As an author, I am assuming that anyone reading this story is familiar with J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit and/or Peter Jackson's movie, The Hobbit An Unexpected Journey. I often refer to events that have happened in the book. Just a warning. Sorry for any confusion!
If you have not read the book or seen the movie, I would highly recommend both!
This is fan fiction based on the works of J.R.R. Tolkein and Peter Jackson's vision of them. I was caught by something Richard Armitage said of his character Thorin Oakenshield, that Thorin had given up something for his people, that he may have been betrothed to a princess. I wondered what would have to happen to keep them apart after Erebor, assuming they both survived. Being a romantic at heart, for me, they both had to survive! But now, as I follow their characters, I'm not so sure that was a kindness.
No copyright infringement is intended.
Esja pronounced Asia.
Esja knew she was dreaming. She knew the sweet scent of Jessamine could only be found on the rocky slopes of the Lonely Mountain. She knew the smiling blue eyes watching her as he brushed fragrant petals across her lips were only her imagination. She knew the dark braid she slowly wrapped around her finger, pulling his mouth closer to hers, was not real. She didn't care. His blue eyes flashed as she lifted her mouth to his, only just catching his bottom lip. Her head dropped back, and she propped her arm behind it, smiling at him. He bent closer, but instead of seeking her mouth, whispered her name in her ear and nipped at the sensitive spot just under her earlobe.
"Esja," he whispered, lips brushing her skin.
He pressed three gentle kisses down her neck, the tip of his nose grazed the top of her breasts, his soft beard tickling her skin as he pressed a final kiss at the cleft.
"Thorin!" she gasped and awoke.
The sound of his name echoed in her ears, a name she had not spoken for over one hundred fifty years; it slipped like his hand down her spine. Her body trembled, and she closed her eyes at her response. Caught half awake and aching, Esja forced herself from her bed. Dragging the blue fox blanket around her shoulders, she walked out of her room and up a dimly lit tunnel. As she stepped out on the granite ledge, a cold wind tumbled her curls about her face and ruffled the thick fur against her cheek. The moon was full tonight, and she could see, far out on the plain, the distant peak of Lonely Mountain. Here on the furthest western edge of the Iron Hills, Esja had been brought after Erebor's fall.
Here, bare toes grasping the frozen rock, wrapped only in her lush blue fox, Esja opened the gate. She allowed long-buried memories to rise and pierce her again.
Erebor 2770
She had just left the schoolroom when she heard Thorin's voice booming through the great halls.
"Dragon!"
Her eyes searched the high arches but couldn't find him. The next moment everything exploded with dragon fire and death.
Turning, Esja ran back to the schoolroom and gathered the frightened children. Using her best no-nonsense teaching voice, Esja told them they would explore an air vent today. As she herded the confused children into the tunnel and other teachers joined her efforts, she heard the unmistakable tread of dwarven boots in formation. They marched for the front gate. As miners and artisans urged her into the tunnel to follow her students, Esja heard Thorin's powerful voice again guiding his men forward and steadfast. Her heart begged her to turn back, run to his voice, but she knew her responsibility. A soft sob escaped her as she stumbled up the shaking tunnel, doing her best to calm the frightened children and lead them to safety.
She and Thorin had argued about his instructions in case of a dragon attack earlier in the spring. In the end, she had promised to follow his instructions to the letter, but only to appease him, not because she believed it imminent or conceivable. His countenance had grown more solemn of late when they had met by the old guard tower on the arms of the mountain. His concern for his grandfather weighed heavily on him, as did his knowledge of the hoard of gold hidden in the depths of the mountain. Esja did her best to ease his mind by promising to do her part in any emergency and kissing him until he forgot what more he should say. That same day, he had pressed her to marry him sooner, but Esja's mother had complained that she couldn't possibly plan it any faster. Their wedding attire was not yet completed, a special altar was being carved, and Gror had not yet arrived from the Iron Hills. And so they capitulated, Thorin muttering about why anyone would want King Gror at their wedding. Esja sighed and reminded Thorin of the politics of marrying a future king.
He had turned to her, arching an eyebrow, "Are you implying that the fault of the delay falls upon my shoulders?"
Esja smiled, "No, my love. I'm just saying that it isn't me who will be the next King under the Mountain."
