#mewpet

I have to admit I've been holding onto this ask for a minute bc I was lowkey freaking out a little and didn't know what to say lol

Your art is so amazing, I'm always hype to see it, your grasp of....everything is so cool, the colors and the backgrounds and the shading and composition and aaaaaaa love!!!

Surprise! It's time for the next chapter of my latest fic! And not only that - it comes with a delicious eye-candy - a wonderful piece of art I commissioned from the extremely talented @mewpet. Thank you! 💙

This was actually how this fic started. I had the image of Thorin at a waterfall in my head for quite a while and couldn't get rid of it... and then a white raven flying through the waterfall popped up in my head. After that, I knew this was the story I wanted to tell you.

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Rating: E (18+) Author's notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield's quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike. Years have passed, but Thorin can't stop thinking about the white raveness, her eyes, and her kiss...

You can find this fic on AO3.

🌟This chapter comes with a prompt from @mismaeve's February Challenge: “I want all of you, forever, every day”.

HUGE thanks to @legolasbadass and @linasofia for taking the time from your busy schedules to read it in advance and offer me your invaluable advice and extra thanks to @laurfilijames for helping me out with the horse-related vocabulary 💙💙💙

Oh, and this chapter is a bit longer than the previous ones. I hope you don't mind!

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 ... 🌟

Khuzdul: Karkûnê - My Raveness

The White Raven Chapter 3: The Chance

“Uncle?” A familiar voice filled the stable.

“I am here, Fili,” Thorin tightened the girth on the saddle of his buckskin pony.

“I thought you were going to leave in a week, after the Summer Solstice festivities, like you usually do,” the sound of his nephew’s steps ceased behind his back.

“I am riding out today,” Thorin checked the stirrup leathers, his back still towards Fili. “There have been rumours about a solitary Dwarf wandering through forests north from here.”

“I see,” Fili said after a moment’s silence in a softer voice. “Do you think it could be Grandfather this time?”

“I intend to find out,” he replied quietly, patting his mare’s neck. “Let me ride out with you, Uncle, like the last time. Two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

“It is a kind offer, Fili, but I have to decline it. I will manage on my own. Besides, you will miss the celebrations if you follow me,” Thorin turned to face his nephew.

“So will you. And Bombur ordered twice as much ale as last year!”

“Then there will be more ale for you, Kili and the lads,” Thorin grinned encouragingly. “Drink and be merry as the saying goes.”

“If that is what you want, Uncle… but what about our Firebeard guests?” Fili’s eyebrows forced together into a pronounced frown. “They expect to see you tonight at the feast.”

“I have already sent them my apologies. If the rumours are true, I need to find my Father before our enemies do. Fili, I am certain that you will be a most courteous host to the Firebeards, ” Thorin’s hand rested on his nephew’s shoulder. “You will not be alone – your mother and Balin will be there, beside you.”

“But… Lady Tarja…” Fili cleared his throat, his lightly bearded cheeks darkening slightly.

“Oh, I see,” Thorin hummed. “Tell your mother that Lady Tarja would be a better match for her oldest son than for me. Not only in age.” “Uncle, you know better than me what is at stake here!” Silver cuffs clinked in Fili’s bright hair as he shook his head. “Lord Yngví wishes to join our clans in alliance by marrying his daughter, Tarja… I mean, Lady Tarja, to you.” “Lord Yngví wishes for his daughter to become a queen,” Thorin gave him a smile. “He does not care which heir of Durin she marries as long as he is a king at some point. Besides, something tells me that if he asked his daughter’s opinion, she would choose the golden-haired one. Is that not so?”

“How do you know?” Fili’s eyes widened.

“You two were not the only ones who decided to take a breath of fresh air last evening. It was not your first meeting, was it?” “We met a year ago on Durin’s Day but we decided to keep it secret until we knew that her father would approve of me courting Tarja. I swear, Uncle, none of us knew that Lord Yngví planned to offer her hand to you in marriage. And when I heard of it from Mother two weeks ago…” his nephew looked him straight in the eye. “We love each other and I wish to marry her!”

