Fanfiction Is Not "Eww... Fanfiction".

Fanfiction is not "Eww... fanfiction".

Fanfiction is comfort after a long day. Fanfiction is hope when things aren't going so well. Fanfiction is exploring your emotions and sexuality in a safe place. Fanfiction is reaching out into a universe to discover things you never knew before. Fanfiction is discovering things about yourself that you were unsure of. Fanfiction is going on adventures. Fanfiction is walking when maybe you cannot. Fanfiction is standing up for yourself when it's hard to do in real life. Fanfiction is having the family you never had, the friends you always wanted, the love and affection you deserve. Fanfiction is letting out your frustrations and anger in a safe place. Fanfiction helps people. Readers and Writers alike.

Fanfiction is not "lesser writing".

Fanfiction is 100k stories about two dudes in a shiny black car. Fanfiction is 47 chapter epic tales about dragons and magic. Fanfiction is short stories that evoke such emotions that leave you crying for hours. Fanfiction is incredible prose that lingers in your mind for years to come.

Fanfiction is not shameful. It is not worthless. It is not just some silly thing kids do.

Fanfiction is beautiful art and no one can take that away from you. If they try, just write them into your next story and beat the hell out of them.

Fight For Me

summary: When Din starts to get harassed at a cantina, you can’t help jumping in to defend him at all costs.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x reader

warnings: angst, strong language, mentions of trauma, canon-typical violence, injuries & blood, hurt/comfort, fluff

rating: T

word count: 3.175k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

You tugged on the hood of your poncho to conceal more of your face from view. “We’ve got a lot of eyes on us.”

“I told you.” Din’s modulated voice was low as he took a subtle step closer to your side. “We’re near Mandalorian Space.” You stole a glance over at him just in time to catch the quick tilt of his helmet. “The people out here aren’t fond of my kind.”

“I just…” You paused as the two of you passed another pedestrian, your chin and your gaze lowering until they were out of sight. “I thought you said Akiva was the first planet to pledge their allegiance to the New Republic.”

“They were.” Din’s gloved hand pulled into a fist at his side. You noticed it just as a bead of sweat began to trickle down your temple. “They wanted a change after years of the Empire ordering almost every Mandalorian warrior to do their bidding.”

“I see.” You exhaled and lifted your hand again to brush the sweat away. “It’s hot as hell here.”

Din huffed. “It’s known for its humidity.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “And yet you let me wear this?” You gestured to the thick poncho that sat over your head and shoulders.

“Staying concealed is a bigger priority than staying cool. We won’t be here for long.” Din nodded towards a building on the right. “Here.”

You read the Aurebesh letters that hung overhead the building’s round entrance: cantina. That was the last place you wanted to be on a world where Din and his kind weren’t welcome, but there wasn’t much of a choice. It was your first, and so far your only, lead on finding the new location of whatever remained of Din’s covert.

Din led the way inside, and as soon as he crossed the threshold, the chatter dimmed. Hushed voices spoke as Din wove the two of you through the tables and other crowds, carrying through the cantina until each voice rose back to its previous volume. You tightened your jaw and remained vigilant. Din may not have been worried about the actions of others, but you sure as hell were.

You stayed at Din’s side as he reached the bar, his gloved hands settling on top of it as he instantly gained the attention of the bartender. The Zabrak man tossed his hand towel on his shoulder and looked at Din expectantly. “What can I get started for you?”

Din reached into the pouch on his belt and set down a handful of credits. “Nothing to drink.” He slid the credits forward. “Just information.”

The bartender gave the pile of credits a cautious glance. “What makes you think I have something worth knowing?”

Din looked left and right before he leaned forward, lowering his voice in a much gruffer way than he would ever do with just you. “Nevarro.”

The bartender did the same gesture as Din before he secured his hand over the pile of credits. “Hold tight.” He pocketed the credits into his apron and nodded. “I’ve got something in the back.”

Din returned the nod, assuming his previous posture as the bartender disappeared into a back room. You crossed your arms and set them upon the top of the bar. Your voice was a hushed whisper as you spoke. “Do you believe him?”

Din shrugged. “We’ll see.” He exhaled, as if attempting to release some of the invisible weight that hung upon his armored shoulders. Your heart ached at the thought of it. “There’s no other option right now.”

“You shouldn’t be here.” A booming voice disrupted any thought you were going to voice in reply to Din. Your head turned as you observed the Klatooinian who stood behind the two of you. Your blood both ran cold and red-hot at the same time as you watched the Klatooinian snarl at Din’s back.

Din’s helmet didn’t move, his visor instead focusing ahead of himself as he tapped his gloved fingers against the bartop. Your gaze slid over to him as you waited for him to speak, but he didn’t.

