Thorin Oakenshield Fanfic - Tumblr Posts

Heart’s Mark.

Summary: In which Thorin meets his One at an inn, not too long before his Quest.

Based on my own prompt; soulmates who find each other by a mark and the other’s name in Dwarven Runes.

Fandom: The Hobbit.

Relationship: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Liv.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: a little bit sensual.

Content: Dwarven Ones/Soulmates, soulmarks, pre-Quest, a bit angsty, hea, everyone lives/no one dies.

(I will be loading this entire fic to Ao3.)

The sounds of loud talk and raucous laughter jars my ears as I carefully skirt through the hazy common room with the laden plate and pint. It's no busier than usual, but it always seems too crowded whenever I'm laden with someone's supper and drink. And I have no desire to have my arm knocked and be scolded for my supposed clumsiness. Neatly avoiding a handsy fellow who's clearly had a pint too many, I arrive at my destination; the back table where the Dwarf sat, placidly smoking.

Thorin sits there quietly, drawing reflectively at his pipe and thinking about the fateful meeting with Thârkun back in Bree yesterday. For the first time in years since Erebor was sacked, he feels hopeful. As soon as he returns to his halls in the Blue Mountains, he's calling the Seven Families together, and so make the march to reclaim his people's home. His thoughts flee when the bar maid approaches with his supper and drink, and he watches her with some interest. Pity that some of these Men weren't being more respectful to her; no Dwarf would dare show rudeness to a Dwarrowdam, or her family would demand satisfaction, he thought. One drunken fool grabs at her, kindling some anger in him.

"Here you are, sir," I set down the plate with a soft clank before him, and begin to set down the pint. He smiles almost shyly- this Dwarf has the prettiest smile I'd ever seen- and reaches for his pint with a soft "thank you." As he takes the pint, his large fingers brush against mine softly; they're rough from labor. A fiery spark flits up my left arm from where our fingers touched; it ends with a tingle at the strange birthmark I'd had since birth, there on the inside of my lower arm.

"Oh," I exclaim. The tingle was sharp; thank Eru I had managed to set down everything without it spilling. Ignoring the shouts for more ale, I stand there, holding my arm.

"Did I hurt you?" The Dwarf's concerned voice resonates through me; it's deep, warm, and wraps itself around me like a lover's embrace. Such an idea brings a flush to my cheeks; he's a patron for goodness' sake, and I'm a respectable girl, Liv daughter of Wilfrid, bar maid though I am.

"No, you haven't, sir. My arm just started tingling here," touching my lower arm "right there, it's the bird shaped mark with the runes- why, what is it?"

He looks as if he's seen a ghost or something worse; his blue eyes fixed steadfastly on the mark on my lower arm, his breaths coming in short huffs of surprise. Wondering, I look too- and am speechless.

Her mark is glowing with a soft light, silvery as the thrice precious mithril of Khazad-dum. Thorin recognizes the mark; it is a raven, the Royal Bird of Erebor. It has been so many years since he'd seen that mark; only those who were soulmates to members of the Royal Family ever had the raven as a birthmark. His parents had each known the other by the raven mark to be- no wait!

This girl is a daughter of Man, a race that looks down on the sons of Durin, treats them with disrespect and scorn like beggars, and act as if they were possibly thieves ( all this hurt and irked Thorin endlessly), yet she has the mark of the raven- and the runes that clearly spelt his name on her arm. It's impossible, she shouldn't have it. He tries telling himself that his corresponding raven mark with its runes isn't tingling too, that it's just some strange after effect of the recent cold rains, but it's no good lying to himself. Mahal had made his children to endure.

"This isn't just a birthmark." I start when the Dwarf speaks to me. He is regarding me gravely as he speaks, his thumb rubbing a spot on his vambrace; I am lost in his silver blue eyes; they remind me of some mountain lake. Only they're filled with some unexplainable emotions.

Somehow instead of feeling nervous, I feel some other feeling I can't explain, now the surprise of seeing my birthmark glowing had passed.

"What is it?" I whisper, despite the loud talk and laughter drowning out my voice.

"My people call it the Heart's Mark; when a Dwarf is born, he has a mark upon his skin, usually his arm. He also has the runes of his One's name near the mark. His intended One will have the same as well. When they touch for the first time, the mark glows and each feel a tingle, running from the contact to the mark. Then and only then will the Dwarf know he has found his One. Each Dwarven family has a different Heart's Mark." He pauses, then adds softly; somehow it's almost intimate, despite us being in the very public common room. "My family has the raven as a Heart's Mark."

"The Heart's Mark. I love that term; it's- it's lovely, tender." He actually looks a little pleased, or rather his eyes show his pleasure. "Why, we have something similar, only it's called a soul mark- oh!" I freeze, realizing the significance of what had happened.