“Then there is only one thing you should do, Fili.” Thorin said, recalling another young, golden-haired Dwarf who spoke very similar words to Thráin, years ago. “What is it, Uncle?” Fili’s jaw was set and there was a determined glint in his eyes. Like father, like son. 

Thorin’s response was short.

“Tell your mother that I approve of this match.” 

***

Apparently, history likes to repeat itself, Thorin mused, riding out of Thorinuldûm and leaving all the negotiations, contracts, and intrigues, along with a very joyful Fili, behind. At least his oldest nephew had a chance at happiness now. Kili was too young to think of those things yet and as for himself… It was complicated. He had never been inclined to find himself a wife, but since that night he met Carra all those years ago Thorin would sometimes catch himself wondering about how it would be to have a life companion. Someone to share his days with. Someone to embrace. Someone to wake him up with gentle caresses of his face. 

Thorin grunted at his own ridiculous thoughts. Perhaps Dwalin’s teasing contained a grain of truth after all and he was becoming softer with age. Life in the Blue Mountains was comfortable, his people became prosperous and a tad, well, sluggish, exactly like him. That was why every year he would ride out into the wilderness to remind himself of the hard but simple life he used to lead. At least this was the explanation he offered to anyone who asked. No one needed to know that with his excursions came hope. His eyes would search the sky above his head for a white, graceful shape, hoping to hear that characteristic flutter of wings, or find a silver-white feather or two at his feet. Thorin’s fingers wandered to his chest, where, under his brigantine armour, a feather of that same colour hung from his neck. This was the only proof that his meeting with the White Raven truly happened. Years had passed, but his efforts to find her never ceased, even if he kept on returning empty-handed. Sometimes he would hear gossip at taverns about sightings of a large white bird flying along the River Lhûn or over the peaks of the Blue Mountains. If not for the tale Fili brought home when he was but a pebble, Thorin would have probably disregarded it all. Asking around for a silver-white haired woman with eyes black as coals usually ended the same way and yet he continued searching. The silver-white token pressed against his chest kept on reminding him that Carra was not a dream.

***

Almost ten days had passed since Thorin departed from Thorinuldûm. The rumours of a solitary Dwarf turned out to be true, but not in a way he expected: the Dwarf was a wandering storyteller on his way from Shire who had never met a Dwarf that matched Thráin's description. Another false lead. Thorin hung his head.

It was late afternoon, but the forest air was heavy with summer heat and his pony’s gait became slower and slower. Stopping for the night seemed like a sensible choice. He was not in a hurry and both he and his steed deserved some shade and a good rest. Besides, Thorin suspected that his four-legged companion was as parched as him. He got off his buckskin mare and led her into the woods.

Luck was on his side that day. Deeper in the forest, among rock formations overgrown by lush plants he did not know the names of, Thorin found a waterfall with a small pond at its feet. His pony gave out an approving neigh and proceeded to quench her thirst. Thorin followed suit. The crystal-clear water was pleasantly cool and refreshing. Some of the drops trickled down his beard and found their way under his tunic, a thought formed in his mind. This was a perfect place for an evening bath.

Thorin was not entirely sure how long he let himself drift in the pond. With his eyes closed, he enjoyed the way the water washed over him, taking away both the heat of the day from his skin and the soreness from his muscles. In truth, he did not wish to know how much time had passed since he stopped there. He was not in a hurry. Leaves rustled in a gentle evening breeze, crickets chirped, and he floated in the water, feeling almost weightless, his mind pleasantly blank. Dwalin would have probably scolded him at the carelessness he showed; his clothes and weapons lay in the grass at the edge of the pond, out of his reach. His pony was even further away, grazing. If Orcs or bandits were to appear in the area…

A strange, or rather familiar sound interrupted his thoughts. In his ears, it sounded like a cry for help. Or a pleading raven’s croak.

Thorin rose rapidly, ignoring the water splattering around him. His gaze turned to the waterfall. Were his senses deceiving him? Was it possible that the alarmed sound came from that place?

