The Hobbit Imagines

3. Thorin x Reader (Part One)

Breathing. Running. Surviving. Focused.

Never ending forest stretched out on the plane before you. Your feet hit the ground with rhythmic and determined force. You had to keep moving. If you could get away from the forest, you'd be home-free. But you weren't alone, and you knew that. The company had to get out too. You counted two to the left, three to the right. Six, maybe seven out in front. And together you charged the trees like a stampede of horses. Behind you, orcs raged and roared; their bellowing rippled through the leaves around you. Sweat collected on your forehead as your aching muscles clambered over the roots and vines which wound their way across the forest floor. One of the dwarves, Gloin, called back to you "C'mon lass! Keep going!" His words of encouragement were no comfort to you. Your vision darkened, your head screaming for oxygen. "I can't." You panted. Noticing your pace slowing, Gloin and another dwarf named Thorin- the leader of the company and your companion for many years- ran to your side and urged you onwards. "Come on, Y/N." Thorin gave you a concerned look, his eyebrows knitting together. The three of you careered around the trees when suddenly, orcs jumped on you from all sides. A younger dwarf shouted ahead but it was a little too late...

"Ambush!"  Alerting the others, you drew your weapons. The others began to fight immediately. You unsheathed three daggers, those being your preference, and gripped them readily. An orc stormed towards you, arms flailing. What orcs lacked in grace, they more than made up for in ferocity. However, you were petite and agile, cat-like. You swooped under the orc's arm and turned back to it. Before it got the chance to regain its balance, you kicked it in the back angrily. It toppled over and you saw this as your opportunity. Leaping on it, you swiped the daggers with surgical precision across its neck; your movements almost replicated a strange, sort of bloody origami. The hideous creature thrashed and batted at you but your work was done within seconds. Climbing off of the corpse, you spotted another one lurching for you, but not in time to dodge it. An icy blade bit the skin of your stomach, freeing the blood. You froze and watched the orc grin nastily. You analysed the situation before you: the orc, who stood little more than half a metre from you, was still holding the sword. The wound, which stung like fire, was not deep enough to kill you straight away. You, in shock, still had one dagger resting in your hand. Time slowed, as if awaiting your decision. The dwarves were still, everything was silent, the world watched. Tightening your grip on the dagger, you swung at the orc, time unfreezing as you did so. The orc hadn't been expecting this and so your knife cut cleanly across its cheek. The orc dropped the sword and stumbled backwards but you paced after it, gritting your teeth, controlling the pain. Towering above the orc, you took the dagger and lashed out at it, blood splattering on your face and neck. You spat, getting rid of the liquid staining your lips. When the orc was finally unmoving, you looked around for the others but they were nowhere to be seen. Lowering your gaze, you realised your shirt had changed from a light brown shade to blood red. Lifting the hem of your shirt, you inspected the gash in your lower abdomen. Blood was smeared up your ribs and even reached round to your back, because of your previous, jerky movements.

You were correct earlier, the wound wasn't enough to kill you- but loss of blood was. Your skin, usually soft and tan, was ghostly pale. And your eyes, usually bright, were weary and lost. You dragged your feet along the floor as you searched for your group. In the distance, indistinct shouts could be heard, but you couldn't reply. Your throat was scratchy and a metallic taste lingered. A practically inaudible wheezing sound was heard. Thinking one of the orcs was not quite dead, you whirled round, your eyes flicking from the corpses to the trees madly. Nothing moved. Listening carefully, the noise was still there. It was repetitive, mostly steady breathing, with a slight whistle on the exhale. You held your breath in order to hear more clearly but when you did, it stopped. You frowned, what was it? You relaxed, releasing the air from your lungs. Beginning to walk, well hobble, passed the bodies strewn about the place, you were certain the wheezing noise had come back. That's when it struck you: it was you. Concentrating, you started to feel the disruption in your breath, as well as the noise. You tried coughing but that lead to you double over and spitting blood down a tree stump. You held your stomach but winced when you touched the open wound, and pulled away. Faintness swept through you, knocking you off balance. As you stepped back, your foot slipped from the tree root and you hit the ground with a thud. Groaning, you rolled onto your back. Sunlight danced through the canopy of the trees. The rays invaded your vision and you found yourself blind to all else. Is this dying?

