"Thorin?" She ran her fingers through her golden locks. "Will it bother you when I grow old?" He stopped working on the leather strap, setting it down and glancing over at the woman in front of the mirror. "Pardon?"
"You know," She paused. "Will you still find me appealing when my hair's all gone and my memory fades—When I get old?" The petite hybrid questioned her lover nonchalantly.
"Of course." He smiled to himself; she could be so peculiar at times. "Will you still love me when my legs don't work and I can't sweep you off your feet as easily?" He walked toward her, awaiting her reply. She paused.
"You could never grow old," She set her brush down and spun on her stool to look at him. "Your soul is-" She paused to think of the right word. "It's evergreen, Thorin."
"Come here, love." He opened his large hand out to her. Her smile spread to her cheeks as she looked up at him. Placing her delicate hand in his calloused one, he pulled her against him. "Come with me, for a walk." He pulled her behind him and they made their way out of the castle and underneath the night sky.
At night, they could see the thousands of stars that lit up the sky of Middle Earth. He pulled her toward him so she was against his chest and she rested her head against his beating heart. Thorin inhaled the scent that was forever her—a feminine and soft scent. He remembered when they first met.
Two years ago, he had been the fallen Prince Under the Mountain. Erebor had crumpled to the strength of Smaug and he was living as a common peasant, working as a blacksmith and struggling through life. One night while he was sitting in the tavern with Balin, a mysterious hooded figure walked in, the door slamming loudly. Thorin and Balin were not the only ones to notice the cloaked figure; its presence caused quite a disturbance. One of the men who had been drinking all night went right up to the figure and began shouting. He was threatening something—Thorin couldn't quite understand what he was saying. The figure stood still and took the verbal abuse. Then, dropping to the floor and swinging out a shapely leg, the hooded figure brought the man to his back with a well-placed sweep. The tavern went up in a roar of cheers. As the figure began to stand Thorin watched the drunkard on the ground grasp the thin delicate wrist of his perpetrator. Thorin noted the slender fingers and smooth skin and jumped to the mystery woman's aid. He kicked the man on the floor, knocking him out completely and took her wrist in his hand instead. He pulled her out of the smoke and ale saturated tavern and onto the street outside. The moon was high in the sky and lit up the small village and the stars numbered a thousand.
"What were you trying to accomplish in there?" Thorin asked the hooded figure. He felt the pulse beneath his fingers flutter when he spoke, suddenly realizing how soft the skin covering it was. Before he realized what he was doing, he covered the small hand in his possession, trapping it in a warm embrace between his much larger hands.
When he looked up from their entangled hands he met crystal blue eyes. Frozen in awe of each other, the two stood there outside the tavern. "I just went in for a drink." She finally spoke and he didn't think he could fall any harder.
"Oh." It wasn't the most eloquent thing he'd ever said but she didn't seem to mind.
Looking back on how much both of them had grown since that first time he saw her made him smile. He had fallen in love with her then and again every day after that. She looked up at him as he sighed. "What is it?" Her cerulean eyes met his.
"I love you." His words made her smile. Standing on the tips of her toes she pressed her lips to his, forever memorizing the taste of him. When she pulled away his eyes were still closed.
"I love you too, no matter how old you get." She smirked and he chuckled. "Let's not think about that just yet, we have love right here where we are—with our whole lives ahead of us." She nodded and sighed as he pulled her in for yet another kiss.