Thorin's glower darkened, "So, you do think it's my fault."
"Of course, it is! No one, who's anyone, cares a copper about me," Esja laughed. "It's you they're interested in."
"You're telling me that the Princess Esja, daughter of the Iron Mountain, great-grandniece of Gror, King of the Iron Hills, is of no interest in Erebor?" Thorin asked.
Recognizing the bold set of his jaw and knowing he would not let her win this, Esja slipped her fingers under his leather belt and pulled him closer between her knees. Sitting on the wall surrounding the guard tower brought her to eye level with Thorin, a rather tall dwarf.
"I only know that I am far more interested in you than I likely should be," she said.
Esja touched his chin gently and stroked his dark beard. Thorin's forehead dropped towards hers, his lips brushing across hers lightly.
"You know what they say about the woman who touches a dwarf's beard?" he asked.
Esja gave his lower lip a gentle swipe with the tip of her tongue.
"Laga burdhi irmishur zagarur hu, binkirekh tum umimh zagarul," she whispered the words in Khuzdul, and then murmured, "I await your pleasure, my future, King under the Mountain."
Thorin swallowed. Esja followed the motion with her fingertips then her lips. She felt Thorin's hand wrap around her braid, pulling her back to meet his eyes.
"I'm not going to ask where you learned that," he said.
Esja smiled, "Esra's girlfriends seem particularly interested in the second part."
"Do they?" Thorin shook his head.
"Would you like to know which part I'm curious about?" Esja teased.
"No," he said, almost too quiet to hear.
"Zagarur hu...," Esja began.
Thorin covered her mouth with his, ending her playful torture. He had promised himself upon their betrothal that he would honor her in every way until their marriage was made. Had he known then how she could turn a simple word to fire in his blood, he would surely have saved himself the trouble and married her that day.
He sighed and smoothed her hair as he stepped back from her. Her lips, swollen from his kisses, her emerald eyes smiling at him, had him clearing his throat and smoothing his beard. "Perhaps it's you who should be convincing your mother to work faster," he said.
"We await the pleasure of King Gror," Esja groaned.
"You may wait on his pleasure as you wish," Thorin said, "but I wait only on yours."
Esja squirmed on the rough wall, holding out her arms to the prince to help her down.
"I think not, little Esja," Thorin said with a regretful smile. "For the sake of my honor, I leave you on the wall today. Make your way home or stay as you wish. Vixen."
"Thorin!" Esja called after him. "Come help me down; I promise I'll be good!" she giggled, knowing full well she couldn't keep her word.
Thorin looked back and shook his head at her with a grin, then disappeared over the edge of the hill.
Esja laughed for a minute longer, letting him get a head start, then jumped down from the wall to chase after her prince.
***
After the holocaust at Erebor, everything changed. Esja's mother, Dara, set up a makeshift healer's tent near Dale's smoldering ruin and helped all who passed. Esja assisted as best she could, but the wounds and burns were horrific, and Thorin's prolonged absence terrified her. She had heard many speak of his valor, but none could tell her whether he still lived.
The day he appeared at her side in the healing tent was so imprinted in her mind; it was as if it had happened only yesterday. She was sitting on a stool near the back of the tent, rolling clean bandages. Lost in her own thoughts, she didn't hear his approach.
"Esja."
His voice brought her head up; he looked exhausted, beaten. Bandages forgotten, she jumped up, hugging him tightly, kissing him, her eyes filled with tears. She moved back to look at him. He brushed a curl away from her cheek as she touched the blood stiffened edge of his surcoat.
"It isn't mine," he said.
Esja wrapped her arms around him again, burying her face in his chest. His war roughened hands, smoothed her hair, and pulled her closer. She felt his lips at her temple, his tears in her hair. She looked up at him, running her fingers through his beard and wiping his tears.
"It's going to be alright," she told him.
She buried her face in his neck and pressed kisses to his bearded jaw, promising him all would be well.
A silly girl making promises she would not be allowed to keep.
Khuzdul Translation - doesn't translate directly, but you'll get the idea
laga burdhi irmishur zagarur hu binkirekh tum uninh zagarul
With her tongue, she readies his sword and yields herself to his blade.