Author's note: I took my cue from Richard Armitage saying he needed a long-lost love-interest to flesh out Thorin's backstory. So I decided to oblige. Considering Thorin was only 24 when Smaug descended upon Erebor, the dwarven-princess hypothesis didn't really work; so I perused the Appendices looking for a suitable time-frame, and came up with this.

It's essentially "Young Thorin goes to Rohan, saves the day and gets the girl", set in T.A. 2815.

I've tried to adhere to book-canon as much as possible, with a few concessions to the film (Balin and Dwalin being older than Thorin, for instance; and of course Thorin's manifest gorgeousness). I've also tried to write in as pedantically Tolkienesque an idiom as I could, but there are a few lapses here and there, because quite frankly a girl needs to have a little fun; so expect Dwarves with Eddaic names, Pratchetty footnotes, Wagner jokes, embedded quotations from canon, fake Anglo-Saxon, etc. And lots of Rohan, obviously.

Slow build-up, because Thorin needs a little time to thaw. There will be sex and violence later on, but in a very understated, English way; hence the T rating.

Prologue and Epilogue contain SPOILERS for those who haven't read the book.

Professor Tolkien created Middle-Earth and its denizens, and Peter Jackson and his team brought it all to life; I'm not sure who technically owns all of this, but it's not me. I merely claim my OCs.

There you go, boys and girls; I hope you enjoy it. Do let me know what you think!

THE LINDEN TREE

Prologue

After the stone lid had been placed on Thorin's coffin, those of the Company who had known him the longest retired to one of the inner guard-rooms they had made their own during the siege. There was a hearth there, and they had hauled up from the cellars a few flagons of strong drink; and they drank to Thorin's memory, though the fiery spirit gave them little comfort in their sorrow. Balin and Dwalin were there, of course, as were Óin and Glóin; and the Hobbit had come with them, for he was weary with war and grief and could not face the fuss and agitation that had come over the Mountain. And with them too came Gandalf, which rather surprised them.

"You too, Gandalf?" said Balin, a little unkindly. "I thought you'd rather be hobnobbing with Dáin and Bard and that Elvenking than sitting here with us lot."

"I have already done my share of hobnobbing, as you put it, Master Balin," answered the wizard; "and I daresay there shall be more time to hobnob in the days to come. But tonight I would sit with you, and remember Thorin Oakenshield; for I too mourn him, whether you believe it or not."

"Oh very well. Here, have a drink. There are few enough of us as it is. The others are too busy getting friendly with Dáin's people. Don't suppose I can blame them."

"Nah, and we ought to do the same, if we want to get anything out of this," said Glóin. "But not while that preening Elvenking is around the place. Did you see that? Turning up at Thorin's funeral with the sword, all magnanimous, after the way he treated us back in Mirkwood? And after sitting armed on our doorstep, waiting for us to starve? Sickening, that was."

"Aye. I'd love to strangle the creepy git, but now that would be a diplomatic incident, wouldn't it?" growled Dwalin.

Gandalf cleared his throat and rose. "Much as you all may loathe Thranduil," he said, "let us not dwell on old grudges tonight; for we have gathered to honour the memory of a mighty Dwarf." Gandalf raised his glass. "Thorin Oakenshield, the heir of Durin; King under the Mountain."

"Thorin Oakenshield," chorused the others, and drank. Bilbo spluttered, for the strong drink burned his throat. Óin patted him on the back.

"Our relationship may have been fraught," Gandalf went on, "but he was a great and noble prince."

"He was a hothead and a rubbish strategist, that's what he was," said Dwalin. "What did he think he was doing, rushing at Bolg like that?"

"Glorious last stand, brother," answered Balin, and shook his head. "He was making such an end as would be worth a song."

"Stiff-necked fool," mumbled Dwalin, and he wept, and hid his face in his hands. And it was a great pity to see the strong, battle-scarred Dwarf weep like a child; but all knew that he and Thorin had been as brothers.

"And Fíli and Kíli," said Bilbo, raising his glass; for he had been fond of the good-humoured young Dwarves.

"Aye, Fíli and Kíli" said the others, and drank.

"Stupid kids," sobbed Dwalin into his mug.

"I guess I'll have to go back to the Blue Mountains," said Balin wistfully.

"I'll go, if you like," said Glóin. "I'll bring back the wife and kid."

"Do you fancy telling Dís?"

"Oh. Ah. Can't we just send a raven?"

"Of course we'll send a raven. But someone needs to tell her face to face."

"Who's Dís?" Bilbo whispered into Óin's good ear.

"Dís, my lad, is Thorin's sister, and the mother of Fíli and Kíli," answered Óin.

"Oh dear," said Bilbo.

"You said it. She's a lady to be reckoned with; but she's already lost her husband, and I fear this news will be too much for her."

"No, it's all right, I'll go," said Balin. "I think she'd rather hear it from me. Besides, there's stuff that needs taking care of over there. He asked me to…look after a few things."

A moody silence descended on the company, and each of them dwelled on feelings of loss. Bilbo felt maudlin, for this whole adventure seemed to him to have been a terrible waste.

"Look," he said at last, "this is a wake, right? Aren't we supposed to tell stories about the deceased, and remember all the glad times we had together? Well, I mean the glad times you had together, obviously. I was quite glad when he didn't get killed by Wargs, but I don't suppose that counts."

The Dwarves stared at him. "Bilbo, my lad," said Balin at last. "This is Thorin Oakenshield we're talking about, remember? I'm not sure he ever had glad times. Now let me see. You've already heard about the time when his home was torched by a dragon when he was a youngster. And the time he had to work as a blacksmith to make ends meet. And the time his grandfather got his head chopped off by Orcs. And the time his brother and half his kin were slain in a dreadful battle. How about the time when his father went bonkers and ran off into the wilderness and left him in charge of everything? Oh no, you've heard of that too."

Bilbo hung his head, and his eyes filled with tears. "If you put it like that, Thorin does seem to have had a pretty miserable time of it." No wonder he had always been in such a foul mood.

"Why don't you tell the lad of that time with the horse-people?" Dwalin asked Balin.

"Oh no, not that! That's got to be the worst of all! Besides, I don't think he'd want us to talk about that."

"I don't know," mused Dwalin. "It wasn't all bad. Not at first. Not for a while, actually."

"In any case, it was a long time ago. I can't remember much."

"Rubbish," said Dwalin.

Balin looked around him, and saw that all were keen to hear the tale, and he was outnumbered. "Oh, very well," he mumbled; "but let it be known that I would rather let the matter rest."

"I think it is well we should remember Thorin in happier times," said Gandalf. "And I do not think that he would begrudge us the telling of this tale, not now."

"Well," said Balin irascibly, "since you seem to know so well what he would and would not approve of, you can begin the tale, Gandalf. After all, you're the one who started the whole sorry business."

They all turned to look at Gandalf.

"Oh, hrm, yes," said the wizard. "I'm afraid it all started with me knocking at a door."