Mindful of the slippery stones that covered the bottom of the pond, Thorin approached the curtain of flowing water painted silver by the moonlight. Moments after stepping into the cloud of water dust that surrounded the waterfall, he stilled, listening. That unusual sound didn’t repeat. Curiously, he reached out ahead. His hand disappeared among the sparkling ropes of water that descended from above and then his tattooed forearm followed. Instead of a stone wall, his fingers encountered some greenery, leaves most likely, and then… nothing. Emptiness. He took a step ahead, crossing through the humming, flowing veil, eager to discover the secrets it hid.

Thorin found himself in a small cavern. Water trickled down his bare body, pooling at his feet, as he looked around. Moonlight seeped in through the waterfall, giving the walls a faint bluish tint. The place seemed empty. Almost. By the wall opposite of him, a white, irregular shape lay, covered with a silver-white mantle.

And then it dawned on him. It was not a mantle. In a few strides he closed the distance between them, kneeling beside her. Carra. Her eyes were closed, her cheek rested on the back of her hand, and the rest of her face was hidden behind her hair. Her luscious locks looked much longer than the last time he saw her. What a wonderful feeling it would be to braid them, to feel their silky smoothness on his skin…

A barely audible whimper escaped her. A frown appeared on her face. Another whimper reached his ears.

“Carra?” Thorin whispered. The last thing he wanted was to alarm her. “Wake up, my lady.”

“No…” she mumbled, not reacting to his words, a grimace contorting her features. “Please… No…”

He found her arm and shook her as gently as he could. She seemed fragile under his touch, making him feel a sudden urge to protect her from any harm that might befall her, now, tomorrow, in a year, or fifty.

Only a moment passed before her eyes fluttered open, focusing on him.

“Thorin…” she gasped. “Thorin?”

“It is me,” he reassured her, warmth blooming in his chest at the way her face immediately brightened.

“It is you,” Carra exhaled in clear relief.

In a blink of an eye a pair of arms wrapped around his neck, the cool skin of her cheek pressed against his, and her joyful whispers seeped into his ear like life-giving nectar into an ailing person’s mouth.

“You are alive… Thank the Great Mother, you are alive!”

“Why would I not be?” he chuckled, wrapping his arms carefully around her lithe body, painfully aware that under the mantle of her hair she was as naked as he was.

“The dreams…” she stumbled upon her words. “In my dreams, there was snow… ice… and blood… so much blood…”

He pulled back slightly, looking into the inky depths of her eyes, “It was only a bad dream, nothing more. I am well and so are you.”

“You truly are,” hesitantly, Carra’s palm rested against his bearded cheek.

“Aye. And I am not a dream,” Thorin covered her hand with his in a reassuring gesture. “But I am glad to have found you, Carra.”

As those words slipped off his lips, he found himself taking in all the charming details of her face, confronting them with his memories, and finding that the latter could not hold a candle to what he saw and felt at this very moment. Her unique beauty, the way a delicate smile danced on her lips, the smell of snowdrops in the air, her hand cupping his cheek; everything seemed perfectly right, stirring up all the sensations he thought he had forgotten years ago. She was with him again, in his arms, and he had never felt more alive than at this very moment.

“Found me? But you have not lost me,” she tilted her head to the side in a very bird-like manner. 

“Have I not? You disappeared,” he grunted at the bittersweet memory of their last meeting. “Because I kissed you.”

“It was I who kissed you first,” her whisper was fainter than the murmurs of the waterfall behind them.

Something lit up in his chest, warmth quickly spreading inside him. Time blurred his recollection of the details, but he still remembered vividly how those raspberry lips inflamed him, fueling his imagination and dreams. “Then why did you leave?” he asked, focusing on her words.

