Disclaimer: I don't own the Lord of The Rings series, or any rights to them. I'm just a wee li'l fan. Well, not wee exactly. Not at my height.

An: If you've not read The Books, but intend on seeing the upcoming movies...this is not a story for you. I've got a few spoilers, the main ones will be released in the first two paragraphs. Yes, those right below you. These two will spoil the rest of the Hobbit movies. If you are alright to that, please continue. If not, perhaps I will see you back when the new trilogy is done? I'll miss you.

For those of you who have continued, let me tell you this: thank you. I got the inspiration during The Hobbit, I don't really know from what. But here it is. A Thorin fanfic, what I'm sure is one of many. Please, enjoy. Except for the fact that Thorin did not die in the Battle of Five, its pretty close to honest. Enjoy.

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Thorin remembered the throne when it was his Father's. His Father's Father's. A shining beacon amongst mountains of gold, the Arkenstone a glittering gem at its head. It had been just a chair then. A pretty chair. A throne, a sign of power, but still...just a chair.

Now it was his and it was so much more. It was a sign yes, more of a sign than raven's flying and smoke. It was a sign of hope, of righteousness. Of victory. They had won. Thirteen dwarves and a hobbit. They had won. They took back the Lonely Mountain from Smaug, with the help of a well placed Elvish arrow. But still, their home was theirs once more. The dwarves could flourish in their mines, his Blue Mountain exile over.

Thorin Oakenshield, King Under The Mountain had his mountain once more. Erebor was the dwarf's again.

And they flourished. They lived well. They made their weapons, their armour, they melted his Father's gold. Returned what they knew was not rightfully theirs. What the dragon had stolen from others. Jewels and swords, anything particularly shiny. Some went to the elves, to repair their broken city, some went to Dale. Restoring the town to the glory it had once been. Bringing back the livelihood of the Dwarves. The markets and prosperity, a life most of them could hardly remember. A home. Happiness after so very much trouble. So much strife.

There was no more traveling. There were no more odd jobs. There were no more homeless children, the nomadic lifestyle over. They had a home. A warm bed and a hearth, just as Bilbo had promised to help them have. A place.

A place that was currently entirely too loud as his nephew's bowled through the throne room door, yelping of a fruitful hunt as they dragged something behind them. He'd had no idea that Fìli and Kìli had gone on hunt, an odd thing for them to do seeing that they had just returned from a very prosperous hunt only yesterday. There was no need for more. He leaned back in the throne as they dragged their struggling capture closer.

It was no deer they had, no elk or edible.

Fìli grinned ear to ear as he and his blonde brother lifted the creature up by its arms, a feat as it was only a smudge shorter than they. "Lookie what we found, Thorin!" He called, humour in his voice as he gave the thing a shake. It struggled in their grasp, its little bare feet too high off the ground the gain purchase. To try to get free. "A wee li'l hobbit burglar!"

And it was a hobbit indeed, burglar the king could not be sure of, but it was most definitely a little female halfling. All overdone dress and swinging barefeet. She seemed to be a bit more ferocious than the ones he'd encountered, fighting like a weak panther in the boys' grasp. They paid her no mind, swinging her like a child as she thrashed about.

"We knew a hobbit burglar once, d'ian we, Fìli?" Kìli asked his brother, their swinging stopping as the hobbit stood on unsteady legs. Their grip was loose and Thorin counted a hundred ways she could free herself, but she found none. Instead choosing to tug at her arms and demand they let her free. They paid her no mind, ignoring her like a child.

Fìli stroked his beard with his free hand, thoughtfully as if he'd forgotten their hobbit burglar. Bilbo. "Aye we did, Kìli." He agreed, nodding sagely. "A much better one though." He told his blonde brother over the girl's head, absently patting it as if to shush livestock. She didn't appreciate the gesture. "He didn't get caught!" He explained.

Kìli grinned, catching the girl's eye. Hers widened in fear."That meant he got to keep his hands." He told her, his smile betraying his threat. It was standard protocol. To cut off the hand of thieves. You can't steal if you can't grab. The girl looked terrified, her eyes wider now. "You won't be so lucky, girl!"

Her struggling strengthened, led by fear of loosing a hand. Of death. "Let go of me, you brutes!" She shouted, the first coherent words from her mouth. Her always barefoot struck out to slam atop of Fìli's. Even through his tough boot it made an impact. He yelped, letting her go and Kìli's laughter loosened his grip. She broke free quite easily but Thorin knew how slippery hobbits could be. How easily they could shift around, almost like shadows. He placed a lazy hand on the retrieved hilt of Orcrist, just a precaution. He wouldn't kill the little hobbit...but she wouldn't miss the tip of her freckled nose.

Kìli grabbed for her catching her by the backs of her shoulders even as he laughed at the struggle put forth, his brother hopping on one foot behind them. Too focused on the weak blow to join the brawl. The hobbit girl spun in the blonde's grasp, facing him with a glare, and then she did a most un-hobbit like thing.

