#THE HILT IS THERE FOR A REASON LEGOLAS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

strangeradventuresofp · 4 years

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second thoughts (legolas x reader)

The Fellowship of the Ring - Part 2

masterlist

warnings: mention of skeletons

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

a/n : part 2 finally lol !! thank you to everyone who has given chapter 1 a read, thank you for all the support you have all given me i appreciate it so much. so im super happy to present part 2<3 lmk if anyone wants to be added to the taglist or any taglist, send me an ask. thank you for reading, i hope you enjoy and i hope you have a wonderful day<333

It had hardly seemed to be long before the moon began to fall in the sky, and the sun peered itself through the low clouds. Aragorn had set off to collect firewood. He had no issue leaving you to protect the others on your own for he had seen you fight before. When you heard a little moan, you turned to look at the members of the Fellowship. Sam was sleeping soundly, his cheek squished up against his arm. Merry and Pippin were both drooling with mouths wide open. Boromir had his back to you. Gimli was clutching his axe – and snoring intensely. Legolas’ hair still looked perfect and tiny little snores escaped him every so often. Gandalf’s eyes were wide open, and he muttered in his sleep. Frodo was sat up. His eyes were wide, and his hand was clutching the fabric over his chest. He swallowed thickly.

“Frodo,” you whispered. “Are you alright?”

“Just a nightmare.” He admitted and you frowned, inviting him to sit beside you.

“What was it about? I heard if you tell your nightmares, they do not come back.”

“This one comes back.” Frodo looked at you, his eyes full of worry. “I dream that the Ring will take me. Or that it will take all of you, and I will be forced to continue the journey myself. But I fail.”

You sighed. “There is not much advice I can give to you, Master Baggins. Only to take every day as it comes. Do not fret about what the future could hold, Frodo. Focus on the present, as much as you can.” A silence fell over you for a while. Frodo turned to face you.

“Y/N?” You looked at him. “Why did you not want me to take the Ring?”

“It is a huge burden to bear. I feared it would be too much for you. But you have proved me very wrong thus far, Frodo Baggins. I hope you continue to prove me wrong.” The two of you shared a smile before you decided to wake up the others. Frodo woke the hobbits whilst you knelt beside Legolas. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder before you called out his name. His eyelids slowly began to flicker open and you softly smiled at him.

“Good morning, Legolas. Wake Gimli, would you?” A smirk tugged at your lips as you turned to move towards Boromir.

“Wouldn’t you rather do it?” Legolas protested. “I am sure you’re a sight he would rather see the moment he wakes up.”

“Why do you say that?”

He gave you a knowing look. “He sleeps holding his axe.”

You laughed. “The Mirkwood Prince is afraid of a dwarf. I never would have guessed that.” Legolas scoffed and you grinned at him. “I will wake him. Help Aragorn with the fire when he comes back.” He flashed you a smile and you giggled, shaking your head. You turned to Boromir.

“It is time to wake, Boromir. If you could hurry, we want to travel in daylight.” He chuckled tiredly at your words.

Aragorn had come back with the firewood and the Fellowship quickly breakfasted. Sam was very happy to see that you had eaten on your own accord. Then, you set off.

~~~

The next predicted stop was a few days journey away. It did not seem to take as long as you thought that it would. But Pippin began to get restless, constantly mumbling something of his hunger. Eventually, Gandalf – who had had enough of Pippin’s “whining” – decided that the Fellowship should stop to regain health and stamina. The stop was well timed, you thought, before we continue on the passage south, a quick camp might just be what we need.

Boromir decided to train Merry and Pippin in some defensive skills whilst Aragorn watched, shouting instructions to them. Frodo and Sam perched themselves on a rock, food in their hands. Legolas was scouting the area, presumably searching for any danger with his elf eyes. You had sat yourself beside the wizard, for you much needed to speak with him about Frodo. You were growing worried for the hobbit. He awakens frequently in the night, you had noticed, perhaps due to the nightmares that he had told you about, but you had yet to confide with anyone else about them.

“If anyone were to ask for my opinion, which I note they are not, I would say we were taking the long way round. Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome.” The wizard’s face dropped at the mention of the mines and he shook his head at the dwarf.

“No, Gimli. I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice.” Gandalf declared, a nervous look in his eyes. You frowned.

“What is it that you fear, Gandalf?”

“It is troubling… I cannot say.”

“Gandalf, I—I am worried about Frodo. I fear he is struggling to rest. He told me of nightmares that he endures. I do not know how to help.” You confessed. Gandalf sighed.

“I fear that also. However, Frodo seems to be doing fine as of now. We will keep an eye on him, hm?”

“Four eyes.” You nodded and shared a smile with the wizard. Your eyes wandered, watching Legolas as he stepped to a different rock. Standing, you moved towards him, catching sight of something beyond the clouds.

“Do you see that?”

“What is it?” Sam asked.

Gimli scoffed. “Nothing, just a wisp of cloud.”

“It’s moving fast. Against the wind.” Boromir added, holding tight to Merry and Pippin. Legolas’ face faltered.

“Crebain from Dunland.” He affirmed and your eyes widened in shock.

“Hide!” Aragorn cried. He grabbed Frodo, running to Sam who made the brilliant decision to put the fire out. Boromir ran with the other two hobbits, finding a hiding place that would suffice for the three of them. Legolas took your hand instinctively, pulling you under the cover of a nearby bush. It was large enough to shield the both of you from sight, but he protectively held you close anyway. You could feel his breath on your face. His hand was still clamped in yours. You swore you could hear his heartbeat, or perhaps that was your own, thumping vigorously from the adrenaline.

The caws of the birds insisted on your attention, your eyes watching them each time that they circled the area before they flew back off in the direction that they had come from. You and Legolas resurfaced. You looked around to check everyone was alright while Legolas’ gaze held on the birds.

“Spies of Saruman.” Gandalf grimaced. “The passage south is being watched.”

“Where will we go?” You asked anxiously.

“We must take the pass of Caradhras.” Gandalf said, already beginning to lead the way. You let out a breath, walking alongside Legolas.

It was light again when you made your way up the mountain. The ground was a blanket of white velvet, creasing only when footsteps trudged muddily through it. The path Gandalf took you on was winding, moving left to right and up and down. Eventually, the Fellowship came to a slowly ascending hill. It allowed you all to finally pick up pace, so you began fast approaching on the pass of Caradhras.

The change in pace was not great for some, however. As Frodo’s feet were dragging through the thick snow, he clearly began to get overwhelmed by the vast amount. The snow reached his knees, perhaps even further up his leg. His feet failed him, and his body crashed into the snow, tumbling a little way down the hill. His body managed to flatten out at Aragorn’s feet, and he helped him up. As soon as he was upright, Frodo’s hand plunged into his shirt, his hand groping at his chest to find the Ring. Only it was not there.

Boromir crouched down, plucking something from the snow with his fingers. The chain twinkled against the Ring as it was brought to his eye level, gently swinging from left to right before his face. Frodo’s brows knit together, and Aragorn watched Boromir curiously, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. You frowned.

“Boromir.” Aragorn called, but he seemed unbothered.

“It is a strange fate that we must suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing.” Boromir said, though not particularly to anyone. “Such a little thing.”

“Boromir!” He looked at Aragorn, clutching the Ring tighter. “Give the Ring to Frodo.” Aragorn commanded and Boromir stayed still for a few moments before stepping towards the hobbit. He hesitantly held the Ring out to him. Frodo took no time at all to snatch it from his grasp.

“As you wish. I care not.” He chuckled, ruffling Frodo’s hair. Aragorn’s dark eyes never left him as he continued walking. When Frodo was way ahead of Aragorn, you held back to speak with him.

“What was that?” He looked puzzled. “Your hand on the hilt of your sword. Tell me you had no intention of harming him.” He sighed at your words, not exactly knowing how to respond.

“Tell me!” You urged.

“It was just to be safe, Y/N. What if he were to have taken it, what then?”

“He wouldn’t.”

“How do you know?” He asked. You scoffed, hurt that he would even question it. “You said it yourself, the Ring can’t be trusted in the hands of Men.”

You frowned. “I know Boromir. He wouldn’t take it.” Walking ahead, you caught up to Merry and Sam. Aragorn’s words took a toll on you, and you glanced back to Boromir, offering him a smile. He returned it for a second before it fell from his face and he avoided your gaze. You trusted him even if no one else did.

~~~

Quite soon a blizzard began to attack the path. The others trudged through the snow, Gandalf leading the way by attempting to clear the snow with his staff. You and Legolas stayed behind. For some reason you were able to almost hover on the snow, like you weighed nothing. Your feet left barely an imprint in the thick. The falling snow seemed to glue to every part of the others, but when it fell onto your figure, it seemed to melt away almost instantly. You wished that the journey would be easier for the hobbits. If you could trade your position for theirs, you would do it in a heartbeat. You hated how it was so troublesome for them but not for you.

Suddenly Legolas drew forward before everyone else and you joined him, looking out from the mountain. Small murmurs of wind came rushing past.

“There is a foul voice on the air.” He said.

“It’s Saruman!” Gandalf cried. A huge crash came from above. As you looked up, Legolas gently grabbed you, pulling you back so your back was flush with the mountain, his body shielding yours. You looked over his shoulder, watching as many rocks were forced down from the top, plummeting past all of you.

“He’s trying to bring down the mountain! Gandalf, we must turn back!” Aragorn yelled, his face troubled, grasping Sam and Frodo tightly. He held them tight to his body.

“No!” The wizard began chanting to counter Saruman’s, but to no avail. An echoing clap of thunder startled you, and the mountain shook in pain, shedding more rocks and snow. It came crashing down, smothering you in an instant.

You resurfaced with a gasp, looking around. Legolas was the only one you could see. Your hands fondled through the snow, searching for any of the others. A hand grasped yours tightly and you heaved them out of the snow. Wiping their face to remove any excess snow, you saw a shivering Sam, one who’s cheeks were bright red from the biting cold. You quickly undid your cloak from around your neck, wrapping it around his small frame and he breathed, snuggling into it for a tad of extra warmth. The others came up out of the snow quickly after.

“We must get off the mountain!” Boromir suggested. You nodded in response, holding Sam close to you. “Make for the Gap of Rohan or take the west road to my city.”

“The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard.”

“If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it. Let us go through the Mines of Moria.” Gimli advised. Gandalf’s eyes faltered in fear.

He gulped. “Let the Ring-Bearer decide.”

“Frodo?” You asked after a while of silence whilst Frodo pondered the options.

“We will go through the mines.” He affirmed. You breathed in relief.

