly loud enough to deafen you.

And yet no sound reaches your ears as you fall to your knees, scrambling towards Fíli. “Fíli! Fíli, Fee, please,” you gasp, desperately trying to stop the bleeding from the ragged wound in his abdomen. Whispered prayers spill past your lips—to Mahal, to Eru, to your own God, fuck, you pray to Tolkien himself. Bile rises up in your throat and threatens to choke you when your hands instead plunge inside the hole with a squelch, guts slimy around your wrists. It’s too wide, too deep for any gauze to fill. Blood pools beneath his body. You search Fíli’s face. His chapped lips are parted, eyes dark and staring sightlessly at the sky. They’ll never see anything again.

You feel a hand grip your shoulder as Kíli falls next to you as well. He’s shouting something. He shouldn’t be shouting, you think dully. Fíli needs his rest so he can recover. So he can get better and he can see the birth of his baby and we can get married and he can see Thorin be crowned–

Kíli shakes you roughly and grabs your chin, turning your face to look at him. His bottom lip trembles, and it finally all breaks.

A scream tears from your throat, raw and rough and guttural, and you collapse into Kíli’s arms.

”Y/N…”

“Y/N? Y/N!”

You’re still screaming when you wake against Fíli’s chest. He pulls away to look at you. But in your sleep-addled mind, you don’t see the concern in his eyes. In the flickering firelight you still see the face from your dreams, slack-jawed and empty-eyed. You tear out of your sleeping bag and scramble to get away.

He reaches out, but you kick his arm away in panic, crawling desperately to the edge of the clearing. The Company stare at you in bewilderment as you press against the tree where you and Thorin had sat just hours before.

Balin rises from his bedroll by the fire pit and extends a hand to you, but you flinch away.

“Let me try,” comes a quiet voice from behind Balin. It’s Bilbo, who cautiously lowers himself next to you. He places a gentle hand on your arm, his face puzzled but kind. “Y/N?” He speaks softly, like you would to a frightened child. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Your fingers curl around his arm, and you bury your face in his coat, shoulders heaving. He closes his arms around you and lets you cry yourself dry.

“He’s gonna die, Bilbo, he’s gonna die,” you sob over and over again. “He’s gonna die and Kíli’s gonna die and Thorin’s gonna die and I can’t do anything because I’m not supposed to even be here…”

Bilbo doesn’t say anything, just patting your back comfortingly.

Finally, you lift your head, peering past the hobbit’s shoulder at the Company. It’s Thorin who makes a move toward you first, but he’s halted by an arrow whistling through the air and piercing the ground at his feet.

“Daro, gorn.” [Stop, dwarf (derogatory).]

A leg clad in brown leather appears before you. Tauriel’s bow is already drawn again. “Did they hurt you, my lady?”

Thorin reaches for a sword on his belt that is not there, but Tauriel raises her bow anyway.

Fíli leaps to his feet, and Tauriel turns her bow on him. At that same instant, Kíli jumps up and slides beneath her arm. He seizes you and Bilbo, pulling you from behind the elf. Tauriel starts to aim at him too, but lowers her bow when she recognizes him.

“What are you doing here?” Kíli demands, pulling you against his side. What would normally be a protective move makes your stomach turn; he had done the same in your dream.

His brother retrieves you, and you clutch at Fíli with a small whimper. He rubs your back gently, pressing your head down against his shoulder.

Tauriel’s face falters slightly as she watches the tender gesture. “I heard a pregnant woman scream and saw her trying to escape the dwarves with whom she travels. Now, have you harmed her?” she asks again.

You can feel the heat creeping up Fíli’s neck. “Harmed her?” he splutters. His fist balls up in the fabric of your tunic in anger. “Why would I harm the woman I lov–” He shuts his mouth so fast you hear his jaw snap. It was supposed to remain a secret within the Company.

You lift your head and look over your shoulder at Tauriel, who gapes at Fíli. Her narrow, green eyes find yours. “Does he speak the truth?”

Throat tight, you nod. “It’s his,” you whisper. Your legs start to fail beneath you as the adrenaline from your dream drains from your blood, and Fíli carries you back to your sleeping bag.

Tauriel doesn’t seem to know what to do, looking at the dwarves around her. Bifur and Nori look particularly mutinous—Bifur mutters something dark in Khuzdûl under his breath, running his thumb along the blade of a knife. With a sigh, Tauriel sits on the roots you and Bilbo vacated. She reaches over her shoulder and pulls a long bundle from her quiver, tossing it at Thorin’s feet.

His murderous expression turns to confusion, then surprise as he kneels and unwraps the cloth. It’s his sword. He looks up at her. “Is this some sort of trick?” he growls.

“No trick.”

“Why?”

She sighs again, longer and deeper this time. “I have left Mirkwood. King Thranduil did not agree with my suggestion to send a patrol to tail your party.”

A few of the dwarves take issue with that remark, but she holds her hand up to stop their shouts. “I mean only to ensure that the lady remains safe. I do not want the blood of an expecting mother on my hands.” Almost as an afterthought, she pulls another small bundle from her pack, tossing it to Fíli this time. More herbs.

“If you think I will allow an elf to follow my Company to our mountain…” Thorin doesn’t finish, instead fixing Tauriel with a furious glower.

Tauriel picks at a blade of grass. “I could return to the king and inform him of your destination,” she says lightly. “Or I could accompany you and furnish your lady with provisions that will ensure a healthier pregnancy than anything a band of dwarf men could.” She looks up at Thorin. “I would say the choice is yours, but I believe the lady’s opinion should hold more sway.”

At a loss for words, Thorin turns back to you. Glancing at Tauriel, you nod.

He presses his lips into a thin line. “Rest, Y/N,” he grunts. “We break camp at first light. Ori, Gloín, you take watch.” With a withering look in the elf’s direction, he returns to his bedroll.

Tauriel seems satisfied with this, beginning a quiet conversation with Kíli, who sits just a little too close to the she-elf. You release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Fíli gently cradles you against his chest and eases the pair of you to the ground. “You don’t have to tell me what you dreamt of if you do not want,” he whispers. “But I swear to you by all the gold in the mountain, I will never leave you.”

Your heart clenches, and tears prick at the edge of your eyes as you clutch at his arm. “Don’t make promises you don’t know you can keep.”

Chapter Text

The commotion on the rampart grows louder as you rush up the stairs, going as fast as your diminished stamina lets you. You arrive at the top with a gasping breath, seeing Thorin already holding Bilbo atop the wall, staring down at Gandalf approaching from the gathered troops.

“If you don’t like my burglar, please, don’t damage him!” he booms. “Return him to me.”

God bless that wizard, you think to yourself. God bless that fucking wizard and his timing.

“You’re not making a very splendid figure as King Under the Mountain, are you, Thorin, son of Thrain?” Gandalf observes.

Thorin looks at him for another moment before letting Bilbo slip from his grasp. Balin and Fíli help him to his feet. The hobbit flings a rope over the wall, Bofur pushing him forward urgently, and scurries down.

“Never again will I have dealings with wizards,” Thorin shouts. “Or Shire-rats!”

You flinch at the venom in his words. Thorin’s eyes find you lurking by the wall. “What?” he demands, storming forward. “Do you have something to say?”

He’s nose-to-nose with you, daring you to defy him. You search his face, hardly recognizing the dwarf who begrudgingly accepted you into his Company, who shielded you from fire and wargs, who welcomed you into his family.

“This is wrong,” you whisper. “This isn’t you.”

Thorin is silent for a moment. “Then go,” he spits. “Go join your kin amongst Men. You are no Durin.”

Though you know his mind is twisted by the dragon-sickness, it doesn’t soften the blow against your heart. The other dwarves look at you in dismay.

After a moment, your face hardens, and you stand tall, standing exactly level with Thorin. “Fuck this,” you say quietly, pushing past him, rougher than necessary, towards the rope. “I’m not dying over a fucking rock.”

He sneers at you and turns on his heel to storm back into the keep. The dwarves pat your arm firmly as they pass, Balin squeezing your shoulders. “Be careful,” he murmurs.

Fíli and Kíli stay put, looking at you helplessly. Kíli grips Fíli’s arm. “Fíli…” 

Fíli turns to his brother. They stare at one another wordlessly, then he grabs Kíli’s hair and pulls their foreheads together, whispering something in Khuzdûl.

Kíli nods, pulls back, and wraps you in a tight hug. “Be safe, little sister.” He withdraws and starts down the stairs, turning back one last time before vanishing.

It’s just you and Fíli on the wall now, watching the backs of Thranduil and Bard’s troops as they make for their camp. Tiny flakes of snow speckle Fíli’s armor, and his breath billows out in frosty clouds.

“Now what?” he asks.

Your mind whirls. In the book, the Durin clan dies standing together. In the movies, they die standing alone. I don’t know if I can save them all, you think, but I know I can save one.

“Come with me,” you urge, grabbing Fíli’s arm.

He tenses. “Y/N, I… I can’t just leave him… I’m his heir, the crown prince—it’d be the highest betrayal!”

You lean in close. “He’ll forgive you for leaving,” you whisper in his ear, voice trembling. “But I won’t forgive you for staying.”

“He’s family,” Fíli pleads.

Your heart twists in your chest, but you know you need to hit him where it hurts. You seize his hand and put it to your belly. “We are family too,” you insist. “Please, don’t leave me to raise our baby alone.”

Still, he hesitates.

One final weapon. “Fíli. If you stay, you die.”

Fíli’s eyes widen. “You said you’d never tell us our fates—you wouldn’t change the story!”

Your hold on his wrist tightens to a death grip. “I’m tired of pretending like I’m not part of this world,” you hiss. “I’m done acting like I’m not part of the story. I’m not going to let you die here, Fee.”

A look of anguish crosses his face. Your vision starts to swim with tears as Fíli looks from you, to the rope, to the doorway Thorin had stormed through, to your stomach. The anguish hardens to resolve, and he nods slowly. “Alright,” he says with a deep, shuddering breath. “Alright.” He shifts his belt so his sword is along his back and wraps an arm tightly around your waist, hoisting you onto his hip. “Hold on tight,” he grunts.

You cling to his neck and he grabs the rope, throwing a leg over the wall and slowly belaying down. Heights don’t normally bother you, but you bury your face in his shoulder, unable to look at the ground far beneath you. Your bag sways and bumps against your back with each of Fíli’s bounces downward. The descent lasts far too long, but at last you feel solid earth beneath your feet.

No sooner than you land does a hand seize your collar and pull you into the shadow of the wall. “What are you doing out here?” a voice hisses in your ear.

Tauriel! “I thought you were dead!” you choke out.

She releases you and Fíli, who grabs your upper arm tightly, ready to flee. Tauriel looks down at you grimly. “It will take more than dragon-fire to put an elf of Mirkwood down.” Her eyes shift to Fíli. “So, you abandon your kin, dorn?” [dwarf]

Fíli bristles, but you place a hand on his chest and push him behind you gently. “We need to get somewhere safe. Can you help us?”

Tauriel regards the pair of you with a measured gaze. “Is Kí—is your brother safe?”

Fíli nods, and Tauriel visibly relaxes. She looks back up at Erebor, then across the field in the distance where the white top of Thranduil’s tent is just barely visible in the quickly fading light. “Follow me. Quietly now, and swiftly.”

You make your way across the frozen ground until you come to a halt in front of a pair of elven guards. They seem astonished to find Tauriel standing before them, intact, if a bit charred. Nevertheless, they cross their spears to block your path. “Daro!” they cry in unison. [Stop!]

“We seek an audience with the king,” Tauriel explains.

“The king has no interest in communing with traitors,” one snaps. “Perhaps the gornoth will take pity on your plight.” [dwarves (derogatory)]

“Please,” you beg, stepping forward. “At least let us talk to Bard, or–”

“My goodness, could that be the voice of Lady Y/N that I hear?” A wizened hand sweeps open the tent flap and Gandalf steps out, his eyes twinkling in the torchlight.

“Gandalf!” You duck under the spears and rush forward, throwing your arms around him in sheer relief.

Gandalf seems mildly surprised by the gesture and pats your back. He raises a bushy eyebrow when he notices Fíli, and pushes you back gently by your shoulder. “Does Thorin send you to parley?”

“No, we come of our own accord. To seek refuge,” Fíli adds, indicating your belly. He swallows. You know how hard this must be for the proud dwarf prince.