She head butted him.

Her forehead collided with his nose and his laughter died out, the impact enough to cause blood to pour. She immediately stepped back, a hand over her forehead and one at her chest. She was obviously not used to fighting. To the sight of blood. The two brother's froze in shock, the three of them eying each other in an almost comical way. Two battle hardened dwarves, frozen in shock by an attack by a female hobbit.

"Enough, enough." Thorin waved waved, leaning further back in the throne. Rubbing a hand down his face. These three fools. He could hardly deal. "Who is this? Where did you find it?" He prayed the answer wouldn't be some jumbled story told by all three of them at the same time, like the children they acted like. Scrambling to tell on each other.

Luckily, the two men were still quite in shock and the girl to the opportunity to speak.

She straightened up suddenly, attempting to find a bearing as she awkwardly brushed down her skirt. Straightening her vest. She was a well dressed thing, not like the sturdy dwarven females with their heavy clothing. She was willowy, thin. Weak. She'd probably freeze through a winter inside the mountains. Her riotous cornsilk hair was a bird's nest, a messy tumble about her pale face and slim shoulders. Her big almost lavender eyes gazed up at him with a strange mix of fire and fear. She hid her shaking hands in the folds of her skirt, her quivering chin held high. She was either too foolish to fear or too stubborn to care. Either one was not a good attribute.

"I am Peony Bracegirdle, and I am a hobbit from the Shire." She declared, her voice loud in the wide hall. Thorin knew of the Shire, he knew it quite well. He knew of Hobbits too. But Peony? Did those foolish little bastard's truly name their offspring after flowers? Peony. He had to smirk, his hand loosening on the hilt of his sword. If a hobbit named Poeny was brave enough to attempt on his life she bloody well deserved the kill! "And I am historian not a burglar!" She tossed the last bit over her shoulder, giving his young nephews both a good glare. They grinned, never saying a word. Kìli holding his bleeding nose and Fìli standing on one leg like a flamingo. They winked in unison, an odd matched gesture that Thorin would never understand the necessity of. It seemed to unnerve the hobbit and she spun back around to face the King.

But when she looked back up, back to the throne, Thorin was off it. Standing a mere yard away, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked all at once fearsome and grand, in his black armour and light furs. His raven hair brushed back and his sharp face wearing a haughty expression. He looked like no weak hobbit, he was intimidating in a way she'd never seen. He was predatory. A threat. There were no threats in her Shire, Of that he knew for fact. "Are you insulting burglars?" He asked, tilting his head twoards her as he began to circle her. A wide ring around the girl who stood perfectly still, her back stock straight but her body tense. Fear. Trepidation. When was the last time he'd been in battle? The scar across his chest still strung tight, the one he'd almost died from in his last true fight. The Battle of Five Armies. A fatal wound he'd barely survived. He caught her looking at him from the corner of her eye, trying to keep him in her line of sight. As if seeing him could help her."Do you even know any burglars to insult?" He asked, his voice haughty. He wondered if she knew Bilbo Baggins. But then again, of course she did. All Hobbits knew each other.

The hobbit stood straight, her hands fisted in her skirt. "I find no honor in thieving, King Under The Mountain." She told him, speaking with just the faintest shake in her voice. Her forehead was beginning to turn red. A bruise on her fair skin. "So I do not keep company with thieves."

Thorin nodded, still circling. He eyed her for openings to strike then stopped himself. All of her was an opening. She had no Guard, no armour. No weapon either. She was defenseless in every way. Stupid hobbits. Did they not know the world was dangerous outside their little holes? "What if the thieving is stealing something back?" He asked, folding his hands behind his back as he awaited her answer. Bilbo always had a smart answer. Would she?

Peony, the poorly named fool, lifted her chin to look at him down her button nose. "Is it truly stealing if it was yours to begin with?" She asked warily, unsure of where this was going. Thorin was unsure himself. He'd no idea why he was questioning the hobbit, especially with questions that made no sense.

"It is in another's possession." He told her, his hands clenched together as he thought of Smaug. Of his home. "Is stealing not taking something from someone without their permission?"

"You speak in riddles, Dwarf King."

The dwarf king smirked, the corner of his moth picking up as he returned to his throne. This girl was no threat, no burglar either. "I knew a hobbit who's life was saved by riddles." Thorin thought back to Bilbo, his tale of the creature below the mountains. He waved his hand over his shoulder. Signalling g the boys. They'd have a better hold this time, he was sure. "Yours...not so much." he heard the struggle more than saw it, sliding back into his throne with his eyes closed. "Give the thief a trip to the cells." He told the brothers, a look passing between them. They'd understand. "And check her pockets!"

Thorin watched with mild interest as they led the struggling halfling away, her protests echoing in the throne room.

Hobbits. It was forever hobbits.

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An: Check out chapter two! You might as well...