In the Blue Mountains village where I'd been born and raised, everyone had a soul mark. Mine had been considered a curse, since I never met my mate when I was of wedding age. The elders had ordered me to leave, despite my parents' pleas; if a girl couldn't find her mate, she was considered useless and unfit to be married, according to their decrees. I'd then come here to work at this small inn on the Green Way, saddened and hopeless. I was certain I was going to die as a lone maiden.

But now- "How are we soulmates? It could never work," I whisper, now that the shock of discovering my Soulmate had lifted, " surely it was a mistake. Dwarves and Men weren't meant for each other."

"It can't be a mistake. It shouldn't be." He is serious, realizing that he hadn't expected his One to be a daughter of Men. It hurts to see his disappointment- before he skillfully masks it behind those beautiful eyes. "But, maybe it is."

A loud shout from a patron ends our talk. I am all too glad to go, heart aching at the thought that I'd finally found my soulmate, but we couldn't have each other.

The bed is comfortable and warm, but Thorin can't sleep at all. Images of the girl and her glowing Heart's Mark keep passing through his mind insistently as he shifts around in the bed that was made for Men and not a Dwarf; pleasant images of her soft thick hair, her healthy curves, her eyes, and the glowing raven mark that somehow marked her as his One. Even now in the darkness, he can see his Heart's Mark glowing on the inside of his muscular arm.

It's a grave mistake that happened; she was born with the wrong Mark, he tells himself firmly. She should have a Man as her mate, not a Dwarf. Certainly not him especially; he has an uncertain future ahead, namely the quest into the East, the many dangers, and the Worm himself.

"What if it wasn't a mistake? Mahal doesn't make mistakes when he forges his children; surely the Father of Men doesn't either. You know that, Thorin son of Thrain," the soft voice in his soul whispers, "you're well versed in the lore of your people. Go to her, tell her, and don't leave until she's wearing your beads."

Thorin snorts in the velvety darkness; that last bit sounded like Dis; she'd been telling him he needed a son of his own to succeed him, despite his protests that he had Fili. With a sigh, he gets up, pulls on his tunic and boots, and is reluctantly approaching the door when a shy knock resounds upon it.

I couldn't lie there in bed anymore; the thoughts of this Dwarf being my soulmate kept coming back. It wasn't and shouldn't be possible; we were each of a different race. And yet I couldn't stop my thinking of him; his long black wavy hair with its silver strands, his broad, strong figure, his silvery blue eyes, and that voice- I cut my thoughts short.

He's a Dwarf, he's different, and somehow it's a mistake that we're soulmates, I tell myself firmly. It was probably a freak occurrence that we have matching marks.

"For shame! Eru doesn't make mistakes, you foolish, foolish Liv," my common sense scolds me, "there's no Man out there with a raven and Dwarven runes on his arm. Go to the Dwarf at once."

Quickly, before I change my mind, I rise, slip on my dress and shoes, and slip down the darkened hall. A blush covers my cheeks when I recall how I watched when the Dwarf left for his room. No one else was in this part of the inn tonight. I find the room quickly enough; I tap on the door, then stand there blushing furiously. I wouldn't blame him if he was annoyed or angry at being awakened.

The door opens slowly; to my surprise, he is up and clothed. He is equally surprised, or rather he hides it better, but his eyes soften when he sees me. My surprise increases when he says, softly:

"I was coming to you, my One."

Those few words are all it takes. He sees her maidenly blush, but her eyes show her happiness. She knows. Within a moment, the girl has entered the room. Thorin closes the door between them and the world outside, then he turns to her again. "I don't believe we've asked each other our names. I am Thorin Oakenshield."

"I am Liv Wilfrid's daughter," Liv says softly, "I was from the Blue Mountains. I came here after the elders of my village sent me away, because I didn't find my soulmate when I'd reached wedding age." Her voice trembles a little.

Naturally Thorin is angered, for his One's sake. She is too precious to deserve such ill treatment. "They had no right to treat you like that; my people treat their women with far more respect than that, and wouldn't dare cast one out!" His voice is dark with anger.

"It's in the past now, Thorin. I probably would never had met you if I had stayed, nor would they have allowed our wedding; they weren't fond of Dwarves. Please do not think of avenging me; I'm not worth that." She is trying to calm him, and apparently it works, for he feels the anger slowly departing from him. Liv has a soothing voice, comforting and soft, he thinks.

"You're worth more than what you've said of yourself, Amrâlimê," he says, "my beloved One."

