Strong Tower
Summary: It was only by chance that Thorin had come upon her home that night in the pouring rain; injured and close to death. Thorin and Onua (Seeking Warmth) origins story.
Rating: M-NC17 for adult situations, violence and later chapters.
Genre: Drama/Romance.
Pairing: Thorin/OFC.
Author's Note: So I finally got round to finishing up this first chapter, which I am actually pretty proud of. I enjoyed writing this one out. Between the Hobbit and Sons of Anarchy and my next few days off I'm looking to have nice few updates/uploads ready. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything recognized as property of Tolkien or the Hobbit films. I merely wrote this for entertainment. I make no money out of this.
Chapter One
The whispers milled about for some time. He hadn't come into town in over a week. Boel, son of Baer, dwarf smith of Meron had passed. At age two hundred and thirty one he'd taken ill and lost the fight to live. They spoke of how his heart had never healed after the death of his wife some years prior when both woman and child had passed.
For he was a dwarf and Ovra, a human had been his mate. Boel had been of the Firebeards, with a mass of flaming red braids that dropped to his lower back and a beard that was adorned with silver beads and braids. He was built broad and strong but stout while his wife was curvy, tall, buxom and fair haired.
They had married when Ovra had been young and fled her home city that very night. Meron was their place for a fresh life, located in the region of Enedwaith between Lond Daer and Dunland in a valley it was isolated from other villages and life moved slower there. Most frowned upon their mixing of the races. They did not flee though. No, they stayed and persevered, opting to build a home ten minutes walk from the village and further into the basin of the valley. They were isolated but preferred it that way.
Little was ever told of why Boel had come down from the mountains and opted to live among the humans, he would not speak of it and rarely spoke much.
When Boel started a forge of his own within the village, he struggled to find work for whilst a dwarf was skilled with a hammer and anvil none trusted the outsider. He continued to build and repair things for his home, working day in and out and never seeming to mind that people did not come knocking.
For months it had been that way until Mahal finally smiled upon him for the village smith was old and broken; fingers too crippled from years of hard labour and his back gone. Whilst the steady flow of work was not weapons forging, what he was most skilled at as evidence of the large axe which always rested by his side in the forge, he would fix what he could and forge what was needed when work came his way.
Ovra baked and always their home was filled with the rich smell of food and not long into their new life, Ovra's goods were popular amongst the townsfolk.
Soon the couple were an accepted addition among the town for they never caused any trouble and simply lived in peace among the townsfolk.
Unfortunately, no child was blessed upon the couple in their first years of marriage. It was not for lack of trying. Boel blamed himself and Ovra believed she could not bear children. It was not until Ovra was into her late thirties that a child was born to them and it was a difficult pregnancy and birth.
She was their miracle; a daughter, small but strong with bright emerald eyes like her mothers. They named her Onua.
Being of two races, there was any number of ways Onua could have turned out; she could have been human in height but dwarf like in features, full dwarf or full human. As it was, the daughter of Ovra and Boel was born of dwarf height with a slimmer figure than normal dwarf females, a hairless jaw and human features; small, thin nose and full pouting bow lips.
Life was peaceful for the small family.
Onua was a curious, bright child from a young age who loved to explore anything and everything she could get her hands on or wriggle into. The children of the village were not always kind to the young half-blood but her mother made up for this. Boel and Ovra would tell her stories of the first dwarf lords, of the histories of men and more.
She aged slowly, to the surprise of both her parents; Onua had inherited her father's long life. At age ten, she barely looked five.
On her twenty second birthday Boel gave her a small hunting axe and dagger much to the consternation of his wife who did not wish for her daughter to know weapons in such an intimate way. Boel would have none of it though. She was the daughter of a Firebeard and weapons she would know for he knew there would come a time when both he and his wife would not be there and she would need such knowledge.
As Onua grew, Mahal blessed Boel and his wife with a second child.
Alongside of weaponry, Onua learned medicine over baking but even with her skills she was unable to stop the tragedy that would befall on the eve of her siblings' birth. Ovra and her stillborn son passed in the early hours of a miserable morning in the arms of a distraught Boel as his daughter watched on in complete mortification.
Boel was never the same again. Laughter no longer filled the once happy home. Five years on and Boel fell ill. Onua while young understood that her father's heart never recovered from the loss of his wife and son but she was unsure what to do in order to ease his pain. He did not survive that winter and Onua was left to fend for herself.
Still only a youngling in dwarf years, Onua struggled to find a foothold without her parents; winters were harsh, the nights terrifying. Men showed their true colours when news spread of her living alone. She was home when it first happened; he'd arrived with six others. They were but men in their twenties at the time and she was barely forty.