“So be it.”

~~~

The journey to Moria did not take long. Though to you, it seemed as if you would never get there. The entire time you could feel someone watching you. You did not entirely know why, and you were unsure of whether to ask why an eye was being kept on you.

Eventually, the Fellowship made way down the mountain. All of the snow had disappeared from everyone’s clothes. Gimli’s eyes widened in awe at the sight that appeared before you.

“The Walls of Moria.” He pointed. Your lips parted in trepidation. It was incredible. Not beautiful like Rivendell, or even Gondor. It was simply a wonderous sight. You had never seen anything like it. You quickly made your way around to where the door was supposed to be. But after a while of looking, you could not seem to find it. Gandalf stumbled over to a flat part of the wall.

“Ithildin.” He muttered. “It mirrors only starlight and moonlight.” He turned to face the moon, tutting when it seemed to be covered by a cloud. Then, almost as if Gandalf had moved it himself, the cloud shifted, and the moonlight shone on the stone. It lit up, showing an archway with elvish markings. You tilted your head in confusion.

“Why is it written in Elvish? I thought Moria was inhabited by dwarves.” You asked, looking to Legolas. He smiled at the question.

“The gate was primarily used by elves, despite being made by dwarves. The spell was cast upon it by the elves, so that they could pass to the nearby elven lands.” He answered and you nodded.

“It reads, ‘The Doors of Durin – Lord of Moria. Speak, friend and enter.” Gandalf pointed to each word as he translated it.

“What d’you suppose that means?” Merry questioned, his neck straining as he looked up at the archway.

��Oh, it’s quite simple, If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open.” He replied. Then he spoke the password, only it did not work. He shifted, attempting to move the doors with force, his shoulder colliding with the stone. You moved away after an uncountable number of unsuccessful attempts. Sam was looking particularly miserable, and so you made your way towards him, kneeling beside him.

“The mines are no place for a pony, even one so brave as this.” Aragorn said.

“Bye-bye, Bill.” Sam sighed as Aragorn shifted the pony away.

“Don’t worry, Sam. He knows the way home.”

“He’ll be safe there.” You reassured and he gave you a small smile. Gently, you rubbed his arm before your eyes widened at the sound of crashing water. You spun around, grabbing Merry’s hand. He and Pippin had been throwing stones into the water. Aragorn leant into Pip’s ear, speaking in a whisper.

“Do not disturb the water.” You gave Aragorn a worried look, swallowing thickly. His eyes scanned back over the water for a moment before he looked back to you. You took the two hobbits from the water, moving away from it cautiously. Legolas moved towards Aragorn. He eyed you curiously.

“I have been wondering, Aragorn, about Y/N. I had heard you speaking with her a few nights ago.”

“What makes you so curious, Legolas?”

“She mentioned a decision that she must make. I have been watching her and yet she does not seem particularly troubled.” Legolas recalled. Aragorn smiled, clapping him on the shoulder gently.

“It is something that she must reveal to you herself, Legolas. I will not be the one to tell her secrets.” Legolas nodded appreciatively at his words.

Suddenly Gandalf threw down his staff, slumping down on a rock beside Frodo. “Oh, it’s useless…” Frodo stood, his eyes scanning the door.

You heard the water crash against the shore and turned with wide eyes. Boromir stood beside you, looking out into the dark. His brows furrowed and he moved in front of you protectively, and to get a better look. You moved further back, holding the hobbits close to you.

“It’s a riddle. Speak friend and enter. What’s the elvish word for friend?”

“Mellon.” Gandalf spoke with raised brows. The door began to creak. It slowly shifted open, spare dust and little stones falling into the cavity where the rock once stood firm. Your eyes could not seem to shift away from the rippling water, an anxiety growing in the pit of your stomach. Boromir turned you away from the water, moving you into the mines with the others.

“Soon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves. Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin Balin. And they call it a mine. A mine!” Gimli boomed. You chuckled, patting your stomach gently at the thought. You tripped but Boromir caught you, steadying you before he looked to see what you had fell over. You gasped at the sight.

“This is no mine. It’s a tomb.” At Boromir’s words, all of the blackened skeletons that were sprawled out on the stone floor seemed perfectly visible. One or two of the hobbits let out a whimper whilst Gimli cried out, kneeling beside a decayed body. Legolas pulled an arrow out of a skeleton, inspecting the end quickly before throwing it down, drawing his bow.

“Goblins.” He declared. You unsheathed your knives, one in each hand, fingers whitening as they tightened around the hilts. Aragorn and Boromir did the same with their longswords. You looked at Boromir.

“We make for the Gap of Rohan.” He said. “We should never have come here, now get out of here. Get out!” You turned, just as a giant tentacle slithered from the water and wrapped itself around Frodo’s leg.

“Frodo!” You cried, reaching out your hand for him to grab it but were too late. It dragged his body across the floor. The hobbits helped you grab him hastily while he screamed in fear.

“Strider!” Sam called as you managed to slice the tentacle off of Frodo’s foot with his help.

“Aragorn!” You yelled, panting as you checked Frodo for other wounds while keeping a close eye on the water.

Ten or more tentacles abruptly thrust out of the water, fiercely striking everyone in their stomachs. Some noise of shock tore from your throat, your eyes widening in horror as it took a hold of Frodo once more. Pushing yourself to your feet, you kicked restlessly through the water, cutting through the flesh of the creature with a roar.

“Strider!” The shrill that left Frodo’s lips went straight through you. As you stabbed relentlessly at the beast the others joined you. Boromir cut down one arm that moved towards you. The creature revealed itself, surfacing from the water. The Watcher, you thought. It opened its mouth, holding Frodo’s flailing body above it. You tore through two tentacles at once, feeling satisfied when they fell lifelessly into the once stagnant lake. Aragorn swiftly moved to the arm wrapped around the hobbit and heaved his sword right through it. In a split second it submerged into the water and Frodo was in his arms. He lugged his legs through water as fast as he could. You were too busy ensuring that Frodo was now safe that you had not noticed the tentacle that squeezed around your arm. It pulled you back as you desperately tried to join the others, stabbing at it mindlessly with your knife.

“Legolas!” You cried, noticing how his arm was drew back. Digging your knife into the tentacle and drawing it across it, you waited for Legolas to hit his shot. When he did, it hit the monster straight through its eye. The tentacle loosened and you speedily weaved your way through the waves, grabbing Legolas’ outstretched hand and sprinting into the mines with him. You looked back at the monster once you were all safely inside the mines in utter dismay. It crushed the stone. Rocks tumbled down in replacement of the entrance – and exit – and you let out a sigh. The elf squeezed your hand gently before letting go. You sheathed your weapons, which you had shifted into one hand once the tentacle had let you go.

Gandalf summoned a light through his staff. “We now have but one choice. We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard, there are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world.” He led the way hesitatingly.

“Quietly, now. It is a four-day journey to the other side. And let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed.”

Once you had begun walking, Sam bumbled up to you, gently tugging on your sleeve to get your attention. “Are you alright, Sam?”

“Oh, I’m fine, me. Actually, I wanted to ask if you were doin’ alright. That big tentacle wrapped around your arm couldn’t ‘ave been very comfortable.” He said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. You smiled.

“Thank you, Sam. I’m fine, it hardly hurts at all.” You gently clapped his shoulder and he smiled.

You had hardly gotten very far when everyone took a break. It was thought best to get some rest before the rest of the journey through Moria. You had offered to take the night watch, and Aragorn suggested that Legolas do too, since he is an elf, he does not tire half as much as the rest of the Fellowship. He agreed and soon enough the Fellowship were getting ready to sleep. Only you and Legolas remained awake. You sat with your back against the stone, blowing hot air into your hands and rubbing them together. He watched curiously.

“Are you cold?” He asked and you nodded at him. You watched curiously as he searched through a bag that someone had been carrying. He pulled out a cloak, and gently placed it around your small frame. You gave him a thankful smile and he returned it. “I do not understand. You do not tire. You did not feel the cold at Caradhras, yet you feel the cold now.”

“It seems to differ; I do not know why. In the most extreme conditions, I do not feel anything. When there is little to feel, I feel it.” You shrugged.

“Why?”

“Why do I feel differently? I do not know.” A lie. When he didn’t respond, you let out a silent breath of relief. You knew you could trust Legolas, but you were unsure whether you wanted to tell him. You were already having second thoughts on your entire life plan; another’s input was sure to take a toll on how you felt.

“I noticed you already knew Aragorn.” He said. You nodded at him, not knowing if it was a simple statement or if he was asking you how you knew him.

“Yes. We are old friends.”

“How did you meet?”

You took a breath. “When my parents died, I had nowhere to go. So, I ran. I don’t know where and I don’t know for how long. All I remember was that I was starving and sore. Some creature attacked me, and he heard my screams. He saved me.” A smile fell over your face as you recalled the events.

“He saved me and brought me to Rivendell, where Lord Elrond agreed for me to be taken to the White City, to live as a Gondorian. That is where I met Boromir. He has fathered me ever since.

I owe Aragorn everything. We used to meet up as much as we could. I swore to him that I would follow him, however I could.”

“Forgive me, I did not realise how long I had been talking.”

“No, it is nice listening to you talk. Your voice is soothing.” He gave you a small smile which you returned. He noticed the way that your eyes smiled when you spoke about Aragorn. You crossed your legs, sitting up properly and facing him.

“Tell me about you.” He gave you a puzzled look. “Tell me how you know Aragorn. Tell me about your life.” He smiled, and he did. He told you everything. From a huge battle at Erebor to his father – who seemingly was not very nice to him – telling him to meet Aragorn. Then, he went silent and turned his gaze away from you. It was clear he had remembered something bad.

“What is it, Legolas?”

“It’s nothing.” The two of you sat in silence for a while and you sighed, feeling awful that you made him remember something that he clearly did not want to. Looking around, you caught sight of something where stone met stone. Your brows furrowed together curiously, and you leaned forward to touch it. A smile ghosted over your features when you plucked it, sitting back down normally.

“How beautiful.” You smiled at the flower that perched between your fingers.

“She was.” Legolas mumbled and you looked at him.

“Hm?”

“Oh, nothing.” Legolas said. You frowned, noticing how disoriented he seemed. You cleared your throat.

“Legolas?” He looked at you as you felt your hand out to him, the flower in the centre. “A symbol of our newly found friendship.”

He smiled gratefully, taking it from you. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, mellon nin.” He snapped his head quickly to look at you and you flinched slightly. “What is it?”

“You speak elvish.”

“Oh, yes. Aragorn taught me.” Legolas nodded slowly at your words. You traced the patterns on your knife sheath whilst he kept his eyes fixed on you. He could tell you weren’t telling the truth, but he did not know what the truth was.

Eventually, he sat down beside you. He jumped slightly at the sensation of something on his shoulder, but when he looked and saw that it was only your head, he smiled. You did not understand why, but you began to feel very tired and swore to only shut your eyes for a moment. Legolas chuckled slightly when he heard soft snores escaping your parted lips. He looked over at you asleep on his shoulder and could not help but think you looked simply ethereal. He felt himself drawn to you, like a protectiveness had fallen over him and he wanted to keep you safe and warm. Gently, he swiped his finger across your face to remove the hair that had fell in the way. Your plump lips were parted, and he could feel your soft breaths on his skin. He opened his hand, looking at the flower that you had handed him merely minutes ago.

“Goodnight, mellon nin.”

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tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 3 years

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Unique Weapons, 9: Blades, bludgeons and bows of all shapes, sizes and mysterious backgrounds. Heroes and villains across fiction can often be immediately recognized by their signature weapon, causing the weapon itself to be an iconic part of the character. From Perrin’s spiked half moon axe to Roland’s enormous sandalwood revolvers, the jedi’s lightsabers, Arya’s needle, Legolas’s bow, Wolfwood’s Punisher, Detritus’s Piecemaker, the bride’s katana, Bond’s Walther PPK, Robin Hood’s longbow, Jason’s machete or Indiana Jones’s whip, a weapon can even function as a physical manifestation of the character’s personality. None of these weapons are intensely magical in their own right but can serve as the physical basis for family heirlooms, legendary artifacts and magical or masterwork weapons. Alternatively they can be found as loot and become part of a PC’s distinctive appearance, allowing the player to become fully immersed in their character’s look and feel. —Note: Some entries call for the DM to “Roll a Random Weapon” which simply means that the DM can roll from the pregenerated lists on this blog or choose whatever weapon they feel would be appropriate for the situation.

An antique but serviceable battleaxe, well-rusted and probably taken from a barrow.

An enormous knife with a fixed blade that is 32 inches from the slightly hooked, double-bladed tip to the end of the worn, ironwood handle. It has a steel crosspiece, with a dried bit of something (Probably blood) still caught in the joint. Carved into the bottom of the handle was a craftsman’s mark with the name “Fles.” The dagger rests in an old leather sheath and if removed, the wielder will find the blade freshly sharpened and oiled.

A sinister, scorpion-tail whip made of white ape skin with a hilt wrapped in lead wire.

A dagger made from the tooth of a dead sandworm, a fearsome desert monstrosity. It bears a curved, double edged blade that is milky white in colour and iridescent. It is set on a black handle with deep finger ridges separated from the blade by a slim round ring instead of a shearing-guard.

A club fashioned from a donkey's jawbone, still studded with teeth. It is said to have been wielded by a great warrior who slayed a thousand men.

A knight's straight sword with plated with silver along its fuller. The wielder can take great advancing steps with this beautifully slender greatsword while making use of his bodyweight to inflict deadly strikes.

A bamboo quarterstaff with a skeletal jackal head.

A longsword with a hilt covered in lizard leather. At an inch above the guard is stamp in the shape of a sun with sixteen rays alternately straight and wavy, symbolizing the heraldry of sunlight and warmth from the sun. Two inches above the sun begins a beautifully engraved stylized inscription which reads "Draw me not without reason; sheath me not without honour.”

A black leather bandolier containing two dozen throwing stars, pointed for penetration rather than bladed for blood, each set about a central ring weighted with lead.

Liquid Blade: An inconspicuous palm sized metal tube that weighs two pounds. The bearer can empty the contents of the tube with a quick flick of the wrist (An action equivalent to drawing a weapon), causing the bubbling transparent liquid within to instantly solidify into a jagged crystalline blade. By holding the tube, the wielder can then use the weapon as if it were a fragile shortsword that has a 25% chance to shatter should the wielder get a natural 1 on an attack roll. The blade lasts for ten minutes, after which it evaporates, leaving nothing behind but the empty tube. The bearer can add one dose of poison to the liquid in the bottle at any time before the blade is unleashed, which acts like applying a dose of poison to a weapon but the toxin remains wet and viable until the blade crystalizes. When the liquid turns into a solid blade, the weapon includes one application of that poison. When the blade evaporates, any unused poison does so as well. The tube and its liquid contents are an alchemical creation, containing no magical enchantments.

—Click Here for homebrew Masterwork Weapon Bonuses or Here for homebrew Minor Weapon Enchantments to give these objects even more personality and mechanical benefits.

-Click Here to be directed to the Hotlinks To All Tables post, which provides (As you might have guessed) convenient links to all of the loot and resource tables this blog has.

—Or keep reading for 90 more weapons.

—Note: The previous 10 weapons are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

An antique but serviceable battleaxe, well-rusted and probably taken from a barrow.

A sinister, scorpion-tail whip made of white ape skin with a hilt wrapped in lead wire.

A club fashioned from a donkey's jawbone, still studded with teeth. It is said to have been wielded by a great warrior who slayed a thousand men.

A bamboo quarterstaff with a skeletal jackal head.

A black leather bandolier containing two dozen throwing stars, pointed for penetration rather than bladed for blood, each set about a central ring weighted with lead.

A blowpipe consisting of an ornate copper viper wrapping around a deep brown oaken pipe.

A broad axe (Battleaxe statistics) consisting of a stout pole four feet in length ending in a single-edged, trumpet-shaped blade mounted on one end. This axe is a footman’s weapon, giving the soldiers a longer reach and a fighting chance against mounted opponents. Its long handle allows the wielder to put considerable force into his swing. Despite the shaft length, the broad axe is a one-handed weapon.

A ceremonial Random Sword with magical ornamentation and significance beyond its use as a mere weapon. Interestingly enough judging by its wear and tear, it has seem much combat.

A double-edged broadsword (Longsword statistics) with a blade of an unknown black metal. The hilt is wrapped in dark pebbled leather, and its pommel is a flat disk in which small glyphs are inscribed around a large onyx gemstone.

A durable light crossbow with dwarven runes worked into its design. Knowledgeable PC's can discover that the runes are associated with a mountain clan that would probably enjoy seeing the weapon returned to their ancestral halls.

A finely-crafted lightweight lance made of maple and tipped with steel.

A flail that appears neglected and ill-used, despite being in peak condition. The weapon's grip is wrapped in tattered grey cloth.