Liv doesn't understand Khuzdul, the secret language of his people, but she must've understood from the the way he said it that it was an endearment, for a shy smile blossoms on her face as she approaches him. Taking her hands ( and marveling at how soft and tiny they are in his large, calloused ones), he draws her closer, then they melt together into their first embrace.

I am lost in bliss as I wrap my arms around Thorin's neck and broad shoulders; this is a dream, it should be, and I dread waking up from it. Yet my Soulmate, my One, is here and real; his heat penetrates my clothing, and his strong arms are wrapped around my waist while he pillows his head against my breast. I bury my fingers in his hair; it is thick but silky soft. He starts, then hums a little when I begin stroking it; evidently he loves it, for he relaxes against me. We just stand there, lost in the blissful feeling of having found each other.

Then Thorin raises his face to look into mine; there's a question and an awakened dark desire in his blue gaze. "Liv..." he whispers, his voice a sensuous growl. It awakens something in me, and I understand without words what he wants.

Bending down further ( thank Eru I was born shorter than most women), I place myself within reach. He cups my face in his hands, then his warm breath caresses my lips, sending quivers through me, then- his lips are moving against mine.

I moan softly, then I am kissing him in return, enjoying the rough silkiness of his beard against my hands and cheeks, his calloused fingers on my jaw, his own very masculine scent that wafts around us, and that sensuously heated kiss that swiftly enkindles a flame deep within me. When he finally parts my lips and captures my tongue in a wet, hot, open mouthed kiss, I forget myself and moan loudly.

"Hush, Amrâlimê, I want no one to hear us." Thorin pulls back enough to warn Liv. He wants no one by to witness as he claims his One; this moment is theirs and theirs alone. Indeed, the thought of this moment being ruined by some rude intruder stirs a fierce jealousy within Thorin.

"Sorry." Liv has the loveliest blush. Unable to resist, Thorin takes her lips again, relishing how soft and smooth Liv's skin is. He takes his time tasting her mouth, as she moans and kisses him back with equal desire. Her hands thread through his hair, making him quiver at her touch. Mahal, she is difficult to resist. He wants her so badly, to make her his, and plait his beads into her hair, to make her his Queen.

Presently they part, breathing hard from roused passion and want of air. Thorin rests his forehead against Liv's forehead gently while his hands reach for and clasp her waist gently. She's breathing hard, her hair is tousled, and her lips are puffy from their kiss. But she's beautiful with her glowing cheeks and eyes. Thorin feels a strong jolt of desire just looking at her. But as strongly as he would like to lay her down in that bed and make her his, he restrains himself.

"My One," he whispers, content to just hold her, "for many years, I thought I would never find you. I'd met many Dwarrowdams; none bore the raven and my name. I was resigned to being alone, like so many of my people. I didn't know that you were here and waiting, just as you didn't know I was out there."

"It was a long, lonely time, Thorin," I whisper, resting my hands on his broad shoulders, "I thought I wouldn't ever meet my soulmate- my One. My Maker thought otherwise, and I thank him."

"As do I." Thorin's broad hands take mine and he leads me to the bed. My stomach flutters, even as my lower belly warms with desire. "I will not dishonor you, Liv; while you are my One, this isn't the time nor place to be as one with you." He sighs gravely as he sits upon the bed. I sit down too, facing him and still holding his hands. While a part of me longed to be with Thorin, the rest of me was grateful that he respected my virtue. "First, I would wed you before we become one in the truest sense of the word. But not tonight, or for a time; I have serious business to undertake."

He then tells me of meeting a Wizard called Tharkûn back in the village of Bree and of a quest to retake his and his people's homeland from a dragon. My heart sinks as I listen. "But- what if you don't ever return? What would become of me? Thorin, let me come with you!"

"The Wild is no place for a woman; this will be a dangerous quest even with an army of Dwarves. I have no desire to lose you, Liv."

"I have no desire to lose you, Thorin!" I don't care if others hear my sobs and tears. I can't lose my Soulmate, now that I've found him. "If you are killed, I may die, if not, be alone again. Please don't go!"

Thorin is unmoved at first, then seeing that my tears won't stop, he pulls me close, murmuring soft words in his mysterious language. I bury my face in his tunic and cry softly. It doesn't help that his scent and heat surround me, reminding me that he will be gone, maybe to never return, on that quest of which he'd spoken of. Life was so cruel; it finally let me find my Soulmate, and now it would take him from me.

At last, I raise my head. Thorin looks so serious, but there's a deep sadness there. "Liv," he whispers, "I wouldn't go if I didn't have to. But it's my people's homeland and mine too, and it will be your home too. I must regain it back. I must."

"Will-will you come back?" I whisper tearfully.