“You know what your kind did to us—to this entire system.” The Klatooinian scoffed, his guise of amusement failing in favor of his lethal anger. He raised an arm to gesture to the onlookers around them. “I speak for everyone here when I say we would take any chance we could get at killing you ourselves.”

“I don’t think your Republic would take kindly to that.” You couldn’t help yourself from biting out the words. Din’s visor slowly slid towards you, a silent warning you failed to heed.

The Klatooian’s vicious eyes found yours. He then laughed, a grating sound that stung you and made you curl your hands into fists on the bartop. “You’re on the wrong side of the planet if you want New Republic support, dustbreather.”

Din tensed at the insult the Klatooinian threw at you, but he still didn’t speak. Of course he wants to defend me more than himself.

The Klatooinian had since set his attention back on Din. “Your kind was eliminated for a reason.” He took another step closer to Din’s back. Your fists tightened even more, until the leather on your hands groaned in protest. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Your gaze burned through the side of Din’s helmet. His visor faced you as he gave his helmet a small shake, but you were already blinded by your rage. His way was not your way.

“Peel that armor off and what are you?” The Klatooinian scoffed and took one more step closer. “Nothing but a man who should’ve died with the rest of his—.”

You lunged in a movement so quick not even Din could have stopped it as you slammed your fist as hard as you could against the Klatooinian’s jaw. The entire cantina roared as every eye settled on you, especially as you shook out your stinging hand and faced the Klatooinian who was barely still standing. Din had whipped around at your side, but even he was frozen as you sized up the Klatooinian.

“Oh, you bitch!” the Klatooinian seethed as he swung towards you. You skillfully dodged his blow and elbowed his ribs, using the opportunity to hit him with an uppercut. The commotion amongst the onlookers rose more and more as you evaded the Klatooinian’s hits and dealt him more of your own.

It was all a blur of blood, sweat, and hot fury until two arms wrapped around your waist from behind and pulled you tight against a beskar barrier. You fought against the grasp, the hood of your poncho having long since fallen away from your face as you swung towards the Klatooinian who had to be supported by his peers. “Fuck you!” you spat at your opponent. “You haven’t gotten even half of what you deserve!”

You tried to push off of Din to lunge at him again, but Din’s grasp only got tighter as he pulled you back to him. “Easy,” his modulated voice gently warned you.

“That man deserves to be dead!” The Klatooinian points a weary finger in Din’s direction.

You fought Din’s grasp again, pushing even harder against him that time. “I’ll show you who deserves to be—!”

Din forced you against himself so hard that it stole the air from your lungs for a moment. “Easy, cyar’ika.” The lip of his helmet was just beside your ear as he went on. “That’s enough.” He freed one arm from your waist to hold the wrist of your bleeding hand, forcing your arm behind you. “We have to go.”

His words made you snap out of your state of bloodlust as you turned your head around to face his helmet. “But we haven’t gotten your information.”

“Doesn’t matter. Half this cantina wants to fight you, and…” Din paused, his grasp easing on your wrist as he looked down at your hand, “you’re bleeding.” His voice lowered in worry.

“I’m fine.” You faced your opponent with indignance again. “I can take them.”

“No.” The arm Din still had around your waist gave you a gentle yet firm tug away from the growing crowd around the Klatooinian. “We’re leaving.”

Trying to argue with Din about that would be a losing battle, and so you sighed and started to follow him out. Before you could get far, someone whistled from the bar area. Din’s visor locked on something behind you, and when your gaze followed it, you found the bartender nodding at Din before tossing something in the air. Din released you only to catch it. He then returned the Zabrak’s nod and continued on.

“What is it?” Your curiosity got the best of you even as you and Din had to shoulder your way out of the rowdy cantina.

“Coordinates.” Din put your hood back over your head for you and led the way onto the street.

You furrowed your brow and cradled your stinging knuckles. “To where?”

“We’ll find out.” Din was clearly navigating for another specific place as he wove you through the fray. With the adrenaline of your fight still pumping through your veins, it was hard for you to focus, and that was something Din had no doubt picked up on.

Still, there was a more sickly sensation that prickled at you like a thousand icy needles, the chill of it settling inside your chest even amidst the humidity of the planet. You made your concerns known in a voice much quieter than you would have liked. “Are you upset with me?”

You earned no response. Din’s visor continued to look from building-to-building, and he moved at a pace that was getting difficult to keep up with. The needles turned into one sharp blade that sliced through your heart as you ultimately stopped in your tracks.

“You’re upset with me.”