But as you await Gandalf’s response, it occurs to you now that he has no knowledge of you and Fíli’s relationship, and certainly not of your pregnancy. You hold your breath.

The wizard looks down at you, then back to Fíli with a frown. “Come in from the cold and we shall discuss this… development.” He ushers you inside, where Bard, Thranduil, and Bilbo sit at a small table.

The elven king is on his feet immediately. “Why have you brought a–” but his demand ends in a sputter when Tauriel enters behind you.

She meets the king’s eyes steadily and dips her head. “Your highness.”

A small smirk crosses Fíli’s lips at Thranduil’s stunned face.

Gandalf brings forward a small chair, gesturing for you to take a seat. You do so with a grateful smile. Fíli moves behind you and rests his hands on your shoulders. You take one with a squeeze.

Gandalf sits as well, leaning forward with his hands folded. “Am I correct in assuming that…?” he waves a hand in Fíli’s general direction.

You swallow hard and nod. “Things… things happened.”

“And what of Thorin and Company?”

“We can reason with him,” Fíli cuts in. “Now that you have the stone, there’s some bargaining power, surely!”

“It’s dragon-sickness, Fee, there’s no reasoning with dragon-sickness!” you snap.

“Y/N?” It’s Bilbo. “Do you know what comes next?”

You frown and dig in your bag for The Hobbit. Thranduil and Tauriel exchange looks of confusion.

“It’s a… power of prophecy, of a sort,” you mumble, thumbing through the pages. “We’re only a few pages into chapter seventeen…” you trail off as a dark word consumes your mind. “Orcs!”

Thranduil leans forward. “What?”

“Orcs. That’s—that’s it, that’s all I can think about—fuck!” You bury your face in your hands. “I can’t see it. I’ve changed the story.” You take a deep breath. “Orcs are coming. I don’t know when, I don’t know how many, but they’re coming.”

Gandalf rises swiftly, retrieving his staff from the corner of the tent. “Then we must be ready. Is there any possibility of reasoning with Thorin?”

You rub your temples. “I can’t be sure. I think he recovers—maybe Fíli leaving will speed it up?”

Fíli flinches slightly.

The wizard nods. “Ready your troops. Be prepared for battle by dawn. We will not be caught unawares.”

Thranduil and Bard offer their agreement, Bard standing to leave for his own lodgings. He pauses, glancing at you and Fíli with a curt nod. “Congratulations.” With that, the archer is gone. Thranduil is swift to leave as well, Tauriel falling easily into place behind him.

“Someone needs to warn Thorin,” Fíli says. He places a hand on the hilt of his sword and makes for the exit, but you snag his wrist. He twists against your grasp, and you hold tight, fingers digging into his sleeve.

“You’re staying here,” you insist.

“I’ll go,” Bilbo says quietly.

Fíli scoffs. “They’d skewer you with an arrow as soon as you’re within sight of the gates.”

“Well, I did manage to sneak in and out of Erebor without a terrible dragon noticing,” Bilbo points out. “I think I can get past a few dwarves.”

The dwarf just snorts in response.

Gandalf eyes the hobbit curiously, watching Bilbo’s fingers fidget in his pocket. “Very well then, Bilbo. As for the pair of you,” he raises an eyebrow in your direction, “I was just about to put on a pot of tea, and I believe Lady Y/N and her little one are sorely in need of some proper nourishment.” He dips his head and ducks out of the tent.

A long, shaking sigh escapes you. You lean against the back of the chair, weariness plaguing your bones. Fili returns to your side and presses a kiss to the top of your head. Then, he separates out a thin section of your hair, carefully beginning to weave it into a braid.

You let out a small gasp, covering his hand with your own. “Fíli? Now?”

He smiles, gently pushing your hand aside and continuing. “If I’m to go into battle at dawn, I want everything to be proper.” The braid complete, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny, wooden bead with delicate etchings.

You take it from his outstretched hand. The wood is rough and unsanded, but you can make out a crude attempt at your and Fíli’s initials in English, as well as runes you vaguely recognize as Khuzdûl.

He folds your fingers around the bead and sinks to one knee in front of you. You blush—you didn’t think your human courtship lessons had taken hold.

His eyes sparkle as he gazes up at you. “Will you marry me?”

Your eyes fill with tears. “Yes,” you whisper.

Fíli grins and takes the bead back, securing it in your hair and kissing it gently. You yank him in by the collar and press your lips against his. He melts into the kiss, fingers tangling in your loose hair.

Applause from the corner makes you pull back with a jump. You had forgotten Bilbo was still in the tent. With a lopsided smile, you stand and push the hobbit out towards Gandalf and the fire. “Give us some privacy!” you chide good-naturedly.

Fíli chuckles and rises as well, pulling you close. He kneels back down, lifting your tunic and kissing your stomach, making you flush even more. “You take care of your amad,” he whispers to the unborn dwarfling. “Adad’s got to go scout out the perfect place for our wedding.” He grins, and you grunt, when the baby kicks.

You sigh again and kneel with him, leaning into his arms. You’ve changed the story so much, the future is dark to you now—all that is left is to place your faith in the strength of the dwarves.

Chapter Text

Stray shafts of pale dawn light peek through the tent flaps. You haven’t slept a wink, cradling a cold cup of tea in your lap. You’d downed three already, chasing the rush of caffeine to get you through whatever is to come. The others would not hear of you participating in the battle in any fashion. It’s frustrating, though you know in your heart that they’re right—the battlefield is no place for a pregnant woman. Still, you felt a twinge of dismay when Fíli left you in the tent to go practice some battle techniques.

Gandalf sits across from you, stirring his own cup. “So,” he begins lightly, “how long have you and Fíli…?”

You gulp, dreading the conversation in fear of judgment. “Since Rivendell,” you say quietly. “Everything happened so fast. We didn’t know if we’d ever get the chance to have a real life together. But maybe now…”

“Does this mean you no longer seek a way to return to your own world?”

That’s not the direction you expected the discussion to go. “I hadn’t thought of that.” You search within yourself, as if rummaging around in your very soul. “But I don’t think I can anymore—if I ever could.”

Gandalf raises an eyebrow.

“When I first came here, I felt this… this pull within me. As if some part of me was missing, like I left part of myself back in my own world. Like maybe I would wake up back at my campsite at any second. But now, I don’t feel that anymore.” You pause. That’s only partly true, isn’t it? You haven’t felt that pull in a long time. Not since you discovered you were pregnant. Your eyes grow misty. “All of me is here now. I… I don’t belong there anymore.” It’s painful to say aloud.

Gandalf seems to understand your conflicted feelings, reaching out a hand to pat your knee. “I’m sure you will be well looked after here in Middle Earth,” he comforts you. “Fíli seems quite proud.”

You smile weakly. “He is. Kíli too, for his part. I just hope Thorin–”

“Y/N! Y/N, Fíli, where are you?”

A shout rings out from outside the tent. You leap up and dash from the tent, recognizing the voice of Ori. The young dwarf in his ill-fitting armor huffs and puffs as he jogs toward you.

Fíli sheathes his sword, stepping forward and putting an arm out to shield you—just in case. “Ori? What are you doing here?”

Ori bends over, hands on his knees. “Thorin… Thorin wants you back… both of you,” he wheezes. “He… says he’s sorry… wants you by his side…”

Gandalf emerges from the tent. “Has the King Under the Mountain regained his senses, then?”

Before Ori can reply, you hear a tremendous roar from the gates of the Lonely Mountain. The troops of Dáin, who had arrived during the night, raise up their weapons. Even from far across the field, you hear them clearly. “Oakenshield! Oakenshield!” they chant jubilantly.

Fíli looks at Gandalf. “I think that’s your answer.” He dashes into the tent and grabs your bag, looping it over your shoulders. “Come on, then!”

Gandalf stops you with a hand. “Y/N. Are you sure this is wise?”

You swallow. “I’m not sure of anything anymore,” you admit. “But I’m not staying here if I can be with my… my family.”

He withdraws his hand. “Then move with haste and caution, and give my regards to the king.”

You nod, squeezing Fíli’s arm and falling into line behind Ori, who keeps adjusting his helm awkwardly as you make your way towards Erebor. The shadow of the mountain looms over you, and you shiver. Fíli rubs his hand up and down your back comfortingly. “We’re going home for good, Y/N,” he whispers. “I promise.”

You open your mouth to reply, but a rumbling interrupts you. From the north, you see them approaching, armor clanging and weapons beating against shields. The army of Azog.

A look of horror dawns on Fíli’s face. The three of you break into a sprint, as fast as you can manage. When you arrive at the wall, a rope falls down in front of you. Nori’s face peers down from the rampart. “Up, quick!”

You stare at the rope, then up at him, gesturing to your belly helplessly.

Fíli rolls his eyes and crouches down. “Come on,” he grunts.

You wrap your arms around his neck in an awkward piggy-back, clinging on for dear life as he slowly clambers up the wall. Just as you feel like your arms are about to give out, Nori’s hands grab yours and haul you over the rampart. “Welcome back, lass.”

“Where are the others?” Fíli puffs.

Nori waves down to the ground, where you can see Thorin and the rest of the Company at the front gate, their communion with Dáin interrupted by the approaching orc army. A thrill of hope and terror fills your heart when you glimpse Bilbo’s tiny figure among them.

“Y/N.” Fili grips your shoulders and kisses you firmly, fingers running along your courting braid. “I must fight.”

Throat tight, you nod. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He flashes you a smirk. “I would never!” Fingering your bead one last time, he turns and rushes down the stairs into the tower, grumbling something about climbing up the wall just to go back down. Nori follows.

Ori looks at your hair with delight. “You have a braid! And a bead! Congratulations, Y/N!” He chuckles. “Dori owes me—I wagered Fíli would propose before November’s end.”

You smile, but it fades quickly as trumpets sounds below you. The orc army is near now, and the combined men, elvish, and dwarven forces surge forward with a roar, Thorin at the head. A tiny blonde head bobs and weaves through the ranks, Fíli hastening to join his brother and uncle. You lift your hand as if he could see you.

Ori taps your shoulder and thrusts a crossbow into your arms. “Just in case.”

“Aren’t you joining them?”

He shakes his head. “We’re the defensive forces,” he says, puffing out his chest proudly.

Great.

You never realized how loud a battle really was—even though you had to adjust the volume when watching the movies as they bounced back and forth between quiet dialogue and triumphant fights. Up on the wall, it’s mostly calm, though you get the occasional shot in at a few particularly dimwitted orcs who stray too close.

You’re sitting against the wall when you hear it—a loud roar of rage, far too close. Scrambling to your feet, you peer down. At the base of the wall, among a circle of corpses, stand Thorin and Azog. Your heart leaps in your throat. Just like in the movie, just like in your dream, Azog drags Fíli by the collar. Hardly thinking, you grip your crossbow shakily and level it at the enormous orc. But you’re no skilled archer, and this is no ordinary foot soldier; your shot lands at his feet. It draws Azog’s attention, though, and he looks up at the mountain.

You load another bolt, struggling against the draw weight. Ori lends you his strength, and the arrow snaps into place. The distraction gives Fíli enough of a window to stab at the arm holding him, causing the orc to drop him reflexively. Fíli rolls away quickly and springs to his feet, taking his place at Thorin’s side. Kíli is there too, bow already drawn and aimed, but Thorin holds out an arm to stop him. This is his fight.

The dwarven king and Azog circle each other slowly. It’s hard to see what’s going on from the wall—you can’t bear it any longer.

“Y/N! Where are you going?” Ori cries as you sprint down the stairs, dashing through the halls from the tower to the gates.

Snow stings your face, and vomit rises up in your throat at the smell of death all around. You push past it, pressing your back against the wall to remain unseen. I just need to see what happens, you tell yourself. No closer.

Thorin and Azog still haven’t attacked each other, but Azog has gained a flail since you made it down to the battlefield. He spits something in Orcish that you don’t recognize, lashing out with his sword arm. Thorin ducks under the swing, slashing at the orc’s torso. Azog twists away and brings down his flail. He narrowly misses the dwarf and snarls in frustration. Blood spatters the snow from the stab Fíli inflicted.

Your breath shakes. They’re so close, so, so close. With sweaty hands, you raise your crossbow again, aiming right for the orc’s back, and fire. This time your arrow flies true and buries itself in the meat of Azog’s shoulder. He growls and whips around, tiny eyes pinpointing you against the wall. He takes a great, lumbering step forward.

Shit shit shit.

But as the giant orc approaches you, a little hobbit appears from thin air, throwing himself at Azog’s feet and causing him to stumble. The orc barely has time to register what’s beneath him before a blade rips through his chest. It withdraws and plunges through again and again with a fury until Azog sinks to a knee with a bloody gurgle. And suddenly, a jagged line appears across the orc’s neck, and his head drops to the ground with a wet thud. He remains upright for a heartbeat before collapsing.

Thorin plants his boot on top of the orc’s body, breathing heavily and gripping a glistening, bloody Orcrist. He spits on Azog’s corpse and raises his sword with a triumphant shout. “For Thrain! For Thror! For Erebor!”

The raging battle around you pauses, orcs and goblins gaping at their headless general. Somewhere, one shouts, and they start a hasty retreat. Bodies drop among them as elvish arrows pierce their armor and dwarven axes cleave through their helmets, leaving few to escape the battlefield intact.

Thorin lifts his head and meets your eyes. He lowers his sword and begins to approach, but stumbles as Fíli pushes past him in a sprint.

“What are you doing down here, ghivashel?” he scolds breathlessly, crushing you in his embrace.

You cling to him as if your life depends on it. “Saving your idiot uncle,” you choke out.

Kíli picks Bilbo up and brushes the hobbit off, mussing up his hair. “That was stupid of the two of you,” he says with a grin, pushing Bilbo forward. He embraces you tightly as well.

You squeeze your eyes shut against tears.

“Y/N.”

They blink open as Kíli releases you.

Thorin’s face is battered and dirty, blood dripping from a gash across his forehead.  “I owe you my deepest apologies.”

Instead of replying, you reach out and wipe the blood away from his brow. “You look awful,” you reply with a wobbly smile.

He pauses, then smiles and claps you on the shoulder. “We did it, Y/N. Welcome home.”

Chapter Text

Kíli sprints through the halls of Erebor, breath ragged, until he reaches the dining hall. He bursts through the door, earning a scowl from Thorin, who sits at the head of the table with Balin and the delegation from Dale. Now that the mountain has been reclaimed, the months since have been consumed by meetings and diplomacy as the dwarves reestablish their kingdom and summon their kin to join them.

“Thorin!” Kíli gasps. Seeing the men gathered around the table, he explains his presence in rapid Khuzdûl.

Thorin’s eyes grow wide and he rises from the table. “My apologies, gentlemen,” he grunts. “I’ve an urgent private matter that needs attending to. Balin, if you will escort our guests to their quarters, we will resume negotiations tomorrow.”

The white-bearded dwarf nods and beckons the men to follow him from the hall, patting Kíli on the arm as he passes. “It’ll be alright,” he assures the prince quietly.

Thorin wastes no time in heading for the royal wing. “How long has she been laboring?”

“Seven hours.”

“Seven hours?” Thorin quickens his pace, already shedding his furs and draping them over his arm as he goes. “And you come to me now?”

“Took me that long to convince her to let me fetch you,” Kíli grumbles. “Óin was looking after her, but she won’t let anyone but Fíli touch her.”

“Where is the elf, then?”

“Tauriel? She left to escort the Mirkwood delegation this morning.”

“I thought her whole reasoning for remaining was her fondness for the lady and wishing to ensure a healthy delivery.”

“It wasn’t the… only reason.” As they near the chambers you and Fíli share, he snags Thorin’s arm. “Uncle,” he says quietly.

Thorin tries to shake him off, but Kíli holds on. “She’s terrified.” He lowers his voice and looks around as if afraid someone is listening. “She’s been asking for her mother.”

That gives Thorin pause. You’d been in Middle Earth for almost a year now, and for the most part put on a brave face. In more contemplative moments, he sometimes wonders how he would feel, to wake up in a world of childhood stories, with no way of returning to what he knew. The first few weeks had been difficult. It was hard for the Company to ignore your soft weeping at nighttime as you looked through pictures of the friends and family on your phone whom you’d never see again. But with the dwarves’ help, and especially Fíli’s companionship, you slowly adjusted, resolving to make a life in your new home. To hear you once again crying for the world you’d left is almost painful.

Thorin presses his lips together. “I suppose we will have to do,” he mutters, and pushes open the door to your chambers.

You lie panting in the bed, one hand locked around Fíli’s wrist in a death grip, the other clutching white-knuckled at the sheets.

Thorin discards his crown and the coat he’d already taken off, stripping down to a plain shirt beneath the royal trappings. He splashes his face with water from a basin in the corner of the room and pushes up his sleeves, scrubbing his arms and hands with the warm water. He comes to your bedside. “How are things progressing?” he asks quietly, reaching a hand to lift the blanket covering your lower half.

You snap your legs shut with a whine. Thorin is the last person you want seeing you in this state. Childbirth isn’t something you are intimately familiar with, but like every woman, you’d heard the stories of blood, pee, and poop. A contraction wracks your body, and you wail in pain, squeezing Fíli so tightly he winces.

Thorin’s face is kind. “Y/N, I was there for both Fíli and Kíli’s births. I assure you, this is nothing I have not witnessed before.”

Reluctantly, you allow him to move the blanket and pry your thighs apart gently. He lifts your legs and bends them at the knees, draping the blanket across them like a tent.

Kíli turns bright red and starts to make for the door, but Thorin gestures for him to come closer. “She still has a while yet.” Peering between your legs for a moment longer, he nods in satisfaction. He grabs a journal and pen from your bag hanging on the bedpost and scribbles down a list, handing it to Kíli. “Fetch these from the kitchen, and more water.”

Kíli bolts from the room, list in hand.

You turn your face toward Fíli. “I want my mom,” you whimper, toes curling against another wave of pain. “I just want my mom, Fee, please, I want my mom.”

He leans forward in his chair, brushing a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead. “I know,” he murmurs. “But I’m here, and Uncle’s here, and you’ll be alright. You’re doing splendidly, amrâlimê.” Fíli kneels by your side. “Just think of how wonderful it’ll be—the first new generation of dwarves under the mountain, the first Durin in seventy-seven years…”

His whispered encouragement continues throughout the evening while Thorin checks on your progress, firmly reminding you to breathe and push through the pain. Kíli paces by the door. The hours pass slowly, but the contractions start to get closer and closer together, until you find yourself writhing in the sheets and pushing as hard as you can.

Thorin reaches between your legs and tugs, retrieving a slippery, squirming little bundle.

You lift your head, panting. “Is it…?”

He clamps off the cord and gives the baby a sharp smack on the bottom. Its breath hitches, and a loud wail pierces your ears. It’s somehow the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. Thorin pauses, peering down at the wriggling thing in his hands. After a second, his face breaks out into a smile. “Congratulations,” he whispers as he wipes the baby off. He wraps it loosely in a soft towel and places it gently on your chest. “You have a healthy little dwarrowdam.”

“It’s a girl?” you gasp, staring down in astonishment, your body filling with a strange warmth. She whimpers and wiggles, eyes screwed shut and waving her tiny fists as if trying to fight the whole world.

Tears roll down Fíli’s cheeks. He leans close and gazes at your daughter. Seeing his face next to hers, you marvel at the resemblance—the downturned nose, the prominent ears. Oh, but as she squints up at you, her eyes are most certainly yours. Her tiny hand curls around Fíli’s finger and she begins to suck on it, quieting her for now. He chuckles and gently pulls it away, redirecting her head toward your breast, where she eagerly latches on. You squirm at the foreign sensation, covering the rest of your bare chest with the blanket.

Fíli kisses your head. “Well done, love,” he whispers. “She’s beautiful.”

Kíli leaps up from his chair in the corner, bounding over to your bedside. “A girl?” He squints at her with a frown. “Where’s her beard?”

Thorin smacks him on the arm. “Hush, Kíli,” he scolds. “Your beard took months to come in. It will grow.” His face softens as he watches the little half-dwarf suckle. “What shall you call her?”

You smile, stroking your daughter’s head gently. Her hair is still wet, plastered to her scalp, but you think you can see bits of Fíli’s honey-colored locks in the little wisps. You think of the forests you traveled through to reach Erebor, the evergreens that grew more common as you ventured toward the Lonely Mountain. You want something to remind you of the beauty outside your new home. “Juniper,” you murmur, looking up at Fíli for approval. “Can we call her Juniper?”

“We can call her anything you like,” he breathes.

“I think I prefer ‘Juniper’ over ‘anything you like,’” you quip back weakly.

Thorin pats your shoulder softly. “Rest up,” he orders. “Spend some time with your little one before the others come clamoring to see her.” He looks to Kíli as if to beckon him to follow, but seeing the young prince crouched by the bed, marveling at his tiny niece, he seems to think better of it. Before he exits the room, he turns back one last time to take in his little family. “Welcome to the world, princess,” he whispers.

Fíli’s hands fumble with the buttons on your collar as you cradle Juniper in your arms. The three-month-old’s hands grasp at your clothes impatiently.

“Almost got it… there!” Fíli steps back and puts his hands on his hips triumphantly, examining you.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve worn a dress, but the special occasion seemed to call for one. It’s a dark blue velvet, trimmed with white fur. The skirt skims just above the floor when you walk, fitting almost as if it was made for you. You suppose whoever wore this dress before you must have been quite tall for a dwarf, and you silently thank its previous owner. Fíli and Kíli found the trunk of clothing while going through the horde of treasure gathered by Smaug, and deposited it in your chambers as a surprise.

“Ready?”

Thorin enters the hall behind you, dressed in fine furs and a freshly polished crown. He continues to delay the coronation as he has for months, insisting on the presence of his sister before making everything official—but you know he can’t resist wearing the crown he worked so hard to reclaim. Kíli follows him, also dressed in more formal clothing than usual, though he tugs at the dark red cloth and white fur collar with a frown. Fíli’s ensemble matches your own, a deep navy that sets off his pale eyes quite well.

You take a deep breath. “I think so.”

Thorin pauses before you, eyes wandering up and down your dress. There’s a strange, far away look in his eyes, but he shakes it off and brushes a golden curl behind Juniper’s ear. “It’s time.”

The great stone doors swing open with a loud groan. You gulp as a host of dwarves approach, led by a tall dwarrowdam. Fíli’s eyes light up and he runs forward with Kíli, throwing his arms around the woman. “Amad!” they cry.

“My boys!” She greets them with a wide smile, set above a dark, elegantly braided beard shot through with silver—not unlike Thorin’s hair. She cups Kíli’s face in her hands, pressing her forehead against his.

Thorin strides forward, beaming. You swear you can see tears sparkle in his eyes as he nears his sister. She pulls away from Kíli and starts to curtsy for her elder brother, but Thorin grabs her by her arm. “I’ll have none of that from you, Dís,” he scolds lightly. They look at each other for a long time before embracing tightly. “We did it,” he says, voice thick.

Dís grins. But as she rests her chin on her brother’s shoulder, her eyes finally land on you. She straightens and steps back from Thorin, looking at you curiously.

You duck your head shyly, clutching Juniper to your chest.

Fíli is at your side in an instant, placing his hand on your back and pushing you forward gently. “Amad,” he says quietly. “I’d like you to meet Y/N. And Juniper…” His eyes glow with pride. “Our daughter.”

Dís’s blue eyes, so much like Fíli’s, are wide as she looks you up and down. “Well,” she says at last, “my mother’s dress looks nice on you.”

Your cheeks burn. Remembering your manners, you do your best to curtsy while Juniper squeaks and wriggles in your arms.

Dís stares at you for an eternity, the silence so tense you feel an overwhelming urge to flee from the hall. Suddenly, you find yourself wrapped in a warm hug. “Hello, natha.” [daughter]

You sigh in relief. “Hello, Amad.”

Chapter Text

You sit in a carven oak chair, cradling Juniper to your chest in one arm. Fíli’s hand rests on your thigh beneath the table, clasped with yours. Occasionally, his thumb brushes over the back of your hand, his eyes glowing as he talks with Dís, seated across from you. You can’t help but duck your head each time her gaze strays to you. Everyone else seems at ease in her presence. Even Thorin seems lighter with his sister around, watching her fondly as she fusses over Kíli. But you can’t seem to relax. Not only are you meeting your significant other’s mother, but you’ve already sealed the deal, and the proof is currently sucking on the bodice of your dress. You’re keenly aware of how much you stand out among the dwarven royal family.

As she glances at you again, you lean back and look around the room, trying to seem as casual as possible. Thorin brought the group to a small dining room off from the kitchen, one you haven’t seen before. It’s cozy and private, with just the simple, round table and a large fireplace casting long shadows over the stone walls. It’s June, but a chill still lingers in the mountain, necessitating a fire in almost every room.

The door bursts open, and Bombur bounces in, carrying a tray laden with wooden bowls. You sag against the back of your chair in relief. Finally, a good excuse to not make conversation. But as he sets it on the table, you feel a wetness on your chest. Juniper squirms, her fists balled up in the fur of your dress. Her little face is pinched, and her mouth opens in a loud cry. You’re suddenly aware of an uncomfortable tightness beneath your bindings. You’ve skipped a feeding.

Thorin raises an eyebrow at the baby’s fussing.

With a grimace, you stand, tightening your hold on Juniper. “I’m so sorry,” you apologize. “I think someone else needs dinner first.”

Fíli half rises. “Do you need help?” he asks.

You give him a reassuring smile, pushing him back down gently. “I’ve got this, love.” You exit the room, hastening for the royal suite. Two heavy doors stand between you and sweet, sweet relief. You struggle with the knob, finally pushing them open with your foot and entering the sitting room. It’s a large area with plush rugs and chairs, one of the few places in the mountain with wooden floors. Jogging now, you hurry to your chambers. Juniper’s plaintive wails grow even louder when you place her on the bed, as if she knows that food is near.

“I know, I know, baby,” you groan, nearly tearing off your dress and bindings. Your chest feels heavy, tiny drops of milk already starting to leak. You pull on your jeans and grab your nursing top. It’s a loose, white canvas blouse with leather lacings at the top for easy access. Yanking it on, you scoop Juniper up and return to the sitting room. The fireplace crackles invitingly, and you settle on the couch, snuggling into the soft cushions. “Eat, you greedy, little gremlin,” you mutter, pressing Juniper to you. You throw your head back as she latches on and close your eyes. She wriggles slightly, her suckling sending a warm, gentle tugging sensation through your chest. You sigh in relief.

There’s a quiet knock on the door, and it opens. Soft footfalls cross the room.

“Fíli, I told you to stay at dinner,” you mumble, running your fingers through Juniper’s blonde waves.

“He did.”

Your eyes fly open and you squeak. It’s Dís who stands in front of you, holding a small tray. She sets it down on the coffee table and puts her hands on her hips, studying you. Instead of returning her gaze, you lean forward slightly, peering at the tray. It’s a large bowl of stew and a mug of frothy goat’s milk—Óin’s idea, to give you the nutrients you need to nourish your baby. The logic is there, but privately, you doubt how effective it is.

A gentle hand tilts your chin up. “You needn’t be afraid, child,” Dís says. She settles on the couch next to you and places a wool blanket around your shoulders. Her face is warm, and so much like Thorin’s. The same straight nose, the same heavy brow, the same raven and silver beard. Longer though, long enough for a short braid. Her blue eyes are lighter too, more like Fíli’s. “Y/N, was it?”

Words stick in your throat, so you nod instead. The movement makes Juniper wiggle.

Dís smiles down at her. “And little Juniper?” She starts to lean in, but looks at you for permission.

You hesitate. So far, only you, Fíli, and Thorin have held the child, and even Thorin only for a few minutes. Kíli begs to watch her for a while, but you’re reluctant to let anyone else take her. All your motherly instincts scream at you to keep her close. Even when Fíli takes her to accompany him on his duties, giving you an afternoon to yourself, you worry about her. But looking at Dís, something about her soft smile gets past your wall. Gently, you work your fingers between your breast and Juniper’s lips, wincing at the suction as she fights to hold on. “Here, Junie,” you whisper. “Say hi to your…”

“Sigin’amad,” Dís offers. “Hello there, wee berry.” Her face lights up, reaching out a thumb to stroke Juniper’s fat cheek. “Hello, little Durin lass.”

Juniper’s eyes are wide, mouth hanging open. But the quiet only lasts for a second, and her face crumples again, hitching cries protesting at the interruption of her meal.

You huff, shifting her to your other breast. “We were so busy getting ready for your arrival, I must’ve forgotten to feed her after her nap,” you explain.

“Mahal forbid anything stand between a dwarf babe and her feeding!” Dís chuckles.

“Half-dwarf,” you correct quietly. Dwarf. Everyone around you is a dwarf—except for Tauriel, who continues to hang around, endlessly delaying her return to Mirkwood. But as an elf, she’s an even bigger reminder of how foreign your new world is. Everything is just a little bit smaller than you’re used to, placed just a little lower.

“Half?” Dís questions. She shifts, placing a pillow beneath her lower back.

Scarlet colors your cheeks. “Thought you’d have figured it out by now,” you mutter. “I’m not a dwarf, Dís. I’m a human. A daughter of Man,” you add, when she still looks puzzled.

She purses her lips, brow furrowed in thought. “I did think it odd you had no beard,” she says at last. “But some dams shave them for their own reasons. And of course you’re tall, but so are Thorin and I. How did you come to…?”

She doesn’t need to finish the question, but you don’t even know where to begin. Hi, I’m your son’s soulmate from a different world and this is your granddaughter? No, that wouldn’t work.

You look back down at Juniper, who unlatches with a tiny yawn and drooping eyelids.

“How old is she, now?” Dís asks after a long silence.

“Three months today.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t make it for the birth,” she says. “We only just received word of Thorin’s victory in January. I came as quickly as I could.” Dís rubs your back. “You must have been so frightened, no dwarrowdams around to help you.”

“I was,” you say quietly. Truth be told, you’ve done your best to forget the whole experience. The pain, the fear. “But Thorin did good.”

Her eyes widen. “Thorin delivered the babe? Mahal, he bolted the instant he saw Fíli!”

Your jaw drops open. “That bastard said he’d been there for both their births! That he’d seen everything before!”

“He did stay longer for Kíli’s, without their adad around, but I think he may have exaggerated a wee bit,” Dís laughs. She tweaks Juniper’s nose. “But she seems to have turned out just fine.”

You can’t help but beam at your daughter. “She turned out perfect.”

Dís straightens up and takes the bowl of stew. “Eat,” she commands. “I’ll hold your wee one.”

You oblige, blowing on the chunks of meat and potatoes. Bombur has been so pleased with a full kitchen at his disposal. Some of the Company members have abandoned the roles they took up on the journey, but the portly dwarf has thrown himself even further into cooking instead. And he’s right to do so—it’s a rich and hearty meal, warming the pit of your stomach. Once he learns to cook things other than stew, you’re sure he’ll be unstoppable.

“I woke up among the Company one morning,” you say abruptly.

Dís looks at you questioningly. Her eyebrows climb higher and higher on her forehead as your tale spills from you. Waking up with the Company, your book, Fíli’s dagger, your cluelessness over what it meant.

“And we were in Rivendell, and he… we… we fell in love,” you finish lamely.

It’s silent but for the popping of the fire. “Well,” she says at last, shifting Juniper in her arms. “I’m sure Thorin was cross.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “He barely spoke to me when we were in Mirkwood—he told you about that, about being captured?”

She nods.

“They put the two of us in the same cell. I swear, it almost killed Fíli.” You pause. “And me. Not being near him for a whole month, during the worst of the sickness.”

A little whimper from Juniper interrupts your thoughts. She squirms in Dís’s arms, reaching out for you. You set the bowl down and lift her, putting her against your shoulder and patting her back. “That’s it, baby. You take a good nap, and let your mama rest.”

“How’s Fíli been through everything?”

Juniper buries her face in your neck. You place a hand beneath her padded bottom to support her, swaying her gently. “He’s a wonderful papa,” you reply with a grin. “Always volunteers to get up with her first, takes her to see the goats. I swear, he’d feed her if he could.”

Dís laughs softly. “I hoped so. I was so worried when Kíli came along, with how rowdy of a child he was.” She looks off into the distance, a fond smile crossing her face. “But he was such a gentle brother. He talked to Kíli constantly, demonstrated how to crawl, how to walk. He–”

She’s interrupted by the door opening. It’s Fíli, his face lighting up at the sight of you and his mother. “How are the two of you getting along?” he asks, bending over and giving you a long kiss. It makes your cheeks flush, the obvious show of affection in front of Dís.

“Like old friends,” Dís replies. “Does your amad not get a kiss too?”

Fíli chuckles, pecking her on the cheek. He gently pulls Juniper from your arms, finally giving you an opportunity to lace up your top. “Don’t do that, I wanted to enjoy the view,” he scolds you, throwing a leg over the back of the couch and plopping down. With Juniper in one arm, he pulls you in, fingers carding through your hair. “Get some rest,” he whispers into your ear. “I’ll put her down for the night.”

You wrinkle your nose, snuggling into him and closing your eyes. “But you just got here,” you whine. “I wanna cuddle.”

“I’ll let the two of you enjoy yourselves,” Dís offers. “I need to make sure Kíli’s finished his vegetables.”

You open your eyes slightly. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Dís.” Now that you and Juniper are fed, all the excitement of the day washes over you, and you feel the sweet tug of sleep.

She pats your shoulder. “I’ll still be around, child. We’ve plenty of time to get to know one another.”

“I like her,” you mumble to Fíli as Dís exits.

He smiles. “Good. She’s the only amad we’ve got.”

Chapter Text

“Ready, lass?”

You fiddle with your bra beneath the bodice of your gown. Balin waits at your side.

“We ought not to keep them waiting long,” he reminds you. “Much can be said of the stubbornness of dwarves, but not much of our patience.”

With a deep breath, you halt your fidgeting. “How do I look?”

He smiles gently, placing a bouquet in your hands. “Like a princess.” Balin holds out his arm, and you link yours with it. He pushes open the doors before you, leading out into the large courtyard where it seems the whole kingdom waits.

You catch your breath. At the far end stands Fíli, dressed in a rich blue tunic, laced with silver. His golden hair is on fire in the dying sunlight. Kíli is just behind him, putting a hand on the groom’s shoulder to steady him. On the opposite side from Kíli, Tauriel dips her head to you with a small smile.

Soft music begins to play from a small band assembled from what instruments could be found still intact after the dragon’s assault. Slowly, you and Balin walk down the aisle to your betrothed. He unlinks your arms and pulls away to join the Dís and the rest of the Company in the front row. You hand the bouquet off to Tauriel, and your maid-of-honor steps back. It’s just you and Fíli standing before Thorin, also dressed in his most elaborate furs. He inclines his head to you, then clears his throat and begins addressing the gathered crowd in their native tongue.

In exchange for a wedding with an atmosphere more familiar to you, it was agreed that the ceremony would go according to dwarven customs. Taking your hands, Fíli murmurs a translation under his breath, but you barely hear it, so consumed by the moment. At some point, he squeezes your hands and looks at you expectantly. You jump slightly. He’d prepared you for this part, at least.

“May I have the privilege of braiding your hair?” he asks in Khuzdûl.

“You may,” you reply in kind, the words clunky and foreign on your tongue. Heat flushes your cheeks when you hear a few whispers from the crowd, but they’re swiftly silenced by a glare from Thorin.

You turn around and Fíli carefully removes his crude wooden bead from your hair, the one he had painstakingly carved over the Company’s journey and given to you that night before the battle. The braid falls from your hair, locks still stuck in the wavy pattern. From a small pillow Fíli selects a tiny, silver bead, studded with sapphires. He carefully weaves together strands on the other side of your head, fixing the bead in place.

My turn. The Khuzdûl words stick in your throat. “May I have the privilege of braiding your hair?”

Fíli’s face lights up like he’s been waiting to hear those words from you his whole life. “You may.”

His hair is silky and thick in your fingers as you remove his bead and braid, replacing it with a bead to match your own.

When he turns back to face you, he’s wearing the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. Thorin hardly has time to get the words out before Fíli seizes your face and your lips collide. He lifts you up and whirls you around, nearly tangling in your long skirt. You laugh, finally pounding on his back to signal your need to come up for air. He’s breathless and giddy when he puts you down.

Thorin chuckles, taking hold of both of your wrists and lifting them in the air. “Yasthûn ra yasthûna!” he roars. [husband and wife] “And now, we feast,” he adds under his breath to you.

And a feast it is. If there's one thing Middle Earth does well, it’s food, and the dwarves are no exception. Thorin has spared no expense in furnishing the first royal wedding in over a hundred years, not to mention the first formal event in the reclaimed Erebor. Ale and mead flow freely, though you’ve selected a sweet wine for yourself. The grand centerpiece is a dozen sweet, slow-roasted hogs, surrounded by heaps of grilled vegetables and fresh autumn fruits. Candles dot the tables lining the hall, filling the vast room with a dream-like glow. The mountain has been so transformed, you can hardly tell that it’s been a full year since you arrived on Erebor’s doorstep. 

You lean back in your chair with a contented sigh. Fíli trails his fingers up and down your sleeve absentmindedly as he sips on a mug of ale. His eyes have been on you for the whole reception and his hand never far from your arm, as if afraid you’re but a figment of his imagination.

“Surely you’re not tired yet, Y/N?” he teases, draping an arm around your neck.

“No,” you reply, leaning into him. “Just thinking.”

“Mm, your favorite pastime.”

“Well, one of us has to be the brains of the relationship.”

He smacks your shoulder lightly. “I’ll have you know I’m plenty intelligent!”

“Ah, but which of us got top grades in their high school English classes?”

“That’s not fair,” Fíli grumbles. “We’re speaking Westron, not Angle-ish.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, bringing your knees up under your skirt and curling into Fíli’s side as much as your separate chairs allow.

Thorin catches your eye from across the table and leans over. “Have we completed all of your world’s marriage rituals?”

You stand up. “I guess there’s usually toasts and speeches and stuff. Gotta get their attention first,” you add, eying the noisy crowd.

You bang your mug on the table. When that’s drowned out by all the merriment, you switch tactics, pursing your lips and letting out an ear-piercing whistle. That gets the rowdy dwarves’ attention, some of the mildly sober ones grabbing their drunker companions and turning them to face you.

You clear your throat. “I’d like to thank you all for coming–”

“I didn’t know I had a choice!” a particularly drunk Bofur shouts. It earns him several smacks on the back of the head at once from the dwarves around him, knocking off his hat.

You tip your mug to him. “Well, your presence is appreciated anyway, Bofur. As I was saying, thank you for coming, and for indulging my little rituals. I know they seem odd to all of you, but it’s a nice reminder of home for me. And especially thank you to Kíli for being such a good babysitter!”

Kíli grins at you from across the table, bouncing a giggling Juniper on his knee. Briefly, you wonder if someone more sober should take over watching your daughter, but the little one has cried each time someone tried to take her from her beloved uncle. He’s toted her around the reception, drunkenly bragging about her to anyone who’d listen, and many who wouldn’t. It took ages for Fíli and Dís to finally convince him to actually sit down and eat once he’d downed a few pints. Juniper waves her little hands at Kíli’s hair, trying to snag it in her fists.

You swallow a lump in your throat as you look around. Most of the dwarves unknown to you have wandered off, but to your relief all the Company members remain. “A lot of girls in my world grow up dreaming about what their wedding will look like. I never put much stock in it. I didn’t have time for romance, but a little over a year ago my schedule cleared up unexpectedly, and, well…” you gesture broadly to the room. That stubborn lump in your throat returns, and you take a sip from your mug to try to squash it down. “I realized I’ve never properly thanked you for what you’ve done for me. You’re all I have.”

Fíli takes your hand. You squeeze it in return.

“I… I always thought it’d be my mom helping me with my dress, my dad walking me down the aisle, my best friend as my maid of honor. I even knew what song I’d use for the father-daughter dance.” Tears sting the edge of your vision. You desperately hope they don’t smudge the delicate pigments lining your eyelids.

Some of the dwarves look down at the floor, and you see a few blinking back tears of their own.

“But you’ve all become a weird, wonderful family to me. So a toast!” You raise your mug up high. “To the Company, for taking in this strange girl and loving her as one of your own. To Balin, especially, the first to accept me—I still think Dwalin would’ve cleaved me in half without your intervention.”

The old dwarf chuckles, eyes twinkling. Dwalin grumbles, but hides a smile in his beard.

“To Kíli, the strangest brother I could ask for. To Dís, for a mother’s love, and for raising a pretty good guy.” You elbow Fíli playfully. He swats your arm away in mock offense.

“To Thorin—I knew I’d win you over eventually!” You throw him a wink.

He dips his head from his seat next to Kíli and raises his tankard solemnly.

“To Juniper, the one who makes this all worth it.” Damn that lump, it’s back again! “To my mom and dad, and all the rest—wherever you are, I’ll always love you. And to my best friend, you still owe me twenty bucks for gas!”

A few of the dwarves chuckle, though they don’t seem to get the joke entirely.

“And to my husband—my yasthûn,” you squeeze Fíli’s hand again, tightly. “My Fíli. To the one who saved me.”

Fíli pulls you down into his lap, wrapping an arm around your waist and cupping your face in his hand. He gazes into your eyes, and suddenly his lips are on yours, soft and tender, like your first kiss back in Rivendell.

Kíli lets out a whoop, echoed by the rest of the dwarves, and the noise escalates back into the drunken ruckus of the night. But you and Fíli stay there, you laying your head on his shoulder, him rubbing your back, just enjoying each other. Then he stands and lifts you with him, carrying you to the center of the room. He sets you down lightly and looks back at Thorin with a small nod.

Thorin returns it and reaches across the table to your phone. He taps it a few times, turning up the volume. A soft tune drifts across the room.

Seeing the bride and groom in the middle of the hall, the dwarves quiet down and watch expectantly. Fíli places a gentle hand on your side and takes your hand.

“Fíli!” you whisper harshly, cheeks turning red. You regret showing the dwarves how to use your phone now. “I can’t dance!”

He smiles at you. “They’re too drunk to realize anyway,” he whispers back. As the music swells, he begins to sway back and forth, leading you in a slow, careful dance around the center of the room. Your breath catches when he lifts your arm above your head, and with uncertain feet you twirl around, skirt flowing out around you. Fíli lets you spin for a few seconds and then brings you back in, gripping your waist and, to your surprise, tossing you in the air. He catches you easily and dips you down as the song ends. His eyes are soft, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Thank you, amrâlimê,” he murmurs.

You blink. “For what?”

“For staying.”

You smile. “I didn’t know I had a choice.”

Chapter Text

“Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird—oh Juniper, please don’t cry!” you whisper, pressing your daughter’s head to your shoulder to muffle her cries as you gently bounce her around. She doesn’t listen, wailing into your nightgown. The flickering candlelight casts an eerie, two-headed shadow onto the stone wall of the nursery. Not for the first time, your gaze sweeps the room around you, desperately looking for anything that could calm the crying baby. Middle Earth, and certainly Erebor, isn’t exactly rich in stuffed animals or baby rattles. Juniper is already wrapped in a soft blanket, her diaper is clean, and she refuses your breast. You’re at a loss, softly singing any lullaby you can think of.

“Having trouble, lass?” Dís enters from the hall behind you, closing the door quietly behind her. Her raven and silver hair is disheveled, marriage braid half unraveled.

“I’m so sorry Dís, I didn’t mean to wake anyone,” you groan.

Dís smiles tiredly, holding out her arms. “You didn’t. Let me see the little one,” she beckons. “Come now, wee berry, come to sigin’amad.” [grandmother]

You wearily shift Juniper into Dís’s arms. She keeps crying. You collapse into the rocking chair by her crib. “I don’t get it—she’s clean, she’s fed, she’s warm, she’s too old for colic… nothing helps!”

“And where’s her adad on this fine, fine evening?“

You rub your face. “Out like a light. He’s worked himself half to death preparing for the coronation tomorrow, and worried himself the other half to death.”

Dís squints at Juniper’s face, then tuts. “Ah, the poor lass. She’s cutting her teeth. Here.” She deposits Juniper back into your arms and crosses over to the window. Dís parts the curtains and swings the glass panes open, letting in a blast of freezing November air.

You clutch Juniper close with a shiver, but the older woman hardly seems fazed as she leans out into the wind. All the dwarves seem to be like that—immune to the increasingly frigid winds that swirl around the mountain as winter descends. She grunts, then retreats, slamming the window closed again. “There you are,” she says, placing a cold, wet object in your hand. It’s a small icicle wrapped in a handkerchief.

“‘Tis an old trick. Rub it on her gums, it’ll numb them right up.” She taps Juniper’s nose lightly. “If she’s anything like her father, she’ll be back to sleep before you know it.”

Juniper writhes and wails even louder as you touch the cloth to her lips. You wince when you hear a low moan from the neighboring room.

“Not like that, you’ve got to let her suckle on it. I’ll show you.” Dís takes Juniper back, doubling up the cloth around the ice and sticking it in her mouth. She whimpers, but starts suckling quietly.

“You’re a lifesaver, Dís,” you sigh, rubbing your brow in exhaustion. “I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“No one does, lass,” Dís reassures you. “Besides, there’s never been a child born of a dwarf and a daughter of Man. I’d be surprised if you knew what to do.”

“I just… I thought there’d be some sort of instinct, you know? But every time she cries it’s like I’m back at square one.” You bury your face in your hands, fighting back tears of stress and exhaustion. “I wish my mom was here. I’m too young for this.”

Your mother-in-law frowns. “Too young? What do you mean by that, my dear?”

You blink and raise your head. “Dís… did Fíli ever tell you how old I am?”

“I know better than to inquire of a woman’s age. I figured you couldn’t be any older than Kíli.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” you sigh. “Dís. I’m still in my early twenties.”

Dís whips her head up in shock. “Mahal, you’re just a child yourself! And Fíli took you into his bed?!”

Your face pulses with heat. “It was my bed. And my idea…” you mumble. An awkward silence ensues.

After an eternity, a warm hand squeezes your shoulder. “Let me tell you a secret.”

You blink up at the dwarf.

“All those tales of parents knowing exactly what to do when their little ones are born? Poppycock,” she asserts. “You and Fíli are a team, and you’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you, Dís,” you whisper.

It’s quiet again, but a comfortable quiet. Juniper’s tiny lips smack against the cloth, and she makes contented little babbling noises as her mouth numbs.

“What was that song you were singing to your wee one earlier?” Dís asks finally.

“Mm? Oh, just an old lullaby my mom used to sing when I was a kid.” You start to hum it softly. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.” The memory makes you chuckle. “Sometimes she would stop, and remind me never to give jewelry to a baby, because they might choke on it.”

“Sounds like a wise woman.”

“She was. She is,” you whisper thickly. “I miss home so much, Dís. I miss my mom, my dad, my friends… They have no idea what happened to me—they probably think I’m dead!” The tears you’d held back earlier return, flowing thick and fast as you sob quietly into your hands. “My dad didn’t get to give me away, my mom wasn’t there to hold my hand when I gave birth…”

Dís watches you silently. Then, she pulls a little stool next to the chair and sits, shifting Juniper into the crook of her arm and rubbing your back with her free hand. “I won’t lie and tell you I understand exactly how you feel,” she murmurs. “I don’t think anyone can. But I know what it’s like to have to leave your home and raise a child in a strange land. Nothing I can say will make it any easier, I know that. All I can tell you is that you are just as loved by us—by Fíli, by Kíli, by Thorin, and by me—as you were loved by your family. As you are loved by your family,” she declares firmly.

You sniff and look up at Dís. Her face is tired and worn, like Thorin’s, but wise and kind, too. “Thank you, Dís. Again. I don’t know what I’d do without you here to help.”

Dís smiles and bounces her granddaughter around. “She looks just like Fíli did as a babe,” she observes after a while, looking at you warmly. “She’s got your eyes, though. I’m sure she’ll be a beauty, just like her mother.”

“I hope she’s tall enough,” you murmur. “I got made fun of for being so short.”

Dís snorts. “You’ve got what, a good three, four inches over Fíli? Besides, us Durins are all of good stature. I’m sure you’ve nothing to fret about.”

“I always did fall for the tall ones,” you comment. It’s strange, in a nice way, to be one of the taller ones around—you stand even with Thorin and Dís, who tower over many of the other dwarves. Fíli and Kíli also stand almost a head higher than most.

Juniper squirms sleepily. Dís stands and gently places her back in your arms. “There’s your little sprout,” she whispers.

Your heart melts as you look at your daughter’s face. Honey-colored waves spill across her forehead. Her brow is pinched as she suckles on the melting ice, looking just like Fíli in deep thought. You trace a finger lightly down her face, following the pronounced downward curve of her nose. Her chin is a bit fuzzier than you’d expect, but to Kíli’s dismay, she’s yet to show any sign of growing a proper little dwarf beard.

“What was Fíli like as a kid?” you ask softly, rocking your daughter as her eyelids droop.

“An absolute terror,” Dís replies with a wry smile. She’s looking at Juniper, but her eyes are far away. “I’m lucky Thorin was around to keep him from killing himself. Did he ever tell you of the time he got stuck in a tree after climbing up to escape a cross nanny goat?” Her laugh is deep and hearty.

You laugh in return. “He told me that was Kíli! Guess his brother had to learn it from somewhere.” But thinking about it, Dís’s words make you pause. “You said you were lucky Thorin was around. Was their dad…?” Dead? Absent? You trail off, not sure what you’re asking. All you know is that Thorin raised them.

Dís shakes her head. “Fíli was just barely four. I didn’t even know I was with child with Kíli when he rode off to battle with Thorin.” Her eyes cloud. A pang of guilt hits you, making her remember it. “I was so excited to tell him when he returned—another little one for the family. But as soon as I saw Thorin’s face, I knew. His body was slung over the back of Thorin’s pony. I could scarcely recognize him.”

Your throat tightens. “Fíli never told me.”

“He’d have no reason to. He was so young, he hardly remembers him. Thorin was always the one there for him. Taught him to ride, to forge a blade, to wield it. No one was surprised when he chose him for his heir. He loves those boys as if they were his own sons.”

“But wouldn’t you be next in line for the throne?”

Water begins to drip down the front of your daughter’s nightgown. Dís bends over and gently pries the wet cloth from Juniper’s mouth, wiping her thumb along the sleeping child’s lips. “Me? Ah, no. He offered, but I was never one for politics. Now that we’re home again, I’ve got all I need. I’m so proud of my boys.” Her eyes glow, and she lays a gentle hand on your shoulder, leaning down and tapping her forehead against yours. “And my girls.”

The door between the nursery and your chambers creaks open softly. A shirtless Fíli stumbles in, his steps and eyes still heavy with sleep, hair sticking up at odd angles. “Everything alright?” he mumbles blearily. He rubs at his eyes and holds out his hands for Juniper.

You stand and put the child in her father’s arms. She stirs and blinks, waving her hands at Fíli’s mustache braids.

Fíli smiles, eyes softening as he rocks her. “She looks just like Y/N,” he murmurs, ducking his head to nuzzle her. “Her lips, her eyes, her little freckles…”

Your heart swells so much you think it might burst as you watch your husband cradle his daughter. He sinks into the rocking chair, softly singing Misty Mountains. You sit down on the stool next to him, folding your nightgown underneath you as a cushion from the rough wood.

“I’m going to go back to bed,” Dís says, observing the three of you wrapped up in each other in quiet contentment. “You three get some rest before the ceremony.” She plants a kiss on each of your heads, but before she can leave, Fíli grabs her skirt.

“Amad,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”

She smiles and slips into the hallway, closing the door gently.

Juniper’s fists, clutching the yellow curls on her father’s chest, loosen as she begins to ease back into sleep.

“One day, we’ll tell you all it took to get here,” Fíli whispers hoarsely. “We’ll tell you how your mother woke up here, how brave she was, how we fell in love, how we won the mountain back so you could have a proper home.” His free arm curls around your shoulders, thick and warm.

You rest your head against him, taking up the song again. “To find our long forgotten gold,” you sing softly, reaching over to brush aside Juniper’s own golden hair. “I’ve got all the gold I want right here.”

Chapter Text

It’s early morning when you stir, finding yourself back in your bed. You vaguely recall your eyes growing heavy as you leaned against Fíli in the nursery, but his side of the bed is empty. A little clock on the mantle informs you that it’s 7:00 a.m.

The nursery door opens and Fíli enters, holding Juniper up on his shoulders. “Galikh bakn, amrâlimê,” he whispers, bending over and pecking your cheek. [Good morning, my love] You’d convinced him to start speaking more Khuzdûl to you to help you learn. If you’re going to spend the rest of your life around dwarves, you might as well learn their language properly.

“Galikh ba… bakn,” you repeat slowly, stumbling over the guttural words.

Fíli shrugs, making Juniper wobble. “It’s an improvement,” he concedes.

“Ba! Ba! Ba!” your daughter echoes. Then she pauses. “Da!” She slaps her hands against Fíli’s head, making him wince.

“Someone’s hungry.”

You sigh and sit up, adjusting your nightgown and holding out your arms for the baby. “I noticed that I’m not asleep on the nursery floor,” you comment as she latches on.

“You’d already been up with her—I figured it was only fair I take my turn. You needed your rest for the coronation today.” Fíli takes hold of your marriage braid, unraveling it and running a comb through your hair. The rhythmic tugging on your scalp is relaxing as he carefully weaves it into a new pattern. He fixes your bead and kisses it, whispering some words in Khuzdûl that you don’t yet recognize.

“Wouldn’t it be bad form for the crown prince to pass out from exhaustion during the ceremony?”

Fíli’s eyes sparkle. “Au contraire!” You’d taught him a few phrases from your world. He seems to delight in tossing them into his day-to-day speech, confusing those around him. “If I were to faint, it’s an amusing antic from the king’s nephew. If you were to faint, it’s an urgent medical episode from the new, beautiful princess.”

“I’m not sure—”

A loud banging on your door interrupts you. Before you can tell the visitor to wait or cover yourself, it bursts open, revealing Kíli. “Mornin’!” he says with a grin. Looking you up and down, he wrinkles his nose. “That’s disgusting!”

You sit straight up, color blooming on your cheeks. Juniper unlatches in protest at the sudden movement.

“Fíli, put a shirt on for Mahal’s sake, no one wants to see that!” Kíli finishes, throwing you a wink. He snatches Juniper from your arms and tosses her in the air. She shrieks with delight. “Ready for the big day?”

“I’m not dressed, I haven’t eaten, and I’m scared out of my mind,” you count off on your fingers as you clamber out of bed. “Take a guess.”

Fíli adjusts the top of your nightgown to preserve your modesty in front of his brother. “There should be breakfast in the hall, if Kíli hasn’t eaten it all yet. I got up early and asked the servants to make you a plate.” He moves to take Juniper back, but Kíli holds her just out of reach.

“You got to hold her all night,” he says, sticking out his tongue. “I want a turn.”

You crack your back and grab a robe hanging from the bedpost. “If you want to wake up with a fussy, teething baby at midnight, be my guest,” you yawn, making for the door.

The stone floor is cold on your feet, sending a shiver up your spine. You hasten for the dining room, pulling your robe tightly around you. A familiar, salty aroma fills your nose as you push open the side door into the deserted hall.

There’s a full plate of meat and eggs at the end of one of the tables, across from someone you didn’t expect to see.

“Galikh bak, Thorin,” you say lightly, taking your seat.

“Bakn,” he corrects with a grunt. He straightens up and pushes back his own half-finished plate. “You are up early.”

You shrug. “Baby,” you mumble through a mouthful of eggs. “Tried to let Fíli sleep—he put me back to bed.” The bite sticks in your throat and you wash it down with a gulp from a mug of coffee. “I didn’t think you’d be down here. Shouldn’t you be preparing?”

His dark hair is rumpled and there are bags beneath his eyes. It’s almost amusing to see him in a thick robe and not the leathers and furs you had become accustomed to seeing on the journey. But you suppose he’s earned a few creature comforts after spending over a hundred years away from home.

Thorin sighs. “I have done nothing but prepare for the coronation ceremony since the moment your wedding reception ended.”

“And yet you clearly haven’t slept.”

“Dwarves don’t need as much sleep as Men.”

“Bullshit,” you declare, stabbing at a sausage. “If anything, you sleep more. So, why weren’t you resting?”

He doesn’t answer, fiddling with one of his beads and avoiding your eyes. “You will not leave it alone until I give you an answer, will you?” he asks at last.

“You know me well.”

Thorin presses his lips into a thin line. “I am… concerned,” he admits. “I have slept little in the past nights while thinking about all that is to come.”

You put down your fork and peer at the dwarf. “You’re anxious.”

“If you would prefer to put it that way, I suppose so.”

“Mm,” you hum in appreciation. “I’m familiar with the feeling.” Pushing your plate aside, you lean in closer and lower your head. “So, what’s up?”

Thorin glances around the room.

“It’s just me, Thorin. It’s not like you’ll get the chance to offload it onto anyone else.” You let him sit in silence for as long as he pleases, returning to your plate.

He lets out another deep sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am ready for the position, I know that,” he mutters. “It is my birthright. But knowing what led to the events of a year ago… it worries me, that I have the capability for cruelty.” His eyes are dark and far away, his brow creased.

You reach across the table and lay a hand on his arm. “That was dragon-sickness,” you say softly. “That wasn’t you.“

Thorin shakes his head.

You squeeze his arm as best as you can through the thick wool. “All this past year, you’ve been giving orders, directing the rebuilding of Erebor, organizing resources, summoning your kin. Aren’t those all things that a king would do? You’ve been king, Thorin, in all but title. You never stopped.”

Still, he doesn’t reply. You release his arm and lean back, spearing a couple more sausages. “The boys are already up. I’ll see you tonight.” You shove the rest of the bite in your mouth and stand, giving Thorin’s shoulder a small shake on your way out.

“Y/N? Are you almost finished?” Fíli’s voice is tinged with impatience as he waits outside your chambers.

“Coming!” you call over your shoulder, inspecting yourself in the mirror one last time. You wear another one of Dís’s old dresses, a thick, royal blue gown with heavy fur across the shoulders. It glitters with tiny gems sewn into the seams. Running a hand over your hair one last time, you open the door.

Fíli shifts Juniper onto his hip, bowing and kissing your hand. “You look exquisite, my lady.”

You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. “I’m not calling you ‘my lord’, Fíli.”

He takes your arm with a sly grin and escorts you through the halls.

Juniper squirms and reaches out for you. “Da! Da!”

“Mama,” you correct her, gently lifting her from Fíli’s arms, mindful of her long skirt. It was a mad dash to get baby clothes imported to Erebor in time for the wedding and coronation, and her dress still swallows her up, but at least it matches yours and Fíli’s outfits.

A low hum fills your ears as you near the great hall, signaling the presence of a large crowd.

“Ready?” Fíli whispers.

“Not in the slightest.”

He pauses in the middle of the passage and steps back for a moment, looking you up and down.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to remember everything about this day,” he says softly.

You beam and give him a little twirl. He smiles back and takes your arm again, leading you to the doors of the hall, where Thorin and Kíli wait. The soon-to-be-king inclines his head to you.

Kíli gives you a little nudge. “Try and keep her quiet, hm?” he teases, patting Juniper on the head.

You bite back a reply as the doors swing open. Your breath catches in your throat—if the crowd at your wedding was large, this one is massive, packing the vast hall. A murmur ripples through the crowd when you enter, people ducking their heads respectfully as you pass. But their eyes burn into you, and you fix your gaze on Thorin’s back.

Fíli squeezes your hand. “Breathe,” he murmurs, barely audible.

Before you stands the great carven throne, the Arkenstone glimmering in its place at the top. It’s flanked by three smaller, decadent seats—temporary fixtures until suitable thrones can be installed. The throne only seems to get more massive as you approach, turning to look out over the crowd. It’s mostly dwarves, but you spot a small group of elves and men to the side. The white-blonde heads of Thranduil and Legolas are plainly visible, though you struggle to locate Bard and his delegation among the throng.

And Gandalf! Your heart lifts when you see the pointy gray hat in the front row with the rest of the Company. There’s an empty seat beside him, representing the absent burglar. It’s bittersweet—you make a mental note to arrange a journey to the Shire as soon as you have royal authority to do so.

Thorin raises a hand for the crowd’s attention and beckons to a dwarf at the edge of the room. This must be Dáin Ironfoot—you vaguely recognize him from the battle. The deliberation over who would officiate the coronation lasted for weeks. It was finally decided that Dáin, Thorin’s closest kin besides Fíli and Kíli, would be the one to place the crowns upon the heads of the royal family.

Dáin strides forward, followed by four other dwarves carrying satin pillows. Upon those pillows rest two gold crowns, a silver tiara, and the grand centerpiece, the Raven Crown. The dwarves place the pillows on a table at Dáin’s side and retreat with small bows.

He clears his throat and smoothes his beard. “It is an honor, dwarrows, dwarrowdams, and esteemed guests of the kingdom, to stand here today,” he booms. “We are gathered to witness the beginning of a new chapter in our people’s history, and an event not seen in over two centuries: the crowning of a new King Under the Mountain.” He pauses to let the words sink in. “A moment, please, to honor the Lady Dís, who abdicated her place in the line of succession in favor of her sons.”

Applause fills the air as Dís, standing off to the side, dips her head. Her eyes shine when Dáin selects one of the golden crowns and stands in front of Kíli.

“Kíli, son of the Lady Dís. Prince Under the Mountain, second in line for the throne of Erebor.”

Kíli beams proudly, tears sparkling in the corners of his eyes. Any trace of mischief or snark is gone—it’s an innocent, childlike joy as he straightens up with his crown.

“Fíli, eldest son of the Lady Dís. The Crown Prince Under the Mountain, heir to the throne.”

Fíli keeps his face solemn as Dáin places the crown on his head, but you spy that tell-tale twitch in his right hand. The same twitch that betrayed his nerves when he first entered your bedchamber in Rivendell forever ago. You try to catch his eye, but he stares steadfastly forward.

And now, all too soon, it’s your turn.

“Y/N, a daughter of Man, wed to Fíli. The Crown Princess Under the Mountain. Their daughter, the Princess Juniper, third in line for the throne.”

Dáin lifts the delicate tiara from the satin pillow. It’s exquisite up close, sapphires woven into a silver web that matches your marriage bead. Your breath hitches, and you bend down to help Dáin reach. The metal rests gently on your brow, a touch heavier than you expected. Fíli remains facing ahead, but his glance is full of warmth as he looks at you out of the corner of his eye. You can’t resist a smile when you meet his eyes, or when you see the proud faces of the Company.

Juniper reaches up and grabs at your hair with wide eyes.

“Not yet, little sprout,” you breathe. “You’ll get yours in time.”

At last, Dáin lifts the last and largest crown, the Raven Crown, raising it up before Thorin.

“Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thror, son of Thrain. The King Under the Mountain!”

Thorin dips his head to receive it. He has worn it so often before, but it seems different now, as his gaze sweeps over his friends, his family, his kingdom. Before your eyes, years of tension on his brow seem to melt away, revealing the face of a young prince. A prince whose grandfather has not been touched by dragon-sickness. A prince who has not seen his home ravaged by fire. A prince who does not need to avenge the deaths of his kin. You blink, and it’s your Thorin again, face lined and weathered. But still some of the lightness remains. Some hope.

Dáin steps back and sinks to a knee. “Long live the king!”

The roar of the crowd is deafening, you’re sure it is, but all you hear is your own heartbeat as you turn and ascend the steps to your seat. To your throne. A seat promising childhood dreams fulfilled, promising a life of luxury. But most of all, a seat carrying the promise of a home, a life with your daughter and the dwarf you love.

The king, however, does not take his seat yet. He holds up a hand to silence the crowd. “Long have I awaited this day,” he begins.

“A year ago, on this very day, the blood of our brothers was spilled at the foot of the Lonely Mountain so that we may stand here. I swear to you, in the sight of all, that their sacrifices will never be forgotten.” He pauses, eyes lingering on the Company. “Today is a new beginning for Durin’s Folk. An era of prosperity as we rebuild Erebor for those to come…” his gaze flickers to you and Juniper, “…and in honor of those who came before.”

Finally, he settles onto his throne, head held high, and the room explodes into cheers and roars once again.

Fíli reaches over from his seat and grasps your hand. “Maidmi azhâr, amrâlimê. Maidmi azhâr.”

[welcome home, my love]

Chapter Text

Frosty grass crunches under your feet as you dash out the gates, eyes scanning the battlefield frantically. Piles of bodies are strewn about, some orcs, some goblins, and far more elves and dwarves than you’d like.

There!

Across the way, you just barely spy three small figures making their way to the mountain. Your heart pounds in your chest as you hurry to meet up. Fíli and Dwalin support a limping Kíli between them. His right foot is twisted at an angle that makes your stomach turn, and his sleeve is soaked with blood. Bilbo stumbles not far behind.

“Fíli! Kíli!” You rush forward, wrapping your arms tightly around Fíli’s waist.

Fíli raises his head. His eyes are dull. Tears slice through the blood and grime on his face. “Y/N…” he whispers.

“Are you alright? What happened?” you gasp.

“I couldn’t save him.”

Your heart drops. Over his shoulder, you glimpse little shapes swooping down from the Ravenhill. A large bird carrying a limp body. You let go of Fíli and step back, falling to your knees. “No.”

Footsteps pound behind you. Bofur and Nori grab Kíli. Fíli collapses with you, burying his face in your hair.

“It’s all my fault, Y/N,” Fíli chokes. “It’s all my fault.”

You wake with a jolt, but Fíli’s voice remains in your ears. You turn over in bed. His back is to you, but you can tell by the way his shoulders shake and his whimpers that he’s having similar dreams.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, no…” he mumbles.

Your heart cracks, and you reach out to lay a hand on his clammy arm. “Fíli,” you whisper, gently rolling him onto his back.

His face spasms. “I have to help him! Kee, I have to…to…” He jerks his head to the side, blinking. His eyes are clouded with confusion when he turns to you. “Y/N? Where–”

“You’re home,” you murmur, scooting closer to him. You’ve done this dance before, but it doesn’t get any easier. You tuck his head beneath your chin and rub his bare back gently. It’s coated in a thin layer of cold sweat. “Thorin’s gone, sweetheart.”

Fíli’s breaths are shaky as his mind, still fuzzy with sleep, processes your words. His shoulders slump. “I couldn’t save him, Y/N.”

You swallow. “I know. It’s okay, Fee. Let it out.”

He lets out a soft sob, chest heaving and pressing his face into your neck. His arms grip you tightly, desperately, like a child clinging to his mother. You don’t say anything, just stroking his hair. Outside your bedchambers he keeps up a strong façade, busying himself with his newfound duties. But it’s moments like these, these nighttime rituals, that reveal how fragile that shield is. You’d be honored at how he lets his guard down around you, if it weren’t so heartbreaking.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I shouldn’t be… like this.”

“Don’t say that, Fíli. Don’t you dare say that.” You pull away slightly and fix him with a stern look.

“I’m supposed to be strong,” he protests.

You reach up and stroke his cheek with your thumb, cupping his face in your hands. “What, are your mother and Kíli not strong while they grieve? Or Balin, or Dwalin, or any of the rest? Am I not strong for still grieving Thorin?”

“Of course you are! But–”

“But nothing.” You press your lips to his, swallowing his words. “Show yourself the same kindness that you show others. You deserve that.”

Fíli sighs, rolling onto his back and staring blankly up at the ceiling.

You curl into his side and lay your head on his chest, listening as his heartbeat gradually starts to come back down, and his breathing becomes more even. “You know it wasn’t your fault, right? I need to know that you know that.”

“That blow was meant for me.” His voice is thick as the two of you finally broach the subject you’ve tiptoed around for a year.

“And he chose to take it. He chose to save you, and you avenged him. Azog is dead, Fíli, and you’re alive.”

His beard brushes against your hair when he shakes his head. “It didn’t bring Thorin back. What’s the point of victory then?”

A muffled cry sounds from the next room. “That’s the point of victory right there,” you say as you sit up. You start to get out of bed, but Fíli is closer, making it to the nursery door first.

He vanishes inside, reappearing with Juniper in his arms. “Hush, little sprout, I’m here,” he whispers, sitting back on the bed. “Adad’s got you. Papa’s got you.” Fili leans down and brushes his lips against her forehead with a sniff. “Thorin would have liked her.”

Now that she’s in her father’s embrace, Juniper’s cries quiet, and she snuggles into his warm chest with little cooing noises.

“He would have adored her.” You join them, laying your head on his shoulder. “She’ll be a princess tomorrow.”

“She’s always been a princess.” Despite himself, a weak smile appears on Fíli’s lips. “Are you ready to be queen?” he asks, resting his head against yours.

“Every girl wanted to be a princess when I was a kid—not sure how many wanted to actually be queen,” you reply. “Queens have responsibilities. Princesses get to sing, and run through forests, and talk to animals.”

“What strange princesses your world had.” Fíli lifts his head and looks at you. “But are you ready?”

Queen. You will be queen of the dwarves. There’s a joke about my height in there, somewhere, you think.

Since the battle, you’ve done your best to avoid the subject, busying yourself with preparing for Juniper’s birth, and your wedding after that. But now, on the eve of the coronation, your nerves resurface. “Will they accept me as queen?” you whisper. “I’m not a dwarf—I’m not even from Middle Earth.”

You’ve seen the looks you get wandering the halls or venturing out of the mountain, and you know Fíli has, too.

Fíli doesn’t answer for a long time. Finally, he kisses your cheek. “If they don’t, there will be hell to pay,” he promises. “I’ll send Kíli after them.”

That draws a chuckle from you. Kíli delights in ruffling the feathers of the more judgmental dwarves, loudly referring to you as his sister in their presence, casually draping an arm around your shoulders whenever he sees someone giving you a strange look.

”It’s so weird. In less than two years I’ve gone from working a low-paying job, living in a shi–crappy apartment,” you censor yourself with a nervous glance at Juniper, “to being royalty, living in a palace, with a baby.”

“And married to the most handsome dwarf in all of Middle Earth,” Fíli adds teasingly.

“And married to the most handsome dwarf in Middle Earth.”

A thin line of drool seeps from Juniper’s mouth. Her eyes are closed once more, lips puckered around her thumb. Fíli stands slowly, careful not to jostle her too much as he takes her back to the nursery. He returns and closes the door softly.

You tuck yourselves back in and pull the covers up around the pair of you, hugging Fíli close. “I love you,” you murmur.

“I love you too, ghivashel.”

You make your way through the lower halls of Erebor, going deeper and deeper below the earth. The air is cool and moist, patches of moss growing on the stones that sat unmaintained for so long. At the end of a long hallway, you reach your destination: Two large, wooden doors in the stone, with gold insets. They’re already ajar, and you poke your head inside.

Kíli sits cross-legged on the floor in front of a stone casket, head down. The hinges groan in protest as you ease the doors shut behind you. But Kíli does not acknowledge your presence.

“I thought I might find you here,” you say, approaching him cautiously. “Fíli sent me to see where you were.”

Still, he doesn’t react. You sit next to him, ducking your head to get in his line of sight. “Kee?”

“It should be Thorin,” he mutters. His eyes are dark, glaring at nothing. “And it’s my fault.”

You suppress a sigh and put an arm around his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

Kíli’s lip curls. His right sleeve is pulled back, exposing a long scar running down his forearm. “If Fíli didn’t need to help me, then he wouldn’t have been open for that filth to swing at him,” he spits. “If he hadn’t been vulnerable, Thorin wouldn’t have jumped in.”

“And you’d be dead instead. Is that what Thorin would have wanted?”

He finally lifts his head, staring at the casket dully. “I don’t think he’d want to be lying in a stone box while his nephew takes the throne at only eighty-two.”

“He loved you, Kíli. Your death would’ve broken him. Yours or Fíli’s.”

Kíli presses the base of his palm to his forehead. “I don’t understand,” he says. “I thought I was well. I thought I had… recovered. But now it feels like it just happened yesterday.”

The shadow of the casket looms over the dwarf. The torches are halfway spent already. Kíli makes it a ritual to come down to the tomb and light them each morning.

Gently, you pull Kíli’s sleeve down to cover his scar. “It’s because of the coronation. Fíli’s been the same way.”

Kíli scoffs. “I doubt it.”

You hesitate, debating if you want to comfort Kíli, or spare Fíli’s dignity. Fíli’s dignity can take the blow, you decide. “Kee, Fíli woke up crying in the middle of the night. Like he’s done many times since the battle.” You squeeze Kíli’s arm. “You’re not alone.”

He turns his head and looks at you for the first time. “Thank you,” he whispers.

You smile, patting him on the shoulder and standing. “Ceremony’s in a few hours. Go get ready. I’ll see you then.”

You stand on the steps before the throne, looking out over the gathered kingdom. Your kingdom. Juniper clings to your arm with her thumb shoved in her mouth. You’re just glad she’s relatively quiet for the most important moment in Fíli’s life. The Company line the first row, along with Dís. Two chairs sit empty next to Gandalf, for the two missing party members. Your heart wrenches in your chest as your gaze lands on them. He’d be so proud.

Ever perceptive, Gandalf gives you a small nod and a sympathetic smile. You do your best to return it.

Fíli stands beside you, eyes closed and muttering in Khuzdûl under his breath. You reach over to squeeze his hand tightly, and they flutter open. He squeezes back.

Dáin approaches Kíli first with his crown. “Kíli, son of the Lady Dís, the Crown Prince Under the Mountain. Heir to the throne of Erebor.”

Kíli blinks rapidly. He holds his head high at the crowd’s applause, lip trembling slightly. You wish you were next to him—instead, you catch his eye and nod encouragingly. He finally smiles.

Dáin stops before you now. He lifts up a delicate, golden crown and clears his throat. “It has been centuries since this crown has been worn,” he says. “But today, we crown the Lady Y/N, a daughter of Man, wed to Fíli, Queen Under the Mountain. And we welcome their daughter, the Princess Juniper, second in line to the throne.”

Juniper reaches for the crown as you duck your head. Dáin evades her grasping hands with a smile, settling the crown on your brow. Of all the cheers, you hear the Company’s the clearest—Bofur is on his feet, hands cupped around his mouth and hollering. You beam at them.

“And it is my greatest honor to present to you Fíli, son of the Lady Dís. The King Under the Mountain!”

Fíli takes in a deep breath as Dáin places the Raven Crown on his head. He’s flat-out refused to wear it so far, insisting that it belongs to Thorin until he formally receives the mantle of kingship. Now that it rests on his head, he looks so much like Thorin. Perhaps not in his face, but in his bearing, standing tall with shoulders back and chin raised.

“Long live the king and queen!”

The room bursts with cheering. Your ascent to the thrones seems to happen in slow-motion, the noise of the audience dulled by the sound of your racing pulse. Fíli grips your hand so tightly you fear it will leave a bruise.

Before he can sit, you lean in close. “They’ll want a speech,” you whisper.

He clears his throat and lifts a hand for quiet. “Thank you all,” Fíli says. “It is a privilege to stand before you today and receive your acceptance. I know that I am young to be taking the throne. By all rights, it should be Thorin Oakenshield. He fell during the Battle of the Five Armies on this day, a year ago, sacrificing his life for his kin.” Fíli pauses as a somber murmur ripples through the room. “It was his dream to see his people return to their rightful home in Erebor. I will do my best to rule as he would have, with dignity and wisdom—and with my brother and my queen at my side.”

With a smile, he steps back and lifts Juniper from your arms, resting her on his knee as he sits on his throne. She grasps at his tunic and babbles happily.

As the room fills once again with roars from the gathered dwarves, you lean as close to the throne as you can from your seat. “Long live the king.”

“Long live the queen,” Fíli whispers back. “Long may she reign.”

Chapter Text

You didn’t realize how much you missed Rivendell until it appears in your sight once more. It’s sunnier and greener than you remember, even in the quickly fading light—though you mostly remember the nights in the valley.

Juniper wiggles in front of you. “We gonna see elves?” she asks, her eyes sparkling. Your hand darts forward to steady her in the saddle.

“Mostly we’re here to meet your Uncle Bilbo,” Fíli corrects. He pulls back on his pony’s reins, who’s trying to move forward and nip at the tail of Kíli’s pony. “I don’t care for elves.”

“Elves are bad?” Juniper furrows her brow. “But Tauri…” The young girl can’t quite form the name of Erebor’s newly-declared elvish ambassador yet.

“Fíli, we are not setting her against the elves. Don’t confuse her,” you scold. “We do like elves, Junie. Your adad just disagrees with them sometimes.”

Fíli snorts. Ahead, Kíli gives his brother a hard look over his shoulder from beside Tauriel. If the elf heard the exchange, which you know she did, she says nothing. However, when she moves aside a branch along the path, she lets it whip back into Fíli’s face. He nearly falls from his pony as he ducks to avoid it. You snicker.

“Hail!”

Your ears perk up at a call from up the path. You tap your horse’s sides to speed her up, nudging past Kíli.

A tall, dark-haired elf stands at the gates leading into the valley. Elrond nods at you, but his eyebrows crease when he spots Juniper. The little dwarfling doesn’t seem fazed, staring wide-eyed at the elf.

“Well met, Princes Fíli and Kíli of Erebor. Lady Y/N, good to see you again. And it is not often we see our Mirkwood kin this side of the mountains. Welcome to Rivendell,” Elrond sweeps his arm out, beckoning you forward.

Your party dismounts. You carefully place Juniper on the ground and take her hand.

Her eyes haven’t left Elrond. “He’s tall,” she whispers.

Fíli inclines his head coolly. “Hello, Lord Elrond. And it’s Princess Y/N now, actually,” Fíli corrects as you stroll deeper into the valley. He ruffles Juniper’s hair proudly. “This is our daughter, Juniper.”

That renders Elrond speechless. He looks from you, to Fíli, to Juniper toddling beside you. Kíli smirks at the elf’s dumbfounded expression.

“I’m so sorry,” you mutter. “We wanted to surprise Bilbo—it didn’t occur to me that we shouldn’t surprise you as well.”

“And speaking of Bilbo…” Kíli points up at a low-hanging balcony, where a little figure paces.

You let go of Juniper’s hand and run up the stairs. “Bilbo!” you shout, seizing the hobbit in a tight hug.

He sputters out a muffled protest. With a grin, you bring him back down the steps and set him on the ground. He straightens his waistcoat, patting a tiny pocket. The gesture doesn’t escape you—he’s carrying the Ring.

“It’s good to see you too, Y/N,” he puffs out.

Kíli wraps him in a bear hug, lifting him off his feet. “Mister Boggins!” He puts him back down and gives an exaggerated bow. “Prince Kíli, at your service.”

Bilbo smiles. “And plain old Bilbo Baggins at yours. I’m terribly sorry I couldn’t make it for the coronation. Is Thorin…?” He looks past Kíli hopefully.

Fíli shakes his head. “He’ll be along in a few weeks,” he explains. “But we come with news.” He steps aside, revealing Juniper. The three-year-old is sucking her thumb.

You return to Fíli’s side and nudge her forward. “Bilbo, this is Juniper. Junie, this is your Uncle Bilbo, the one we told you stories about!”

“Uncle?” Bilbo questions. “I don’t know about uncle—” He stops as Juniper looks at him closely, then wraps her arms around his leg.

“Uncle Bi’bo!” she cries, fumbling over the l in his name.

“I suppose uncle is alright,” he finishes lamely.

Fíli claps him on the shoulder. “Good to see you, Master Burglar. Juniper, you can let go now.”

She plops down on her bottom instead.

“The stubbornness of dwarves,” you remark with a smile.

“I am sure you are weary after your travels. The table is already set if you would like to join us,” Elrond offers, observing the reunion.

That gets Juniper’s attention. She clambers to her feet and tugs on your riding pants. “Mama,” she whispers, as if telling you an important secret. “I’m hungry.”

You’ve been looking forward to this dinner for months. You sit with Fíli at the long banquet table, sipping on sweet wine and admiring the stars. Juniper is on Fíli’s lap, sneaking bites from his plate when he’s not looking. Tauriel and Kíli chat casually with a few elves you don’t recognize.

“She looks like Fíli,” Bilbo comments. The hobbit sits across from you, already on his third plate.

“Yeah, but Kíli’s been a bad influence on her. I couldn’t find her the other day, and you know where she was?” You pause for dramatic effect, folding your arms. “In the armory, with Kíli, ‘trying on’ armor and seeing if she could lift a sword. I swear, there’s two children running around the mountain with him around.”

Kíli flashes a mischievous smile at you from his seat next to Tauriel.

You roll your eyes. “So, what’ve you been getting up to? Any adventures?”

“Well…” Bilbo says slowly. “I wouldn’t call them adventures, but I’ve been going on a great deal more trips outside the borders of the Shire. Just to Bree and such places. You see, I don’t believe any adventure will ever compare to my first.”

“Don’t be so sure,” you remark, swirling your wine around.

“And Thorin, how is he?”

“Oh, he grumbles, but he’s mostly savoring being back home—”

“And giving me all the work!” Fíli butts in with a wink.

You swat at his arm. “I think he still can’t believe it, you know? He spent so long away from home that it doesn’t seem real.”

“And… and you?” Bilbo asks quietly. “You’ve, ah, you’ve been away from home quite a long while now.” His gaze is kind, if concerned.

Under the table, Fíli’s hand finds yours and gives it a squeeze. You haven’t had to answer that question in such a long time, you’re not sure what the answer even is.

You give it some thought. “I’ll put it this way,” you sigh. “In my world—my old world—everyone has to leave the nest at some point. Everyone has to find their way in life, find a new home. And… everyone has to deal with losing family, sometimes friends.”

Another squeeze.

“I guess I just did it earlier than most, and more permanently than most.” You pause, eyes sweeping the table, from Kíli, to Tauriel, to Juniper, to Fíli. “And I’ve found my own new, weird family here.”

“Mama,” Juniper leans over and pulls on your hair, interrupting your musings. “Mama!”

You give Bilbo an apologetic smile. “Yes, little sprout?”

She just yawns in response.

You reach over and lift her from her father’s arms. “Looks like someone’s ready to turn in for the evening,” you comment. “Good night, Bilbo.” Shifting Juniper onto your hip, you put a hand on Fíli’s shoulder. “Join me later, my love?”

He smiles and pecks you on the lips. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You’re awoken by a gentle hand. You squint against the moonlight with a groan. Fíli stands over you.

“What is it?” you mumble, propping yourself up on your elbow.

“It’s one a.m.” Fíli is smiling mischievously. “I was wondering if you would join me for a walk?”

“What?”

He waves a hand towards the window. “It’s a beautiful night in Rivendell, and no one’s around…” he wiggles his eyebrows at you and extends his hand.

You stare at him as your mind slowly processes his request.

Oh. Oh.

With your own sly smile you take his hand. He pulls you from bed and you take the same path to the river you’d taken four years ago. You breathe in deeply, savoring the warm summer air. Everything seems a little more vibrant in Rivendell, a little crisper. The placid river stretches before you, starlight glimmering on the surface. But this time, instead of sitting down on the rocks, Fíli immediately pushes you into the water. You come back up with a sputter and shake out your hair.

“Revenge is sweet,” he grins.

You cross your arms and pout. “Get in here, you asshole.”

He pulls his nightshirt off with a grin and kicks off his pants, leaving him in just his braies. You duck when he jumps in, nearly sending you back under with a wall of water.

“Ssh!” you hiss. “They’ll hear us!”

Fíli doesn’t heed your warning, splashing water at your face.

“I swear, you’re no better than a child,” you laugh, splashing him back, and putting up a hand as a shield when he keeps up the fight.

He grabs your wrist, then the other when you raise it as well. With both your hands trapped, all you can do is squirm helplessly. Fíli smirks, using the opening to lean in and brush his lips against yours. “Bringing back memories?” he breathes.

“Not quite,” you reply softly. “I kissed you first.”

“Blast. Thought I remembered it perfectly.” He gently pushes you toward the shore. “But I do remember you had a naughty idea…” Fíli hoists you onto the bank and pulls himself out. Before you can say anything, you’re scooped up in his arms and carried back to your chambers. He doesn’t even stop to grab his discarded clothing, which you’re sure will be an awkward discussion in the morning. Fíli gets straight to work, slowly peeling off your soaked nightclothes. You shiver as the air kisses your wet skin. Fíli grabs the blanket and wraps you in it, pushing you onto the bed.

“What are you doing?” You inhale sharply as he eagerly pulls your hips towards him.

“I want another one,” he growls, nipping at your neck.

“Just one more. Maybe two,” you concede with a giggle. “I’ll have to invent Middle Earth birth control if we keep coming here. Rivendell’s practically an aphrodisiac.”

But you give in, pausing only to roll on top of Fíli and envelop him in the blanket as well. His skin is warm under your lips, and ever so slightly rough. You let his hands wander up and down your legs, your back, gently caressing your curves. Your nails dig into his shoulders with pleasure when he nibbles on your ear.

“You’re even more beautiful than when I first saw you,” Fíli murmurs.

“Shut up and get to it,” you whisper.

And the only sound in the valley is soft panting as you relive that night from a lifetime ago.

In years to come, they’ll sing songs about you. The queen of the dwarves, who came from a strange land and brought with her a book of prophecy. A daughter of Man who lived the long life of a dwarf, mother of the revived line of Durin. And who died a peaceful death shortly after her king, passing the throne to her eldest daughter.

And oh, how wonderful the songs will be.