A formerly fancy dagger. The hilt was fine ivory carved in the shape of a maiden, but someone gouged out the eyes and stained the dress with what appears to be blood.

A fullblade with a blue tinge on one half of the blade and a polished bronze appearance on the other side. The blue half bears a single, inexplicably sharp edge while the bronze side duller but jagged and serrated, appearing the most dangerous of the two. The grip is wrapped with studded leather, and the pommel it set with a luscious sapphire.

A gleaming greatsword with black crystal decorating the otherwise simple guard. The image of a raven in flight and a trail of its feathers is etched into the flats of the blade. As the blade moves, the raven seems to flap its wings, never quite still, but never leaving the blade.

A goblin made sickle with a rusted, dirty blade covered in old blood and bits of gore.

A greataxe fashioned from the tooth of a kraken and is steeped in the magic essence of the ancient leviathan.

A greatclub of bent mahogany, shod in steel. The metal is in etched in a spiraling, serpentine design that confuses the eye.

A greatsword with a dark, shiny blade like polished wet flint, with a curious and vaguely cruciform groove in the pommel that runs up and onto the blade.

A greatsword with a rune-inscribed blade of adamantine, a leather wrapped oak handle, and a steel ring pommel.

A huge warhammer comprised of a thick length of wood a stride long with a scarred lump of iron the size of a brick for a head.

A jagged shard of obsidian embedded in the bone of an unknown creature, bound with simple leather. The primeval handaxe sends a shiver down the wielder’s spine when touched.

A longspear made of intricately carved wood, with an impossible array of weaving vines that twist chaotically, often doubling back on one another with no discernable pattern.

A longsword with a narrow length of bright steel chased with swirly silver patterns that glow white. When swung, lines of glowing tracery appear in its wake, leaving patterns hypnotic neon tracks in the air.

A mace consisting of a stout wooden haft topped by a metal striking head shaped like a clenched fist.

A mage's quarterstaff made of burnt maple, shod with copper that’s stained an ominous dark crimson. At the staff’s apex rests a marble sized, floating sphere made of glowing ruby.

A maul made of an unsmelted meteor and a finely worked, hardwood handle. The maul is heavy but very well balanced.

A metallic spiked shield whose glittering outer surface is covered in gleaming specks of blue, purple, and red. The sparkling colors lie just below the weapon's surface, reflecting oddly in the light.

A monstrous dagger made from the fang of some ungodly cross a shark's serrated tooth and the long canine of a great cat. The metallic edge, nicked and worn, appears, on some inspection, to be an extension of the tooth's root, as is the grip. There are holes and dents, thereupon, suggestion the iron itself was once fed by nerves and veins.

A nearly incorporeal Random Sword. The translucent blade is shrouded in a black mist and extends outwards like a thin stream of smoke from the black leather hilt. Due to the nearly weightless blade, the weapon weighs only a single pound but the semi-tangible sword can never be coated in oils, poisons or alchemical materials of any sort.

A newly made hand crossbow with a stock made of fir and a walnut bow. The stock has a depiction of the image of a lion within a circle.

A pair of arctic hunting bolas made of leather straps with weights fastened to the end. Each bola has eight different weights made of egg-shaped, walrus ivory etched with the likenesses of birds in flight.

A pair of finely tooled daggers with handles shaped like human women dancing. When sheathed together the handles interlock in an embrace that is not suitable for minors.

A scimitar with a horned grip made of yellowed, human bone and a razor-sharp blade spattered with blood.

A perfectly functional Random Weapon crafted entirely from rock. Any cloth or leather elements are made instead of flexible mineral and studded with finely polished semi-precious stones.

A perfectly functional Random Weapon that's always warm to the touch. Any metal parts are crafted from black iron and sigils of flames cover its surface. The weapon is primarily coloured various shades of red and orange.

A pike made of a treant’s arm that has a bark covered grip that has allegedly never slipped out of a wielder's hands.

A pitch black halberd imbued with the captured terror of its victims. When wielded, the chillingly cold blade releases a baleful aura that makes weaker foes tremble in fear.

A quarterstaff that appears to be a living redwood sapling. The staff is roughly two inches in diameter, and is six feet, two inches in height. It has several branches sprouting from the top eighteen inches, and each branch has several still living leaves. The bark is fairly smooth, but just below the branches there is four almost identical faces circumnavigating the staff. Each is the face of Chislev, Goddess of Nature. Each face represents a different aspect of her essence: The Creator, The Healer, The Defender, and The Destroyer. These faces, although clearly visible, appear to have grown naturally in the bark. The staff has no root system, but instead is capped with bog iron.

A Random Sword with a beautifully carved blade made of a greenish-blue crystal with an unfortunate fracture through the blade’s length. The wielder is instilled with the feeling that the sword is the bane of wicked sorcerers everywhere.

A Random Sword with gleaming blade and a crossguard design in the style of a pair of spread angel wings. The weapon radiates a sense of unused potential.

A Random Weapon adorned with laws and rules in various languages, each of which details the exact standards and specifications of weapon design, construction and ownership.

A rapier with a blade composed of narwhal tusk and a driftwood hilt displaying a scintillating fish scale grip. The basket is made of a large scallop shell, lashed to the driftwood with dried kelp. The weapon rests in a sheath made of a giant lobster’s tail and shark leather, accented by a pair of eel skulls.

A razor-sharp katana (Longsword statistics) with a blade of folded steel and a hilt wrapped in silver wire. The blade is decorated with elven runes that convey the meaning “Phantom of Wealth”. The pommel is in the shape of a perched falcon.

A round, lightweight shield consisting of two antelope horns pointing in opposite directions connected by two crossbars which also acts as a handle. A wielder can tip the spiked shield forward and stab outward with the sharpened horns to wound the enemy. The crossbars are covered with a plate of steel and leather which allows the object to function as a means of protection.

A scimitar finely engraved with strange words and glyphs that are barely visible in any light.

A scythe with a handle of white ash, a blade of painted bone and bars carved into the centre of the blade to resemble the wall of a cage.

A sheaf of five javelins that have throwing cords made of finely braided silver elven hair so reflective that they almost glow.

A shortsword bearing runes acid burned into the blade that glow a dull blue when wielded. The hilt is ornate with two clear gems at the base of the blade on either side.

A slim metal case containing a dozen beautiful, pearl-handled darts with sharpened emerald tips wrapped in a soft cloth.

A simple and elegant sidesword (Shortsword statistics), with a silver guard and gold rivets on the pommel.

A straight silver dagger of plain appearance until it is taken into hand by a good creature. Then, rainbow lights courses through the blade, and the weapon begins to toll gently, yet neither noise nor light betray the blade when stealth is required.

A weathered battle pick that has seen more than its fair share of combat. Age hides the versatility and strength of its sharp point. Warriors of old used this weapon to destroy their foes, preying on the smallest weaknesses with cruel ease.

A single edged longsword made of bleached and polished wood. Its hilt is decorated with alternating garnet and topaz stones. The blade is not perfectly straight, but follows a natural grain. Despite these irregularities, the sword has a razor-sharp leading edge.

A sleek shortsword with a curving blade of a foreign and exotic design. Single-edged, the steel of the blade reflects light like the ripples of a pond. Down the blade's length on either side is etched a coil of twisting rose briars picked out in a deep jade green. The sword's hand-guard is a virtually nonexistent oval of unornamented gold, and the hilt is wrapped in braids of black silk shot through with golden thread. There is no appreciable pommel nut, the hilt ending in a plain frosted steel finial.

A small, eerie dagger, made of bronze and flawless obsidian in the shape of a feather.

A weighty rod (Heavy mace statistics) three feet in length and decorated across the surface with carved skulls and leering faces. These faces seem to subtly shift almost as if writhing in agony. Grey smokes exude from the top end constantly trailing down to the ground before vanishing. Anyone holding the rod feels a strange heat from it.

A white silk bracer containing a half dozen crescent-shaped, silvered throwing knives, all with black leather handles fitted in the weapon’s midsection.

A wooden crate containing 32 crossbow bolts with shafts of oak wood in its natural color and fletching of blue-gray feathers.

A wooden pike approximately seven feet in length, with one end sharp enough to impale an enemy. The other end has a slight crook in it, with a semi-transparent, colorless, and diamond-like stone embedded within the polearm. The weapon notably has several cracks in it, as if it was once shattered into many pieces and then made whole again.

An ancient dagger whose blade and undulating hilt are fashioned from jet black obsidian stone, such that it reflects not a speck of light. The blade is strengthened and honed by rituals long forgotten, never losing its edge.

An ancient stone warhammer carved with runes and weighs twice as much as it should.

An elegant silver sword that when held by a magician, causes pale, almost transparent fire to burst harmlessly into life and play along the length of the blade. The light is surprisingly bright in eerie half-darkness, as if the sword had been dipped in brandy and touched with a match.

An elegantly polished wooden greatclub, with mysterious, ever-changing glyphs swirling over its surface.

An engraved light oaken shield studded with ironwood spikes. Ornamental vines are wound around the spikes, creating the appearance of a lethal briar patch.

An entirely steel-wrought heavy crossbow, so large it’s more like a small ballista. It uses a set of steel gears, cams and cranks to draw the firing string back. The firing beams are long and the weapon generally shaped like a large metal crucifix, symbolizing the torturous punishment for creatures who attempt to escape their mortality. Being hit by a bolt launched from this weapon feels like a strong man hit you full force with a heavy mace.

An extremely corroded, rusty-looking greathammer with ‘Crusty Jim’ carved into the head.

An intimidating longsword with multiple hooks, barbs, and serrations along the blade, excellent for catching and sundering a foe’s weapon.

An unusual looking shortsword, whose handle is longer than the actual blade. It sports a carved ivory skull on its pommel and a small gemstone on its guard that resembles an eye. Half of the blade is serrated on one edge.

A venerable greatsword whose blade is fashioned from the shaved finger bone of a titan, with sharp bits of steel inlaid around the edge.

A well-kept rapier with an insignia of a rose on the pommel with the knuckle guard, inner guard and loop being designed to look like a vine covered by thorns.

A well-used, spiked chain made of high-carbon steel with grips of pebbled black crocodile skin.

A whip created from braided local vines draped over an extraordinarily large chunk of rose quartz.

A yellowed club made out of a ogre’s twisted thigh bone.

An abyssal forged dagger with a hilt of sculpted bone encrusted with a small green jewel. The blade is crude and worn, with the faint smell of sulfur, blood and ash emanating from it.

An ancient knife with a simple leaf-blade design ending in a wooden handle wrapped in cord and leather. Its double edge blade is made of bronze and wickedly sharp, with a needle point. The point seems hungry...

An apprentice blacksmith's first sword made of shoddy pig iron. Although the Random Sword is better than nothing, the weapon is uneven, heavy, poor quality and damn near as cheaply made as can be found.

An elaborate knife carved with special barbs and grooves, meant to channel toxins into the victim’s bloodstream.

An elaborately styled bronze dagger with a handle uncomfortably inlaid with dozens of teeth. The blunt edge is nonetheless coated in sticky blood.

A war pick adorned with blackened metal, inscribed with passages doubting and decrying the gods.

A whip that appears to be made from braided feather down with a bird of prey’s claw at the tip.

A white composite bow of elven make that whispers in the wielder's ear “Swift death to my enemies” in elven whenever nocked.

A wicked looking battleaxe in rough condition, though it was clearly once of fine quality. The weapon's short grip, geometric inlay, and wide-but-balanced head clearly mark it as dwarf made. The weapon's scarred handle, gruesome skull trophies, and notched and pitted blade, however, clearly marked it as goblin owned.

A wicked, barbed trident of black iron and driftwood.

A wooden quarterstaff nearly identical to a length of driftwood. Its dark color and cracked surface suggests that it is several hundred years old, at least. Druidic runes cover its surface, with the rune for “Purity” etched near the bottom. When the staff is near water, the runes begin to glow a pale yellow.

An ancient dagger with a simple leaf-blade design with a wooden handle wrapped with cord and leather. Its double edge blade is made of bronze and wickedly sharp, shiny, with a needle point. The wielder occasionally gets the odd sensation that the weapon seems hungry…

An ebony halberd forged in the Nine Hells. It bears a fearsome aesthetic true to its inhuman origins, featuring a jagged, saw-like blade, glowing red filigree, and an overall design that blends rough organic curves with smooth, artificial edges.

An imposing war fan (Greatsword statistics) that's really more of a steel rod with a large, flared blade at the end. The result is a somewhat difficult to use, but wickedly effective blade that hits with the full momentum of the swing, frequently decapitating opponents.

An elegant shortsword in a wooden scabbard with silver fittings sculpted in floral shapes; on closer examination, many of the flowers contain small bees. The sword's handle is waxy to the touch, and fits comfortably in the hand.

An elven greatsword whose blade is single-edged, slightly curved, with a polished finish and uniformly sharp. The hilt is long and the hand-guard is a circular plate.

An impressive glaive, made of living ironwood, giving the blade a bright green appearance, while the bark covered shaft remains almost pitch black. Despite its wooden origin, its handle feels metallic

An irregular club that has always has a living leaf or three growing out of it. The wooden weapon somehow retains the resiliency and scent of a freshly cut branch.

An octopus leather quiver containing a dozen harpoons (Javelin Statistics), each made of a gleaming, shining steel covered with a blue-white sheen like mother of pearl. Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize the material as pearlsteel, a strange metal crafted by secretive merfolk metallurgists working near volcanic vents in the ocean floor. It is created from fine steel and rare silvery pearls found only in the ocean depths where the pressures alone would kill a land walker. Pearlsteel is highly prized by all undersea races as it slices more smoothly through the resistance that water presents.

An ornate gold and mithril bastard sword. The hilt is wide and has a circular emblem in the center depicting a strange rune. The pommel of the sword has a large curved fire opal put into it. The blade is completely bare of ornamentation but appears to vary in color between gold and silver.

A longsword with a slender, razor-edged, gleaming red blade, its length inscribed with designs of cloaked figures and tall scythes, accentuated by a black blood trough running along its center. The hilt appears whitened like bleached vertebrae and the pommel has a skull-bobbed design. Running from it toward the crosspiece, the hilt was carved to resemble a backbone and rib-cage, and the crosspiece itself resembles a pelvic skeleton, with legs spread out wide and bent back toward the head, so that the wielder's hand fits neatly within the bony boundaries. All of the pommel, hilt and crosspiece is white, like bleached bones, except for the eye sockets of the skull pommel, which seems like black pits at one moment and flares with red fires the next.

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th3heiress · 4 years

Text

His Starlight

Thranduil x Reader

Warnings: major character death and mentions of blood.

——————

The fire roared as you sat together quietly it’s light casting shadows across the walls of your room. Just enjoying each others company as your beloved wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer.

“Did our little prince go to sleep well tonight?” Thranduil asks.

“He did, but not without making a small fuss, just like his father.” You answer, bringing Thranduil’s hand to your lips for a soft kiss.

Thranduil laughs. His enchanting voice slightly echoing through the room.

“You must be mistaken. Our little Greenleaf takes after me in looks, not in personality, that is what he gets from you my dear Queen.” He says, a teasing smile spreading across his pale lips.

He moves in closer to you about to steal a kiss when the couple is interrupted by a small knock on the door.

You both turn to look at the door, wondering who it could so late in the evening.

“Who is it?” You ask. After a short pause, a small voice answers through the door.

“Naneth, Ada, can I stay with you?” The small voice says.

It was Legolas. The small elven prince must not have been able to sleep.

“I’ll get him.” Thranduil says, getting up from his comfortable position.

He moves towards the doors, low and behold as he opens it, the small prince stands there, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

The silver haired king scoops up his son and brings him to his mother over by the fire. You take Legolas in your arms and Thranduil sits down with you again.

“Did you have a bad dream winë?” You ask Legolas.

“I couldn’t sleep Naneth, I wanted to be with you and Ada.” He answers. A small yawn escaping his lips as he snuggles closer into your side.

“You can stay winë, as long as you are a good little prince during your studies tomorrow morning.” You say.

“I will be good Naneth. I promise.” Says Legolas.

You sit in silence with your family for a while. You and Thranduil watch over your now sleeping son in silence.

But the moment is interrupted when the sound of a horn being blown in the distance startles the young prince awake.

“What could that be?” You ask Thranduil, worry laced in your voice. Nothing could dare come near Mirkwood at this time of night.

“Must be an animal of some sort seen by the borders. I must go and tend to the situation.” Thranduil answers.

He leaves the room, but before he does he locks it behind him and posts guards by the outsides of the door.

He’s cautious. If anything were actually happening, he had to be assured that his queen and son were safe.

Thranduil made his way to his throne room to speak to his guards on night watch about why the horn was blown.

