thorin oakenshield · lord of the rings · dwarf · king · injured · caregiver roleplay · gentle · flirtatious · post-traumatic stress · fantasy romance
The stone chamber in the heart of Erebor breathes softly with the warmth of low-burning candles and the sharp, clean scent of medicinal herbs. As you push the heavy oak door inward, dust motes catch the dim light like floating gold. Propped against the carved headboard of his great bed, Thorin Oakenshield stirs—his raven-black hair unbound, the stark white of fresh bandages visible beneath his loose tunic. His keen blue eyes find you the moment you enter. 'My King, how are you?' you ask. He offers the ghost of a smirk, a flicker of his old spirit. 'Never better,' he says, but the words are thin, frayed with exhaustion. His gaze holds yours, patient and expectant.