The Hobbit Imagines

7. Thorin x Reader (Part Two)

Hi guys! So this is a continuation of a story requested by IrisEnigma - the first part was really well received and I'm so glad you guys enjoyed it so much that lots of you requested a part two. I know it took a while, I'm sorry, but I really wanted it to be good so I hope you like it!

Stumbling blindly through the heavy fog which draped itself over the mountains like an icy cloak, you felt the tears streaming relentlessly from your eyes. You heaved as you dragged your feet up the mountain. Don't stop moving, you told yourself. On your journey, you had not stopped once, for fear if you did you would not be able to start moving again. The weight of your mistakes keeping you pinned to the ground like ropes and chains, restricting your movement as you allowed yourself to be finished off by nature, vulnerable and villainous. So consumed by disbelief and hatred towards for your own existence, you forced yourself to think of anything but the past day. It's as though your mind was keeping you from remembering what you had done because every time you tried to think of what happened, you could only see blurry images and muffled shouts and blinding light. That was all.

Each step was one closer to death. Near-invisible ice layered the ground, meaning you had to contemplate every movement. It seemed that your flight from Erebor had come to an end, as you came face to face with a heavy, stone door set in the side of the snowy mountains. Only when you reached your hand out and knocked did you realised how numb your fingers had gotten since entering the treacherous mountain terrain. Your aching muscles constricted as you rapped the door, drawing your attention away from your footing. Misplacing your left foot, you slipped and smacked your head on a jagged rock. For a moment everything spun and a monotonous ringing clogged your ears. Your head wobbled back and forth slightly as you laid, sprawled across the cold, hard ground. Blinking rapidly to clear something from your eye, you winced. When you raised your hand to wipe it from your face, you realised it was blood. Your blood. It had come from the vicious gash that now adorned your head like a crown.

Tears filled your vision, but you could not bring yourself to cry. 'Serves me right' You thought 'The Gods intend to break me, piece by piece. And serves me right.' You wheezed as your tired, deoxygenised lungs clawed for air. Maybe, if you were lucky, you would see Thorin again. Though he would never forgive you, dead or alive. Just when your eyelids began to fall closed, the sound of stone being dragged caught your attention. You were too weak to raise your head, but you could see that the door had been opened. A shrill scream pierced the air and for a moment you wondered if the ringing was getting worse. Motionless, aside from your weakly rising and falling chest, you laid there. Shouts surrounded you but all the voices were muted by the ringing noise- would that ever go away?

Suddenly, arms began to grab at your lifeless body. Multiple hands working as one to drag you away from the terrors of the night which was quickly spreading over the mountains. Slowly, you were being hauled through the door into the dark. As you were carried away, the last thing you saw was snow, dyed crimson with your blood.

MEANWHILE, AT EREBOR... the dwarves were huddled in a room. For two days now they had watched over Thorin's pale corpse, wondering how might they win the war without their King? To their relief and joy, Gandalf had assured them that Thorin would wake up. But, as to when... Well that was still unknown. According to Gandalf, when Y/N touched Thorin, his body could not absorb the power she was emanating and so he shut down. The state in which she left him was the result of her powers being inundated by her fear. She was so scared when he attacked her, that her body felt the need to eliminate the threat. For the first evening, the dwarves mourned the loss of their leader. Together they sat, telling tales of old and singing songs of praise to Thorin Oakenshield. Then, when Dwalin went to retrieve Y/N from the platform, he found you were gone. A thin trail of snow led him across the platform to the giant door which hung slightly ajar. The only mark that proved Y/N had ever been in Erebor was the ice handprint which was branded into the iron door where she had opened it to escape. Dwalin alerted the others but they knew Y/N was already too far for them to risk leaving.