Thranduil hadn’t been gone long before it happened.

You still sat by the fire with Legolas, and you had decided to read him a story to keep him calm.

Out of nowhere as you read to Legolas, a group of four orcs crashed through you room’s stained glass window.

You acted quickly, grabbing Legolas and hiding him in the wardrobe.

“Naneth!” the small elf cried. “What is happening?” He cried to you.

This broke your heart. You had to save your son. He was your everything, you loved him more than life itself.

“It’s alright my little Greenleaf. Stay in here and hide, no matter what you hear, do not come out unless your Ada or I come to get you.” You tell him, tears welling in your own eyes.

“Take this. Hold onto it for me until I come back.” You say, taking off a beautiful necklace of gems that shown white like stars. They were a gift from Thranduil.

Legolas took them and nodded. With that, you kissed his cheek and closed the door to the wardrobe, ready to fight.

The orcs were strong and you were outnumbered. As they came closer, you pulled your hidden dagger out it sheath from where it was hidden under your dress.

A blade of silver with a beautiful hilt made of crystal. You had named your blade “crystal sypher” when it was gifted to you.

Thranduil demanded that you carry it as at least some form of protection.

The orcs moved closer. One taking a quick swipe at you, but you were faster. You sliced its throat and dodged the thick black blood that spewed from the wound.

One down, three to go.

But the others weren’t so naive as the first one. They came to attack for a reason and they were determined to complete their task.

The three orcs moved fast. One lunging forward to strike, but missing as you sliced its arm.

You had made a mistake attacking. While distracted, the lead orc came up from behind and sliced you with his blade. Not to kill, just to wound you and make you fall off guard.

You screamed in pain and fell to the ground.

Your screams echoed through the halls of the palace. Alerting Thranduil to your danger.

He ran. As fast as his legs could carry with many guards in his steed. The sighting on the border had just been a distraction. Part of an attack that Thranduil had not seen coming.

He made it to your doors. The two guards posted were trying to get in, but the door of course had been locked.

Only Thranduil had the key. As his shaking hands fumbled with they key, finally unlocking the doors, he couldn’t bear to see the sight before him.

You stood in the middle of the room with a knife held to your throat by an orc. Two others stood on either side of the vile creature. One wounded, no doubt by you.

His eyes flicked to the floor where he saw you dagger next to a dead orc. You had tried to defend yourself. And in that moment of fear for you, he felt a bit of pride.

But it was soon washed away as he realized his son was nowhere to be seen. His concern grew as he walked into the room followed by his guards.

Weapons were raised, ready to fight, but he couldn’t risk you being killed. So he reluctantly decided to compromise.

“Let the queen go and I will grant you freedom.” He told them. “I will let you walk from my realm, just let her go.”

The orc with it blade to your throat snickered “We are not here to hurt the queen elf. We are here to hurt you.” It says. “Our master expects our task to be completed. We don’t accept.”

You could see Thranduil’s eyes harden. He was scared, but all his icy blue eyes would let them see was his anger.

“So be it.” He says. He steps forward unsheathing his long and beautiful silver blade.

But the orc was quick. Right as he saw the drawn blade, he took his chance and stabbed his blade into your heart.

You gasped in pain and collapsed to the ground.

Thranduil screamed in rage. His guards quickly moving to kill the orcs as he ran to your side.

“Meleth nîn” he says to you, taking you into his arms.

“I’m sorry.” You say. Pain and exhaustion apparent in your voice.

“The is no need to say sorry meleth nîn. Just stay awake until the medics come.” He says.

But you were running out of time. And both of you could feel it.

“Where is our child, where is Legolas my love?” Thranduil asks.

“He’s safe.” You say turning your head to look a the wardrobe.

Using up the last of your energy, never to move again. Your eyes slowly closing for eternity.

Thranduil screamed in rage as you fell lifeless in his arms.

He cried into you. His one and only love, his queen, his starlight in never ending darkness, the mother of his child stolen by disgusting orcs.

Child. Legolas. He needed to see if he was alright. He gently laid your limp body on the stone floor and covered you in a silken sheet. He couldn’t bear to let his young son see his mother in such state.

He moved slowly towards the wardrobe. He could hear soft crying coming from inside.

“Legolas, winë, it is Ada. You are safe now.” He says as he opens the doors.

He crouches down to the level of his son, and parts the silken dresses he hides behind to see him.

The small elf clutches your necklace. The one Thranduil had gifted to you long ago and the sight makes his heart ache.

He takes the small prince into his arms and walks him to his own chambers.

“Ada, where is Naneth?” Legolas whispers.

“Your mother is gone. She walks the halls of Mandos now. We won’t be seeing her again my Greenleaf.” Thranduil replies.

His voice almost cold. Something had changed in the King of Mirkwood that tragic night, and he would never be the same again.

——————

Elvish Language Key:

Naneth- mother

Ada- father

Winë- little one

Meleth nîn- my love

#lord of the rings #thranduil imagines #thranduil x reader #thranduil #lotr imagine #lotr fanfic #thranduil fanfic #thranduil oropherion

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specialagentsnark · 4 years

Text

Marriage of Choice - Chapter 3

Happy Kili Tuesday everyone! I hope you’re all doing well and not going too crazy, whether you are stuck at home, work, or elsewhere. Here is Chapter 3 of Marriage of Choice. I will post it on AO3 on Friday or late Thursday night. Please leave comments either here on AO3 if you have a moment. They sustain my fragile writer’s ego.

Happy reading!

Chapter Summary: Nori’s dangerous. Tauriel just wants to relax. Kili’s grateful.

Chapter 3

Tauriel ran her finger along the rotation list, searching for her name. Every other name was listed in cirth, as were the times they were assigned watch and their location. When she found her name written in Westron, she wondered briefly why she even bothered to check any more. It was always the same. Second night watch outside the storage rooms where the mountain’s food was being kept and down by the currently little-used smithies. Just like every other night they bothered to add her to the list. Still, it was better than no work at all. She turned and went to get her breakfast before going in search of something else to work on for the day. Perhaps Bofur would have some use for her, or maybe Bombur. The two were some of the most welcoming dwarrow in the mountain and even they weren’t the most friendly people she’d ever met.

“Where are you off too?”

Tauriel looked to the side. It took her a moment, but she finally found the dwarf that had spoken. Nori stood in an alcove, leaning against the wall and fiddling with one of his knives.

“To find someone that will allow me to help,” she said honestly. After all, lying wasn’t going to get her any work.

Nori straightened and slipped the knife… somewhere. Very skilled, she decided, to be able to keep her from seeing exactly where he hid it.

“Funny you should say you’re looking for work,” he said.

Alarm horns started sounding in the back of Tauriel’s mind at the mischievous smirk dancing on his lips. She’d only seen that look once before, back when a delegation from Rivendell had come to Greenwood some hundred years prior. She’d just been a lowly soldier in Thranduil’s guard. Two of the elves that had been part of it, twins, had sported such a look before they’d created absolute havoc within the noble court. “And why would that be?” she asked and wondered if he would notice if she reached for her knives.

He tipped his head to the side, just slightly as he looked her over. “Face it lass,” he said, “there aren’t many that will live in this mountain that like you, Prince Kili not included. Me, I’m not sure if I like you either, but that doesn’t necessarily matter. I need helpers, ones that I can trust not to doublecross the royal family.”

Tauriel’s eyes narrowed. She had a feeling where this was going. “What are you asking me to do?” she asked.

He brought his hands together, palms flat and let his index fingers rest against his lower lip, the smirk curling into a grin. “Cautious. I like that,” he said and his hands dropped to his sides again. Another knife appeared in his fingers. She kept its motions in her periphery but focused the rest of her attention on his face. “Someone’s out to kill the consort. I need someone that can help me keep that from happening. I know your kind are light on their feet. Think you can sneak around a hobbit?”

Tauriel shifted her weight onto one leg and propped her fist on her hip, her fingers close to the hilt of one of her knives. “Now why do you think I’d be a good choice to follow the consort around?” she asked. “You don’t trust me.”

He snorted. “I don’t trust anyone but my One and even that can be a stretch on some days,” he told her. “You can’t be too trusting in my line of work. Well, either of the ones I’ve ever had. But that’s not the point. What is, is that I’m pretty sure you won’t do anything to break Kili’s heart. You’re his One, after all.”

One. Kili had tried to explain it, the dwarfish belief that their Maker often split their souls in their forging and that when a dwarf found their other half, they became One. She still didn’t quite understand it, but she did understand herself and the way she felt.

She could never intentionally hurt Kili.

“And if you hurt the consort, or allow him to be hurt, Kili will never forgive himself or anyone else that was in a position to help.”

Tauriel huffed a small laugh. “You’re good at manipulation,” she remarked. “What would you have me do?”

“Dwarrow don’t like you, not because of who you are, but because of what you are. They ignore you, pretend you’re not there. I’ve watched and I’ve listened.”

Had he? She didn’t remember that distinctive hairstyle anywhere near her until now.

“They say things around you they won’t say around me. They say things they think you’re too far away to hear, but I see the expression on your face when they say something disparaging about Kili. You hear them just fine. Start paying more attention. Help me find who’s behind the attempts on the consort’s life. Help me stop any attacks that may be coming.”

“You need a spy,” she said bluntly, her eyebrows lifting minutely.

He grinned at her. “You’ll be the first of many,” he promised. “No one will suspect the court’s spymaster’s top agent to be the resident banished elf.”

The reminder of her status in Thranduil’s court left a bitter taste in her mouth. But he had a point. Who would willingly trust an elf near the royal family of what was once the greatest kingdom in all Arda and had the potential to be the greatest kingdom once again? “You’re insane,” she told him, even as a small smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “I’ll listen. How should I report to you?”

“Currently, I can usually be found lurking near the royal family. If I see you there without being on Kili’s arm, I’ll know to come talk to you. I’ll also check in with you on your nightly watches outside the store rooms.”

She opened her mouth to say something and then paused. “You had a hand in that, didn’t you?”

He flashed a smile at her. “Now what makes you think I would have any influence with the Captain?” he asked and secreted his knife away before stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Good luck with finding other work,” he said and walked away, the picture of nonchalance and ease. The way he walked, the way he moved. Nori was dangerous. She was sure of it. How had they ever captured him in Mirkwood?

~*~*~

Only dwarrow were allowed in the throne room for the coronation. Knowing how much dwarrow liked their secrets, it didn’t really bother Tauriel, except for one thing. She’d done as Nori asked and listened. She needed to get to the throne room as quickly as possible and warn him of what she’d heard. The only problem was-

“Where do you think you’re going, Tree-shagger?”

Every single dwarf in the mountain wanted to waylay her.

She dodged the latest dwarf to grab at her. She needed to find Nori immediately.

“Here lass. What’s the rush?”

Tauriel paused in her near dash toward the throne room. She knew that voice. Glancing to the side, she saw a familiar hat topping an equally familiar dwarf beneath it.

“Master Bofur,” she said and relief pushed the breath she’d been preparing to use to shout at someone out in a sigh. “Do you happen to know where Master Nori is?”

“Nori?” Bofur asked, tipping his head to the side. “Last I saw of him, he was-”

“Did I just hear someone taking my name in vain?”

“Lurking right behind me.” Bofur turned. “Nori! Tauriel’s been looking for you.”

Nori’s eyebrows rose a bit. “So I hear,” he said, his smirk making his beard twitch a bit. “Thanks Bofur.”

Bofur glanced between Nori and Tauriel, shrugged, and went on his way. The moment he was out of sight, Tauriel caught Nori’s sleeve and pulled him to the side.

“What do you have for me?” Nori asked.

“Bilbo’s crown is a fake. Gilded with gold leaf. Iron beneath. You’ll have a hard time telling the difference.”

Nori’s eyes narrowed as he looked up at the ceiling. His knife reappeared and he flipped it across his knuckles absently. “Treason, huh? I’d heard whispers. Just didn’t think anyone was fool enough to actually do it. Have any names?”

Tauriel shook her head. “No, but the dwarf you’re looking for has red hair, part of his left ear missing at the top, and speaks like a noble.”

“That narrows it down a bit. Got anything else?”

Tauriel thought back to the dwarf she’d stumbled on while patrolling the halls around the little-used private smithies. He’d had his back to her while he covered the false crown in gold leaf. She didn’t want to alert him to her presence after all but he had turned toward the doorway just as she prepared to leave. “Brown eyes,” she said. “Heavy brows. Looked like his beard might have been cut a bit during the battle. The right side seemed a bit shorter than the left.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Nori asked. “Well done. Keep your ears open for more little tidbits.” With that, he turned and…

Disappeared. Confused, Tauriel went over to where she’d last been able to see Nori. Her hands met solid wall without any imperfections that she could see. Did dwarrow know magic?

With nothing more to do, Tauriel headed back towards the royal wing. She was still trying to decide if Thorin had gifted her rooms there out of gratitude for the healing she’d done for him and his nephews, because Kili had asked him to (she’d never asked Kili if he’d gone to his uncle or not), or because Thorin wanted her in his sight as often as possible.

Whatever the reason, she couldn’t help but feel grateful. Enough dwarrow glared balefully at her on a regular basis. She didn’t want that when she first stepped out of her apartment. Home? Did she consider those rooms within Erebor her home now? She thought of the rooms she had in the barracks back in Mirkwood. Her belongings would still be in there, possibly. Or maybe someone had destroyed them after news of her banishment had gotten out. She’d have to ask next time someone from Mirkwood came to the mountain. Perhaps Legolas-

If she hadn’t been musing on what had happened to her few personal belongings, she would have had a lot more warning than she did. She almost ran straight into the dwarf trying to pick the lock on the currently unoccupied king’s rooms.

He hadn’t heard her though. Sloppy and unobservant.

Bemoaning her new lack of free time, Tauriel stepped up behind the dwarf, drew one of her knives and settled the tip of it against the dwarf’s back. No armor. No lookout. So very sloppy.

Who trained these dwarrow anyway?

It didn’t matter. Only made her life easier.

“What business have you in the king’s quarters?” she asked. No reason to announce that Thorin hadn’t moved into them with Bilbo.

The dwarf snarled something in khuzdul.

“I was under the impression that you weren’t supposed to use the dwarfen language in the presence of outsiders,” she remarked idly and applied a little more pressure with her knife.

“Go shag a tree,” the dwarf snapped.

“You’ll need new material if you think insults are going to make me leave you be,” Tauriel told him.

The dwarf lunged forward, trying to get out of her reach. She stepped with him, grabbed a fistful of his doublet, and slammed him into the door he’d just been trying to unlock. With him pinned, she started going through his pockets. She found a small assortment of weapons.

“You should take lessons from the crown prince,” she told him. “He’s far more adept at hiding blades on his person.” She continued searching and found other sharp, pointy objects as well as a garot. “Going by your assassin’s toolkit, I’ll just assume you’re here to kill the king or his consort.”

The dwarf growled something unintelligible.

“What was that?” Tauriel asked. “I couldn’t understand you with your face smashed against the woodwork.” She hauled him away from the door and started frogmarching him toward the guardhouse.

“You’re robbing me of my free time,” she told the dwarf. “I’d planned to relax during the coronation but you’ve just ruined that.”

The dwarf shouted wordlessly and twisted in her grip. She let him go. If he was going to take away her time to have a long, proper soak in the lovely heated bath in her rooms (Eru bless dwarrow engineering), he might as well provide her with the entertainment of a good fight.

He charged her, the slim, short blade she’d purposely let him keep held in a reverse grip. He slashed at her and she stepped back, out of his reach. With the same motion, she swung and hit him on the side of the head with an open palm. More a challenge than an attack really. Pent up energy not released in the training grounds roiled beneath her skin almost constantly and she finally, finally, had a chance to do something with it.

He cursed at her in khuzdul.

Tauriel tsked at him. “Keep that up and I’ll have to report you to the king.”

“The king will thank me for gutting you like the bi-”

She lunged and jabbed her fist into his stomach, just below his ribcage. He wheezed and coughed, the wind knocked clean from his lungs. He bent double but tried to keep his head up and his knife out to warn her away from him.

She kicked at his hand and the blade spun across the marble floor.

Unarmed, the dwarf panicked. He lunged into her, trying to take her down by hitting her low. She sidestepped at the last second and brought her knee up into his midsection again. Bones cracked against her leg. She swung both fists down, hitting him between his shoulder blades even as he fell to the floor. He didn’t get back up again.

She bent and checked him over. He breathed and his heart still beat, but she had a feeling she’d hit him too hard. His pulse raced harder than the fight called for it too, short as it had been, and he breathed too hard as well.

She cursed under her breath. After tying his hands together behind his back, she hoisted him over her shoulder and left for the guardhouse.

Nori beat her there, dragging in the dwarf she’d seen creating the false crown. She waited for Nori to settle his captive before drawing attention to herself and her burden.

Nori shut the door that separated the guardhouse from the cells. “What do we have here?” he asked and pulled on her captive’s hair until he could see his face. “Oh good. You found him. Where?”

