Thorin's POV
Thorin Oakenshield was many things—a warrior, a king, a leader. But by Durin's beard, he was not equipped for this. Sitting in the dimly lit inn, surrounded by smug elves, meddling wizards, and scheming nephews, Thorin was struggling to remember when exactly he had lost control of this situation. Possibly when Gandalf had first brought Nyx into his company. Possibly when she had saved his life—multiple times. Possibly when she had risked her own life to save his nephews. Or, more likely… Possibly the moment he realized he actually respected her. And that was the problem. He was not supposed to respect an elf. He was not supposed to admire her skill, her wit, her sharp tongue that rivaled his own. He was certainly not supposed to be affected by the way she smirked when she bested him in an argument, or the way her silver hair glowed in the firelight, or the way she stood so fiercely between him and danger, over and over again. Yet, here he was. And now? Now there was her brother. Prince Seth of the Moon Elves—just as irritating as Nyx, just as smug, and possibly an even bigger menace. Thorin had thought one moon elf was enough. Now there were two. And to make matters worse, Seth had taken one long look at him and immediately joined Kíli and Fíli in their relentless matchmaking nonsense. "Hold on… Are you the one my sister is being set up with?" "WHAT?!" Thorin had never buffered so hard in his life. And the worst part? Seth had approved.
Of him.
The smug elf had actually approved.
Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, heir of Durin's line, mighty warrior of Erebor—was being evaluated like some courting suitor.
And the company—his own dwarves—had joined in on it. Now, as he sat at the table, listening to Seth and his nephews actively conspire against him, he took a long, slow drink from his tankard and tried to ignore the way Nyx's face was buried in her hands. At least she was suffering, too. "I hate all of you," she muttered. Thorin grunted in agreement. But then Seth grinned at him—that same knowing grin Nyx always gave him when she knew she had the upper hand—and Thorin had to fight every instinct not to glare at him. Did they all see something he didn't? Did they— Thorin exhaled sharply, pushing that thought away before it could form. "Enough," he finally said, standing abruptly and slamming his tankard onto the table. The entire table fell silent. He could feel Nyx's gaze on him. Could feel everyone's eyes watching, waiting. Thorin scowled, ignoring the heat rising to his face. "I am going to sleep." And with that, he turned and marched up the stairs, ignoring the sounds of muffled laughter behind him. As he shut the door behind him and leaned against it, he exhaled deeply, staring up at the ceiling. This was a disaster. And yet… His thoughts drifted, unwillingly, to a silver-haired warrior who fought beside him like an equal. A moon elf who stood between him and death without hesitation. A woman who had every right to a throne of her own, and yet… she refused it. A woman who was so infuriatingly stubborn, so reckless, so—- Thorin groaned and ran a hand down his face. Durin save him. He was starting to understand what they saw.