“Because it is against the laws of my people,” when Carra spoke, there were hints of sadness in her voice and a small frown on her face. Then her other hand moved to his right cheek and hesitantly hovered over it for a heartbeat before cupping his beard. What battle she fought with herself he could not venture to guess. In the end, her eyes flickered over his features and her gaze softened as she breathed, “I am unable to watch over you if I do this…”

The softness of her lips took his breath away. A faint thought flickered in Thorin’s mind, some question he wanted to ask, but a wave of heat washed over it. Inch by inch, Carra, the woman he could only dream of until yesterday, peppered his lips with a myriad of little kisses, kindling flames of passion inside him. She tasted like spun sugar one could buy at a spring market in Dale, featherlight and sweet, waking his hunger. Thorin’s reaction to her caresses was not the most patient one: he claimed her lips, grazing them with his teeth, parting them slightly with his tongue. The fervour with which Carra responded made the blood sing in his veins. As their tongues danced with each other, he pulled her closer to him, eager to taste more of her, his hand splayed flat on her back, her small, pebbled breasts pressed against his chest. A symphony of contrasts played at his senses. Her cool touch scorched his heated body; her pale thigh pressed against his tawny skin; her soft, slim body pressed against his large, sturdy dwarven bulk; he marvelled at the softness of her skin as his calloused fingers explored her curves. Her soft moans were accentuated by his groans; the silver-white river of her tresses flowed together with the damp, dark waves of his hair. Every single thing about her, every detail, set him ablaze, filling his senses to the brim. He wanted to taste her more, listen to the sweet little whines she made as his hand closed over her shapely breast, admire the flushed skin of her cleavage as her chest rapidly rose and fell, smell the flowery scent of her hair, touch even the most intimate parts of her alluring body, he wanted to know everything about her. He wanted every single part of her, and more.

Thorin didn’t know when it happened, but she lay underneath him, deliciously bare, her hand delving in his hair, their legs intertwined. He, the leader of his people, always praised for his self-control and adherence to tradition, found himself a moment away from breaking all the rules and giving in to his desires. This was not the way of his people. In a situation like this, the Dwarven laws demanded at least a year of courting and then signing a marriage contract, and only then....

“We should…” he murmured hoarsely, his lips reluctantly parting from hers. “Tell me to stop, my lady.”

She found his gaze, running her finger along his upper lip, “I will not. This is what I want, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór.”

Her arms closed around his neck, pulling him towards her, and he needed nothing more. Only her. 

Thorin delved into a deep, ardent kiss, letting his passion sing praises of her, rules of propriety completely forgotten. Carra eagerly explored his body, her fingers sinking into his muscled arms, running along the peaks and valleys of his chest, kindling the fire of his passion more and more, as if he was a red-hot furnace, melting the steel of his resolve even before work in the foundry started.

His hand ventured on an uncharted trail of her inviting body. She was truly different from his kind; slight and feminine in a completely non-dwarven and yet overwhelmingly enticing way. Every little detail he encountered fascinated him. As he covered the lovely hollow between her clavicles with his lips, it turned out to be much more sensitive than he expected. A sigh. The ruby tips of her breasts hardened like precious gems when he slowly swirled the tip of his tongue around each of them. A moan. The way her breath hitched when his fingers traced purposeful patterns on the pale plain of her belly. A purr. The way her legs parted when his hand caressed the roundness of her hip made his breath hitch. 

He delved between them with eagerness, but not before his lips finished discovering all the wonders of her body. The sensitive skin at her wrist. The bend of her elbow, which when caressed by his lips, made her tremble. The rounded line of her shoulders. The arch of her neck as he found her earlobe with his lips, her whispers reaching his ears, asking him for more. The alluring shapes of her breasts he worshipped thoroughly while her hands buried in his hair, her fingers running against his scalp, igniting new flames inside him. She was perfect in every way; the woman who enchanted him completely with one single kiss on a winter night. Thorin lifted his gaze and their eyes met, sapphires and opals, and he was pulled into an endless sea of senses. Space and time cease to exist.