“Trying to enter King Thror’s old rooms,” she said. “I found these on him.” She pulled the weapons she’d confiscated off the dwarf out of her belt and dumped them on a table.

Picking through the pile, Nori nodded. “I knew he wasn’t the soldier he claimed to be,” he said. “Couldn’t decide if he was a common thief or something more though. Good work. Leave him with me. I’ll make sure the right people know he’s here.”

Relief coursed through her. “Thank you,” she said. “I’d really rather not draw attention to myself.”

He smirked at her. “No worries on that one lass. Everyone wants you to not be here so you’ll have the freedom to move. I’ll not be jeopardizing that any time soon. You’ll be useful until you marry your prince.” He reached up to take her burden from her. “Off you go now. Enjoy some free time assuming you don’t find any more would-be assassins lurking somewhere in the royal wing.”

Tauriel inclined her head in acknowledgement of his unspoken request before doing as he said. Perhaps she’d still have time for her bath after all.

~*~*~

Kili greeted Tauriel with a short kiss a few weeks later.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as he took her hand and they started walking toward the training grounds.

“Why would anything be wrong, Amrâlimê?”

Tauriel stopped and waited for him to look at her. When he did, she just raised an eyebrow at him. His shoulders slumped.

“It’s nothing,” he said even as he looked down and to the side. “I just feel like Fili’s avoiding me is all. He’s been busy lately with his new duties now that being crown prince actually matters.”

Tauriel touched Kili’s shoulder gently and he looked up at her eyes again. “I do not have any family,” she said. “I don’t understand your pain or frustration in this. Can I help in any way?”

Kili relaxed a little under her touch. He looked up at her with a small, sweet smile and with his eyebrows drawn together and lifted slightly. His expression coupled with his perpetually disheveled hair lent him the air of a puppy and a feeling of ease settled into Tauriel.

“I thank Mahal every day at least once for bringing you to me,” Kili told her and took her hands. “Having you with me is all I could ever ask or I would be too greedy.”

Tauriel huffed a laugh. “You silly dwarf,” she said and bent to tap her forehead to his. She still didn’t quite understand why the gesture meant something to dwarrow, but it made Kili happy, so she did it.

“Amrâlimê,” he murmured and smiled that sweet, puppy grin again. Together, they went to breakfast and ate with those members of the Company that weren’t already up and about their own duties that day. Fili came in late, sat at the far end of the table, wolfed down a small breakfast while going over some document or other, and then limped his way out of the hall as fast as his crutches could carry him.

Tauriel wouldn’t have even noted him if Kili hadn’t mentioned something already. As it was, she was fairly certain she was the only one that noted the golden prince’s pained glance he directed at Kili.

If asking for help with his brother made Kili feel too greedy in the eyes of his Maker, then she would just take matters into her own hands.

First, though, she had guard duty. Down by the little used public workshops and storerooms. Again.

When she finally resurfaced from her duties hours later (not a soul in sight the entire time), she managed to track Fili down in the newly cleaned and repaired kitchens. He sat at a small table set to the side with a small plate in front of him, nothing but pastry crumbs left on it. She sat across from him without preamble.

“Captain Tauriel,” Fili said, startling slightly when she first entered his line of vision. He glanced around. “Is, ah, Kili with you?”

“As long as I am banished from the Greenwood, I cannot be a captain of their guard.” She settled her hands on the table, clasping them together as she leveled Fili with the most level look she could muster. “Would it be a problem if he were with me?” she asked mildly.

She must not have kept her tone even enough. Fili’s eyes widened a little and one of his hands shifted, his fingers touching the cuff of his coat, reaching for a hidden knife. She resisted the urge to frown. She’d thought she could trust Fili. Maybe she’d been a bit misguided in that. She kept his hands in her periphery, just in case she needed to avoid a thrown dagger at any moment.

“No,” Fili hedged. “Why would there be?”

She ignored him. “Then perhaps you’ve truly been too busy to see him and are now trying to find him.”

He visibly flinched, turning his gaze away from her as he ducked his chin guiltily toward his right shoulder. His fingers continued to toy with the cuff of his sleeve. She could see his finger rubbing against the hilt of the knife there. Easily reached, but he still didn’t draw it. A nervous tick perhaps?

She took pity on him when he didn’t look up after a few moments. “He misses you.”

Fili’s shoulders rose closer to his ears and his frown deepened.

“Why do you avoid him?” She asked curiously. “He wants nothing more than to help you and be at your side as he always has been.”

“But he wouldn’t be at my side, would he?” Fili asked quietly once one of the few kitchen workers bustled by with a tray of fresh apple turnovers. The smell wafted over them and Fili paled and went a bit green beneath his moustache and beard. He swallowed visibly. “He’d be in front of me. I can’t keep up with him anymore.”

“Your Highness?”

Fili scrubbed at his face and muttered something into his palms she couldn’t understand. When he finally pulled his hands away he looked up at her with eyes so different from Kili’s but with a familiarity to them it almost hurt at the anguish lining them, pulling at the corners of his mouth, drawing his skin tight and leaving him slightly pale. “I’ve always been there. His big brother. Always immovable and invincible. Now look at me.” He tapped the crutches that lay on the table next to him, close to the wall. “I can’t even walk.”

Tauriel took a moment to weigh her words carefully. She knew his recent relapse in his recovery ate at him. It would eat at her too if she’d been in his situation, finally walking with a cane only to aggravate the injury and be put on bed rest for days again. He’d only climbed out of his bed a week before.“I was told what you said when you refused to join your uncle when he first traveled from Esgaroth to the mountain. ‘I belong with my brother.’ Perhaps, just as you stayed by his side when he needed help, he only desires to be beside you in your recovery.”

His hand dropped to his leg and he rubbed at it absently, a grimace pulling the lines around his eyes deeper. Something about his expression nudged at something in the back of her mind. She knew that look, but from where?

“I’ll talk to him,” Fili said and his fingers came away from the hilt of the knife up his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Lady Tauriel. I’m sure he hasn’t been the easiest to deal with the last little bit. I know he can be a bit manic when he’s agitated or upset.”

“Don’t apologize to me, unless it’s for calling me ‘Lady’,” she admonished with a half smile. “I love Kili and enjoy every side of him.”

Fili propped his chin in his hand and smirked. “Is that what it’s like to find your One?” he asked. “To understand every little nuannce and bit of insanity your other half deals out to you?”

Movement behind Fili caught her attention. “You tell me,” Tauriel said with a smile and climbed to her feet. “Kili will be early to the council meeting this afternoon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fili demanded as he reached for his crutches.

“Your Highness?”

Tauriel just smirked when Fili almost fell over when he twisted in surprise. Bard’s eldest daughter stood behind him with one eyebrow raised and an amused smile playing at her lips. Perhaps Kili was right after all. She would need to find Nori and add her own coin to the betting.

~*~*~

Kili found her that evening as she stood on top of the wall and stared at the latest snowfall. He came and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face into her back. She placed her hand over his and continued to scan for lurking orcs.

“Thank you,” Kili murmured after a time.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re referring to,” she said and leaned back a bit, letting him take some of her weight. He shifted and came to stand beside her, one of his arms still wrapped around her back. He leaned his head on her shoulder and stared out at the snow. She draped her arm across his shoulders and he reached up to lace their fingers together.

“Will you help?” he asked. “I know you’re trying to stay busy when I’m not able to be around. Do you think you could help in the infirmary? Maybe see if Oin has anything you can do to help Fili along with his healing?”

Apprehension flared in her stomach, making it twist a little. “I’m not sure the good healer will allow me to assist in anything within his domain.”

Kili snorted. “After what you did to save me, twice now, I’m pretty sure he’ll listen to just about any suggestions you may have.”

She hummed absently. “I’d like to learn more about dwarfish medicine. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind an exchange of techniques.”

“Playing on his intellectual side. I love it when you’re crafty.”

She shook slightly with suppressed laughter. “I’m hardly crafty. I honestly wish to learn.”

“Of course you do,” Kili said and pulled her hand to his lips.

Chapter 3

“Where are you off too?”

Tauriel looked to the side. It took her a moment, but she finally found the dwarf that had spoken. Nori stood in an alcove, leaning against the wall and fiddling with one of his knives.

“To find someone that will allow me to help,” she said honestly. After all, lying wasn’t going to get her any work.

Nori straightened and slipped the knife… somewhere. Very skilled, she decided, to be able to keep her from seeing exactly where he hid it.

“Funny you should say you’re looking for work,” he said.

Tauriel’s eyes narrowed. She had a feeling where this was going. “What are you asking me to do?” she asked.

She could never intentionally hurt Kili.

“And if you hurt the consort, or allow him to be hurt, Kili will never forgive himself or anyone else that was in a position to help.”

Tauriel huffed a small laugh. “You’re good at manipulation,” she remarked. “What would you have me do?”

“Dwarrow don’t like you, not because of who you are, but because of what you are. They ignore you, pretend you’re not there. I’ve watched and I’ve listened.”

Had he? She didn’t remember that distinctive hairstyle anywhere near her until now.

“You need a spy,” she said bluntly, her eyebrows lifting minutely.

He grinned at her. “You’ll be the first of many,” he promised. “No one will suspect the court’s spymaster’s top agent to be the resident banished elf.”

She opened her mouth to say something and then paused. “You had a hand in that, didn’t you?”

~*~*~

“Where do you think you’re going, Tree-shagger?”

Every single dwarf in the mountain wanted to waylay her.

She dodged the latest dwarf to grab at her. She needed to find Nori immediately.

“Here lass. What’s the rush?”

Tauriel paused in her near dash toward the throne room. She knew that voice. Glancing to the side, she saw a familiar hat topping an equally familiar dwarf beneath it.

“Master Bofur,” she said and relief pushed the breath she’d been preparing to use to shout at someone out in a sigh. “Do you happen to know where Master Nori is?”

“Nori?” Bofur asked, tipping his head to the side. “Last I saw of him, he was-”

“Did I just hear someone taking my name in vain?”

“Lurking right behind me.” Bofur turned. “Nori! Tauriel’s been looking for you.”

Nori’s eyebrows rose a bit. “So I hear,” he said, his smirk making his beard twitch a bit. “Thanks Bofur.”

Bofur glanced between Nori and Tauriel, shrugged, and went on his way. The moment he was out of sight, Tauriel caught Nori’s sleeve and pulled him to the side.

“What do you have for me?” Nori asked.

“Bilbo’s crown is a fake. Gilded with gold leaf. Iron beneath. You’ll have a hard time telling the difference.”

Tauriel shook her head. “No, but the dwarf you’re looking for has red hair, part of his left ear missing at the top, and speaks like a noble.”

“That narrows it down a bit. Got anything else?”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Nori asked. “Well done. Keep your ears open for more little tidbits.” With that, he turned and…

Disappeared. Confused, Tauriel went over to where she’d last been able to see Nori. Her hands met solid wall without any imperfections that she could see. Did dwarrow know magic?

He hadn’t heard her though. Sloppy and unobservant.

Bemoaning her new lack of free time, Tauriel stepped up behind the dwarf, drew one of her knives and settled the tip of it against the dwarf’s back. No armor. No lookout. So very sloppy.

Who trained these dwarrow anyway?

It didn’t matter. Only made her life easier.

“What business have you in the king’s quarters?” she asked. No reason to announce that Thorin hadn’t moved into them with Bilbo.

The dwarf snarled something in khuzdul.

“I was under the impression that you weren’t supposed to use the dwarfen language in the presence of outsiders,” she remarked idly and applied a little more pressure with her knife.

“Go shag a tree,” the dwarf snapped.

“You’ll need new material if you think insults are going to make me leave you be,” Tauriel told him.

The dwarf growled something unintelligible.

“You’re robbing me of my free time,” she told the dwarf. “I’d planned to relax during the coronation but you’ve just ruined that.”

He cursed at her in khuzdul.

Tauriel tsked at him. “Keep that up and I’ll have to report you to the king.”

“The king will thank me for gutting you like the bi-”

She kicked at his hand and the blade spun across the marble floor.

She cursed under her breath. After tying his hands together behind his back, she hoisted him over her shoulder and left for the guardhouse.

Nori beat her there, dragging in the dwarf she’d seen creating the false crown. She waited for Nori to settle his captive before drawing attention to herself and her burden.

“Trying to enter King Thror’s old rooms,” she said. “I found these on him.” She pulled the weapons she’d confiscated off the dwarf out of her belt and dumped them on a table.

Relief coursed through her. “Thank you,” she said. “I’d really rather not draw attention to myself.”

Tauriel inclined her head in acknowledgement of his unspoken request before doing as he said. Perhaps she’d still have time for her bath after all.

~*~*~

Kili greeted Tauriel with a short kiss a few weeks later.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as he took her hand and they started walking toward the training grounds.

“Why would anything be wrong, Amrâlimê?”

Tauriel stopped and waited for him to look at her. When he did, she just raised an eyebrow at him. His shoulders slumped.

“I thank Mahal every day at least once for bringing you to me,” Kili told her and took her hands. “Having you with me is all I could ever ask or I would be too greedy.”

If asking for help with his brother made Kili feel too greedy in the eyes of his Maker, then she would just take matters into her own hands.

First, though, she had guard duty. Down by the little used public workshops and storerooms. Again.

“Captain Tauriel,” Fili said, startling slightly when she first entered his line of vision. He glanced around. “Is, ah, Kili with you?”

“No,” Fili hedged. “Why would there be?”

She ignored him. “Then perhaps you’ve truly been too busy to see him and are now trying to find him.”

She took pity on him when he didn’t look up after a few moments. “He misses you.”

Fili’s shoulders rose closer to his ears and his frown deepened.

“Why do you avoid him?” She asked curiously. “He wants nothing more than to help you and be at your side as he always has been.”

“Your Highness?”

“Don’t apologize to me, unless it’s for calling me ‘Lady’,” she admonished with a half smile. “I love Kili and enjoy every side of him.”

Movement behind Fili caught her attention. “You tell me,” Tauriel said with a smile and climbed to her feet. “Kili will be early to the council meeting this afternoon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fili demanded as he reached for his crutches.

“Your Highness?”

~*~*~

“Thank you,” Kili murmured after a time.

Apprehension flared in her stomach, making it twist a little. “I’m not sure the good healer will allow me to assist in anything within his domain.”

Kili snorted. “After what you did to save me, twice now, I’m pretty sure he’ll listen to just about any suggestions you may have.”

She hummed absently. “I’d like to learn more about dwarfish medicine. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind an exchange of techniques.”

“Playing on his intellectual side. I love it when you’re crafty.”

She shook slightly with suppressed laughter. “I’m hardly crafty. I honestly wish to learn.”

“Of course you do,” Kili said and pulled her hand to his lips.

#my writing #the hobbit #kiliel #Crafty Nori #kili #kili ktuesday #tauriel #also on ao3 #Cross-posted #please leave comments #Nori #Fili #hobbit #happy reading

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a-l-ias · 5 years

Text

Do You Even Know My Name?

(The Evolution of Peter Parker’s Names) Part I of IX

Alright, y’all, this has been a long time coming. This has been sitting in my drafts for about six months, and I’ve been too scared to post it, mostly because of who I wrote it for:

@yellowdistress, this is for you. All your stories and patience and headcanons and kindness touches everyone that has even just dipped their toes in the water of the Irondad fandom. You give us happiness and angst, comfort and hurt, fluff and love. Everything you do for us is unequaled, and nothing we can do will ever be able to repay you, but this is an attempt. I love you, Denni, and everything you do <3 <3 <3

Hopefully you enjoy it XD

(I am so rusty, I haven’t written to post in, like, two years)

I. Kid

It wasn’t anything personal, it was simply just how Tony operated. Perhaps it was a firm, remaining bulwark from his years as Howard’s verbal punching bag, or maybe a shield formed from an innate fear of emotion and an irrational aversion to intimacy -- whatever the reason, though, he flat-out refused to use people’s real names.

His best friend wasn’t James or Rhodes, he was Rhodey or Platypus or Honeybear.

His fiance wasn’t Virginia, she was Pepper or Honey or Babe.

Happy was Happy, not Harold. Cap was Capscicle, not Steve. Brucie, Point-Break, Legolas, Eye-Patch, Aunt-Hottie -- it was almost as if he never learned their real names in the first place. Tony himself wasn’t even quite sure why he did this, but it was an instinct. It made him feel safer, less vulnerable, with the threat of actually acknowledging his care for a person removed along with their name. Retrospectively, it was a rather ridiculous notion, because somewhere along the line, The Tony Stark giving you a nickname translated into “aww, he cares,” instead of “back off, bitch.” While Pepper certainly realized this, and Rhodey accepted it after Sourpatch had indelibly stuck, Tony himself seemed hopelessly oblivious to his underlying declarations of love.

Which is why, over the course of almost two years, he didn’t realise his utter and complete devotion to one excitable teenaged tornado.

According to Pepper, he’d held onto “kid” entirely too long. “Trust me, kid”... “I did listen, kid”... “where’d you come from, kid”...it all seemed -- to her, anyway -- like such a desperate attempt to distance himself. But, again, it was comforting: knowing that no matter what he did, this little, naive human being, who looked at him like he was the glowing savior of the Earth descending from the sky, would never be broken by the unavoidable Stark ability to ruin childhoods.

