In the fire of war.
Thorin Oakenshield x female!reader
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
The battlefield roared like a living beast around you.
Steel rang against steel. Orc cries split the sky. Snow and ash swirled in the wind, mixing with blood on the torn earth as the Company pushed forward. Thorin fought at the head of the line, every strike of his blade fueled by fury and purpose — the King Under the Mountain reclaiming what was his.
You fought near him, as you always had, even when he insisted you stay behind.
Today, you couldn’t. There was too much at stake.
And not only for Erebor.
“(Y/N)!” Thorin shouted, cutting down an orc before it reached you. “Stay close!”
“I am!” you called back, blocking a blow yourself and driving your axe into a snarling warg-rider.
He moved to your side instantly, his presence a solid wall of protection. His blue eyes were blazing, his breath heavy, his braid loose and wild from battle.
But you saw something he didn’t — an orc closing from behind.
“Thorin!” You grabbed his cloak and pulled him aside just as a blade swung past where his spine had been. Thorin pivoted, cleaving the orc in two with a roar.
His chest heaved as he turned to you.
“By Durin’s beard—do not stand behind me like that! You could have been killed.”
“And so could you,” you snapped back, adrenaline burning in your veins.
Thorin seized your shoulders, fierce, protective, angry in the way only someone who loves too deeply can be.
“I swore I would keep you safe,” he said, voice rough. “If anything happened to you—”
“Thorin, stop.”
You tore yourself from his grasp. Your heart hammered, not with fear, but with urgency. There was no later. There was no safe moment. Not in a battle like this.
Your hand pressed instinctively to your stomach beneath your armor.
“Thorin,” you said again, louder over the clash of blades. “I need to tell you something. Now.”
He blinked, taken aback. “Now? In the midst of—”
“Yes. Now.” Your throat tightened. “I can’t go another second without telling you.”
His expression shifted — confusion, worry, dread.
“What is it, amrâlimê?”
Your breath hitched. You stepped closer, your fingers trembling as they gripped the front of his tunic.
“I’m pregnant.”
The world fell quiet between you.
Thorin froze — utterly, absolutely. His eyes widened, his grip on his sword slackened.
“You… you are with child?” His voice broke in a way you had never heard.
You nodded, tears stinging from more than smoke.
“I didn’t want to go into this battle without you knowing. If something happens—”
“NO.” Thorin’s voice cracked like thunder. His hands came up to cradle your face, reverent and desperate.
“Do not speak of such things.” His forehead pressed to yours, armor cold but his touch burning. “A child… our child.”
Orcs shrieked in the distance — closer now. The moment could not last, but Thorin held onto it as long as he dared.
His thumb brushed your cheek, tender even through gauntlets.
“By Mahal…” he whispered, breath shaking. “You carry my heir.”
A roar echoed behind him — enemies advancing.
Thorin turned, eyes blazing with a new fire.
He lifted his sword and shield, the King awakening fully, fiercely.
Then he looked back at you — and in that look was more love than any words could hold.
“Stay behind me,” he commanded softly. “You carry our future.”
You raised your weapon. “I fight beside you.”
His lips curved — pride, love, awe.
“Then we fight for more than Erebor today.”
Side by side, you charged back into battle — Thorin Oakenshield fighting with a new fury, a new purpose:
To survive.
To protect you.
To live long enough to meet his child.
