"If I will not have you, I will have no other woman as wife."
Those were the words Thorin said one day under your weeping willow, the only witness of your love, of affectionate embraces and stolen kisses.
He was a prince without a kingdom. You were a young dwarven lady from a family that had everything: riches, respect, and power. You were raised with all the material comforts you could wish for, but the emptiness in your heart couldn't be filled with jewels of first water, nor finest furs nor most exquisite gowns.
When Thorin arrived at the Blue Mountains with his people and you laid your eyes upon him for the first time, you knew he was your One. When his azure gaze met yours, you knew he felt the same. Love captured both of you suddenly, kindling sweet, inextinguishable flames in your hearts.
But this was not enough for your father who saw the refugees from Erebor more as a band of hungry vagabonds than proud sons and daughters of the greatest dwarven kingdom. He wouldn't give away his only daughter's hand in marriage to a penniless, wandering blacksmith, even if the said blacksmith was the heir of Durin.
"Great ancestry will not put food on your table nor clothes on your back," your father would say.
The prince traveled far and wide, seeking a fortune that would satisfy your father. Each time he would return with a new treasure, your father would say disapprovingly: "Is this really how little Y/N is worth to you?"
And Thorin would respond, never wavering, "No, my lord, your daughter is worth more than all the jewels in the world," and with these words, he would take his leave and embark on another journey after stealing sweet, precious, secret moments with you under your weeping willow.
One day, Thorin returned empty-handed, but before your father could ask him the customary question, the heir of Durin said, "Would you give your daughter's hand in marriage to a king who reclaimed his kingdom?"
There was a greedy glow in your father's eyes when he eagerly accepted this proposal. In his mind's eyes, he already saw you on the throne beside Thorin as his queen, he already counted on the splendors he would take part in as well.
That night, you and Thorin met under your weeping willow once again, to say your goodbyes. Your prince in exile was to embark on a long and perilous journey. He would kill the vile winged serpent, retake Erebor, and then return to take you back to his kingdom as his wife and queen.
That night surrounded you with its velvety cloak of darkness just as the weeping willow surrounded your passion with its slender, lithe branches. There were ardent kisses, zealous caresses, fingers braiding hair, and whispered promises as you gave yourselves to each other, lovingly and generously, soaring together among the stars in ecstasy.
That night was the last time you felt his arms around you, his strong heartbeat under your cheek, his lips touching yours. It was the last time he looked at you with that indescribable tenderness in his gaze.
You were left with your memories, hopes, and dreams and started preparing for your upcoming wedding. You counted hours, days, and months until the day you would meet again.
A season had passed, and then another, and there was no word of him. You lost your appetite, you would feel light-headed for days, sleep would not come to you easily, but you waited, patiently and steadfastly. Another season brought only rumors and fantastic stories about a fire-breathing dragon dying in mid-air, followed by songs and retellings of a great battle that took place by the main gate of Erebor. Members of a merchant caravan coming from Rhovanion spoke of destruction, desolation, and death.
"King Thorin fought bravely, but even he could not escape the Pale Orc's deadly blow," they said.
Darkness overcame you, as it sometimes did those days, but this time, your consciousness left you for hours. After you finally came to, it seemed to you as if all the colors of the world had fled from your eyes. Food tasted like ash in your mouth and your cheeks were constantly wet with rivulets of tears. Your One was gone. Your heart was shattered into a million hopeless pieces. You lost him forever.
A week after that dreadful piece of news reached you, your father visited your chamber.
"Enough of this wallowing, daughter. You have disgraced me enough. Now it is time for you to move on. I have found you a husband," he said in a commanding tone of voice.
"Father, I beg you, I cannot," you protested in a trembling voice.
"My decision is final. Look at you. Think about our family's honor. Not many dwarves would take you for a wife now. The dwarf you were spoken for not only died but left you with nothing to secure your future with. You will marry Hogní and be an obedient wife to him, daughter."
You remembered Hogní the merchant very well. His richly braided copper mane adorned with multiple golden beads was a source of his pride. You recalled his burly, threatening frame, the all too fiery temper he had, and the uneasiness you felt whenever his dark brown eyes hungrily slithered over your features.
Numb and disconsolate, you reluctantly became Hogní's wife. Dreams of Thorin kept your heart warm every night while your husband made sure that it froze colder than ice every day. He would never make you forget that he married you out of pity and only because of the ample dowry he received from your father.
Time passed. Your grief for Thorin didn't. Only the life steadily growing under your heart gave you a shadow of hope. A ray of light in the overwhelming darkness. On one of the first days of spring, you gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, but the love you felt for your son didn't dull your pain completely.
The spring was in full bloom when a messenger galloped into Belegost, shouting on the top of his lungs, "The King Under the Mountain is coming! The great ruler of Erebor is here!"
Your heart flipped in your chest and then sank. No, it couldn't be him. He was gone to the halls of Mahal, together with the other brave warriors. You quickly wiped off a tear from your cheek, hoping that your husband wouldn't notice that you cried again. It infuriated him.
When you heard the sound of many hooves against the stone road, you took your tiny babe in your arms and left your home, hoping to catch a glimpse of some of the members of the famous Thorin's Company, as if seeing them would bring you closer to him somehow. You watched the opulently clad travelers as they approached the city, each of their armors being worth more than all of the jewelry you used to have as a maiden in your father's home. A great show of power and splendor. The dwarf in the golden armor had to be the king. A crown made of gold and opals laid on his head, matching the raven mane of his hair. His hair. It was just like… Your eyes widened.
"What are you doing here, wife?" a heavy hand landed on your shoulder.
"Th- The babe needed fresh air," you mumbled, pointing at your son sleeping soundly in your arms while your husband scowled, clearly displeased with you. Again.
Then, the sound of great horns of Belegost filled the air, welcoming the king of Erebor. You barely noticed anything else besides the majestic and unsettlingly familiar figure that now rode past by you, accompanied by his warriors. Everyone around you cheered when the king greeted the gathered crowds with a regal wave of his hand, his azure eyes scanning the area.
And then his searching gaze, his warm, loving gaze rested on you.
"Not a word, wife," your husband spoke menacingly under his breath, painfully squeezing your shoulder. "Or the babe won't live to see the sunset."
The king's eyes, your beloved's eyes, wandered from the bundle in your arms, to your face, to the dwarf beside you. You didn't dare to move nor speak, paralyzed with fear and shock. All you could do was hold your son in your arms protectively.
That was when Thorin's eyes froze like a lake in the midst of winter and his features hardened into an unforgiving mask of haughtiness. And then he turned away, hurrying his horse forward, leaving you and the shattered pieces of your life behind.
Tears ran from your eyes as you hugged your precious bundle in your arms. Your forehead rested against the weeping willow, the only witness of your love, as the King Under the Mountain was leaving the Blue Mountains, a lump of ice in place of his heart, never to return.
The wind moved among the drooping branches of your weeping willow, carrying the last words of your true love you would ever hear.
"If I will not have you, I will have no other woman as wife."
Your darling bundle of love mewled pleadingly when one of your hot tears fell on his cheek. You looked at his tiny pink face, at his bright, azure eyes, at the soft tufts of raven hair on his head. Your little treasure of treasures. Your prince.