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It's cold in the mountains. You had known it would be, logically. It’s winter. It’s high altitude. Of course it’s cold. To experience it firsthand was something else. You think you may have caught onto one of the reasons why you can always find a dwarf in front of any forge. The heat from the fires is the only thing that keeps you going, some days. Sometimes it feels as though your fingers will freeze off like you can’t even hold a pen because your muscles are so stiff.
You’ve started wearing more layers to make up for it. A few days ago, you’d received a gift - well-made, warm woolen clothing, well suited to your form. They’re nothing too fancy, but you can tell there was Dwarven skill involved.
The interesting thing is that there hadn’t been a name attached. They’d simply been left in front of your door at night.
After the journey you’ve been through, you’re almost inclined not to take the clothes, purely out of suspicion, but they’re nice and warm and clothes, what could possibly be dangerous about clothes?
So you aren’t shivering your way around the palace now, but your fingers are still cold (ungloved) as you make your way back towards your room at the end of the day. It had certainly been better but you find yourself missing the days when you could feel the warmth of the sun on your skin as you traveled with the Company.
Hell, you sort of just missed traveling with the Company. It’s good, to make Erebor a home again, but there are so many lost moments. The Company is spread to the winds, all throughout the mountain. Some days you don’t see any of them. Some of the Company you haven’t seen at all for at least a week. It’s just so different from when you were all piled up together in bedrolls, curled around a single fire. Being able to hear the others breathe, or even snore, as you fell asleep. Curling closer to someone and pretending it’s mere coincidence, but you’d actually been seeking more warmth. When others from the Company would do the same to you, and you wordlessly pretended not to notice.
Gosh, you miss cuddles. You weren’t even cuddling really, it’s not like you spooned anyone, but it was sharing space, and it was warm. You could seriously go for some warmth right about now.
You walk straight into a dwarf.
You abruptly apologize, struggling to get your brain back in your head and out of your thoughts, but when you realize who you ran into, your mind flies out the window.
It’s Thorin. The King, the man you miss most after all this. The one who’s given the most time to the kingdom, and lost all the moments he’d spent with you. It aches, how much you want to just sit beside him again, sharing space, sharing warmth.
“My apologies,” he says, then glances down. “You have new clothes,” You’d kind of been wondering if they had been from him, but apparently not. Or maybe he’s just pretending he didn’t send them? Regardless, it’s nice to hear his voice.
“Yes,” you reply. “They were a gift.”
“Do they fit you well?” He asks, and that’s the sort of thing someone would say if they bought you the gift, so now you think he might be lying, but you can’t be sure.
“They do. Very well. They’re warm.”
“Good.”
You both fall into a silence that may or may not be awkward, but the halls of Erebor suddenly feel colder as you realize the distance that has grown between you. You pull your coat around yourself, tucking your hands under your arms. Maybe you ought to move and not just stand here, but you would rather stay with Thorin, even if it’s awkward and cold.
“I’ve missed …” Thorin’s voice nearly startles you after the silence you’d fallen into, and you look back at him to find him staring at the wall, the same intense gaze he always has, as though he’s looking straight through the structure and into something else.
“ … our travels,” he says, and that gaze falls onto you, seeing through you like it always does, setting you alight.
“I miss sleeping together,” you say before you can even process what you’ve said. Thorin raised an eyebrow - your embarrassment suddenly piques.
“I mean,” you rush to explain, “Not like that, obviously. It’s just … It’s cold. In Erebor. And it was always stuffed and maybe a little too familiar while we were traveling, but it was always warm.”
You decide to leave out the part where Erebor feels lonelier too, though, from the way Thorin’s gaze has softened, you’d guess he feels it too.
You expect Thorin to say something along the lines of ‘I’ll get a fireplace built in your room’ because that’s what he does now, as king. He’s kind, and devoted, as always, but he’s distant. Busy.
“Stay with me,” he says.
What?
“What?”
“Stay with me,” he repeats. “ …You are by no means required to. I would think no lesser of you if you did not, and I will not ask anything of you that you do not desire to give.” To your surprise, he takes your hands in his own. His grip is different, you think. He has a strong grip, he always has. Most of the time when he’d held you on your journey, it had been to pull you out of harm’s way, so yes, a strong grip, maybe even a little desperate, even. Now, though, his hold is gentle. His thumb runs circles in your palm as though he’d forgotten what it felt like.
“Stay with me,” He repeats, emphasizes, and you realize he might as well be begging. He wants this as much as you do.
“Of course,” you say. Of course.
He loses tension in his posture as you reply.
“I had thought the clothing would solve the problem,” he admits, his voice lost in a little chuckle. “I saw you shivering.”
So that had been him.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
He pulls you, gently, more of a suggestion, really, towards his quarters. You follow. Suddenly, you’re walking down the halls of Erebor, holding hands with the King.
Not the king. Thorin. You can see the crown in his posture even when he isn’t wearing it, but today, he looks like the man you followed across half of Middle-earth. His hands are calloused, but he holds yours gently.
You start to talk, mindlessly, about your adventure. About all of the things you miss, and moments you had along the way. You’d missed his laugh. (He’d missed yours.)
By the time you reach his room, your fingers don’t feel stiff anymore. Thorin’s warmed them with his hands, and now you’re in front of the king’s quarters, and minutes ago, he’d asked you to cuddle.
