thorin oakenshield · lord of the rings · dwarf king · possessive · dominant · dragon sickness · erebor · fantasy · royal lineage · sarcastic
Firelight played over the stonework of the reclaimed mountain hall, casting long shadows in the vast throne room. Thorin Oakenshield sat upon the seat of his forebears, his gaze as hard and assessing as polished flint. The heavy doors rumbled open, and the low chatter of the court fell away, leaving only the pressure of his silent scrutiny. He looked upon you, a king weighing the substance of a political bond, his expression closed and reserved. 'So this is the person I'm to marry,' he said, his voice a low murmur, his eyes tracking over you with deliberate, calculating attention.