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Snow swirled softly about you as you pulled your cloak tighter and turned your face away from the wind. Darkness fell early these days, and being out on the plains between Dale and Erebor wasn’t necessarily the safest place you could find yourself. Rumors of another orc pack coming down from the North swirled madly, although no one had yet to actually see any of them.
But it didn’t matter. You had to go into Dale and pick up a few last minutes gifts for everyone. It was the first Yule celebration since Thorin and the Company reclaimed Erebor, and it was especially meaningful because Thorin, Fili, and Kili nearly died at Ravenhill and that they didn't was a miracle in and of itself.
Thorin. Your heart beat a little faster at the very thought of the King Under the Mountain. The two of you had been growing closer over the last few weeks, and you thought there was something between you, but couldn’t quite figure out how to broach the subject with him. Part of your hesitation was that you were not a dwarf. You had come to Erebor to work with Bifur, who was recovering from an axe blade in the head and was slowly regaining his ability to speak Westron—or the Common Speech. You were a healer of sorts, one who specialized in speech, and while at first, things were difficult, your patience alone worked miracles with him.
For the first time in your life, you were truly happy and although you weren’t a dwarf, you felt more at home in Erebor than you ever did in Esgaroth, for many reasons.
You had just crossed into the city when a familiar, deep voice stopped you in your tracks. “You’re back late.”
You tucked your parcels beneath your cloak and turned to smile at Thorin. “Keeping track of me, are you?”
“Someone has to.”
“Oh, bother that,” you rolled your eyes, “as I need no keeper. I do quite well on my own, you know.”
“Where were you and why didn’t you take anyone with you?” He fell into step beside you and although you were of Man, he was still taller than you. You were of short man and he was of tall dwarf.
“Because I had gifts to buy and didn’t want anyone seeing them. Most of your Company cannot keep their mouths shut and I didn't want the surprise ruined.”
“I hope you didn’t go too mad with shopping. We have everything we need.”
“Yule isn’t about what you need,” you told him. “It’s about what you wish for. And what you wish to give others.”
He chuckled. “I thought it was for eating and drinking and being merry.”
“Well, that, too.” You stopped to face him. In the soft glow of the lights hanging high above their heads, he looked tired. Handsome, of course, but tired. He still bore the scar from a blade across his forehead, from his hairline to just above his right eyebrow, and dark smudges ringed beneath his pale blue eyes. “When was the last time you slept?”
“I sleep every night.”
“Thorin.”
He sighed. “Very well. I’ve not slept soundly in months. I dream. But you already knew that.”
He said it so softly, you almost didn't hear him. But you understood that. He didn't want to be overheard. After all, the King Under the Mountain couldn’t very well show any weakness, could he? It made you want to roll your eyes, but that was just how men were, and so you didn’t. Instead, you tucked your arm through his and said, “Come with me. I have something for you.”
“Something? What sort of something?”
“I found it in Dale and thought it might help you, so I picked it up.” You set your parcels on the floor and sank to one knee to rummage through the shopping bags. There were three large bags, and of course, you found it at the bottom of the third. “Aha! Here it is.”
You shook and held out a long, narrow, rectangular box. “I’m sorry I’ve not had the chance to wrap it. I would have done so this evening, had I not been waylaid by a nosy King.”
He smiled as you pressed the box into his hand. “What is it?”
“Open it.”
He lifted the lid and then looked down at you with a puzzled expression. “What is it?” he repeated.
“It’s a lavender sleep mask.” You lifted it from its box and held it up against his eyes. “It fastens in the back and the lavender will soothe you and help you sleep better.”
He took it from you and smiled. “Will it actually work?”
“I find lavender to be very calming, so I hope so. And no one ever need know you’re using it.”
He tucked it back into its box. “Thank you. It was kind of you to think of me.”