Their lips meet again in a new kiss, so different, so slow and tender; their breaths intermingle and their bodies intertwine in an attempt to close the last inches between them. His steel hardness presses against her moist, silky heat. He lets out a groan, savouring the sensation. Her hands move down the muscles of his back. He sinks into her in an unhurried motion. Her hips lift to meet him and then they find it together. Perfect harmony. His hand runs through her hair. Her lips curl up in a smile, diamonds shine in her eyes, and he finds the answer to the spark of hope he tucked away in his heart when they first met.

“Carra,” he murmurs softly, returning her smile.

“Thorin,” she gives out a soft cry of wonder.

They are like two rivers winding through a barren landscape for ages, only to finally join and flow together as one, their currents entwined. They rush under the hills of desire and through the valleys of passion. One by one, waves of their pleasure wash over new, breathtaking shores, rapture blooming in their wake. It does not matter where he ends and she begins, it only matters that they surge ahead, merged, undivided. 

Joy sings in their veins, spurring them towards the rapids of rapture ahead and they take a leap, still together. Ecstasy claims them, filling them with impossible sweetness, branding them with its ancient magic. 

The echoes of their voices—of their heated breaths—slowly quietened as they drifted together on the island of bliss. Carra drowsily opened her eyes, seeing the unmoving tangle of their bodies painted silver and blue by the light of the moon. She lay sideways, enjoying the afterglow of their lovemaking, curled up against Thorin’s chest, wrapped in his arms, her cheek resting on his arm. Somehow, she didn’t mind the way his coarse chest hair tickled her skin, so different from the way feathers felt. In fact, she welcomed all the new, unexpected sensations their meeting brought her.

Perhaps because they were undreamed; unforeseen and yet untainted by the darkness that lurked in her dreams these days. Forbidden and yet very much wanted. She and Thorin, her son of Durin, were like two pieces of a magnetite rock, constantly circling around each other and drawn to each other by an invisible force. Together at this very point in time. Just this once.

His warm, broad hand cupped her cheek. Then, his lips brushed gently against hers before he spoke, his rumbling voice filled with affection.

“I want all of you, forever, every day, Karkûnê.”

Savouring the warmth that bloomed inside her as Thorin’s words rang in her ears, Carra refused to breathe, not wanting to interrupt this precious moment, as if it could stop time from moving forward. She could not. Something stung in her eyes and she let her eyelids drop, tucking her head under his chin, clinging to him, wishing away the world that existed beyond this hidden cavern. A faint, mewling sound escaped her. At first, Thorin was silent; he caressed her hair with slow, soothing motions, holding her close, but he spoke after a while.

“I did not wish for my words to be the reason for your tears.” “My tears?” she blinked, looking up at him puzzled. Only then did she feel the surprising wetness on her cheeks. She brushed it away with her fingertips and curiously looked at  the moisture they gathered. 

Tears. Ravens did not cry. It was something Dwarves did whenever they were moved by something, great sadness or overwhelming happiness. What was the emotion she felt at this very moment? “My tears are… of no consequence,” she swallowed, letting her fingers caress his cheek. “Unlike you, son of Durin. The Raven Crown of Erebor is to rest on your head one day and you have a destiny to fulfil as a king.” “What do you speak of, Carra?” Thorin’s eyes searched her face. “What does destiny have to do with my feelings for you? And with yours?”

“Mine?” she whispered faintly.

“I can see it in your eyes, Karkûnê,” he added with a soft smile on his lips, running his fingers through her hair. 

“I…” her cheeks burned with another new, confusing sensation, but she had to focus on more significant matters. “What I speak of is of greater importance than my feelings. Dark clouds are gathering over these lands. If the light is to prevail, the Dwarves need to grow in strength and the line of Durin must stay unbroken. It must grow.”

Thorin’s fingers intertwined with her trembling ones, steadying them.

“It will,” she heard him speak. “I am hoping for my oldest nephew to wed soon – he is my heir.” “Your nephew has a different role to play. You are the direct descendant of Durin. The oldest son of the oldest son. You need to have your own heirs. Only then…” the words died on her lips. Thoughts spinned in her head. She had already said what should have remained unspoken, and yet the dreams kept on whispering to her. Coaxing her.

