Disclaimer:I do not own The Hobbit, Thorin Oakenshield or any of the characters that are mentioned in this little scribble. If by chance I did own them, Thorin especially, I would find much more interesting ways of spending my days.
Enjoy, and as always, never feel guilty for immersing yourself into the beauty of an alternate reality. The power of the pen, or keyboard – whatever – has changed the lives of countless before you. It is a glorious thing, to escape to another realm.
Review if you want more. This could become a lopsided, wonky little series if you have a caffeine addiction and as terrible an imagination as I do.
Layna was shaking from her head to her toes. She had not prepared well for the weather she and her travelling companions were subjugated to. Her thin quilt and lightweight jacket did little more than taunt her with warmth and the night was getting colder by the second.
It was a dark night, the moon hiding her shining face and it appeared winter was early this year. The Company of Thorin Oakenshield were all decked out in thick furs and leather that shielded them from the biting nip of the wind. She on the other hand, was freezing her arse off. Layna was a translator, and a bloody good one at that, but she could never master the art of packing. There were always so many things she thoughts she might need that she often left out the most practical things.
She had remembered a pouch of willow bark for fever and a blasted container of sea salt to clean wounds, three books on Síndarin and enough parchment to write the histories of Durin the Undying three times over, but she had forgotten a proper coat. Layna was angry at herself. After all, she had left it hanging neatly over the stool by the fire when Gandalf had called for her to hurry up.
Now, the thick coat that gathered dust in the modest space of her living room. She had saved up to buy the thing, and now it was useless, hanging on her pitiful furniture piece. The dwarves were all snoring peacefully, except the dwarf keeping watch. Layna was shivering and desperately trying to shift closer to the fire without waking the dwarf next to her. The crickets weren't chirping, and the only sound she heard was Dwalin rattling away like thunder beside her. The fire was slowly dying.
Sighing, Layna slowly sat up and carefully rolled herself out of her bedroll. Bloody foolish girl, packing salt and not another blanket! She cursed her addled brain and stood up to find more wood for the fire. Dwalin didn't wake and despite her dismal circumstances, she felt proud of herself for that. He had ears like elves, even though he'd kill her if she said that to him.
She found some twigs and branches, not daring to pick up logs, for fear of waking the Company. The fire burned a little brighter and she felt a little warmer. If only she hadn't forgotten her damnable coat!
Sighing deeply, she forced her eyes closed and tried to sleep by force of iron will. She concentrated very hard, counted sheep, rolled this way and that, and still the ice in her bones persisted, and she did not find her much-needed rest.
Dawn came after hours of shivering bitterly and cursing blindly at her own forgetfulness and she had the mood of a thundercloud when she saddled her pony, ready for the day's travel. Sally must have sensed her rider's frustration and the normally sassy mare behaved herself for once. Sally was a dear thing and Layna loved her to bits, but the little horse was cheeky and particularly fond of biting one on the bottom when you would least expect it.
The Company set off into the wilderness after a hurried breakfast of the previous evening's left-over stew and some hard cheese. Layna was not in the mood for Bofur's jovial tales, or Balin's lessons on Dwarfish customs, or Fíli and Kíli's general good spirits and set herself and Sally behind Thorin Oakenshield himself.
He didn't despise her completely, but he was also not inclined to striking up conversation and Layna was sure that she could enjoy her brooding in peace. He was rather well-versed in the art himself and she doubted that he would interrupt her. The sun was mocking her. It was a beautiful day, with bright sunlight and a breeze that made for good traveling.
They ambled along to give the ponies a chance to warm their muscles and broke into a canter (or in Sally's case, a quick trot) and the real journeying began. They stopped again at a stream to water their mounts and passed dried meat and fruits picked from trees they passed around as lunch.
Layna took the jerky from Gloín. She gently guided Sally to walk beside Thorin's pony and handed him a piece. He inclined his head to her – translated from Thorin-ish to 'thank you, Layna' – and munched. Layna grumbled under her breath. He even looked graceful while he was chewing.
She had a peculiar … fondness for the dwarf king. An admiration, rooted in respect for his hardships. There was nothing romantic about her admiration, she was merely intrigued by him. Nothing romantic about the way her cheeks flushed gently (that was the heat, of course) and nothing romantic about the way she could lose herself in his eyes (she was only trying to discern his character, after all) and there was certainly nothing romantic about the way she shivered at his touch (that was entirely due to the circumstances of imminent danger in which his touch was almost always felt).
Thorin swallowed and Layna focused on the landscape ahead of them. She knew she should rein her horse back and ride behind him, but he didn't exactly voice his displeasure at her presence, so Layna stayed where she was.
"You did not sleep last night."
His voice – his singer's voice that she appraised for its lilting range, not the way his deep baritone made shivers dance up her spine – was clear and his statement left no room for argument. She shot him a look, bashful suddenly.