"I cannot promise that. But if I do reach Erebor, I promise to send for you swiftly; I will send one of the ravens with a message when the Mountain is retaken. I'm sure not all of them perished when that thrice accursed Smaug came."

Thorin fingers some of Liv's tresses gently as he speaks. Her hair is beautiful; long with golden highlights amid the brown. How beautiful it would look with gems, golden chains, and mithril beads plaited into it. He acts upon it. "Amrâlimê, it is traditional for Durin's Folk to braid their One's hair with the betrothal braids and beads. Since we are, by virtue of our Heart's Marks, betrothed, allow me to braid your hair."

Despite her obvious sadness, Liv's eyes glow. "Oh yes, Thorin, please do! Do I do anything with your hair to show that you're mine?"

Thorin admires her interest in his culture; he vows to teach her the sacred Khuzdul language when she comes to his reclaimed home. "You may braid mine as well. Do not be afraid to touch it; lovers may touch each other's hair. It's very intimate; you have no idea how affected I was when you touched my hair." The memory of Liv's fingers combing through his scalp and hair sends a strong surge of warmth through Thorin. He whispers a prayer to Mahal that the quest may succeed- and that he be preserved from the madness that affected Thror.

He braids her hair then; an intricately stranded plait behind her ear that he finishes off with the courtship bead- a pretty little thing of silver set with tiny white gems. He'd made it long ago in his youthful days when he'd thought he'd find his One among his people. Now it gleams in the hair of a daughter of Men. Nonetheless, she is his One, and when Liv admires the braid, a strong swelling love for her rushes through Thorin.

Then Liv does his braid- a simpler one, though she finishes it with the rune engraved silver bead Thorin gives her. The gentle caress of her soft hands sends heat flowing through him, inflaming his desire for her more strongly than before.

I've finished the betrothal braid, admiring it as it lies alongside his temple braid, but I can't let Thorin go, not just yet. After touching his hair, my hands wander across his shoulders and arms to slide back up to clasp his face. By Eru, his beard is like rough silk under my palms; the sensation sends pleasant sparks thrilling through me. His eyes flutter shut and he nestles into my palms with a contented sigh as his hands reach for and clasp my waist.

The timeless words are there, but I am afraid to say them, fearing to seem unmaidenly. Yet a part of me wishes to say them before tomorrow comes, and we must part. I nestle closer to him, sliding my arms down around his shoulders, and am rewarded when Thorin, wrapping his arm around my waist, cradles my head in his hand and draws it down to rest his brow against mine. "I could sit with you like this all night, Amrâlimê," he murmurs, "but there is tomorrow, and my return home."

"Yes," I whisper, trying to be brave, "but take care of yourself, and send for me as quickly as possible after you reclaim your mountain."

"My impatient, precious Liv," he nuzzles my nose fondly nevertheless, "I'll send for you quickly so we can begin our life together." The rest is lost in what are apparently endearments in Thorin's own language as he pulls me against his hard chest.

It was now nor never. "Thorin, I- I must tell you something. Something important before you're- gone tomorrow."

"What is it, Liv?" His blue eyes are keen with interest and curiosity. I feel much braver now, emboldened. Pushing back his raven and silver strands from his brow, I whisper softly, only for our ears:

"I love you, Thorin Oakenshield."

He is silent for a moment, which sends my heart plummeting down into my boots. What if it is contrary to Dwarven tradition to say such a thing? Did I manage to offend him? I hitch back slowly, giving him his space.

Then suddenly Thorin is drawing my face back; his heated mouth is on mine, and before he seizes my lips in a passionate kiss, he growls sensually "I love you too, Liv Wilfrid's daughter. My Amrâlimê..."

The rest is lost as we kiss passionately, gripping each other tightly, not worrying about the morrow.

At last, Thorin and Liv part reluctantly, breathing hard and nerves vibrating from the kisses and touching. But they still can't stop touching each other; even as Thorin speaks, he still strokes Liv's sides. "Stay with me, my One, for the night. I promise you that your virtue is safe with me," seeing how she looks a little apprehensive, "I prefer to wait until after Erebor is retaken before you become mine; I wouldn't have you be called dishonorable, even though you are my One."

"I will stay, Thorin." Liv's smile is so bright, bright as fire lit gold, as she nestles closely now; her hands keep wandering across his shoulders and chest as if she can't get enough of touching her One.

She is so soft and warm, all curled around him as he drifts off to sleep; Liv is taller, but somehow she seems tinier in his massive arms, Thorin thinks. She is soft and almost delicate, not like a sturdy Dwarrowdam. But when he glances down at their arms all entwined within each other and sees the Heart's Marks glowing softly, he feels a sense of completion. She is his One, his Amrâlimê, his future Queen.

"Mahal, make me worthy of her."

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