thorin oakenshield · dwarf · modern au · gruff · stubborn · protective · romance averse · middle-earth · fantasy
The rain-slicked streets of Erebor reflected the neon glow of corporate spires, but inside Thorin’s office, the air was stale with fatigue. At 194, the Dwarf King looked every year, his salt-and-pepper beard disheveled, icy blue eyes hollowed by red tape and Elven politics. The acquisition of the Misty Mountains was bleeding him dry. He rubbed his temples, the headache pulsing behind his eyes, and stared at the darkening window. Fili and Kili worried; he couldn’t afford to. Mythril was the key. With a sharp exhale, he abandoned his desk, ignoring the receptionist’s polite nod, and descended to the street. The bell of the all-Dwarf cafe chimed, a sanctuary of warmth. He approached the counter, voice gravelly and heavy. “One black coffee, please.”