"No. I am sorry if I disturbed you."
He was silent for a few moments, and Layna didn't dare look at him. Her cheeks were rosy already and she had not even turned her head to look at him.
"Lay your bedroll next to mine tonight."
He spoke with forwardness one could only expect from a born king and Layna was too shocked to do anything other than gawk at him and barely stutter out an embarrassed, "Uh, wouldn't that be- you know… inappropria-."
A rare, quite dazzling little smile (more of a grin, really) lit his features and Thorin said in a kindly voice, lilting with mirth, "Worry not, I have no intention of ravaging you, lass."
She managed a pitiful "Oh. Yes." that she dare not believe reeked of disappointment, and then shame, and then doubt.
She found a rather interesting looking tree up ahead in their path, a twisted young birch to stare at. Anything but his eyes! Or his coat… it looked warm and toasty. She bit back her "Why?" and swallowed her sudden embarrassment: he was an honorable man – err, dwarf – and his word was good. She looked at him again, and swore her heart stopped beating when he tossed, "At least not with such an audience…" over his shoulder.
And just like that, he looked back to his companions, yelled out onward! to the dwarves and set off at a brisk canter. Sally strained against her hackamore, eager to catch Thorin's bay pony as Layna gaped at his back. When Layna's brain started to work again, she nudged Sally's sides and she shot off like a rocket, nearly unseating Layna in her disorientation.
She was silent and pensive for the rest of the ride. Sally was a nightmare for the rest of the ride and although Layna would never give the little firecracker the satisfaction, she was grateful for it because it kept her mind off Thorin. And his request.
Surely he would not force her to –
"'Ere lass, what's got ye so befuddled, ey?"
"Blue blistering barnacles - Kíli don't sneak up on me! I told you I curse like a sailor!"
Her response to Kee's interruption of her inner turmoil was snappy and she almost forgot she was speaking to royalty. He looked shocked for a moment, but he recovered well enough, lashing back at her with a snide, "I did not sneak up on ye! Ye weren't paying attention, ye daft girl!"
Girl. Oh, so she was girl now. Layna ground her teeth together so sharply she feared they would break and forced herself not to yell.
"I'm sorry, Prince Kíli. I had a bad sleep last night and my mood is not taking kindly to your – err, liveliness."
He grinned from between his braids, looking every bit the naughty dodo he was, leaned over and whispered, "Speaking of liveliness, was it Dwalin that kept ye up all night, little lady Layna?"
She gave him a snotty look, her irritation beginning to fade the more she looked at his sparkling countenance, "If anything, I kept him up, little dwarf. He didn't know what hit him. Speechless, I tell you, he was!"
The terrifyingly large dwarf in question heard her unfortunately, his antenna-ears catching his name seven ponies down the line.
"What's that?"
Layna turned around in the saddle, a sickly sweet smile aimed pleasantly in his direction, "I'm just informing Master Kíli of our glorious nocturnal activities, my good dwarf."
Dwalin and Layna got along well. He gave her an old hatchet and showed her how to sharpen it and would even go so far as to show her how to punch things if he was in a particularly nice mood. Nice in Dwalin-ish was being slightly chattier and less prone to violence inflicted on one's person.
So, Layna cheered in her head when Dwalin promptly shut Kíli up with a savage comment, "Don't tax yerself with things ye don't understand, Kíli. Leave that to us grown dwarves with more 'an grass on their chins, ey?"
She smiled for the rest of the day, wickedly happy that someone else was miserable too.
For a moment, Layna was blissful until she heard Oín muttering something to Dori about 'woman's troubles' and 'the curse of the moon'.
She grumbled again after that.
Until Thorin told them to stop. And untack. And start a fire.
Then, like a wave, her uneasiness crashed back into her. She kept Sally at the back of the line, behind Ori and the hobbit Bilbo, and took her sweet time about grooming her little horse. She made a great show of teaching Bilbo how to massage a horse's – or pony's – neck and rump to ease their stiffness after a long day's ride. Not to waste time, of course. Only to spend some quality tie with her loyal steed.
Sally took off to eat just as Bombur called her to his place at the fire. She relished in the warmth and helped Bombur as best she could, her mind strictly forbidden from venturing to the dark places that housed her slightly fonder thoughts of Thorin.
Layna felt bad for Dwalin's harsh comment; she knew how Kíli felt about his abundance of stubble but lack of a full beard; and saved him a juicy bowl of stew with the most meat in. He accepted her peace-offering and her profuse apology only after she swore that she and Dwalin were not in love, but only friends, and that she was not kept awake by rowdy activities that were not befitting of a lady.