You were too far gone to possibly know how long you laid there before someone appeared and carried you to the open fields and rolling hills. The person muttered to you, or themselves, the whole way, saying things like "Oin will know what to do." and "I'm not losing you here." Slipping between the worlds of war and dreams, you pictured the company sitting happily in the halls of Erebor. You whispered "Thorin." And wept at the thought of never saying goodbye to your life-long friend. The mysterious person stopped walking and placed you on the soft grass which tickled your bare arms. The image in front of you was so distorted the people became shadows, and the shadows became welcoming...

You must have fallen unconscious because when you woke up in the black of night, a blanket had been draped across you, and you had regain some sense of understanding. Observing your surroundings, you distinguished twelve figures lying on the ground with bags and bedding crowding the area. Twelve... Twelve dwarves. My goodness! The dwarves! Overjoyed, you attempted to sit up but a sharp pain told you otherwise. Your mind flashed back to the fight in the forest, and then you collapsing. Instead of getting up, you turned your head and craned you neck to peer at the creature who slept soundly beside you. "Thorin..."  You breathed. His eyelids fluttered and snapped open. For a moment, he must have thought he imagined it, because he did not look at you. So you said it again, louder this time "Thorin, how did I get back here?" Thorin's blue eyes locked with yours and relief flooded his features "Y/N, don't ever scare me like that again." He demanded. "I'm sorry." You smiled timidly. "Don't apologise, I should have gotten to you sooner. You're going to be in a lot of pain for some time." He mentioned. You nodded, knowingly. Thorin reached over to you and took your hand as he mumbled "I've not felt such heart break since losing my own grandfather. Perhaps... Perhaps we should learn something from this." He suggested. Quizzically, you raised an eyebrow at him. He laughed lovingly and you closed your eyes, enjoying the sound of his deep voice. "I can't lose you yet, Y/N. This time was so close and I couldn't bear it. Promise me, you'll make it to Erebor. And when you do, you'll marry me." Your eyes shot open when he said this. Was Thorin proposing  to you? You stared at him "Really? I mean, neither of us can promise we'll make it that far." You replied. "Then promise me you'll try." He pleaded. You bit your lip and sighed. "Y/N, marry me anyway..." Thorin suggested. He added "Balin can wed us, in Rivendell or even here! As long as it happens, because I love you. And I think it should happen while it still can." Thorin had never been so forward about his relationship with you. Smiling, you stroked the back of his hand and whispered "I think so too." Gleefully, you held each other- though Thorin was careful about your injury.

*Time skip*

The journey from then on was long and dark. You were wed to Thorin as you had promised him, and you both made it to Erebor as you had promised. But something about Thorin changed when you got there. Dragon sickness: He was aggravated, almost obsessed with this gem- the Arkenstone. He cared for nothing but gold. Thorin would save his riches over his own family. He became a monster. It drove you two apart for a while. And then his foolishness led to war. Five armies, one outcome. Death beyond measure. You found Thorin in the caves of Erebor while the battle raged like fire outside, and you watched him pace on his podium. "Thorin," You called for his attention "Thorin, what are you doing?" He glanced at you once and continued to stalk back and forth and didn't reply. So you stated "Dain is surrounded. The armies are dying, while you sit here in these hidden halls." You narrowed your eyes at him accusingly. "People die, that's what happens." He brushed it off. "They are dying for you. You may wear a crown upon your head but you are no king." You snarled. Thorin glared at you, as though he was going to argue, but then became distracted with another thought "We could save the gold if we moved it further under ground." His eyes lit up. You sighed and bravely said "I won't sit here while others suffer for your selfishness. I will leave. And this time, Thorin, I can't promise I will make it. I hope you enjoy your gold and your gems, but you will forever enjoy them alone." With that, you glided out of the halls, onto the battlefield, and into the massacre.

Hey guys, here's another Thorin story. Enjoy and don't forget to vote, comment and also add to your collections; it's a huge help for me! Please feel free to send in some requests, I am looking for popular characters (one's that you want to read about) but I would love some other requests too. I will see you for the next one <3

~Niamh~