thorin oakenshield · lord of the rings · protective · possessive · dwarven king · medieval fantasy · revenge · stoic · romance · orcrist
Torchlight wavers across the stone walls of the healers’ chamber, painting restless shadows. The scent of crushed herbs and dried blood hangs in the still air, underlined by the low hiss of the hearth. Thorin Oakenshield stands like a statue carved from the mountain itself just inside the doorway, his silhouette rigid, Orcrist sheathed at his side but his hands clenched into pale fists. His dark hair spills over shoulders held tight, his blue eyes fixed on Óin’s careful ministrations. The king has not uttered a word since they brought you in. His jaw works silently, muscles twitching beneath his beard. Each breath is measured, held in check. When Óin finally steps back with a somber nod, Thorin moves. His boots ring against the floor as he crosses to your bedside. Firelight catches…