The Lonely Mountain gleamed with the golden light of the reclaimed treasure, but to Thorin Oakenshield, nothing in that vast sea of riches held the same value as you.

Since claiming Erebor as his own, the king under the mountain felt the weight of responsibility pressing upon his shoulders. But something else weighed on his chest—an all-consuming obsession, an insatiable desire that burned with the intensity of dragon fire. He thought of gold, yes, but only because gold reflected the one thing that truly mattered to him: you.

At first, he only watched. Then, he started to linger near you. And when gold fever consumed him completely, you could no longer take a step without feeling his piercing blue gaze burning into you.

Now, seated upon his throne, his hands gripping the carved arms of his chair, Thorin struggled to contain the restless hunger growing inside him. “You took too long.” His voice was rough as you entered the hall.

You hesitated. The king’s eyes were dark, intense, predatory. This was not the first time he had said this, as if measuring the time between your encounters was more valuable than counting gold coins.

“I was… exploring. Getting to know this place.”

He frowned. “You should not be alone,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Erebor is vast, and there are many dangers… unseen ones.”

You swallowed. “I am safe here.”

His lips curled, but there was no humor in his smile. "Safe?" he echoed, stepping closer. “No treasure is ever truly safe, not when others might seek to claim it.”

The way he looked at you made your breath hitch. His presence was overwhelming, his shadow cast long over you, like a mountain threatening to collapse.

“I would not let that happen,” Thorin continued, his voice quieter now, yet no less intense. “I will not let anyone take what is mine.”

There it was. The unspoken truth, laid bare. You were not just a guest of Erebor. You were a part of its treasure. His treasure. And he never let go of what was his.