there's so much more, you can reclaim your crown. you're in control, rid of the monsters inside your head.

-King, Lauren Aquilina

It's early morning when you stir, finding yourself back in your bed. You vaguely recall your eyes growing heavy as you leaned against Fíli in the nursery, but his side of the bed is empty. A little clock on the mantle informs you that it's 7:00 a.m.

The nursery door opens and Fíli enters, holding Juniper up on his shoulders. "Galikh bakn, amrâlimê," he whispers, bending over and pecking your cheek. [Good morning, my love] You'd convinced him to start speaking more Khuzdûl to you to help you learn. If you're going to spend the rest of your life around dwarves, you might as well learn their language properly.

"Galikh ba… bakn," you repeat slowly, stumbling over the guttural words.

Fíli shrugs, making Juniper wobble. "It's an improvement," he concedes.

"Ba! Ba! Ba!" your daughter echoes. Then she pauses. "Da!" She slaps her hands against Fíli's head, making him wince.

"Someone's hungry."

You sigh and sit up, adjusting your nightgown and holding out your arms for the baby. "I noticed that I'm not asleep on the nursery floor," you comment as she latches on.

"You'd already been up with her—I figured it was only fair I take my turn. You needed your rest for the coronation today." Fíli takes hold of your marriage braid, unraveling it and running a comb through your hair. The rhythmic tugging on your scalp is relaxing as he carefully weaves it into a new pattern. He fixes your bead and kisses it, whispering some words in Khuzdûl that you don't yet recognize.

"Wouldn't it be bad form for the crown prince to pass out from exhaustion during the ceremony?"

Fíli's eyes sparkle. "Au contraire!" You'd taught him a few phrases from your world. He seems to delight in tossing them into his day-to-day speech, confusing those around him. "If I were to faint, it's an amusing antic from the king's nephew. If you were to faint, it's an urgent medical episode from the new, beautiful princess."

"I'm not sure—"

A loud banging on your door interrupts you. Before you can tell the visitor to wait or cover yourself, it bursts open, revealing Kíli. "Mornin'!" he says with a grin. Looking you up and down, he wrinkles his nose. "That's disgusting!"

You sit straight up, color blooming on your cheeks. Juniper unlatches in protest at the sudden movement.

"Fíli, put a shirt on for Mahal's sake, no one wants to see that!" Kíli finishes, throwing you a wink. He snatches Juniper from your arms and tosses her in the air. She shrieks with delight. "Ready for the big day?"

"I'm not dressed, I haven't eaten, and I'm scared out of my mind," you count off on your fingers as you clamber out of bed. "Take a guess."

Fíli adjusts the top of your nightgown to preserve your modesty in front of his brother. "There should be breakfast in the hall, if Kíli hasn't eaten it all yet. I got up early and asked the servants to make you a plate." He moves to take Juniper back, but Kíli holds her just out of reach.

"You got to hold her all night," he says, sticking out his tongue. "I want a turn."

You crack your back and grab a robe hanging from the bedpost. "If you want to wake up with a fussy, teething baby at midnight, be my guest," you yawn, making for the door.

The stone floor is cold on your feet, sending a shiver up your spine. You hasten for the dining room, pulling your robe tightly around you. A familiar, salty aroma fills your nose as you push open the side door into the deserted hall.

There's a full plate of meat and eggs at the end of one of the tables, across from someone you didn't expect to see.

"Galikh bak, Thorin," you say lightly, taking your seat.

"Bakn," he corrects with a grunt. He straightens up and pushes back his own half-finished plate. "You are up early."

You shrug. "Baby," you mumble through a mouthful of eggs. "Tried to let Fíli sleep—he put me back to bed." The bite sticks in your throat and you wash it down with a gulp from a mug of coffee. "I didn't think you'd be down here. Shouldn't you be preparing?"

His dark hair is rumpled and there are bags beneath his eyes. It's almost amusing to see him in a thick robe and not the leathers and furs you had become accustomed to seeing on the journey. But you suppose he's earned a few creature comforts after spending over a hundred years away from home.

Thorin sighs. "I have done nothing but prepare for the coronation ceremony since the moment your wedding reception ended."

"And yet you clearly haven't slept."

"Dwarves don't need as much sleep as Men."