“I am listening,” his cerulean eyes sparkled in the moonlight. His fingers tightened around hers and his voice softened. “You spoke of me needing sons and daughters.”

Something tightened in her throat under his gaze. Something fluttered in her belly. Carra chased away all those unknown feelings. She had to make him understand.

“You must find yourself a queen that will bear you children. A strong and worthy Dwarf-woman of an ancient lineage. This is the only way the line of Durin will not perish,” she managed to finish the sentence without letting her voice tremble. She said all that she could. She didn’t say that in her dreams the queen has luscious, red hair and a beautifully braided beard, and she is wise and beautiful. In her dreams, Thorin and his wife look at each other with deep affection in their eyes. She didn’t say that there are two children beside them as well. She was trying to ignore the ache of her heart.

“Why do you speak of such things?” anger rumbled in Thorin’s words as he sat up swiftly. His hand moved away and clenched into a fist.

“Because this is my purpose in the world, son of Thrór’s son. Not only to watch over the Lonely Mountain in the absence of your people, but to guard the path ahead of you, son of Durin. To ensure that it stays unchanged, untainted by darkness,” she wanted to reach out and touch him again but stopped herself before it was too late. She allowed herself a moment of weakness, but now it had to end, regardless of their feelings. This was not written in stars. Not for them. They both had different roles to play in days to come.

“I shall not find myself a queen!” Thorin snarled, his brow furrowed in sudden fury. 

“You must! This is the only way for…” Carra protested, but was not allowed to finish. “You speak of destiny and future, of light triumphing over darkness,” he leaned towards her, silver cuffs clinging fiercely in his hair. “And yet you offend my honour!” “On the contrary, I wish to ensure that you tread the path of honour and glory in the days to come, just like my ancestors did with yours. You must see this!”

“I see only one thing: you claim that your gaze goes beyond the mundane and yet you seem to be blind to one simple truth,” he retorted.

“What truth do you speak of?” “You forget that Dwarves mate for life,” the hoarseness in his voice gave way to silkier tones and yet it pierced her newly found confidence as if it was a soap bubble. The realisation hit her like a sudden blast of turbulent wind and suddenly she found herself in the eye of the storm of her own emotions. Utterly lost, exactly like the path she was supposed to mark out and he – to follow.

“Forgive me, Thorin,” she heard herself say, trying to find the courage to look into his eyes and failing. Her cheeks were wet again. “So do ravens…”

The gentleness of his embrace surprised her, but she leaned into him, hoping to find solace again, relishing in his reassuring closeness. How could something forbidden feel so overwhelmingly right? They strayed and yet…

Thorin’s beard prickled against her cheek as he whispered into her ear: “I know, Karkûnê. I know.”

And then they let their bodies speak instead of their words. 

Unlike the previous time they met, she did not fly away before dawn. When the first rays of morning sun filled the cavern with their glow, she rested her head on Thorin’s chest and closed her eyes, lulled to sleep by his steady breathing. For the first time in years, Carra’s dreams were filled with joy.

***

One passionate night in each other’s arms was not enough. They cherished each other’s presence for several days until it was time for Thorin to return to his life in the Blue Mountains and Carra to hers, at Ravenhill. When they parted, there was no sorrow in their hearts for they whispered promises of meeting again whenever circumstances allowed. It often happened that she found him travelling through the wilderness. Many a time he came to their hidden cavern behind the waterfall only to see her already waiting for him. In secret they enjoyed their time together, a handful of stolen nights and blissful days, year after year, and their feelings never wavered – on the contrary, they seemed to bloom stronger with each joyous meeting.

Change came on dark wings, bringing unfortunate tidings on the day when Thorin Oakenshield, the ruler of the Longbeards in exile, had a chance meeting with a wizard at the Prancing Pony in Bree.

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 ... 🌟

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Bofur x Eyja from chapter 1 of my fic, In Whiskey, Wisdom

I’m not sure if I’ve never uploaded this (seems unlikely?) or if tumblr search is simply being its good old fantastically functioning self...

In any case, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it (again?)!