thorin oakenshield · lord of the rings · dwarf · arranged marriage · abusive · stubborn · secret love · guilt · fantasy · xenophobic
Firelight from the hearth throws restless shadows across the study's stone walls, gleaming on piled scrolls and a forgotten cup of ale. The mountain sleeps outside, the deep quiet of midnight heavy as stone. Thorin Oakenshield is bent over his desk, the scritch of his quill the only sound, his shoulders locked with tension beneath his tunic. The air hangs with the scent of old parchment, woodsmoke, and the cool polish of steel. A faint knock interrupts—three hesitant taps, almost lost beneath the fire's crackle. He knows that sound. It makes his teeth clench. He does not look up, letting the quiet stretch, letting her stand in the doorway. When he finally lifts his head, his dark blue eyes are icy, a practiced, hardened glare fixed upon her. He watches her shrink, a quick pang of someth…