She had fought but it was too little avail and with that she withdrew from the village for none would help her nor believe their boys capable of such an act. It would be another six years before Onua's quiet, withdrawn life would be turned upside down.
Blood trickled down his hand which trembled despite his best attempts to shake the feeling. Heart pounding fiercely in his chest and breath escaping in short, harsh pants as he limped through the rocks, trying to weave his way to safety; Thorin knew he had to keep moving no matter how much he felt like stopping and resting. Screeches drawing closer to his back made him trudge on, his good arm clutching tight round his middle where his more grievous injuries were.
If he could make it out of the canyon and into the forest than he had every chance of surviving his pursuers and could find some form of shelter to tend his injuries.
He just had to keep moving. He was an heir of Durin; he had survived worse than this! Or so he liked to tell himself repeatedly in his mind.
Grunting as he stumbled upon the uneven earth, he caught himself upon a boulder. His hand trembled, a bloodied palm print left in his wake as he shoved himself forward and to the border of the canyon.
He prayed to Mahal they retreated back into the canyons from whence they'd come when they lost sight of him in the forest. He had shrugged off his pelt a while back, its weight slowing him and getting on the roots and sharp rocks along the walls of the canyon. He would freeze to death in this winter air before he let himself be captured by those creatures.
Thorin took a glance over his shoulder, eyes searching the dark space behind him for any sign of flames from torches. They were still a little way off. Of course he could him them well enough, damned creatures weren't the brightest at keeping silent.
Mahal was merciful. The tree line came into view round the next bend. The young dwarf prince would live to see another day, well if he could tend his injuries and somehow find shelter that is. He was blessed that early morning for as he broke into the dense growth of the forest on the southern end of the Misty Mountains, sunlight spilled across the canopy and into the canyon.
They'd retreat back into the darkness now and he would have a day to put some time between himself and them. They'd have to double back for miles into their caves and he would have hours on them by the time they were able to resurface.
Pushing his way through the undergrowth of the forest, he winced as his side stung sharp with each step. He'd bleed out if he didn't stop to least patch the wounds before moving on and his sword arm was damaged to. He growled. A curse upon foolish humans and there poor directions; head along the mountains they'd said, you'll be fine they said.
He scoffed. No one had given him a map and the dwarves did not carry maps of the realms not their own. He had walked blindly into the ambush thinking it a safe route around the elf home known as Rivendell.
Should he ever lay eyes upon those tavern drunks again he would ring their necks with his bare hands. He was outnumbered. Travelling alone meant more risk but he had wanted to travel quick and fast despite Balin's urge to send warriors with him from Ered Luin. Dis would never forgive him were he to die and leave her in that mountain alone. She was as uncomfortable there as he was beneath a chosen king.
Thorin was of Durin's line, he was a prince and some common upstart; some fool who would be king had talked his way into ruling the Blue Mountains with an iron grip. Thorin suffocated beneath the restrictions placed upon him and so he had set out in search of another mountain for his people to live in.
His disappearance would not go unnoticed and he knew by now that Rirli would be dragging Dis into whatever marriage wager he could. Balin would look after his sister and he had to do this. He couldn't claim Erebor but he could claim another mountain for Durin's folk to live in. A place governed by their laws and not newly made ones.
His friends had offered to venture out with him but he left them to protect their people. This was his journey; his mission. He would not see his friends fall around him like his family did before the gates of Moria barely ten years gone.
No, he would keep moving until he found somewhere safe to rest a short while and then he would continue on south. Hopefully the forest would end and he'd find shelter in a village not far off though chances of a village among this area were incredibly slim.
If only he had a map.
Onua sighed as she dropped the clothes back into the water. Her back ached and her fingers were pruning but the load of washing needed to be done; the autumn rain had prevented her from doing so for the past week and the basket was piled so high now it was a struggle to get to the river's edge without being slightly winded.
The miserable weather had been present for the past week. Onua was not a fan of being locked away indoors for such long periods of time; there was work that needed to be done outside the home. She could only do so much cleaning and rearranging before she became stifled within the four walls.
When the first pierce of sun broke through the grey sky, Onua's smile warmed and donning her coat, scarf and hat, she had gathered up her basket of dirty clothes and trudged through the mud to the river edge, determined to have wash it all and hang it by the fire place so it would be out of her way and she could move onto outside work. Fire wood needed to be gathered, the vegetable garden needed to be tended to, the cart floors needed to be mended otherwise she'd lose things through the floor on her way to town and her pony needed to be brushed down and have his mane pulled.
She lifted her breeches out of the water and squeezed them out, dropping them onto the top of her now wet laundry. Once they were spread before the fire she could move onto fixing her cart and hoped that with her list of chores she would be left uninterrupted for the day by any and all.