Standing, she bade him goodnight and unconsciously searched for Thorin. She cursed herself. She found him in moments, leaning against a tree with one hand on his knee and the other relaxed at his side, even in his leisure the picture of grace. He was wicked with a sword and swift on his feet, strong and built for war. But his hands were craftsman's hands, meant to bend steel to his will. They were caring hands, meant to guide young dwarflings in their first steps. They were lover's hands; meant to caress imperfections and soothe aches and commit curves to memory and…
No, you lawless chit! Get your mind out of the gutter!
Nonetheless, she lay her bedroll beside his while avoiding his attentive gaze like it was the plague and took her water skein and a cloth some ways away from the Company. Once sheltered behind a small outcropping of rock, Layna stripped to her bindings and underwear and washed as best she could.
When she returned from her impromptu bath, the Company were almost all bedded down, except for Bofur (who was on watch) and … oh, benevolent blue-blooded bastards, him!
Layna's feet betrayed her and she walked to her roll, the thing looking eager as a beggar's purse next to a goldmine beside his own. Her quilt was thin and her jacket thinner, while Thorin had an actual blanket! It looked heavenly!
She avoided his eyes and sat down, willing sleep to claim her and make her forget that he ever opened his mouth in the first place.
"So Dwalin was rendered speechless by your charms?"
Layna's eyes snapped up to meet his endless blue ones by the lack of her better judgement. Her cheeks colored only briefly before she reined her heart back into check and smiled, "Oh, aye. Gaped like a fish, he did!"
The corner of his mouth twitched up, but a somberness descended on him just as suddenly as his mirth did. He looked at her, his face an unreadable mask.
"You will freeze with so little bedding."
Layna wanted to snap 'Well really, who'd have thought?' but bit her tongue just in time. Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest. The cold was already prickling at her bones.
She nodded her stubborn head and lay down on her meager pillow, just to have an excuse not to look at him, because her stomach was threatening to dispel its contents by the effect of being so close to him.
"Will you let me warm you?"
A simple question that in hindsight was the start of something much greater than shared warmth. Layna's breath caught in her throat and when she looked shyly at him from her horizontal position, she swore a blush stained his own cheeks for a mere moment before flitting away and once more returning his face to impassive.
Her head nodded.
Her mind screamed for her body to turn away from him, anything to get away from him. No, turn around! Turn around, you fool! Now! No-no not toward him, you dim dolt! Away! She didn't move, a happy medium she was more than happy to meet, because it meant she could study his profile (only to draw it later on the parchment she brought, to track their journey).
Thorin moved silently: he draped first her quilt over them both and then his thick blanket. Layna sighed as the warm cocoon enveloped her. So this is true bliss.
He settled his head beside hers and they looked up at the stars.
The moon was a thin slice of silver and the stars glittered and shone like little polished diamonds. Layna turned to her side and lay with her back to him, suddenly aware of just how close he was. So close in fact, that she could smell his pipeweed and a whiff of leather and iron, mixed together with the smell of fresh grass and Thorin.
She felt a warm, deliciously familiar; yet totally unknown hand on her waist. Her back tensed, but she didn't dare look back at him. Her heart thudded pathetically at her ribcage, desperate to get out. The hand squeezed her side gently and Layna – like a puppet obeying the command of its puppeteer – turned her head slightly.
And there he was: all blue eyes and ebony hair just lying there looking at her. Her breath died in her throat and she was speechless because Thorin was seeing her, not just looking, he was peering into her soul!
"You are shaking. Come here."
His voice sounded deeper in his whispered tone. Tender tones. Sultry tones. His voice was made for commands and war cries. It was made to rally his people. But it melted her and Layna knew she should tell him that her pitiful shivering had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with heat, but her voice had fled and she was too lost in his smell to find it.
He wrapped her up in a warm embrace, his chest molded to her back. He held her tightly enough to cradle her, but loosely enough to let her escape (not that she would – it would be rude to escape a king). And he was all around her, invading every one of her senses till all she saw was the scars on his knuckles and the strength of his forearms and the stories his fingers could tell.
He surrounded her till all she smelled was Thorin and air and she found that breath must surely have been incomplete all her life, because she suddenly felt alive and her blood sang. She felt only his gentle cradling embrace and the warmth of his breath against her hair, and she wondered how she would ever be warm without it again.
She heard only his heartbeat – a steady thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump – against her back and let it lull her into slumber like the sweetest of lullabies.
He was invading every one of her senses, like he had conquered her heart and made it his, and Layna realized (with a smile on her face) that she didn't mind one bit.
"Are you well, Layna?"
She hummed, unable to form words; lost in his embrace.
Speechless, my king.
I am rendered utterly and completely speechless by you.
Author's note:
I apologize for any errors. I tried to iron them out, I really did.
I love The Hobbit! Review, please. I've never written a oneshot, so your thoughts are much appreciated. Is that what this is called?
Hell if I know...
Enjoy xxx CC