Din stopped just a few paces ahead of you, but in an instant, he had closed the distance between you again. For a moment, his gloved hands cradled your face. “No. Not at all.” His helmet lifted in realization of your surroundings, his hands soon following as they settled on your shoulders instead. “I just… I want to get you somewhere safe.” He shifted his weight between his feet. “Now.”

“Here?” You lifted your brow in surprise. “Didn’t you hear what that guy said?” You shook your head at him. “Anyone here would kill you if they could.”

“But they won’t, because they can’t, and they know it.” Din tilted his helmet at you. “I told you these people aren’t fond of me, not that they’re a threat to me.” He nodded at your bruising hands. “Especially with you here to back me up.”

You began to smile at that. Din gave your shoulders a squeeze and turned away from you to continue on through the town. It wasn’t long before he found what he was looking for, a reliable source of lodging with a business owner who wouldn’t turn down any customer, not even a Mandalorian. He navigated the two of you once more to your own quarters and stepped through the threshold first only to be sure he could observe the room for threats before you followed.

As soon as the door was closed and secured behind you, Din slipped off his helmet and set it aside, his hands reaching for your face once again. This time, Din didn’t have to worry about eyes on you, and so he leaned fully into you and the bliss you two could share by pinning you between himself and the nearest wall and kissing you like his life depended on it.

Your arms wrapped around Din’s neck to keep him close as his mouth slotted over yours time and time again, his tongue lavishing praises onto you without having to speak a single word. You met his familiar rhythm with each movement, a pattern as familiar as your own heartbeat that thudded against your chest. It was a moment where the stinging in your hands faded and the worries of what Din thought dissipated completely.

He was making it clear how he felt about the situation, and you wanted to keep feeling it—at all costs.

Eventually, though, your lungs cried out for air, forcing your mouths to separate even as Din stayed close. His gaze, sparkling with affection even amidst his worry for you, found your own as he forehead rested against yours. His voice was a mere rasp from both its quietness and his lack of breath. “Thank you for defending my honor.” His thumb ran over your lips.

You smiled and kissed the pad of his thumb. “You never have to thank me for that.”

“I know.” Din returned your smile and brushed his lips against yours. “But I will anyway.” He kissed you again, but this time, he kept it brief. His concern no doubt got the best of him as he pulled away and lifted his hands to hold your wrists. He pulled them away from his neck and studied your hands, his smile transforming into a worried grimace. “Let’s take care of this.”

You continued to beam at him. “Sure.”

Din set one hand over your lower back as the other kept its gentle grasp on your wrist. He led you over to the single bed in the room, and you took your place on the edge of it, sitting just beside Din’s helmet. Din disarmed himself of his spear and jetpack before reaching into the pouch of medical supplies on his belt.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad.” You started by taking the leather off your hands, gritting your teeth to keep yourself from groaning at the way it tugged at your angry skin.

Din huffed, raising his brow in amusement as he took the pieces of leather from you and set them aside. “You’re almost as bad at lying as I am.”

You laughed at that, making room for him to sit beside you as he took one of your hands in his and started to work. Din began with your dominant hand, which was more beat-up than your other hand. You spoke to him as he worked, hoping it would ease some of the tension that knit his armored shoulders together. “How would you rate that fight?”

Din paused and looked at you with a wrinkled brow. “What do you mean?”

You offered him a mischievous smile. “I mean, how did I do?”

Din blinked at you for a moment. “How did you do?” He chuckled and shook his head, focusing on your hand again even as he responded. “Cyar’ika, he was barely conscious standing up.”

“So?” You tilted your head at him and smiled sweetly. “What do you rate it, then?”

Din smiled to himself while he traded a tube of bacta for a secure wrap. “There are no words for it.”

“Oh.” You feigned disappointment and looked away from him, your gaze settling on his empty helmet that was still nearby. “How else will you tell me your rating, then?”

Din’s gaze flickered up at you, but only for a moment. “I have ideas.” He lifted your bandaged knuckles to his lips and left a gentle kiss upon them before he exchanged that hand for your other one. “But finishing this is my priority.”

The sweet warmth of overwhelming affection and desire burned throughout your chest,and you gave yourself a few moments to recover from its powerful effects. Once you had waited long enough, you spoke in a softer voice. “Why didn’t you say anything?” When Din’s brow lifted in confusion, you elaborated. “To that guy at the cantina.”

Din sighed, his jaw tightening before he loosened it again. “You know me. I’m… not a man of many words.” He exchanged the bacta for another clean wrap. “I’ve always found that actions speak louder than words, anyway.” Din gave you an amused look. “You just beat me to it.”

You smiled to yourself. “I guess that’s what makes us a good match.”

