Don’t Let Go.
Thorin Oakenshield x reader
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
The barrels slammed into the rushing water, one after another, each impact echoing through the trees. Dwarves shouted, water roared, and the current grabbed everything with merciless force.
You hit the river last — pushed by a terrified Bilbo — and the shock of cold water stole the breath from your lungs. The barrel spun wildly. You fought to grip the rim, knuckles white, fingers slipping on the wet wood.
“Hold on!” you heard someone shout.
Thorin.
But the river swallowed his voice instantly.
The current surged faster. The dwarves were being flung in every direction, clinging on for their lives. You could barely see Thorin’s barrel through the spray, but you knew his eyes were locked on you — searching, frantic.
A violent crash threw your barrel sideways. It slammed against a jagged rock, cracking the wood beneath you. The force ripped your hands free.
You plunged into the water.
The world became cold, dark, disorienting. The current dragged you under before you could scream. You kicked, clawed upward, lungs burning, but the river didn’t care.
Somewhere above the water, distantly—
“(Y/N)!” Thorin’s voice, raw with terror.
You fought toward the surface, hands scraping at nothing—
Then someone grabbed your wrist.
A grip like iron. A grip you knew.
You broke through the surface with a gasp as Thorin hauled you upward, half pulling you over the edge of his barrel.
His arm locked around your waist instantly, holding you against him so tightly you couldn’t tell where your trembling ended and his began.
“By Durin’s beard—” Thorin’s voice shook violently. “I thought the river had taken you.”
You clung to him, coughing, heart hammering. “It almost did.”
His forehead pressed to yours, cold and wet, but so desperately warm in the way he held you.
“I will not lose you,” he said, voice low, almost a vow. “Not to water, not to battle, not to anything this cursed journey throws at us.”
The barrel lurched, but Thorin only tightened his grip, refusing to let you slip even an inch.
“Thorin,” you whispered, breathless, “you have to steer—”
“I have you,” he growled, ignoring everything else — the river, the danger, the dwarves shouting ahead. “I will not let go.”
You felt him trembling.
Thorin Oakenshield — the unshakable, stubborn king — was shaking for you.
The river carried you both onward, but his arms never loosened, not even as obstacles rushed past and shouts rose around you.
For those frantic moments, there were no barrels, no orcs, no danger.
Only Thorin’s heartbeat pounding against yours and the echo of the fear he almost didn’t have time to feel.
When the river finally slowed, he pulled back just enough to cup your cheek, thumb brushing away water that might’ve been tears.
“Stay close,” he murmured, voice rough. “Where I can reach you. Where I can protect you.”
Your chest tightened. “I’m here.”
He exhaled shakily — something almost like relief breaking across his features.
“And Mahal help the river,” he murmured, eyes burning into yours, “if it ever tries to take you from me again.”
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
Alright this was the last imagine i had saved up in my drafts, now it will take a bit longer for me to post.
Hope you guys can be patient with me.
Until next time!
