The cave was dark but mercifully dry, a relief after being stuck in the freezing rain and storm. You shiver slightly as you wander in after your companions. Every part of you is soaked to the skin, despite your thick travelling clothes.

Nori and Bofur light some torches, and the full size of the cave comes into view. Its a fairly snug cave, with craggy rock walls and a low ceiling, but being twelve dwarves and a hobbit, you all fit in nicely.

It's only now, after the excitement of the overpass, you remember Gandalf's absence with a jolt. Where was the wise wizard? You sigh contemplatively. Hopefully he would will rejoin you all soon. For you have a feeling you might need him again sooner rather than later.

Everyone sets down their gear and prepares to settle in for the night, pulling out their bedrolls. You set yours down beside Fili and Kili, by one of the cave's walls. You try to undo the knots that hold the bedroll, but your fingers are stiff, trembling and frozen with cold, refusing to bend to your will. You grind your teeth in frustration, muttering Dwarvish curses beneath your breath.

"Here," a voice says, and a pair of rough, large hands take the bedroll from yours. Thorin makes quick work of the knots, spreading out the bedroll on the rock floor. You smile in thanks at him, teeth chattering from the cold.

A look of concern crosses his face, and he reaches out and grabs one of your hands. He recoils, swearing.

"Mahal, you're frozen solid!" He mutters. Plucking your blanket from the floor, he drapes it around your shoulders, and clasping your blue hands together, brings them up to his lips.

His warm breath blowing on your hands warms you, and you shiver again as you feel yourself warming up. "Thank you," you murmur

"Get some rest, Y/N," he tells you, smiling crookedly, and turns away to set up his own bedroll.

You lie down on yours, now somewhat warmer, and turn to see that all the other dwarves have already fallen asleep. Fili and Kili are curled up side by side next to you. Small snores escape Fili, while Kili sleeps peacefully, mouth slightly open. Fuzzy lumps spread out on the floor of the cave show that the others are all sound asleep, except Bofur, who has the first watch.

Rolling over onto your other side, you face Thorin. But what you don't expect is the dwarf prince looking right back at you, blue eyes solemn. You blush slightly after a moment of intense eye contact, and he looks away.

"Y/N?" he asks quietly.

"Hmm?"

He pauses for a moment, before finally speaking. "If you could go back to that night, when everything happened, if my grandfather and father hadn't asked you to reject me...."

"Yes Thorin?" You ask, hardly daring to breathe. He looks into your eyes with that piercing, unabashed gaze.

"Would you have chosen differently?" He murmurs, his deep blues holding you captive.

The question is so abrasive, so deep and personal, it shocks the words right out of your mouth. You are silent for a moment, and he quickly adds, "You do not have to tell me, Y/N. I apologise, that was very forward-"

"Yes". You say it so quietly, you don't think he has heard it, but the expression on his face tells you otherwise. Its indescribable, a mixture of swirling emotions that most definitely aren't negative.

He's looking at you like he did back in Rivendell when you were dancing with Bofur on that table, what feels like ages ago. Except there's more hope on those eyes this time, a true defining spark.

You both are quiet for some time, gazing at each other unflinchingly. That soft yet burning look on Thorin's features lingers. It's the one that makes your skin sing, your heart flutter and you mind do pinwheels inside your head. You've seen it so many times before, during your courtship. The look that used to, still did make you feel like the only woman in the world, like naught mattered but the two of you, in that very moment, where time paused.

And then usually after that, Thorin would kiss you.

The memory of that look makes the air leave your lungs. Is he going to kiss you?

But no kiss comes, even though the air is thick with heady, intoxicating tension.

"Thank you," Thorin murmurs quietly, followed by a goodnight. You return the pleasantry and roll over, slightly disappointed that your conversation with him has ended so soon. "Theres plenty of time for talking later," the voice in your head coerces. Shutting your eyes, you fall into a restless sleep.

*****************************************

Thorin lay awake for some time on his back, listening to the sounds of his companions sound asleep. He heard Y/N's breath slow shortly after their conversation ended, as the half-dwarrow slipped into dreams.

He can't help but sneak a look. Mahal, she looked so peaceful as she slept. And younger, less wearied and downtrodden, when the weight of many hard years did not press her shoulders. Almost as young as the last time he had seen her, before the attack of the malevolent scarlet worm known as Smaug.

Their conversation in the gardens of Rivendell still haunted him. For the knowledge of his grandfather and father's betrayal had rocked him to the core. His family, the people who had raised him, and Y/N too, had ultimately stabbed both of them in the back. One part of his consciousness refused to accept it, for his family had doted upon Y/N as a child. The only daughter in a family of men, she had been loved beyond measure.

Yet as confronting as Y/N's tale of his forebears was, another part of him remained unsurprised. Gold sickness had afflicted both his father and grandfather, poisoning their minds and fraying their reason. No wonder they had begun to see enemies within their own kin, no matter how many years of loyalty...

Then there was the unfortunate truth of being highborn. Princes didn't marry for love, they married for politics. That was the way of Durin's folk.

Thorin had been raised on loyalty. Loyalty to his family; Thrain, Thror, his brother Frerin, sister Dis, and now his two strapping nephews. Loyalty to them, to family was key, no matter what.

But Thrain and Thror had violated that sacred code of honour the second they threatened Y/N. So consumed by greed, by their grand plan for the line of Durin, they would condemn a treasured foster daughter to death rather than see their son, their grandson happy. Anger clenched at Thorin's consciousness.

He understood why they had done it, but it still made him inexplicably angry.

"But she came back, eventually," the voice in his head consoled. "The past matters naught. She came back to you, and she admitted she would have accepted your proposal if she could have".

"Yes..." The sound of her voice saying that one little word was bouncing around inside his head. Even after knowing that she probably still loved him (her return had spoken volumes), a subtle confirmation of her feelings was enough to knock the breath out of his lungs and all the thoughts out of his brain.

"But this whole sorry saga could have been avoided," he thought glumly. "She has suffered so much because of me."

But what now?

He had so badly wanted to kiss her after she said that, to feel her lips brush his after so long. But he had held back. Was he afraid of diving back in? A little, maybe, he didn't know. Did he feel differently, after all this time?

He pushed the thought away before it could form properly. No. The incident on the plains with the orcs was proof enough of that. As much as he had denied his feelings for her over the years, faked a smile for his comrades, and given the prettiest maid in every town his people stopped at a second glance, he could no longer live a lie. He could no longer lose anymore sleep pondering and wondering. He had to face the facts.

He, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, was still in love with Y/N.

And at that moment, as the realisation dawned upon him, the ground cracked and fell away beneath the cave, and the Company fell into oblivion.

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