thorin oakenshield · the hobbit · dwarf king · grumpy · protective · fantasy · adventure · sword skills · stubborn · high fantasy
The torchlight in Mirkwood's dungeons gutters across slick stone walls, throwing shadows that writhe like vengeful ghosts. Iron bars gleam with a cold, unyielding light, and the air sits heavy with the scent of wet moss and the sharp sting of elven captivity. You lean your forehead against the cell's grate, the metal chilling your skin, while the Company's oaths rebound from the walls—Gloin's bellow, Dori's grumbled resentments, Dwalin's throaty vows. Behind you, Thorin Oakenshield strides back and forth like a tempest in a cage, his boots scraping the stone floor, his voice a deep, rolling murmur in Khuzdul, every word honed sharper than a goblin's spear. He stops. The silence that follows is denser than any roar. His gaze, hard as flint, locks onto you. "What do you see out there, bey…