You both stood there for a moment, not saying anything. You wanted to tell him how you felt about him, to tell him how you thought about him all the time, how you loved those nights spent up on the ramparts, talking about everything or sometimes just sitting in absolute, comfortable silence. You wanted to tell him how you worried for him and wanted to fuss over him and make his nightmares go away. You wanted to push up onto your toes and brush his lips with yours, to thread your fingers through his long, silver-streaked black curls, and feel the soft scrape of his beard against your jaw.
But you were friends and you didn't wish to ruin that by blurting out feelings he didn't share.
Then, he cleared his throat. “I—uh—I do have a gift for you. But, it’s in my chambers, so if you would come with me, I—uh—I can get it for you.”
“I should drop these off before anyone else happens upon us and sees them.” You gestured to the bags at your feet.
“Oh, right. Very well. It’ll keep until the bonfire. So, I’ll see you then,” he stepped back, “and thank you for the mask.”
To your disappointment, he didn't give you a chance to protest, but turned and strode off, most likely in the directions of his apartments, which were several levels below your own. With a sigh, you gathered up your parcels and made your way to your own chambers, where you could wrap and tag the gifts you’d bought: a sketchpad and new charcoal for Ori, a tin of tea and a new tea ball for Dori, a book on the history of pickpockets for Nori, a book of recipes for Bombur, a book on Westron for Bifur, a new tin flute for Bofur, a whetstone for Dwalin, a book on the history of toy making for Balin, a new ear trumpet for Óin, a folio for Glóin to keep his pictures of his wife and little boy in, a new dagger for Fili, and for Kili, you’d found a larger quiver for his arrows.
Of course, you’d been shopping over the course of the last few months, and today’s trek was mostly for Thorin. You wanted his first Yule back in Erebor to be as special as you could make it, and the sleep mask was really only an impulse buy. You knew he’d been having trouble sleeping and you were fairly certain you were the only one who knew it. You didn’t quite know how it happened, but he apparently found you easy to talk to and since that first night when you happened upon you up on the ramparts, where he opened up about things you had the feeling he’d never told anyone. And those things would stay between you and him until the end of time as well. He could trust you and you mad certain he knew that. You valued his friendship, even as you hoped for something you were certain would never come to pass.
Thorin stared down at the sleep mask in his hands, touched by your gesture of concern. You had no idea how important you’d become to him and he had no idea how to tell you. He knew Bifur had a crush on you, but not only was Bifur too shy to say anything, his nerves would make it impossible for him to say it in Westron anyway, for ever since his head injury, he spoke mostly in khuzdul, even though his speech was improving.
Well, Bifur wasn’t the only one. Thorin couldn’t stop thinking about you. But, why would you ever want him in return? A damaged king, who’d nearly sacrificed his own people out of his selfish love of gold, who awoke most nights in a cold sweat, with a racing heart and on occasion, woke up screaming. Given the choice between a man who could only express his feelings in a language you could wholly learn and one who was a shell of what he’d once been? Thorin knew he couldn’t compete.
Still, he couldn’t control the flares of jealousy, the way his gut knotted any time he saw you and Bifur sitting, heads bent together, as you worked on his speech. You were so comfortable with Bifur, your hand coming to rest on his forearm, your laughter ringing out at whatever it might be he said to you. It took every ounce of restrain to not force his way between the two of you.
But, maybe at the bonfire, after a few tankards of mead, he’d work up the courage to take the chance and find out. Or at least, he hoped he would.
The bonfire was to begin at half-eight and you could barely carry everything out to where it had been set up out in the courtyard. It was a delicate balancing act for you, and you failed as the topmost box slipped from the stack in your arms.
“Got it!”
You peered around at Bifur and smiled. “Thank you so much!”
He smiled back, but above his beard, a slow flush crept along his cheekbones and as he took the small box, he bobbed his head and when her replied, it was in khuzdul, of which you spoke enough to carry on a simple conversation, but not much more.
He gestured to the other boxes that slid this way and slipped that way and had you constantly shifting to try to hold onto. He paused, cleared his throat, and asked, “May I?” very slowly.
“Of course. I appreciate it.”
He slipped the top five boxes from your stack and arranged them to make it easier for him to carry. You glanced over at him. Ever since he’d lost the axe that had been embedded in his head, he’d begun to regain his memory of how to speak Westron but like one who stuttered, he had to be careful in speaking it. He’d come such a long way since then, but you’d noticed that when he became flustered or excited over something, he lapsed back into khuzdul.
“You don’t have to take that many.”
You tried to take several back, only to have him half-spin away from you. “No. I don’t wish to see you hurt yourself.”
“Oh, that was really good, Bifur!” You nudged him with your shoulder.
He laughed, stumbling to his right. “Take care. Is anything here breakable?”
“Two sentences again… I’m impressed.” You winked to show you were only teasing. Everyone took great pains to make sure he knew he wasn’t being mocked and the last thing you wanted was to have him think otherwise.
He looked over at you, only this time, when he replied, you understood only a few words. He turned red and his gaze fell to the ground.
Drat it. You stopped. “It’s all right. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have teased you that way.”
He shook his head. “No. It’s—it’s all… right. I know you… meant no harm.”
“Bifur!” His cousin Bofur came bounding thorough the snow toward you. “You coulda taken all the boxes from her, you know!”
As he spoke, Bofur relieved you of the rest of the parcels and moved to stow them with the mounds of gifts on one table. Bifur glanced back over his shoulder at you as he followed his cousin and you felt more than a little guilty at the blush staining above his black beard once more.
“He has a crush on you.”
This came from behind you and a moment later, Thorin stood beside you, looking more handsome than you’d ever seen, in a heavy fur and leather coat. His hair looked freshly washed and combed, the single braids on either side of his head smooth and decorated with heavy-looking silver runes. The silver ear cuff on his left ear looked recently polished, as did the ornament he wore at the back of his head to keep his heavy fall of silver-streaked dark waves out of his face.
Snow fell once more, and there were already several inches on the ground, but it had been packed down by the the dwarves responsible for setting up for the festivities. Still, you looked up at Thorin to see white flakes settling in his hair, in his heavy dark beard, in the fur of his coat. “I would beg to differ.”
“He doesn’t lapse into khuzdul amongst us unless he’s agitated about something. But around you? He couldn’t remember Westron if he tried sometimes.”
“I think he thought I was making fun of him,” you confessed.
He shook his head. “Trust me, he doesn’t think that at all. Even if you were, he wouldn’t think it.”
You crunched across the snow to a table near the bonfire as the cold bit into you. Unlike the dwarves, you weren’t built for such cold and no matter how many layers you wore, you still felt its sharp bite.
Thorin followed you. “Walk with me a minute?”
“Of course.” You smiled over your shoulder at him. “But, let me get your gift first. I really don’t want anyone else around when you open it.”
He offered up a confused look. “You already gave it to me.”
“No. That wasn’t it.” You moved to the scattering of gifts and picked through them until you found the one you’d wrapped for him in blue and silver foiled paper. “Aha!”
You plucked it up and turned to him, adding, “I just saw that and thought it might help you. That’s why I got it.”
“Really?”
“Well, yes.” You shrugged. “A king should sleep soundly.”
He smiled, then seemed to hesitate for a moment, then offered you his arm. “Come.”
You slipped your arm through his and let him lead you away from the festivities, where the others had gathered and were now singing, led by Bofur, who had an amazingly beautiful voice. The sounds died away as you and Thorin strolled skirted the pond that was now frozen over and would see ice skating come morning, and neared the thick woods to the west, and the only sound you heard now was that of softly shifting snow. It was a beautiful winter’s night and as you strolled along, the snow stopped, the clouds parted and once more, stars sparkled across the night sky. How many nights did you find yourself up on the rampart, unable to sleep, just gazing at the endless spangle overhead? That was how you and the King Under the Mountain became friends—you happen upon him one night, also unable to sleep, and got to talking about anything and everything. Since then, you’d lost count of how many nights you spent this way, but you hadn’t forgotten how much they’d come to mean to you.
“You seem to have something on your mind,” you said, tugging gently on his arm. “What is it?”
He stopped then and faced you. “I wanted to say thank you, for all you’ve done. For me. For Bifur. For the others. We have appreciated having you here, but— ”
He paused and a look of discomfort flitted across his face. Somehow, you just knew what he was going to say. He was going to remind you that Men and daughters of Men had no place in Erebor and although he owed you a debt of gratitude for saving his nephews and for what you were doing with Bifur, he was going to have to ask you to take your leave of Erebor.
You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to will away the tears threatening to burn holes in the backs of your eyeballs. “But what?”
“But… I—” He broke your gaze, turning his somewhere over your left shoulder. “I—”
“I understand,” you interrupted softly.
“You understand?” His brow furrowed and he met your gaze once more. “Understand what? I haven’t said it yet.”
“You wish me to go. I’ve known it was coming. I don’t belong here no matter how I try to fit in. So, I’ll—”
“No!” He caught you by the upper arms, shaking his head. “No, that isn’t what I was going to say at all. I don’t wish you to leave. None of us do, but I especially want you to—to stay with me.”
You stared up at him. “What?”
He swallowed hard and nodded, then released you to reach into his coat, from which he withdrew a narrow box covered in rich, royal blue velvet. “Happy Yule.”
You took the box, staring first at him, then at it, and back up at him. “Thorin?”
“Open it.” He gently nudged the box toward you.
The lid opened with the softest of creaks and you stared down at the delicate silver and diamond bracelet sparkling up at you from a bed of velvet that was even whiter than the snow falling about you. You just stared—first at it, then up at him. “Thorin? What is this?”
A hint of a blush spread above his beard, along his cheekbones as he lifted the bracelet, which looked even more delicate in his giant paws. “I thought the stones would suit you because I know how you love the stars in the night sky and that’s what these reminded me of. Let’s see if it fits.”
He held the bracelet in one hand and caught your left hand with the other to pull it toward him, then frowned as it took three attempts to get the clasp open with his thick fingers. But then he opened it and fastened it about your wrist.
“Thorin.”
He caught your hand in his, his gaze focused on the bracelet sparkling on your wrist. “I—I’ve wanted to tell you for a while now, but I didn't know how, but… I’ve valued our friendship and I’ve hesitated to say anything because I don’t want to ruin it, but…” He took a deep breath and looked up to meet your eyes. “Mahal, this is difficult…”
You smiled, pressing your lips together as your heartbeat sped up. Then, you pushed up on your toes and caught his lips with yours. At first, he went still, but then his free arm slid about your waist and he pulled you into him, his lips parting, his tongue touching yours to make your toes curl in your heavy boots.
He kissed you slowly and deeply, and when he pulled back, a sheepish smile played at his lips. “That was not difficult,” he murmured.
“I think you should do it again,” you whispered back. “But after you open my gift.”
With that, you held out the small parcel wrapped in silver and blue foiled paper. He carefully unwrapped it and smiled as he lifted the lid on the box and then lifted the leather cord bearing a silver medallion. “What is it?”
“It’s a dove, to remind you that there is always hope. I know sometimes you are overwhelmed by what happened at Ravenhill, at the demons that haunt you from your past and plague your sleep, but you are here and as long as you are, you have hope. And as long as you’re here, and as long as you want me here, I will be here as well.”
His eyes softened as they met yours. “Do you wish to be here? With me?”
You nodded. “Always. I was just too scared to say anything. You’re the king and I’m… nobody…”
He held out the medallion. “Put it on me?”
You took it and eased it the cord over his head. He smiled as he tucked it into his tunic, then caught you around the waist, pulled you closer, and murmured, “And you are not nobody, mesmel, so I don’t want to hear that again. This is the first of what I hope will be many Yules spent together.”
“Many Yules?”
“Oh, definitely.”
He smiled and leaned back to you and when your lips met, you wound your arms about his neck and pulled him closer still.