"Bullshit," you declare, stabbing at a sausage. "If anything, you sleep more. So, why weren't you resting?"

He doesn't answer, fiddling with one of his beads and avoiding your eyes. "You will not leave it alone until I give you an answer, will you?" he asks at last.

"You know me well."

Thorin presses his lips into a thin line. "I am… concerned," he admits. "I have slept little in the past nights while thinking about all that is to come."

You put down your fork and peer at the dwarf. "You're anxious."

"If you would prefer to put it that way, I suppose so."

"Mm," you hum in appreciation. "I'm familiar with the feeling." Pushing your plate aside, you lean in closer and lower your head. "So, what's up?"

Thorin glances around the room.

"It's just me, Thorin. It's not like you'll get the chance to offload it onto anyone else." You let him sit in silence for as long as he pleases, returning to your plate.

He lets out another deep sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I am ready for the position, I know that," he mutters. "It is my birthright. But knowing what led to the events of a year ago… it worries me, that I have the capability for cruelty." His eyes are dark and far away, his brow creased.

You reach across the table and lay a hand on his arm. "That was dragon-sickness," you say softly. "That wasn't you."

Thorin shakes his head.

You squeeze his arm as best as you can through the thick wool. "All this past year, you've been giving orders, directing the rebuilding of Erebor, organizing resources, summoning your kin. Aren't those all things that a king would do? You've been king, Thorin, in all but title. You never stopped."

Still, he doesn't reply. You release his arm and lean back, spearing a couple more sausages. "The boys are already up. I'll see you tonight." You shove the rest of the bite in your mouth and stand, giving Thorin's shoulder a small shake on your way out.

"Y/N? Are you almost finished?" Fíli's voice is tinged with impatience as he waits outside your chambers.

"Coming!" you call over your shoulder, inspecting yourself in the mirror one last time. You wear another one of Dís's old dresses, a thick, forest green gown with heavy fur across the shoulders. It glitters with tiny rhinestones sewn into the seams. Running a hand over your hair one last time, you open the door.

Fíli shifts Juniper onto his hip, bowing and kissing your hand. "You look exquisite, my lady."

You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. "I'm not calling you 'my lord', Fíli."

He takes your arm with a sly grin and escorts you through the halls.

Juniper squirms and reaches out for you. "Da! Da!"

"Mama," you correct her, gently lifting her from Fíli's arms, mindful of her long skirt. It was a mad dash to get baby clothes imported to Erebor in time for the wedding and coronation, and her dress still swallows her up, but at least it matches yours and Fíli's outfits.

A low hum fills your ears as you near the great hall, signaling the presence of a large crowd.

"Ready?" Fíli whispers.

"Not in the slightest."

He pauses in the middle of the passage and steps back for a moment, looking you up and down.

"What are you doing?"

"I want to remember everything about this day," he says softly.

You beam and give him a little twirl. He smiles back and takes your arm again, leading you to the doors of the hall, where Thorin and Kíli wait. The soon-to-be-king inclines his head to you.

Kíli gives you a little nudge. "Try and keep her quiet, hm?" he teases, patting Juniper on the head.

You bite back a reply as the doors swing open. Your breath catches in your throat—if the crowd at your wedding was large, this one is massive, packing the vast hall. A murmur ripples through the crowd when you enter, people ducking their heads respectfully as you pass. But their eyes burn into you, and you fix your gaze on Thorin's back.

Fíli squeezes your hand. "Breathe," he murmurs, barely audible.

Before you stands the great carven throne, the Arkenstone glimmering in its place at the top. It's flanked by three smaller, decadent seats—temporary fixtures until suitable thrones can be installed. The throne only seems to get more massive as you approach, turning to look out over the crowd. It's mostly dwarves, but you spot a small group of elves and men to the side. The white-blonde heads of Thranduil and Legolas are plainly visible, though you struggle to locate Bard and his delegation among the throng.

And Gandalf! Your heart lifts when you see the pointy gray hat in the front row with the rest of the Company. There's an empty seat beside him, representing the absent burglar. It's bittersweet—you make a mental note to arrange a journey to the Shire as soon as you have royal authority to do so.