“It’s one of many things.” Din paused to focus as he circled the wrap around your hand. “The way you can throw punches is…” Din had to stop again, but this time, his gaze raised to the ceiling as if he was summoning composure from some unknown source. You chuckled at him as he exhaled a soft breath and looked at your hand again. “It’s an advantage.”

You teased him by looking at him through your lashes, blinking them slowly as he finished with your hand and allowed his gaze to meet yours. “Yeah?”

Din lifted his hand towards his lips without breaking your shared gaze. “Yeah.” He kissed your bandaged knuckles and lowered your hand. His eyes studied it as he nodded in sudden severity. “Truly, cyar’ika, what you did… it means a lot.” He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ve never had someone fight for me like that. No one except…” He trailed off. He didn’t have to say the name.

You raised the bandaged hand he wasn’t holding to caress the side of his face. Din’s gaze met yours again, and the deep admiration within it was breathtaking—but so was the deep longing hidden behind it. When you spoke, your voice was quiet yet meaningful. “I miss him, too.”

Din closed his eyes and nodded. After a long pause, he reopened his eyes and tasked himself with putting his medical supplies back in his belt. He exchanged them for the coordinates the bartender had given him. “Knowing the covert, this probably leads to the system they’re hiding in.” Din returned to business and you met him there, nodding at him to agree with his words. “It’ll take some more work to find out exactly where they are.”

“That’s fine.” You set a hand on his cuisse as you smiled in reassurance. “I’m with you every step of the way.”

Din’s gaze drifted from your hand on his armored thigh to your own eyes as he returned your smile. “I know.” He put the coordinates back in his belt and let his expression morph into something more mischievous as he faced you again. “So.” He cleared his throat, and you giggled at his clumsiness. He was smoother than you could have ever expected at some times, but this wasn’t one of them. “About that rating.”

You laughed, lifting your bandaged hands to the sides of his face to bring him closer to you. “You can just kiss me.”

Din chuckled with you until his amused breath became your own, one action that led to a long string of others proving exactly how grateful and proud he was of your actions that day.

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

Strong

My real life is quite stressful atm, my mood is not great, and the last thing I should do is write fics, but hey, guess what, I needed to compensate. Sorry not sorry. Here is a hurt/comfort Thorin fic. I got inspired by the following request by @shalinizhara-deactivated2021100 (Shalini, if you're reading this, we miss you and hope you'll come back soon 💙):

Maybe reader is like a very emotionally fragile person but holding it together, pretending their ok to others. After being strong for a long time, they finally break down after seeing something from the past, which brings all the emotions back. Thorin then comes home to find them a sobbing mess, and trying to hide themselves away from Thorin as they are ashamed of crying in front of someone?

Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Thorin x Reader (Modern Girl in Middle Earth) Rating: T Warnings: emotions, hurt/comfort

I hope you’ll enjoy it!

As usual, you can read this fic here and on AO3.

* * *

The Quest of Erebor was a success. The greatest dwarven kingdom was reclaimed, the Battle of the Five Armies was won, the line of Durin remained unbroken, the enemy was defeated, and Thorin Oakenshield was officially crowned as the King Under the Mountain.

And you were there to see it all, from the very beginning. As Bifur’s, Bofur’s and Bombur’s newest friend they met on the road, you joined them on the way to Shire where they were about to meet the whole Company. The three Broadbeams vouched for you and so you became the fourteenth member of the group. Bombur praised your skill in finding the best forest treasures, berries and mushrooms, Bifur approved of your skill with throwing knives, and Bofur admired your ability to spin amazing tales.

The latter came in very handy every evening on the road when all of you sat by the bonfire, resting after yet another long day. It became clear that you took on the unofficial role of the Company’s “Morale Officer”. Everyone would forget about the hardships of traveling as soon as the evening came and you were telling them yet another fantastic story, or making them laugh so that they would forget about the aching muscles, hunger or cold. As days passed, you noticed that the leader of the Company, Thorin Oakenshield, became one of the most attentive listeners. His gaze would often rest on your face, on your lips, as if he didn’t want to miss any of the details of your story, as if your mouth was a spring of life-giving water and he wished to drink it all, to the last drop, making you feel this strange warmth in your chest. It felt… good to be appreciated.

It seemed that Thorin’s appreciation of your storytelling skill only grew during your journey. He made sure you were always safe – he even shielded you with his own body once when a warg was about to lunge at you, and thrust Orcrist into the beast’s chest, killing it on the spot. Thorin was somehow always around whenever your stubborn boot laces became too entangled, whenever you needed help getting on your pony, or whenever Fili and Kili tried to play a mischief on you.