His physics Professor sophomore year at MIT called him kid. The butler Howard hired two weeks after Jarvis’ death called him kid. Neither of them particularly cared about him, but they hadn’t hurt him either.

He figured “kid” was a good compromise.

So he used it whenever he needed to remind himself that he didn’t give a shit about this kid, besides whether or not he ended up as spider-juice on the 5th avenue sidewalk. Lately, he’d had to pinch himself more and more.

God, this kid. This kid with his contagious grins and unflappable joy and persistent optimism. This kid with a heart as big as the moon and morals to rival those of Steve Rogers and brown eyes so wide, so wondrous. The more time Tony spent with him, the thinner he felt his emotional walls getting, and the thinner he felt his walls getting, the more stubbornly he pushed the kid away. It wasn’t fair to either of them, if he was being honest. Peter was simply looking for some sort of guidance. May was a wonderful, integral figure in Peter’s life, but even after all she’d been through, she still had her limits. What was she supposed to do when Peter woke up in the middle of the night with blood-curdling screams, convinced that the ceiling was falling down? What was she supposed to do when Peter came home crushed by the self-blame of only being two seconds from saving that jumper? Whereas May could offer the wisest, most sage advice about struggling through life, Tony was there as support when all the nightmares and guilt and trauma finally caught up. May couldn’t raise a superhero alone; it was part of The Deal. And it wasn’t fair to make Peter feel like he couldn’t go to Tony for his problems.

But Tony, as much as he hated to admit it, was scared of becoming attached. It had only been a few months since one of his best friends drove a shield through his chest and left him to freeze to death in Siberia, after all. Tony was a naturally guarded person. So he clung to “kid” like Cliffhanger to his branch and scoffed at Pepper’s insistence that he had a deeper connection to Parker than he let on.

But somewhere along the line, the meaning of the nickname shifted.

Sure, he never called the kid “Peter” or “Parker” or -- god forbid -- “Pete,” but just saying “kid” somehow made his voice soft and his tone affectionate and his eyes crinkle in the way he hated, because it showed all those stress-wrinkles.

Pepper pointed it out first after Karen had interrupted their date night with an extremely concerning vitals update. It had been a really nice night, too — candles and fresh bread and Prosciutto Carbonara that could give his mother’s a run for its money —before she’d flashed him that knowing smirk and rolled her eyes as he mouthed “what” over the receiver, listening to the call ring out.

“Shit-brained kid,” he muttered. He reopened the message from Karen and glanced at the steadily dropping blood-percentage.

Pepper raised her eyebrows over her wine. “Any reason why you aren’t running out of here?” she asked.

Tony heaved a heavy sigh, feeling the slowly-growing-familiar weight of crazed worry clunk on his shoulders.

He stuttered for words, for a second. Sorry, honey, I’ve been blowing you off for 5 years now and it doesn’t look like that’s going to change and you’re the flipping best person that’s ever lived, constantly putting up with my everlasting BS. She saved him with a nod towards the door, and soft smile, and a hand over his.

He loved this woman so freaking much.

With a quick peck on her cheek, he breezed out the door of the restaurant. His suit — compacted now in a wristwatch he was incredibly proud of, if he says so himself — folded around him, comforting, bolstering. FRIDAY blipped into his heads-up, shuffled over to make room for Karen.

Mr. Stark, I suggest calling emergency response, Peter is now at 26% blood-loss.

Before Tony had any time to react, FRIDAY interrupted, Calling Dr. Cho now, prepping medical equipment and OR. Cho would like you to know that her ER team is on its way to Spider-Man’s location. He’d never been more grateful for the utter and complete genius FRIDAY was.

He let himself relax slightly, because doctors meant survival for this idiotic teenager. Vaguely he remembered their argument as the Staten Island ferry sank into the harbour, thought of May’s angry face and demands for safety.

New determination sparked in his mind. His repulsors fired, and he was zipping into the night.

He found the Kid lying in a pile of fruit scraps behind the Broncs Women’s Shelter. He didn’t consider the implications, didn’t recognise the group of shy residents peeking at them through the darkened window. He just retracted the suit, stumbled forward desperately, because the rinds and peels were painted red, the sidewalk stained with a growing puddle of blood. It rippled outward from Spider-Man’s prone form. Supine, pallid, and skewered by a large, serrated hunting knife.

Tony blanched. Felt like he was going to hurl. “Oh...good...god…” he mumbled, horrified. He fell quickly to his knees, numb enough to everything but this dying kid that the hard smack of the sidewalk against his shins didn’t faze him.

He had no idea what he was supposed to do. Most of Iron Man’s injuries involved bruises: broken ribs, sprained joints, concussions, fractured bones. In all his years as a reckless “superhero,” he’d never gotten impaled.

Barton had, during the fight with Strucker. Nat had, by way of a particularly gruelling torture session. Steve, once, with fly-away detritus — but Tony had long since forced himself to forget those memories...all the worry he’d had for friends who’d betrayed him. So he floundered, hands hovering over the leather-wrapped hilt sticking straight up out of the Kid’s abdomen towards the sky like an arrow directing his impendingly separating soul to heaven.

The thought freaked Tony out even more. His breaths quickened, his vision blurred. Too late, he was recognising the tell-tale signs of a panic attack.

Now is not the time for this, Stark. Think, damnit!

Blood. There was blood seeping out from underneath him. That...couldn’t be good. If blood was pooling underneath the Kid, that meant there was a wound in his back. So the knife went the whole way through. There was no removing it — Tony remembered that much from whatever first aid course he’d been forced to take — one should never remove the object of impalement. That would let the blood flow more freely. Obviously, not too desired.

But blood was running anyway — in rivulets down the Kid’s suit, in waves over his hips. It occurred to Tony that this enhanced being probably had an enhanced metabolism, which meant blood rushing to the wound quicker.

Great. Kid probably couldn’t get drunk, but he sure-as-hell could bleed-out faster than a normal person.

He had to stem the flow. Shakily, his hands found his blazer and he yanked it off. Steeling himself, he wrapped the jacket around the hilt and pressed. Hard.

The Kid jerked back to consciousness with a strangled scream, and Tony was hurried to calm him down.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright, it’s alright,” he assured, desperately, because the Kid was beginning to thrash. One of his arms knocked weakly against Tony’s — deliberately, Tony’d later assume, to attempt to get the older man to stop pushing on the wound.

“Stop it, Kid, stop it.” There was no force to his words, no thought, either. It was as if Tony was watching, removed by a wall of panic and hysteria, and his instincts had taken over — decided that under no circumstances was the Kid gonna sense Tony’s helplessness, because his voice sounded firm, confident, if tinny and far-away, to his ears.

Tony’s fingers were cold and tingly, his head buzzed and filled with cotton. His eyes focused, unwittingly, on the spreading circle of blood beneath his knees.

Shit, someone inside him thought, the other side isn’t covered.

And so he grabbed one of the Kid’s flailing wrists, gently, between two fingers, and wrapped his palm around the soaked blazer.

“Alright, kid, here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna turn you on your side — it’s gonna hurt, it really will — but we’re gonna check out the back, gonna plug that side, too.”

He wasn’t sure if the Kid registered what he’d said, but the responding moan, the slight jerk of limbs in resistance, was enough for Tony. Pressing once more against his frigid fingers, Tony wedged his s under the Kid’s back and rolled him over.

He cried out — a horrifying, heartaching sob of pain — as Tony ripped off his button-down, leaving him in only the white undershirt. The previously pristine shirt had bright red staining up and down the sleeves. The collar had ripped in Tony’s hurry to get it off, and he tails were scuffed with New York alley dirt. None of it stopped him as he shoved the wadded fabric against the bright bloodstain (stubbornly ignoring the glint of metal torn through the suit). With a shallow breath out, he roughly gripped the Kid’s shoulders and turned him back over, hoping the sidewalk would put enough pressure against the cloth.

“F-F-FRI,” he exhaled stutteringly. “ETA on the emergency crew.”

He almost didn’t hear her response over the Kid’s huge sob when he swapped their hands on the front of the wound. He was pressing again, and the Kid’s hands found his biceps, gripped with surprising strength for someone with — he checked his watch — 37% bloodloss. The Kid’s hands were coated in his own blood. They left handprints, like a brand of failure, against Tony’s skin.

3 minutes. He could do this for 3 more minutes.

Off in the distance, he could hear the subtle roar of the Quinjet’s engines; although, perhaps he was imagining it in panic. Nevertheless, it gave him hope.

Unknowingly, he’d begun talking to the Kid. He tuned in to it like shuffling through radio stations.

“You’re gonna be okay, kid, just hang in there. Just keep breathing — I know! I know it hurts, but if you wanna see May again, or that little friend of yours...what’sit’s...Fred? Greg? Something like that. You just gotta hold on, please, God, hold on kid…”

It was crazy, how in that moment, his brain finally registered what Pepper had been saying. Kneeling over this kid, hearing the Quinjet land and doctors barking orders and feeling hands haul him to his feet by his armpits, he finally listened to the softness, the tenderness, the care and emotion and worry behind his chosen nomer for one Peter Parker.

He watched the tiny, whimpering form of the Kid wheeled into the jet on a gurney. He sat when one of the EMTs pushed him onto a crate. He nodded when the sterile-smelling man asked him if he was alright. He curled into the blanket when it was placed around his shoulders.

Shock, someone said, far off. Get him back home, someone else said.

Home sounded good. It sounded safe. But the Kid...his Kid...his responsibility since he walked into the Parkers’ apartment last spring and basically blackmailed Peter into coming to Berlin with him...his responsibility was on that jet, and he was dying.

In a burst of movement, Tony was up, dropping the blanket and dodging the nurse’s attempt to sit him back down. The gangway was retracting, but Tony jumped the rising gap, jogged into the hull. They’d hooked the Kid up with an IV drip and several monitors. An anesthesiologist was coaxing the Kid to let the sedative take hold. The Kid, bless him, was trying to fight back, eyes wide and watering.

Tony approached him and gripped the hand scrabbling at the mask over his nose and mouth. The Kid’s eyes landed on him, and a funny expression overtook his features. His face relaxed, he stopped fighting. His eyes softened, lids slipping closed. Tony watched as the Kid relented to the pull of sleep, neither of their eyes leaving the other’s.

Peter felt safe, he suddenly realised. The Kid saw him, and felt safe.

Tony’s heart ached for a second, beating rapidly and stutteringly. He allowed himself to breathe for the first time since landing in the alley. Peter was safe, because Tony was there, still gripping his hand, and the doctors were bustling, working on stopping the blood flow and removing the knife, and the Kid had enhanced healing that would take care of what the doctors couldn’t.

An inexplicable, wholly-encompassing feeling of relief washed over Tony. He squeezed Peter’s hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

“Sweet dreams, Kid,” he mumbled, letting every ounce of voice softness and tone affection and eye crinkles he had in him flood his being. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Hope you enjoy it Denni!

(tagging others in hopes that they’ll check out @yellowdistress, too, unless they already have, then amazing!: @fan-writer02, @aceofstars16, @mandaloriandragontrainer, @madasthesea, @hairasuntouchedaspartoftheamazon, @the-fanaddict, and @athingofvikings

#irondad #ironfam #peter parker #tony stark #peter and tony #mcu #do you even know my name?#mywriting #i love you denni!

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blankdblank · 5 years

Text

Long Live Pt 4

@lilith15000

For the next day you traveled with Aragorn on your back softly joining Glorfindel on singing Yavanna and Aule’s tale of their union. It wasn’t until you broke for lunch that you had found a small stream, one of the few free from enchantment to bathe and change. With a soft smile you combed through your hair now draped over your left shoulder munching on a slice of what was left of your last orange you had been brought by Chester’s brood. The rest sat on your curled leg, the crunch of leaves on your right turned your head from the Men and Aragorn bathing to the approaching white stag eyeing your orange curiously.

A soft giggle later and you were on your feet with orange slice in your open palm the pale giant approached to accept with wiggling ears, when its eyes locked with yours again you peered up at him gently rubbing the ridge to his snout softly asking, “I bet you don’t see a lot of oranges, hmm?”

A tap of his snout to your palm later you had given him the last few slices then watched him turn back to his own wandering once his lips parted leaving the orange seeds in your open palm. Through a soft giggle you promised, “I will make sure to plant these along the way for you.”

Heavily beside you once you had reclaimed your spot on the fallen log, Thorin and Dwalin both settled eyeing your hair longingly, both already feeling the silky shimmering curls between their fingers in adding courting beads to your hair one day. Layer by layer they added their shirts smirking at the adjustments you made to their sleeves beside you before brushing your curls back and beginning to work it into a long braid with Aragorn’s help. Shouldering your belongings you continued the path beginning to hum again while Aragorn attempted to sing the entire song of Beren and Luthien, staggeringly atop your shoulders he eyed the treetops while he recited the words until you reached a fallen log stretching across an enchanted stream.

Peering at the Company you eyed Thorin asking, “I don’t suppose you can jump that far?”

Thorin smirked as Dwalin shook his head and growled, “No, and no one is tossing us across either.”

You giggled softly and eyed Bilbo on his approach to the fallen log before he glanced back at Glorfindel on his approaching the Hobbit. With a gentle smile he lowered offering him his back and carried him across the log. Raised brows and stubborn harrumphs from the Dwarves followed in silent disapproval of the notion of being carried across.

In a lean down at Thorin and Dwalin scowling on either side of you, a smirk eased across your lips that were quickly pressed to their cheeks breaking through their scowls that melted into dopey smiles. Their distracted states granted you the time to loop your arms around their backs instantly making them cling to you on your quick teeter across the log. On the other side they stood silently uncertain if they should be upset or not but eventually they slipped back into love struck grins at your second pecks on their other cheeks.

Raising your arms you set Aragorn down then followed Glorfindel on the other side, pair by pair you carried the Dwarves across. The elders a bit sheepish but praising your discrete hold and short crossing returning them to their prideful place on the ground where the Princes all but leapt into your arms giddily and Ori clung mercilessly to Glorfindel while Nori claimed the chance to get a better look at the hilt of his blades strapped across his back. All until Bombur stood sheepishly alone on the other side peering at the both of you.

Glorfindel held in his chuckle lowering accepting his arms around his neck while you held him steady from behind for the trip over where the group grinned at the complete group together again. A few steps later you were sandwiched by Thorin and Dwalin while Boromir and Faramir teetered across the log, refusing to be carried only to grin as Aragorn clambered onto Faramir’s shoulders. In your turn to face the path again the pair around you lifted up claiming their own pecks on your cheeks making you chuckle to yourself and join them in resuming the path onward with beaming grins taking your affection as a hint of nearing accepting their offers of courtship.

Through to lunch the Princes bounded around you and their Uncles asking you every question they could think of. Ending with Kili asking, “They couldn’t make you regent at least?”

Fili nodded, “Yes, you are his Sister after all.”

Peering at him you stated, “The Nobles refused to accept my place as Regent.”

At the back of the line Gloin growled out, “For all rights you should be Queen!”

Oin nodded, “Aye, first in line first to the crown!”

Bofur translated Bifur’s signing, “A gown doesn’t make a difference in ruling. You’ve got a fine set of armor and pants for traveling.”

Balin, “No doubt you’re far more studied than the Steward.”

Boromir chuckled catching their glance up at the Brothers before stating, “If things have escalated in our absence no doubt a great number of civilians and warriors would have earned her that right.”

Faramir chuckled, “Thousands of angry residents are hard to ignore. No doubt the servants alone would be making the Nobles’ lives hell if they put their minds to it.”

You smirked only to tilt your eyes upwards at a distant rustling. Behind you Glorfindel tapped your mind stating, “The outer guards.”

Looking forward again you watched scattered reddened leaves falling from the greening canopy above. Not long after you set up camp and enjoyed the stew Bombur and Bilbo prepared only to stare blankly at the canteen that fell in the middle of camp right in front of you. All of you looked up only to catch a brunette Elf who was locked in place staring at you, a flinching wave later you spotted another Elf approaching him and dragging him back to his post to alert them of your group once he had caught the canteen Bilbo had chucked up to him.

Lunch was finished, cleared up with the utensils and cookware put away freeing you to continue the path. A few miles deeper you eyed another band of guards on foot ready to greet and escort you the final stretch of the way. A single glance over your Company left you and the tall Brothers behind you the main focus of attention before they spotted Aragorn climbing from Faramir’s hip to Glorfindel’s shoulders to get a better look. With a bow of their heads they turned after greeting the familiar Lord Glorfindel, quietly you followed them taking in the details on the wall and massive doors on the other side of a small bridge ahead of you. Through a set of guards, whose eyes lingered on you curiously once they bowed their heads and followed your path until the doors closed freeing them to turn back to the forest shifting in the sunlight discarding its reddened leaves freeing the branches to bud again.