Thorin raises a hand for the crowd's attention and beckons to a dwarf at the edge of the room. This must be Dáin Ironfoot—you vaguely recognize him from the battle. The deliberation over who would officiate the coronation lasted for weeks. It was finally decided that Dáin, Thorin's closest kin besides Fíli and Kíli, would be the one to place the crowns upon the heads of the royal family.

Dáin strides forward, followed by four other dwarves carrying satin pillows. Upon those pillows rest two gold crowns, a silver tiara, and the grand centerpiece, the Raven Crown. The dwarves place the pillows on a table at Dáin's side and retreat with small bows.

He clears his throat and smoothes his beard. "It is an honor, dwarrows, dwarrowdams, and esteemed guests of the kingdom, to stand here today," he booms. "We are gathered to witness the beginning of a new chapter in our people's history, and an event not seen in over two centuries: the crowning of a new King Under the Mountain." He pauses to let the words sink in. "A moment, please, to honor the Lady Dís, who abdicated her place in the line of succession in favor of her sons."

Applause fills the air as Dís, standing off to the side, dips her head. Her eyes shine when Dáin selects one of the golden crowns and stands in front of Kíli.

"Kíli, son of the Lady Dís. Prince Under the Mountain, second in line for the throne of Erebor."

Kíli beams proudly, tears sparkling in the corners of his eyes. Any trace of mischief or snark is gone—it's an innocent, childlike joy as he straightens up with his crown.

"Fíli, eldest son of the Lady Dís. The Crown Prince Under the Mountain, heir to the throne."

Fíli keeps his face solemn as Dáin places the crown on his head, but you spy that tell-tale twitch in his right hand. The same twitch that betrayed his nerves when he first entered your bedchamber in Rivendell forever ago. You try to catch his eye, but he stares steadfastly forward.

And now, all too soon, it's your turn.

"Y/N, a daughter of Man, wed to Fíli. The Crown Princess Under the Mountain. Their daughter, the Princess Juniper, third in line for the throne."

Dáin lifts the delicate tiara from the satin pillow. It's exquisite up close, sapphires woven into a silver web that matches your marriage bead. Your breath hitches, and you bend down to help Dáin reach. The metal rests gently on your brow, a touch heavier than you expected. Fíli remains facing ahead, but his glance is full of warmth as he looks at you out of the corner of his eye. You can't resist a smile when you meet his eyes, or when you see the proud faces of the Company.

Juniper reaches up and grabs at your hair with wide eyes.

"Not yet, little sprout," you breathe. "You'll get yours in time."

At last, Dáin lifts the last and largest crown, the Raven Crown, raising it up before Thorin.

"Thorn Oakenshield, son of Thror, son of Thrain. The King Under the Mountain!"

Thorin dips his head to receive it. He has worn it so often before, but it seems different now, as his gaze sweeps over his friends, his family, his kingdom. Before your eyes, years of tension on his brow seem to melt away, revealing the face of a young prince. A prince whose grandfather has not been touched by dragon-sickness. A prince who has not seen his home ravaged by fire. A prince who does not need to avenge the death of his father. You blink, and it's your Thorin again, face lined and weathered. But still some of the lightness remains. Some hope.

Dáin steps back and sinks to a knee. "Long live the king!"

The roar of the crowd is deafening, you're sure it is, but all you hear is your own heartbeat as you turn and ascend the steps to your seat. To your throne. A seat promising childhood dreams fulfilled, promising a life of luxury. But most of all, a seat carrying the promise of a home, a life with your daughter and the dwarf you love.

The king, however, does not take his seat yet. He holds up a hand to silence the crowd. "Long have I awaited this day," he begins.

You prick up your ears—Thorin was never one for speeches.

"A year ago, on this very day, the blood of our brothers was spilled at the foot of the Lonely Mountain so that we may stand here. I swear to you, in the sight of all, that their sacrifices will never be forgotten." He pauses, eyes lingering on the Company. "Today is a new beginning for Durin's Folk. An era of prosperity as we rebuild Erebor for those to come…" his gaze flickers to you and Juniper, "…and in honor of those who came before."

Finally, he settles onto his throne, head held high, and the room explodes into cheers and roars once again.

Fíli reaches over from his seat and grasps your hand. "Maidmi azhâr, amrâlimê. Maidmi azhâr."

[welcome home, my love]