You knew how important the Quest was – both for Thorin and his people – so you tried to do your best to keep everyone’s spirits up with your tales. Even in the Elven King’s dungeons you refused to give up and told them the funniest anecdotes and silliest stories from your life. The Dwarves chuckled and started exchanging their own funny stories, but what mattered for you the most was Thorin’s smile that reached all the way to his brilliant eyes – you saw it clearly through the bars of your cell. That was when you realized what that warmth you felt in your heart meant, that warmth that bloomed every time he looked at you or brushed his shoulder against you by accident or when he just sat next to you, smoking his pipe in silence and looking into the distance.

Perhaps you were a talented storyteller, but you certainly weren’t the most courageous one when it came to your feelings. Besides, you were taking part in an important Quest and matters of the heart seemed trivial in comparison with a huge mountain and a dangerous dragon within it. Besides, Thorin was the King of Longbeards and you were just, well, you. No one special, not a great warrior nor a noble lady. Just the regular you. So you kept quiet, enjoying Thorin’s silent albeit reassuring presence, allowing yourself to cast a glance or two at his majestic profile when no one was looking or dreaming away about running your fingers through his wavy, luscious hair. Knowing that he was there was enough for you to make the Quest bearable. You were not a seasoned traveler, you didn’t have a proper stamina or powerful dwarven physique, and you were used to the comforts of your home. Every day on the road put an enormous strain both on your body and on your mind. The thought that you could be attacked by Orcs, goblins or a huge, fire-breathing dragon at any moment kept lingering at the back of your head, even when you slept, resulting in nightmares at night and nervous glances thrown around during the day. The only respite you found in your stories and in Thorin’s presence.

But then the dragon was killed, Erebor was reclaimed, and the great rebuilding started. Every day more and more Dwarves would appear at the Lonely Mountain, happy to return to their homes, and all of you had your hands full with work, trying to make Erebor a comfortable place to live again. You barely saw Thorin these days as he spent long days negotiating with Dain, Bard and Thranduil so that everyone in Erebor would have enough food and supplies to survive the winter.

You were staying in your temporary quarters, a couple of tiny rooms you shared with Bifur and Bofur while Bombur moved out to live with his family as soon as his wife arrived in Erebor. It was a good enough place to sleep at, much better than the hard ground you remembered from the Quest. You didn’t complain, especially since your companions made sure you were comfortable, but you were looking forward to a moment when you could have a place of your own. You have grown to love Erebor, its beauty, its huge staircases, suspended walkways and secret passages.

One late evening, close to midnight, you were returning to your place after yet another exhausting day, countless hours filled with hard work when you heard voices nearby, just around the corner. They didn’t sound too friendly and when your name echoed against the stone walls of the corridor they stood in, you stopped in your tracks.

“She’s a straggler, that’s what she is!” One voice said. “Aye, a stray without a master! She’s not even a Dwarf!” A woman said, the Blue Mountains accent ringing in her words.

“I couldn’t stomach that Hobbit and I was happy to see him go, but when is she going to leave our Mountain? She’s overstayed his welcome!” Someone else exclaimed.

“What is she still doing here anyway, that slacker? Hard-working Dwarves like us are rebuilding the place while she’s probably sifting through our gold and keeping the best jewels for herself!” “Aye, she’s constantly around the treasure chamber. I even saw her leaving it once with a full pouch in her hand. A thief, that’s what she is!” “Why does the King allow this anyway? Why doesn’t he just banish her from our Mountain?”

“They say His Majesty keeps her as a pet for his amusement, if you know what I mean!”

Nasty chuckles filled the air and it was enough for you to turn around and run away from that place, tears streaming from your eyes, not caring where your feet carried you. Familiar images filled your head. Echoes from your past. You were back at school and your close friend was once again accusing you of that awful thing you never did, telling you that your friendship was over. They never spoke to you again after that, even though you tried to explain, to tell them that you had no idea who did this and why. They just wouldn’t listen. All those feelings came back crashing down on you again. This time you were accused of being a lazy loafer and a thief, among other things, but it didn’t matter. Deep down you knew that if you tried to confront those Dwarves and explain everything, they wouldn’t listen to you anyway, just like your friend hadn’t. In their eyes you were worthless and honourless, two of the greatest flaws, according to Dwarves. You knew how it all would go from there: soon, everyone would be gossiping about you, casting accusing glances at you and ostracizing you, whenever you went.In a week or two, there would be no one in this Mountain you could call a friend, and you would have to pack your things once again and leave into the wilderness, having no place to go to. No home.