Voices carried through the throne room as a band of servants bearing choices for the final touches on the upcoming celebration only to fall silent when the doors opened. At the base of his throne the King turned to look over his visitors, curious to see Aragorn but not you, as Glorfindel had stepped in front of you. In a flat voice while eyeing the Gondorian Brothers in the group he stated, “Thorin Oakenshield, I am pleased to see you well after all these years.” In his climb down the King eyed Aragorn and bent to accept his hug and raised him to his hip with a soft smile, asking in Gondorian, “Just how did you enjoy your trip in young Prince?”

Aragorn chuckled saying, “It was a long walk, not much for decorations.”

Thranduil chuckled stating, “I will see what I can do.”

His eyes turned back to Thorin as he stated, “We are grateful to have been granted entrance into your lands King Thranduil.”

Thranduil replied, “Of course, after your travels you must be tired.” He motioned his hand towards the door on his right, “My guards will show you to your rooms until dinner. For now I would speak with Lord Glorfindel and the Sons of Denethor-.” The hands folding over Glorfindel’s shoulder broke his words and drew his eyes to you in your tip toed stance peeking over the Elf’s shoulders as he tried to keep you from the King’s sight. Just the glimpse of purple eyes above his shoulder held his gaze while the Dwarves and Bilbo gladly followed the guards to get some well needed rest, when alone his body turned fully as he asked Glorfindel, “Glorfindel, for what reason are you shielding the Princess behind you.”

Glorfindel grinned at him stating plainly, “You know as well as I, all High Born Nobles are to be announced fully before any Royal is allowed to converse with them.”

Thranduil bowed his head then stated in Doriathian, “Elrond’s rebirth announcement was truthful then. I shall write to Celeborn, he should like to see his ward again.”

Glorfindel stated when Legolas stepped over to his Father’s side accepting Aragorn’s hug with a low chuckle, “King Thranduil it is my honor to present Princess Jaqiearae Irissë, Daughter of Arathorn, Reborn of High Born Princess of the Noldo, Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, Daughter of Finglolfin.” Behind Glorfndel at his hand reaching back to guide you out, you stepped to his side lowering to your normal height peering up at the King with a soft smile you watched his expression shift into one of a deep seeded longing as his eyes scanned over your now pointed ears and soft glow.

His head bowed to you again and was about to speak to you as Aragorn said, “Sisi has Elf ears now.”

Thranduil smiled at him then glanced at you again, switching to Silvan,“It is an honor Princess to finally have the chance to give you a tour of my Kingdom. It is my great hope you find it as homely as Lothlorien has been for you.”

With a smirk you replied, “That depends entirely on how likely you are to lock me away at the slightest hint of my wandering.”

The answering glint in his eyes grew at his reply, “I would not dare lock you away.” His hand motioned and he grinned, “Would you like a tour, or are you tired?”

The smile on your face held, “For a few months now I can go weeks without sleeping. A tour would be lovely.”

He nodded his head and led you through the door on his left to begin the tour as a group of servants gladly arrived to claim your shield and bags to take up to your rooms with respectful bows of their heads. Along the first walkway you took an extra step closer to Legolas drawing his eye to you with a growing grin on your face as you asked, “I take it I’ve stolen your place as the youngest around here?”

Legolas chuckled weakly stating, “If we are going by your mortal years then yes, if not you would be considered near Ada’s age, equally as interesting.” He chuckled again, “We hope to have you here a long time.”

You giggled softly feeling the King’s eyes shifting to you again, “Now that depends entirely on how welcoming the Dwarves are I imagine.”

Thranduil, “You mean to live with them?”

Grinning up at the King you answered, “King Thorin kindly offered to grant me a stay in Erebor.”

Legolas, “You cannot be serious.”

You grinned up at him, “If you mean for Smaug, I have a few ideas.” The eyes of the puffing up King and Prince fell on you again protectively making you giggle again, “No need to puff up, you’ll spoil your mood for the party.”

A grin smoothed onto the King’s face as he stated, “That certainly wouldn’t be possible with you here to celebrate it.” Making sure to grin at you for a few moments before Aragorn called his attention back to him.

By nightfall you had bathed and changed into a gifted white and silver paneled gown in velvet accented with shimmering gems at the neckline and waist, with sleeves to your elbows and a low dip across your chest revealing your Father’s ring. Over your long curls sat a simple silver gem coated circlet you were cornered into wearing by Prince Legolas and Tauriel. At the tall window in the Royal dining hall you eyed the Lonely Mountain in the distance glittering under the moonlight, around you the Dwarves all gathered sharing awed smiles. Two thick hands planted on your upper back making the freshly arrived Elf King’s stomach clench before he drew your attention from the mountain Thorin and Dwalin were sharing promises of what they would show you when it was freed.

Around the large table you sat listening to the stories of the fallen Kingdoms with a settled smile sipping on your peach wine until the doors opened and a messenger hurried inside. He rushed over to the King bowing his head before leaning in sharing his message making the King peer directly at you stating plainly, “It appears a legion of Gondorian soldiers escorting a long line of caravans are passing through my inner borders.”

Your lips parted, “Why would they come here?”

Thranduil chuckled rising to his feet stating, “The Eagles most likely. Celeborn has been in uproar since hearing of your leaving Gondor. No doubt he will be along by morning as well.” Beside you he offered you his palm helping you to your feet, “They are asking for their Queen.” He stated with a smile.

You rolled your eyes, “Oh good, The Council should be pleased.”

Boromir chuckled leading Faramir and the others to follow after you both stating, “Not likely they will have a choice.”

When you had finally reached the front gates you spied the seemingly endless line of soldiers who all bowed deeply at the waist while their Captain approached with hands extended bearing your Father’s crown greeting you in Gondorian, “My Queen, we have traveled to fulfill our oaths in honoring the heir to the Throne of Gondor.”

Upon his rising his eyes, along with those of the others scanned over you especially your ears making you chuckle to yourself and state, “It seems my Elven line has shown through since my departure.”

The Captain’s grin grew as he stated, “I always did suspect your Mother of tucking back her ears deliberately.” Making you giggle then peer up at Thranduil who earned a bow of their heads through his stating, “Welcome to Greenwood. We will find you all food and rooms to rest after your travels, quite opportune timing, our annual Feast of Starlight is in a couple days, you are all welcome.”

The Captain’s eyes turned to you again and you asked, “How many are left defending Gondor?”

He grinned replying, “Pray do not worry, My Queen. We’ve left two thirds of our forces there, cast out the unloyal Lords and Duke Grenn has ensured to keep your presence known in all future meetings. Gondor is well defended, we would not abandon your territories. Plus, we bring great news, Mordor has collapsed to rubble, it has been scouted and King Thengel proposed splitting what can be scavenged from it. But of course all that can wait.” His eyes lowered to Thorin beside you, “Also, we found a Dwarf in the old keep we passed along the way, fairly rough shape, should manage through with proper healing.”

Thranduil nodded, “My healers will see to him.” You parted and the masses were show inside, filling the outer guest homes at the base of the trees in the inner circle of the forest around the Mountain carved Palace as well as the lowest guest rooms for the Women and Children who were all glad to have a place to bathe and rest after the long trip. With crown in hand you watched the line pass you entering the gates until the final wagon had entered allowing the gates to close. Off the third wagon you moved closer peering over the side at the cot being raised out bringing the muttering worn Dwarf off the wagon instantly drawing the Durins to him naming him as the lost wandering Prince Thrain.

Instantly healers gathered around him and you accepted Thranduil’s offered palm when he said, “We should finish eating.” You nodded joining him for the walk back to the dining hall where you took your seat back feeling the weight of the crown on your lap as the Brothers helped to settle the Gondorians who were all more than thrilled to see them again and hear about your travels so far. Alone in the room with the King you eyed the painting along the wall sipping on your wine trying not to smirk making his brow rise before he glanced at the painting of a large tree surrounded by herds of horses. “Is something amusing about that painting?”

With a smirk at him you set down your glass stating, “I remember seeing that being painted, though it was blue at the time.” His brow ticked higher remembering the day when his Mother painted it, a day Princess Aredhel had come to their shop with her younger Brother. “I’ve been remembering my first life since I entered your forest.”

Instantly his breath caught in his throat as a flicker of hope flashed in his eyes, “You have?”

You nodded, “I always knew you had a passion for poetry.” Instantly his lips parted and he raised his glass to take a sip of his own wine, “I am surprised you haven’t mentioned it before.”

“I am not certain Celeborn would have been pleased for me to touch on such an intimate topic.”

You giggled softly filling your fork again, “Of course, how could I forget, the only person more protective of my heart and hand would be Celeborn.”

With a hint of a smirk he stated, “Yes, he had to ensure I would not steal you away.”

With an amused twitch of your brow through you swallowing your mouthful you stated, “Tread carefully, with a crown comes certain expectations towards heirs, someone might take your teasing seriously and expect something of it. Or worse, I might just accept it.”

His lips parted only to shut when Legolas joined you again while the Bur and Ri Brothers along with Bilbo returned to the meal with Aragorn on Glorfindel’s back returning to their seats beside you. Nipping at his lip Aragorn reached over grabbing the crown and sat on the arm of your chair. Softly you giggled as Glorfindel removed your circlet so your Brother could add your crown making him chuckle then take his seat again allowing you to steal another glance at the stunned King staring at his plate while he filled his fork making you smirk. When the plates were cleared you carried Aragorn to bed leaving the King with a bow of your head he hastily returned only to watch you until you were out of sight.

With your Brother in bed you exited the Royal Wing and found the healing wing by following the deep throated humming of the Durins. In the doorway you paused for a moment seeing Thorin gently combing his Father’s freshly washed hair while Dwalin propped him up through that and the braid he worked it into. When he secured it his head turned and he grinned extending his palm welcoming you to join them, you flashed a weak smile and crossed the room to them and sat beside Balin eyeing the lost Prince already in a much better state you asked, “How is he?”

Thorin smiled saying, “He is missing half a finger, and a great deal of his bulk, but that is easily mended once Amad and Gran arrive.” His eyes traveled upwards and he smirked, “It suits you.”

You rolled your eyes, “Oh yes, how did I get my throne? My Father’s subjects overthrew the Lords and claimed the city in my name.”

The Dwarves chuckled and Dwalin asked, “Where do you imagine they’ve gone to? The cast out Lords?”

“Obviously not Rohan, they would never agree to house them.”

Balin, “You’re certain?”

You nodded, “Men of Rohan pride themselves in honesty. The Nobles willing to cast me aside pride themselves in their double sided ventures, also, they had an unfortunate time on a hunting trip on our last visit. Any willing to whip a horse has no place in their lands. They are to be treasured, like your kin treasure your Ravens and mine with Eagles.”

Thorin smirked rumbling out, “Good. The less struggle against your rule the better.”

Dwalin, “No doubt when we have Erebor back.”

Gloin, “Dain should be here soon enough after the letter we sent off earlier.”

Through the night you sat up with them until they went to bed leaving you to went out to one of the gardens finding a small opening you laid on your back in staring up at the stars, soon to be joined by Glorfindel and Legolas. Up in the King’s Apartment more pacing steps were taken by the King while his mind raced over what you had said and what the pair of Dwarves could possibly expect from you. Once again he could be watching you leave yet again, off to where he could not follow, if anything was to be done he had to do it now, but your age lingered in his mind. Even with an Elven form now barely forty left you far too young for an acceptable union for his kin, so he paced and paced thinking of what to do.

Nearly a week you sat through the prepping for the celebration and the extravagant affair itself, dressed immaculately under the King’s doing once the Elven Lords Elrond, his family and Celeborn arrived fully relieved to see you and more than eager to learn about all the details of your Journey. But the day came when you would leave these woods to test yourselves against the fabled Fire Drake. Cloaked in your traveling layers covering your mithril pants and shirt, before you gripped your armored chest plate Celebron had brought you only to turn at the knock on your door. Plainly you called out, “Come in.”

The door opened and Thranduil peered inside checking each room of your apartment until he found you in your bedroom and approached you with an anxious smile. Wetting his lips he helped you add the chest plate and passed you your shield you draped across your back before adding the arm braces from your bed. Looking him and his armor over you asked, “Everything in order?”

He nodded, “Yes. In fact, I wished to ask you something.”

After another glance at his hair through tightening the bands on your other arm brace, “Of course, ask anything.”

He wet his lips again inching closer to you holding out a clear amber coated gem with a bluebell inside on a woven band for a ring he eased into your extended palm as you tightened the last band on your arm brace, “I would like to request to remain close to you.”

Your eyes met his and you answered, “I accept.”

Inching closer to you he said, “I wish for you to understand fully.”

“You are offering a courtship until I am old enough to marry by Elven Standards.”

He nodded, “Yes.”

“I accept.”

He smiled and raised his free hand exposing a simple chain with looped sections draping from it scattered with purple sapphires he added your ring to and looped around your neck and tucked it under your chest plate gingerly. When he drew his hands back you claimed one of them drawing out his smile as he followed you to your bag where you drew out a simple silver ribbon and moved around him after nudging him onto the bench at the vanity. Lowly he chuckled as you stated rhetorically, “When will you Lords learn about your hair?” You drew his hair back tying the ribbon into a section after he removed his circlet, smirking as you worked a long fishtail braid you secured with the excess ribbon at the end “There. Now try to not let anyone drag you around by it.”

He chuckled lowly again and turned peering up at you as you added his circlet again then paused as he stated, “I do understand you must marry. My offer does not forbid it. I will gladly watch your Children grow and aid you in protecting and training young Aragorn.”

“You are certain?”

He nodded, “Thorin and Dwalin are honorable, they will ensure your happiness for as long as they have you, and when you are ready, simply, let me know. Should, however, you change your mind, I would not enforce any union between us, simply wish to be close to you.”

Timidly his gaze left yours giving you the chance to lean in and kiss his cheek while cupping the other forcing his eyes shut. When they opened again he stood as your hand left his cheek smiling at you through his claiming your hand to kiss your knuckles, holding his adoring smile through a gentle stroke of the backs of your fingers. A knock at your door broke your moment up and drew you into the main hall with the armed Company and Elf Lords joining you on the walk to the front gates where your mounted forces mingled with the Elven forces while you climbed on your steeds Elrond had delivered. All stealing one last glance at Bilbo holding Aragorn’s hand in the entrance before you turned away.

…

At the edge of the forest your forces waited while the slightly put aback Elf Lords followed you across the open plains to the ruins of Dale. In the ruined city you dismounted at the gate with Lord Celeborn following you closely asking in Quenya, “What is your plan?”

Wetting your lips you stated vaguely, “I had a thought…”

Tilting his head to peer at you in your peek around a corner he asked, “Yes?”

You glanced up at him and said, “I’m looking for something.”

Elrond asked, “For what exactly?”

Turning back to a ruined building, “I will know when I see it.”

Behind you the Elf Lords all gestured behind your back silently trading mouthed comments of irritation at the lack of planning and wonder at why Gandalf had put you in charge of. Their pause had given you the time to enter the empty ash coated and burned courtyard with shriveled playground in the center.

Nipping at your lip you entered it alone as the men bickered between themselves, timidly Fili joined you in your eyeing the surroundings. His eyes sank to you when you and your tilted head signaled your drop to your knees to reach for a long rod you spotted underneath it, a limited tug on the stuck rod brought him to his knees to help you grip the rod for a second timed tug. With a grunt he glanced back to Kili, already racing over to grab the other end of the rod on your left, propping his foot on the base of the carousel helping to finally free the rod in the tug that sent you onto your backs.

Softly you chuckled and raised the rod, revealed to be a dulled black arrow that had ricocheted off Smaug’s scales, for the Lords and Company to see with amused grins that dropped at the distant loud creak. All at once you all eyed the opening of the Mountain gate making you and the Princes dart for a nearby shop out of sight across the courtyard from the rest of the group eyeing you three from their own hiding places with terrified gazes. Overhead a deep woosh sounded over the deep throated singing of large beasts of old roaming in these lands he once devoured and hungered for once again. Heavily he landed causing rocks to crumble down over the backs of the Princes covering you and the hiding group across the way. Wetting your lips you silently mimed your plan through silently raising the arrow to crouch through the doorway after using one of Fili’s daggers to spot Smaug’s place.

Helplessly the group watched as you trailed along the wall and pause at a walkway while Smaug’s tail whipped though it in his peering under piles of rubble for shiny trinkets he added to the small sack dangling at the base of his neck. A winding creeping path later you flinched instantly, making the other group’s eyes widen at the sudden jerk from the Dragon hearing the crunch of Kili’s boot settling on top of an ash coated sign making him close his eyes for a moment at his blunder. Wetting your lips again you glanced across to Dwalin and mimed hammering something making his brows furrow curiously only to glance at Ori behind him tugging on the twin war hammers he had earning an understanding nod from him and Thorin as they gripped the set tightly.