Thorin simply nods to his guards and they close the door behind the both of you. You’re alone.
“I’ve missed -” You’ve both started talking at the same time. You’d both said the same thing.
“-You,” you finish.
“I’ve missed you,” He says, the corner of his mouth twitching into a hint of a smile. The words send flutters through your chest. He turns to face you, takes your hands in his own again, looking down at where he holds them.
“I wish I was not so needed as king. If Erebor were not being rebuilt, if the elves had gone, if I had more time …” He raises your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “ … I would give you the attention you deserve. I would spend all my days with you.”
The way his lips hover over your knuckles makes it easier to unfurl your hand, to bring your fingers to his face and brush them over his cheek. It’s stubbled and unfamiliar. He tilts his head into your touch, looking at you a though you’ve just taken his breath away. Perhaps you have.
“Stay with me tonight,” you offer when you’ve regained control of your voice.
He does not answer but turns his head to kiss your palm, and that may as well have been a ‘yes, please’. He proves it twice by laying his hand over your own, sliding it from your cheek, and pulling you towards his bed. You’re giggling all of a sudden, and he’s smiling. At you.
“I don’t have anything to sleep in,” you tell him.
“You may borrow something from me,” he tells you. He turns away, for the first time since you’ve entered his quarters, to go into his closet. He gathers something for you to sleep in, hands it over. You find yourself pleased as he unceremoniously chucks off his shirt. He’d done this more than once, during your travels, and it had sent you into a tizzy every time. It does so now, but more than that you’re just pleased to have him back.
“What?” he asks, and you realize you’ve been staring at his bare back. “Do I have something … ?” He turns as though he should check, though he clearly can’t see his own back, and you laugh.
“No, no, I was thinking. Sorry,” you apologize, turning around so you can get dressed too. You know you can trust him to stay on his side and not look.
You get dressed in silence. The quiet feels more peaceful than it has in months.
Thorin’s clothes are made of warm, heavy wool, and they smell like him. You’re wondering if you can somehow manage to steal the sweater he’s given you by the time you turn around. Thorin is already finished dressing, and he is staring politely at his own bed, giving you privacy just as you’d known he would. You clear your throat, and he turns around.
You watch him get caught on the image of you in his clothes. (You are pretty sure you can find a way to keep this sweater if he’s going to look at you like that while you wear it.)
He clears his own throat, averting his gaze as though he’d forgotten he was staring.
“If you can’t even look at me, then this cuddling thing is going to be difficult.”
Thorin chuckles, his gaze still averted for a moment more before he looks back to you. He’s still smiling. (You haven’t seen him smile so much in so long.)
“Come here,” Thorin says, followed by your name. He might say words like ‘love’ or ‘darling’ with the same tone of voice. He holds a hand out to you - you take it. He falls backward onto his bed and takes you with him, letting you roll to lay by his side. The brief moment that you’d been directly on top of his chest was nice, you think, so you arrange yourself to be there again. Thorin happily allows you to sprawl directly on top of him - encourages it, even, pulling you closer with an arm around your waist, nudging a foot in between yours to tangle your legs together.
All of a sudden, you’re surrounded by a warm dwarf, clothed in soft wool, and - hey, Thorin just grabbed the blankets and pulled it over the two of you, so now you are fully cocooned. You snuggle further into the warm spot you’ve made for yourself on top of the king of Erebor. Thorin hums, pleased, and you feel the rumble in his chest. Hesitantly, his fingers brush your hair, and when you don’t stop him, he starts to stroke, far gentler than you would ever imagine he would be capable of.
You hadn’t realized your muscles were so tense, but they relax as you melt into him. Thorin seems to be melting a little bit too, his breaths drawing longer and slower as he relaxes as well.
You’re both silent for a few minutes. Each of you shifts a few times, adjusting to cuddling, and eventually, you find yourselves perfectly fit together, warm and content.
“What does this mean for us?” You hear him whisper, his voice rough, his hands having moved from your hair to gently massage your shoulders. It’s a big question. You consider it.
“What do you want it to mean?” Your voice loose with the pleasure of the massage that Thorin is apparently way too good at giving.
He stiffens, just slightly, at the idea of having to speak first, to risk rejection. He exhales slowly.
“I am fond of you,” He admits, and his hand moves to gently brush over your cheek. “ … I should like to do this more often.”
“I’m agreeable to that.”
He hums, pleased once more. His hands keep shifting from your hair to your shoulders, anywhere he can touch, as if he can’t seem to get enough. You shift your head so you can look up at him, relaxed and sleepy.
“I’m tired,” You admit, and Thorin smiles. He had noticed. (You are sprawled across his lap with muscles the consistency of soft butter).
“Rest, amrâlimê. We can discuss in the morning.”
“Only if you do too,” You insist. You can tell he’s been exhausted with his duties. Even half-asleep, you would not let him exert himself.
“I could not be anything but content with you.” There he goes again, saying your name like it’s a prayer. You like hearing it, you’ve decided. Your eyelids start to droop and you nuzzle into his chest. He hums again. You like that, too.
“Sleep, Thorin,” You demand. You aren’t sure quite what he responds with, but the rumble of his voice in his chest is pleasing as you fall into a peaceful slumber.