You stopped in front of a double door adorned with golden patterns, blurred by the tears in your eyes. The King Under the Mountain’s chambers. Thorin’s chambers. You were sure that he wasn’t there, still busy with all the negotiations, and yet it was the only place you wanted to be at now. Alone and away from prying eyes. As you entered the chambers, you saw fire burning bright in the fireplace in his parlour, and there was an armchair beside it, beckoning to you. You threw yourself at it and covered yourself with a wool blanket that had hung from one of the armrests, trying to grab at the illusive feeling of safety it offered, sobbing into the soft fabric. It smelled faintly like a pine forest, summer rain, and iron. Like Thorin. Even more tears rolled down your cheeks. Soon, the words of your alleged thieving would reach his ears and he would make you leave this place, and you would be alone again, wandering aimlessly from place to place like a stray dog.

You didn’t know when the exhaustion took the better of you and you fell into a shallow, restless slumber. A hand rested on your shoulder, making you wake up with a sudden gasp.

“Mimûna? What is the matter?” A familiar, rumbly voice filled your ears. Mimûna. He started calling you with this nickname during the Quest, whenever you were alone, but you were always too shy to ask what it meant.

Your eyes fluttered open, your cheeks and the blanket still wet from your despair. Your heart clenched in your chest when you saw Thorin’s face and noticed the worry splashing in his eyes. But there were also tired lines on his forehead and shadows under his eyes. Thorin came here to get some rest after a long day and found you where you shouldn’t be. The truth was, you were disturbing his peace and crying like a pathetic baby instead of being strong and braving all the miseries with ease like every proper Dwarf in your place would.

“Thorin!” You whispered, completely mortified, frantically wiping the tears from your cheeks, hoping that he hadn’t noticed your moment of weakness. You always did your best to appear cheerful in front of everyone, especially when he was around, no matter how tired, sad or weak you felt inside. During the Quest and afterwards, the whole Company needed cheering up, and that was the only thing you were really good at. If Thorin saw your real face, if he realized how bitter your tears were, how your heart resembled a chipped porcelain cup and not a battle-hardened flawless diamond, he would surely cast you aside and shun you, just like those other Dwarves already did.

“Are you unwell?” He asked, crouching next to the armchair, his hand still resting on your shoulder, the warmth of his fingers permeating the fabric of your blouse.

“No, no! I’m fine! Everything is well, but it was so noisy in our quarters, and I wanted some sleep and I thought you wouldn’t even notice me taking a short nap here, away from all that hammering!” You tried to smile faintly. “I’m sorry, I think I’ve overslept…”

You tried to rise, but froze when Thorin’s hand moved up, cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing a curved shape across it.

“Why have you been crying?” A shadow of a growl echoed in his voice, his brow furrowing.

“Me? Crying? I was just taking a nap, nothing more...” You shook your head in protest, hoping he wouldn’t notice how your lips trembled from your suppressed sadness. Thorin looked angry and he would probably become even more so if he saw the real you and realized how pathetic you were.

“I know you, Mimûna,” he offered in an even tone, his gaze softening, his thumb caressing your cheek, your skin tingling pleasantly under his touch. “Something made you sad. What was it?” You just shook your head and looked away, unable to face him. A lump of ice grew in your throat. Your eyes welled with tears again, reflecting the hurt you felt, but also because you just realized that this was his first caress, something you have dreamed of for months, but it was also his last one. Soon, Thorin was going to see how unworthy you were, and you would have to remove yourself from this place, leaving both your happiness and your heart behind.

“I see your pain. Will you not share your troubles with me?” He offered, but you remained silent, staring blindly at the mantlepiece on your left, above his head. You were too afraid to speak, knowing very well what would happen if you opened your mouth. Besides, all of your strength was tied up in you trying not to fall apart in front of the person whose opinion mattered more to you than anything else in the world.

“I see,” Thorin spoke again after a pause. “I may not have earned your confidence, but if there is any way I can mitigate your…”

“Oh, Thorin,” you interrupted him and clung to him, the last shreds of control over your emotions disappearing into thin air. Your hands clasped his tunic as you buried your face in the soft fabric covering his broad chest, staining it with tears, muffled sobs escaping your throat. Nothing else mattered any more, only his soothing warmth and his arms that slowly wrapped around you, enveloping you with a cocoon of safety, while your body shook helplessly, your last defenses crumbling.

As that storm of emotions wreaked havoc inside you, Thorin held you close, murmuring soothing words, gently caressing your back, your beacon in the dark sea of sorrow, your safe harbor, giving you his strength. You took it eagerly, hungrily, not daring to think what would come next. You wanted to stay in this moment for as long as you could.

“All will be well, Mimûna, do not think otherwise,” his murmur reached your ears as his lips brushed the top of your head.