Wishful thinking she knew. Something always came and interrupted her plans. At the thought she felt a shudder crawl along her spine and had to shake herself. Hopefully they would be to busy to venture out; the rain would have flooded some of the town and surrounding farms which meant they'd be required to help and leave her at peace a little longer. She raised one wet hand to ghost a finger across the faint scar curving along her collarbone; it would never disappear no matter how she tried, they'd left a permanent mark and she'd never be able to forget that day.
Frowning, she shoved the piece of clothing roughly into the water and scrubbed fiercely at the material. If only she had been quicker and taller. Her father's axe had been sharp and caught the main offender low across his belly but it had been a swallow, superficial injury and it had done little to deter him. He'd told her it was her fault they'd been so rough in the end, if she'd played nice they would have to.
Damn Mahal for letting them get away with it, damn him and his kind for not doing anything about it. She might have been but half of his creation but she was more dwarf than human. He father would have smashed their skulls into the ground like Ivan the Reaper had once done during the battle for the Red Mountains hundreds of years ago. She wished her father had told her of which clan he had originated from, he told stories of Orocani, Khazad-dum and even Erebor the kingdom which had been destroyed prior to her birth by the dragon Smaug.
Maybe it was better he hadn't. Obviously he hadn't wanted anything to do with his kin otherwise he would not have left the mountain nor would he have taken her mother as his bride. It also meant that Onua couldn't go in search of any kin that might still linger in Eriador; she was of two races and she knew all too well that the dwarf kingdoms would not welcome her. She was part human and no matter how much she resembled one of them in height and personality, she was not a full dwarf - she had no beard either.
Onua huffed as she squeezed the last of her clothing out and piled it into her basket. Wriggling her fingers and stretching out her sore back muscles she pushed herself to feet, brushing off the dirt and mud from her skirt. The basket had been heavy when the clothes were dry but now it was double the weight with them all damp. She grunted as she gathered the basket up and began the trek back to the small home in the distance.
Halfway to her home she heard the sound of hooves pounding into the earth. She froze, back to the direction the encroaching sound was coming from. Her eyes squeezed shut as she mumbled out a prayer.
Drawing in a heavy breath she straightened her back and turned. Relief flooded her.
There was only two riders approaching and none bore the armour of the local militia. She tried not to recoil as the horses grew closer. A pony she did not mind, it was more her size. The two large mounts stopped shot of her by a couple of feet and she clutched the basket tighter to her chest as she stared at the town's mayor warily.
"Onua," he greeted. His companion didn't greet her, merely inclined his head slightly.
"Haakon," she replied, trying not to let her unease of the horses show as the mayor dismounted and handed his reigns off to his companion. "What brings you here?"
"Goblins have been sighted, last night a large party of them were seen heading down in the valley. We don't know where they have retreated to for the day but we lost two villages in the north."
His eyes were grim, dark circles present beneath them. He was not jesting. Onua swallowed the tight lump that formed in her throat at the thought of why they would have come to see her.
"You're evacuating the villages," she surmised.
He nodded as he spoke; "We have no other option. The village leaders can't work out what has pulled them out of their caves and into the valley but at the rate they're travelling, they have to be hunting something they want badly. They wouldn't risk the light for just ransacking villages."
She nodded. "They would of attacked Namygus and Narasson in the night. The people?"
Onua didn't want to think of what this meant.
"Dead. Goblins don't keep prisoners unless they have a high price on their heads," he explained and Onua sighed heavily. So many lives were lost in the night. Why were they in the valley? What could they possibly want so badly they would destroy two villages. "We're evacuating the northern villages as we speak but Meron is going as well. We have no choice."
The message hung in the air between them. He wanted her out of the valley with the rest of the village. But - she couldn't leave her home behind. She didn't want to leave the memories.
"I can take care of myself."
A grin split onto his companions face as he suddenly chuckled; a deep and unnerving sound. "Dwarf stubbornness."
"Onua-"
"It is nice of you to have concern for me but I will not leave my home behind when there is no guarantee they'll move this far. There are too many memories and things holding me here."
The human before her didn't argue. His shoulders slumped a little in clear defeat and Onua was grateful of inheriting her father's stubborn streak. Haakon glanced over her shoulder at where her home was in near distance and nodded after a moment. "I pray you're right, lass. If you change your mind, head south."
Onua nodded, dipped into an awkward curtsey and thanked him for coming and informing her of the situation before she turned and started for her home again. She would not leave. Mahal himself would not force her out unless it was absolutely necessary. Clutching her basket tighter to her chest, she decided her next job for the day was fix her cart and tend her pony – just in case.