Instantly after a heart stopping moment of silence you heard Smaug rumble, “I can smell you thief!” your hand tightened on the arrow through your body tensing before the inevitable crash of his body landing after his rise up and turn. In the opening of the walkway a giant head with a golden eye appeared, “Your fear is betraying you Dwarf!”

A timing bob of the arrow later you and the Princes darted out gripping the arrow and jammed it into Smaug’s eye before he could dart away, loudly he cried out without chance of escape as Dwalin, then Thorin darted out driving it deeper into his skull. Around you walls crumbled at the slump and settling of his body that slowly faded into rubies and citrine gems around the clattering black arrow. Through an unsteady exhale you rested your hand on Dwalin’s shoulder as you eyed the hammers in their hands asking, “Did you crack your hammers?”

Dwalin smirked raising his with a clear split down the middle, “No worries, more in the mountain.”

With a chuckle Thorin flashed you his before the pair gripped you in a tight hug along with Fili and Kili the rest of the Company joined in on the embrace before tucking as much of the rubies and citrine gems into pouches Gandalf had enchanted. With those tucked in your pockets you took your steeds to the mountain the armies joined you along the way with Aragorn and Bilbo eagerly peering up at the mountain. At the bridge across from gates though your forces all froze at the shadows passing overhead, a giggle from you however announced the welcome arrival of the Gronkels, two Mothers and nine young ones that all eagerly joined you inside the mountain, all happily eyeing the surroundings while the Elves and Men all peered at them curiously.

Through a series of winding paths you were led to an open smaller peak at the base of the Mountain built for stables where all the steeds were left. After the soldiers the wagons followed emptying the unarmed Men, Women and Children inside that were parked freeing the masses to enter into the neighboring peak linked to a ring housing the former plots of land used for farming and orchards under the enchanted peaks appearing transparent allowing the sunlight inside.

As per your earlier agreement with Thorin, along with the Elves your Men got to work on the plots of land, tilling them with the aid of the smaller Gronkels while one of their Mothers joined Balin and Oin to the forges to light them to help with the plumbing and heating that the arriving Dwarves would see to later.

Back with the group again they joined you on the walk to the treasury. The sheer size of it brought an impressed whistle from Bilbo and the Princes while Glorfindel and Legolas chased after Aragorn in his exploring dart away. At the base of the steps your hand was claimed by Dwalin’s to help steady you in your sink into the gold while the Elf Lords sat at the top of the stairs watching the Company and Bilbo start to search.

On your left you glanced at Thorin when he asked, “I know you did offer your Men to aid in rebuilding our food supply,” You nodded, “Would you agree to them dwelling in our lower levels to continue on the production of crops and cattle to be sold in Dale. Which of course we would be splitting with them of course, for those working in other trades once we’ve rebuilt it?”

Dwalin added, “That way you could remain close along with your Men and increase your own gains and foothold here, if your Council needed something to, solidify our union?”

With a weak giggle you wrapped them each in a sideways hug making them chuckle and blush. Peering down at the gold you returned to shifting around, “It sounds like a lovely idea. No doubt you all have been itching to set up the contracts for the deal.”

Thorin chuckled rumbling out, “Balin and Gloin have been revising the contract for the past few days, which of course we will share for edits from you.”

Dwalin nodded, “Aye, and we just need the number of your Men to work out the wages per anum estimates, we will be sticking to the former wages, since Balin knows where the records all are for them solving one issue of ours.”

Fili asked, “Do you think the Elves might help us with some of their plant control to speed along the sprouts?”

“Um, I am certain we could work something out…”

You glanced back at Thranduil who smiled at you calling out in his lean back to rest against his palms behind him, “We would be honored to assist you.”

Thorin and Dwalin turned to look at him as Kili asked, “How much is that going to cost?”

Thranduil smirked glancing at you saying, “I would agree to it as long as I am free to stay in Erebor through the construction of Dale, should Queen Jaqiearae choose to stay here. After it is complete I would also wish to have extensive visits should her home not be in Dale but inside the Mountain.”

Thorin shifted with furrowed brows asking in a low growl, “Just what are your intentions for such extended stays?”

Thranduil blinked stunned at having to explain, “I served her family, in her former life in Doriath, I wish to return to pampering her Majesty to her full rank.” Dwalin’s lips parted, “Plus it would also grant us time to settle into our trade again and build all our Kingdoms up far beyond their former strength.”

Dwalin asked, “And if we refuse to allow you to pamper our Queen?”

Thranduil smirked replying, “Marriage contract or not the refusal of my gifts rests solely upon Queen Jaqiearae’s choosing.” The pair inhaled deeply then turned back to the gold when you had rolled your eyes and turned back to the gold hearing Thranduil call out, “Should you find a small chest with shimmering white gems inside,” you peered back at him along with the pair around you as he smirked at you playfully earning growling exhales from the pair, “Your Majesty, by all means, consider it and the necklace inside my first gift to you.”

With a smirk you shook your head turning back to the gold as Thorin mumbled with Dwalin in Khuzdul concerning gifts from the hoard around them to begin offering to you when possible. Across the keep you eyed Bilbo raising a stone, “Is this it?!” While he sank deeper in the gold up to his waist while Bofur and Bifur tried to tug him free. A confirming nod brought out cheers from the group before Ori claimed the chest Thranduil had mentioned and carried it to the Elf King who smirked and thanked him.

When you reached the top of the stairs he showed you the necklace and said, “I have a great deal planned for the rest of the gems for you.”

With a weak chuckle you rubbed your forehead through Thorin and Dwalin starting to bring up plans for your first gifts from them making you say, “First thing first, let’s check how the living quarters are.”

Giddily Thorin added the stone to his throne and claimed your hand with a narrowed gaze up at Thranduil who gave a challenging smirk of his own even through Dwalin’s fierce scowl on their guiding you up to the Royal Floors to start cleaning with the arriving group of Elves not aiding in the replanting downstairs. By nightfall the keys had been found, gates locked, supplies had been put away and a supper had been made for a minor celebration at the start of a new alliance aiding you all signaling a new beginning for all your races in these lands.

#Thorin x Reader OC x Dwalin #Hobbit #lotr

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kumeko · 5 years

Text

three square meals

Characters/Pairings: The Fellowship, Eowyn

A/N: written for the @lotr-zine, Twilight and Shadow. I got assigned fluff and tried to include everyone. XD

Summary: Even separated as they were, they all had to eat. Had to rest. Had to laugh.

…

Breakfast:

“You were serious about the second breakfast?” Boromir stared at Merry and Pippin as they sat on a rock, divvying up sausages and fruit. They had already made four piles of bread, unpacking whilst everyone else was gathering their belongings. It was a mess and not for the first time he wondered if there was any wisdom in bringing such small, impulsive creatures with them.

Despite their supposed ages, they looked and acted like children at times. Such as now, with Merry grinning cheerfully and holding out an apple. “Should we set some aside for you too?”

“No.” Boromir frowned, rubbing his forehead. They had been traveling together for the span of a few days and he had a feeling his headache would be a daily thing. “How many breakfasts do you normally eat?”

“Four.” Pippin said confidently.

“Five,” Merry replied just as firmly at the same time and the pair stared at each other.

After a moment, they chorused together, “Three to five.”

“That’s…that’s a lot of breakfast.” Boromir glanced at their bellies. They didn’t look portly, like some of the nobles in Gondor did when they’d spent their days feasting and nothing else. Though, he couldn’t say the hobbits were particularly fit either. Merry and Pippin often complained about the hike, asking for breaks on an hourly basis, even if they were soundly rejected every single time.

Though they did keep walking despite their whining, so maybe they were sturdy at the very least.

Merry shrugged, returning to spreading jam on a piece of toast. “Not really. It’s normal. What, do you only eat two?”

“One.” Boromir, crouched, glaring at the pair. He was starting to feel like a baby sitter. “And you need to pack, we’re leaving.”

“Oh, come on!” Pippin crossed his arms and puffed his cheeks and Boromir could not shake the image of a child out of his head. “We’re setting things so we don’t have to stop for breakfast. We can eat while we walk.”

“Yeah, do you want to hear our stomachs rumble?” Merry swished a butter knife in the air dramatically. “We’re hiding in a bush, away from the dark lord, and then all of a sudden there’s a loud awrrrrgghhhh because someone wouldn’t let us eat?”

“We won’t hide,” Boromir stated, his hand on his hilt. Despite all the uncertainties of their travel routes and methods, of that he was positive. “We’ll cut past them.”

“Sure, you say that now.” Merry snorted. Both hobbits were quickly bundling up their food piles and when had they finished preparing? They were surprisingly sneaky little things; it was no wonder Boromir had never seen one before this day.

“I’ll say it then too.” Boromir got up, looking toward the sun. Toward home. It would miles yet before they were near Gondor, before he could even dream of Gondor, but they would get there. No matter what the elves or Aragorn had said, he was sure he could convince the group to stop by when they were closer.

“There. Set.” Pippin leaped off the rock, his bag packed. “See, no trouble at all.”

“Right.” Boromir laughed as the two hobbits puffed their chests with pride. All this over breakfast. “When I take you to Gondor, you’ll see why one breakfast is more than enough there.”

Merry furrowed his brow, a challenging smirk on his face. “Do you really think you can satisfy us?”

“You’ll be rolling home.” He ruffled their hair, ignoring their protests. “It’ll be a feast unlike any you’ve ever seen.”

-x-

Lunch:

“What is your home like?” Eowyn asked, rolling her shoulders back as she straightened her posture. Long rides were nothing new to her; the horse was almost an extension of her body at times, and she could move him through his paces in her sleep. The problem was the tedious pace, the days upon end where they trotted slowly across the kingdom. It was a long trek to Helm’s Deep and they couldn’t go any faster out of fear of outpacing their walking subjects.

It did not make it any less tempting to squeeze her thighs and urge her mount into a gallop. The wide fields ahead of them almost seemed to call for her.

Gimli twisted on his seat uncomfortably, his expression dour. His arms crossed as he failed to find any position he liked, and it spoke of his strength that he didn’t fall of the horse like that. “We do not use horses.”

He’d been like that for the past hour but she was pretty sure it was the elf sitting in front of him that was the real reason for his discomfort.

“That’s because you can’t reach high enough to sit on one.” Legolas smirked, glancing over his shoulder at his companion. “Don’t worry, the ground won’t be too far when you fall.”

“When?” Miffed, Gimli’s hand curled around his axe for what had to be the tenth time this morning.

Eowyn failed to suppress her chuckle in time and Gimli turned his glare to her. With a placating smile, she patted her horse’s neck. “They aren’t too bad, when you get used to them.”

“If you say so, lass.” Gimli still frowned, looking entirely put out.

“Why don’t we give him a dog; the ponies the hobbits have might be too big for him,” Legolas suggested, and she wasn’t sure at this point if he actually meant half his insults or he said them only to get a rise out of his comrade.

Either way, it always ended the same way, with the pair glaring at each other. Bloodshed seemed almost unavoidable now and she glanced at Aragon hopefully. When he merely shrugged, unfazed by the threatening atmosphere, she bit back a sigh. It fell to her then. Tapping her chin, she tried to find a neutral topic. It was close to lunch and her stomach grumbled softly. “What is food like in Erebor? You said something about a feast.”

“Aye!” Finally, Gimli grinned, wide and full of teeth. He puffed his chest proudly. “Come under the mountain, and you’ll see a dwarven feast. Piles of meat, all cooked to perfection. Goblets of overflowing wine. Nothing is lacking.”

“Burnt food,” Legolas listed off, counting his fingers. Somehow, even that simple movement looked more graceful than anything Eowyn had done in her life. “Sour wine. Lack of vegetables. No wonder you’re always in a foul mood.”

“And you’re a bloody rabbit,” Gimli shot back, leaning back to look up at the elf. Some miracle kept him on his seat; any further and he would fall. “All leaves and grapes and your meat’s undercooked.”

“Or maybe you just don’t know what proper cooking is.” Legolas raised a brow, looking over his shoulder. “You know it isn’t supposed to be black. Even charcoal has move flavour.”

“You…” Gimli growled, setting off a tirade of proper fire techniques and maybe food wasn’t as safe a topic as Eowyn had hoped. To be honest, maybe nothing was—she had a feeling that even a discussion about the sky would somehow end up in an argument.

At least it was entertaining.

“You got them started,” Aragon sighed as he urged his horse next to her, clearly used to the argument. He clicked his tongue as the pair squabbled. “It’ll be hours before they shut up. Even then, only for a few minutes.”

The amused smile on his face said otherwise. There was a wild rush at seeing that, like racing her horse across the plain, like winning her first sword fight. She looked away. “And what about you, my lord? How do your people eat?”

“…nothing to talk about,” Aragon admitted slowly. A hand rubbed his neck slowly as he considered the question. “We live in the wilds, so it’s just wild game and herbs. We’re not really known for our cooking.”

And what are you known for? she wanted to ask. A king who was not king, a man who lived freer than she ever had. Even with her uncle safe, with her brother back, she felt just as trapped as she did back in that cold castle with Wormtongue leering at her. But the words were caught in her throat and she tightened her grip on the reins. “Neither are mine, we spend too much time in the saddle. Oh, but my mother, her stew was delicious.”

“Stew?” Gimli tuned back into the conversation, interested once more. He leaned toward her and there had to be something supernatural that was keeping him on his seat. “Would that be a meat stew, lass?”

“Of course.” She brushed a stray hair behind her ear nervously, before blurting out. “I’ll make you some for lunch.”

Gimli looked delighted and though she wouldn’t look, she hoped Aragon was maybe half as interested.

-x-

Dinner:

“Keep your hands from the pot!” Sam ordered, slapping Faramir’s hands before they could touch the ladle. The sound echoed in the night air, drowning out the crackle of the fire. “It’s not ready yet.”

Faramir blinked. It was rare that anyone treated him with such familiarity. Even out here, in the marsh lands, he was still considered a lord, a de facto prince, since few believed the king would return. “I was merely going to stir it.”

“Oh.” Sam coloured, embarrassed. He twisted his hands nervously. “No offense meant, sire. Just that…well, my friends, they’d often steal bites while I cooked and I…old habits.” He offered a timid smile.

It was interesting to observe Sam. One moment fierce and protective, the next self-depreciating. Faramir could see a little of himself in the hobbit. “It’s fine.” He sat next to Frodo, who watched the affair with a tired smile. “Are you one of those friends?”

The hobbit looked exhausted, almost as dead as the land they threaded, but at this a small flush of colour returned to his skin. With a mischievous grin, he confessed conspiratorially, “When he wasn’t looking.”

“What?” Sam dropped the ladle, staring at him in surprise. A hand reached up, clutching his chest. “I could understand Merry and Pippin. But you too?”

Looking entirely unapologetic, Frodo shrugged. “Well, I was hungry.”

“Frodo Baggins!” Sam frowned, disappointed. Sternly, he pulled the ladle closer to him as though some mysterious had would steal it away. “Well, not this time.”

“Of course not,” Frodo blinked innocently, a beguiling smile on his face. He clasped his hands in front of him, looking troubled by the very thought. “Your stew is safe.”

Not buying it, Sam shook his head with a distrusting scowl. Lifting the ladle, he took a small sip and rolled the liquid around his mouth. He reached into his pouch, pulled out a pinch of some mysterious powder, and tossed it in. “Ok, this should do.” He grabbed a bowl and poured a spoonful of a steaming hot broth inside. “For you, sire.”

Faramir took the bowl and inhaled. While it largely smelled like any other rabbit stew, a few unfamiliar herbs flooded his senses. Whatever they were, it was a pleasant scent. “Smells good.”

“Thank you. Made it just like my gaffer did, a family recipe.” Sam smiled proudly, his hands on his hips. His smile dropped as he swivelled his head over to Frodo and squinted at him for a long moment. Grabbing a second bowl, he mused, “I think I’ll give this to Gollum first.”

Aghast, Frodo stood up in horror. Clearly, he had not considered the consequences of his admission. “No!”

“Yes!” Considering how much Sam hated the creature, this was clearly a sore point. With a sniff, he filled the bowl to the brim. “And then maybe for Faramir’s men and if anything is left over, then you.”

Faramir cracked a smile. “I doubt there is enough in there for all of my men.”

Sam pursed his lips disapprovingly. He stirred the pot three times, considering it, before conceding. “Fine. But Gollum first and then you. And if you steal a spoonful, that will be your last spoonful.”

Looking contrite, Frodo nodded. He clasped his hands behind his back. “I won’t touch anything.”

“I’ll watch him,” Faramir offered, chuckling as Sam trotted away in a huff. Meals with his brother used to be like this, warm and full of conversation.

Boromir. His eyes lowered, staring at the bowl in his hands. His brother, dead. His brother, gone. It was a strange thought, to know that his brother would never return to him, would never again stride through the halls with a laugh and a hearty wave.

“Faramir?” Frodo cocked his head, looking up at him in concern. He crouched next to Faramir, his hands on his knees. “Is something the matter?”

Shaking his head out of his thoughts, he stirred his bowl. “It’s nothing.” He took a small sip and his lips parted in surprise at the warm broth. It seemed Sam wasn’t all talk. “It’s delicious.”

“He’s a good cook.” