As a preamble to my story, I must say I wrote it because I got mad at Peter Jackson, for having the vision to impersonate the unsexiest of the Middle Earth species, the dwarves, into something as hot as the movie versions of Thorin, Kili and Fili (I will even throw Dwalin and Bofur into the mix for good measure!) Yes, you, Mr Jackson, what were you thinking placing such sexy dwarves in a storyline that lacks even the tiniest hint of romance (not counting the scene of Galadriel touching Gandalf's hair)? Didn't you know that WE, girls, need something to fantasise about! And just because Mr Tolkien has been too much of an old class gentleman to add to his novels anything more erotic than a few longing looks exchanged between Arwen and Aragorn, it doesn't mean that someone cannot step up to challenge and rectify this utter unfairness.
This is a story set in the time after the fall of The Dwarf Kingdom under the Mountain, and follows the events that led to Thorin's decision to take his Company on a quest to Erebor. In a spur of inspiration, I have only written a part that belongs in the middle of the story, in which Thorin and Azlyn (my O/C and Thorin's love interest) are injured in an orcs' attack and have to spend the night in a cave, while the others fight the remaining enemies. It would look like PWP, but it is meant to be a full story (honestly!).
Forgive me, but I simply can't wait to share this part!
Disclaimer: This is a story written just for fun with no copyright infringement intended! All rights over original characters and storylines from The Hobbit (the book and the motion picture) belong to their respective owners.
They had laid her on some rushes hurriedly thrown on the earthen floor of the little cave. Thorin could see her long eyelashes sweeping her cheeks and her proud profile, as her head fell to one side. She must be in pain, he thought, surprised by the pity that swelled up inside him and almost choked his throat. Yet not a sound came out of her. Just if you look closely, you could see her shoulders slightly shivering and her hands, closed in fists, trembling, as if she was trying to suppress some pain she felt. Almost without thinking Thorin sat beside her on the rushes and carefully spread his great wolf pelt coat over her. "You are safe now, Azlyn!" he said softly. "I will keep you warm. The worst is over and help is on the way!"
Her eyes opened and slowly focused on him, as if she had been looking at something distant only she could see. "But the worst is not over, and you know it. The orcs will be coming back for us, again and again. Until we can regain the stronghold of our fathers, we will never be safe. " Surprised at the desolation in her words, Thorin couldn't find an answer. He could only watch how big tears welled up in her almond shaped eyes and despite her obvious desire to hide them and shake them away, they started running down her dirty cheeks. "What safety could we have in these open lands, our people scattered and poor, struggling to survive, hardly able to get together and defend themselves? And how can we ever forget what we had, and what we had to leave behind? I wasn't even born then, but you, Thorin? Your grandfather was King under the Mountain! You've seen the glory of Erebor! How could you bear it?"
The gaze of Thorin fell away from her. "I can't." he sighed. "And I don't forget. Every day I think about it and it tears me inside. But what hope do I have to defeat Smeag today when the whole army of Thror in the mighty fortress of Erebor was helpless against the deadliest of the old dragons? Do I have an army now, or weapons, or wealth to buy soldiers and lead an attack on the indestructible Mountain many miles away from here? Do you think it is that easy?"
They both stayed silent for a while and listened to the wind outside. There wasn't any particular sound of danger to be heard, and they weren't listening for one - it was as if their souls have left the mortal world and roamed far away in some place of great sorrows, where the dangers were greater than any that might lurk in the night outside the little cave. "If there is no hope, what is the point of living then?" she asked. "Perhaps the simplest of our folk could go on living like they do now and be happy, hammering away in their small mines, forging harmless weapons and silly toys. But not me. I will never be content. I will always dream of days of greatness and glory and unspeakably beautiful things."
Thorin briskly jumped on his feet and walked away to the narrow mouth of the cave. The night wind blew his hair around his face and he felt his shoulders shaking with rage, the same way as he had seen Azlyn's shoulders shake. "Aaargh!" he cried and shook his fist to the mocking moon, which lying face was kept half hidden by the ragged passing clouds. The wind drowned down his voice in the sound of the whispering pines outside.
He turned around. He wanted to grab Azlyn by the hair and shake her, and shout at her that she didn't know what she was talking about and if there was a way to fight a fiery dragon and win, he would have done it a thousand times over. Azlyn's words have pierced him right into the hidden place inside his soul where his helplessness and humiliation laid buried. They have never left him. They were blazing and raw now, alive after somebody had clothed them in words and spoken them aloud.
Thorin shook his head as if to clear the maddening thoughts away. He couldn't be angry with Azlyn for only speaking aloud what has always been inside him. He was just surprised that someone like her - a woman-dwarf, and so slight and feminine at that, could feel this way. She lay silent with her eyes closed and he approached her again and sat beside her.
Mindlessly, he wiped the tears from her dirt-streaked cheeks with his finger. Her big eyes opened and she shoot him a weary warning look, in which he could read her shyness and awkwardness. "Stop staring at me like that!" she said without her previous fierceness, as if her spirit was so tired now that the fire inside her only smouldered. Thorin laughed. It was so rare for him to smile, it felt strange.
"When will you stop opposing me in everything? I am your king, after all." "You might be in name" she sighed wearily. "But if you have lost your kingdom, you need to deserve it first."
But she didn't fight any further. Thorin could feel her body still trembling under the wolf pelt cover. Her head fell to one side and her cheek lightly pressed against the soft furry side of his coat. "Are you hurting badly?" he asked. She nodded in almost unwilling agreement. "Show me your wound, and let me put some more athelas on it. It will help."
Somewhere at the back of his thoughts, he knew there was a dual purpose for his question. He wanted to help her and he also wanted to see her without her cloak; he knew it will make her uncomfortable to take off her clothes in front of him, and he also knew she had no choice. She slowly raised from the ground and wearily, showing her utter exhaustion, took off her silver belt and her red velvet cloak. At the side of the ribs, colouring the white linen shirt in scarlet, was the wound where the goblin sword had slashed. At least it wasn't bleeding any more, Thorin noted with relief, after Gandalf had bandaged it earlier. Wrapping some athelas leaves in a piece of cloth and wetting them with water boiled on the small fire, Thorin placed them over the wound.
Azlyn shivered convulsively, but after a minute she lay still and nodded her head. "Much better, thank you!" Azlyn looked up at him through her half closed eye-lashes. "Thank you for coming to save us, Thorin!" she said, expressing gratitude for a first time. " I would have hated to finish my days in a goblin dungeon, forging their foul weapons for them. I think I would have rather be dead instead." Thorin's pride would have never let him show how glad he was to finally have some approval from her.
He lay beside her and without saying anything, tucked his arm under her neck. When her eyes closed, he could look closely at her face. Despite the hard days spent as an orc captive, she smelled of warm broken grass, as a hay meadow on harvest day. Her long hair shone as a new conker and fell in rolling waves around her face. Her features were unusual for a dwarf, just as her father had said. Slight and gentle and hairless her face was, with soft creamy skin and cheeks and nose bronzed by much riding across open fields, and violet shadows under her eyes. As she was resting, her features had softened, she had lost the look of utter focus and determination she usually radiated about her. Now she just looked young and vulnerable, and this contrast took Thorin's breath away.
But even in her sleep, her eyebrows met as if she still was on her quest to challenge everybody who doubted she was strong enough to take care of herself. Then, almost unwillingly, his gaze followed the soft curve of her neck down to the place at the base of the throat where her pulse beat - slower and slower as she relaxed, but steady. Even further down, beneath her shirt which fell slightly opened, Thorin could see the tops of her rounded breasts, slowly rising and falling with every breath she took. Between Azlyn's snow-white breasts, attached to a simple leather thread, lay a pale green emerald of such rarity and beauty, that Thorin knew it could only have come from the depths under the Lonely Mountain.
Thorin's heart beat wildly, but he had no words to explain what was happening to him and couldn't even name the last time he had seen anything so moving. He only knew that the feelings which he had always rejected as a sign of weakness have now came down on him fiercer than orcs' attack, and devoured him unmercifully like dragon's fire. His life so far was always spent in masculine company, always in the pursuit of some great purpose fit for a warrior and a king, and he had been so absorbed in manly deeds and affairs that he had forgotten every thought of love and tenderness. Love and tenderness lay now in his arms, and yet he didn't feel they made him weaker. He felt only admiration that such a great spirit could inhabit such a tender body, and he knew that loving this spirit won't slow him down but inspire him to deeds as great as the ones of his ancestors.
Many hours passed in the night, before Thorin was sure Azlyn slept deeply. Then he gently placed his mouth on hers and kissed her, tasting her sweetness and feeling her curved lips parting beneath his.