But you knew the harsh truth.

“If only…” you sighed and looked up at Thorin, the fire crackling in the hearth softening the lines on his tired face. “I’m so sorry to have bothered you. You should be resting now and here I am burdening you with my silly outbursts. I’d better go.” You wanted to get up, but Thorin’s arms held you gently, not letting go of you.

“There is no need for you to leave. You can stay here for as long as you want, until you feel better,” a soft rumble left his lips, his face so close to yours that you could see the specks of silver in the blues of his eyes, radiating comfort and warmth.

“But…” He shook his head, “My mother used to say that a good night’s sleep makes it easier to tackle the troubles in the morning, whatever they are. It seems to me that this is exactly what you need. Will you stay the night?”

“You mean… Sleep? Here? With you?!” your eyes widened. Once a proposal like this would make your heart beat faster but after what you’ve heard tonight it took a completely new meaning. “I can’t…!”

The frown on Thorin’s forehead deepened, “I hope you know that I respect you too much for any indecent proposals. I am offering you my bedchamber at your sole disposal for the night. I will be on the other side of the door, here, sleeping on this settee, in case you need me.”

“No, we can’t… I mean, this is not right, I won’t tarnish your reputation any more, there are rumors…” you bit your lip that quivered treacherously.

“My reputation…? Rumors? What rumors?!” He growled, flames kindling in his eyes.

“I… It is nothing. People talk...” you swallowed, cursing your stupid mouth.

“Is that what made you upset? You will tell me what it is that you heard,” he spoke slowly, in the commanding manner of the king he was, with that unmistakable glint in his eye that made your knees weak and melted your resolve.

And so you told him everything you heard, your words interrupted by sobs, bracing yourself for the inevitable. Your exhaustion took the better of you and you wanted to be done with it as soon as possible instead of tormenting yourself for weeks. It would be better for Thorin to hear about it all from your own mouth.

You searched for the first signs of disappointment on his face, but they didn’t come. Instead, Thorin growled, stood up and started pacing across the room.

“How dare they?! Calling you a shirker, a thief, and even a wh--” he stopped in his tracks. “Who are they? I need to know!” “I don’t know, I only heard their voices…”

“Do they not know of your merits?” He roared. “Of your contribution to the Quest? Where were they, those Dwarves from flesh and bone, when I asked for help? And now you, a woman of Men, with no obligations to my people, work long hours every day, even though you could simply take your share in gold and leave! Does that mean nothing to them?”

You looked at Thorin in awe, the flames of wrath filling his eyes. You couldn’t believe your ears.

“Know this,” Thorin approached you, taking your hands in his. “You have proven yourself more than worthy in my eyes and this is why I chose you to make an inventory of the treasure chamber with Glóin! This is why he put you in charge over the payouts for the workers, because I trust you more than those serpent tongues! They lack all honour!”

You swallowed the tears that suddenly felt sweet on your tongue, “So… Do you believe that I’m not a thief?”

“We had only one burglar in our midst that I am aware of,” he gave you a little smile. “And we both know that it is not you.”

“Do you really think so?” “Have I ever lied to you, Mimûna?” he rumbled softly, the storm in his eyes slowly dissipating. A small, hopeful smile danced on your lips, “Does that mean that I can stay here, in Erebor?”

“I would not have it any other way. In fact, I hope that you decide to stay here for as long as you live, if that is your wish,” his eyes rested on your face, waiting for your reaction. “I would like that very much. I have begun to think of Erebor as my new home,” you admitted quietly and you felt Thorin’s hands squeezing yours gently.

“Your words bring me great joy. I know how fond you are of the world outside of the Mountain,” his throat bobbed as Thorin spoke.

“I am, but I think that I have fallen in love with… with Erebor,” you added clumsily. “There is no other place I’d rather be.”

A new light shone in Thorin’s eyes, “If this is how you feel, If you truly wish to bind your fate to Erebor, then I would like to ask you to hear me out.” You nodded slightly in encouragement.

“I must admit that I expected you to leave us soon, just like Master Baggins did, and therefore I did not wish to burden you with my feelings. But if there is a chance you can return even the smallest part of my affections…” Thorin cleared his throat. “I reclaimed the kingdom of my people. We are prosperous. I now have enough means to marry and can offer my future wife all the comforts she may crave. I know that there are many eligible ladies under the Mountain, but it is you I wish to be with, to call my queen until the end of days. It is you my heart has been beating for since the moment I have met you.”

You felt the scorching heat of his last words on your skin as your lips met for the first time, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. Your kiss was gentle, like the first rays of sun caressing the first snowdrops that braved the last remnants of snow, the first heralds of spring after a long winter.

“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Thorin asked as your lips parted, kissing the tips of your fingers.

“I think I have just said yes,” you chuckled, the familiar warmth spilling in your chest, but this time all the pain and despair were finally gone. “I will be honored to become your wife, my king.”

As you said it, you realized how true these words were. Thorin was the only one who reigned over your heart and filled it with joy.

And this was when your tiredness ruined the mood, making you yawn. Thorin chuckled and it felt good to join him.

“Will you stay the night, then, Mimûna?” One of his eyebrows rose playfully. “We could both use a good rest.”

“Rest? Is that what you had in mind?” You felt your cheeks burning, not daring to think about what such a night could bring and how many times you imagined certain things to happen.

“That is all that I have in mind until our wedding night,” Thorin nodded with a glint in his eye and then grinned. “Unless we change our minds along the way.” “Thorin!” you gasped.

“But tonight, let us sleep. I wish to simply hold you in my arms until dawn.”

“After what I told you, me staying in your rooms all night long, is that wise?” You voiced your concern, even though your heart cursed you for it. “There will be rumors…”

“If there is anyone who does not approve of my choice of wife, they can leave the Mountain. We will announce our betrothal tomorrow. Everyone will hear of your hard work and deeds during the Quest.” “I don’t care about being painted as a saint. As long as you see me for what I truly am, everyone can think I’m Smaug in disguise,” your regular sense of humor finally returned, and you felt like a great weight was lifted from your shoulders.

“Then I cannot wait until I see you breathe fire at them,” Thorin pulled you closer to him and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “And now allow me to take you to bed before you fall asleep standing.”

Effortlessly he lifted you from the floor and carried you to his bedchamber in his strong arms, bridal style. As you wrapped your arms around his neck, you felt brave enough to press your lips against his bearded cheek and were rewarded with a satisfied hum. Something told you that there were more things than being carried in Thorin’s arms that you were going to enjoy a lot.

Thorin placed you gently on the bed and covered you with soft furs. After a few moments, he joined you, his chest brushing against your back, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you gently towards his body that radiated warmth.

“Sleep now, Mimûna,“ he whispered into your ear, shivers running down your spine as his low velvety voice reached you. “I will watch over you.”

You gave out a satisfied sigh, enjoying his closeness, your worries completely forgotten.

“Thorin? What does Mimûna mean? Why do you never call me like this in public?”

“It means Little One in Khuzdul,” he replied. “A term of endearment for someone you hold very dear.”

“Are you telling me you were dropping hints since Rivendell and I have been completely clueless?!”

“This is the only liberty I dared to allow myself since that day you rejected my offer of gathering wood together,” he admitted.

“Your offer of… what? I was so tired that evening, I could barely feel my legs! Have I missed a hint there too?” Your eyes widened.

He chuckled, “I’m afraid so. The dwarven couples have a long tradition of gathering wood together.”

“Is this the Middle Earth equivalent of Netflix and chill?”

“Pardon?”

“Nevermind. Why has no one told me anything?!” You exclaimed and promised yourself to have a serious talk with Bofur.

“They thought you weren’t interested in me either. Everyone saw that you refused that roast boar I hunted especially for you.” “But I don’t like boar meat!” You wrinkled your nose. “You can only imagine how confused the Company was when you ate all the food Beorn offered you. We thought you would stay with him.”

“But his food was delicious! And besides he’s not a Dwarf, I’m sure his kind has different customs,” you retorted.

“We won’t know that now, will we?” He hummed into your hair.

Suddenly things started making more sense in your head.

“Wait a moment, is this why you were so extremely grumpy at Beorns, spending every single evening alone outside, brooding at the stars?”

“I was in quite good humor on the last evening before we left that place,” he protested. “Was it because you knew I was coming with you?”

“Perhaps,” Thorin chuckled and embraced you tighter. “But this, this was worth waiting for, Mimûna. Now I have you in my arms.” “And I think I will stay like this for a long time,” you stifled a satisfied yawn.

“I can ask no more than that,” Thorin murmured into your ear, still holding you tight and enveloping you with warmth.

As the tension left your body for good and your eyelids drooped, you whispered, intertwining your fingers with his, “I think I’ll go to sleep now. I’m exhausted. Very happy, but exhausted. This was a very bad evening… and I’m glad it’s ending.” “Worry not. I will stay here with you until it turns into a good morning,” these words rumbled in Thorin’s chest as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, your heart beating steadily in your chest. Perhaps it was a chipped porcelain cup but now, when it rested in Thorin’s protective hands, it felt like a flawless diamond.

* * *

Khuzdul: Mimûna - Little One

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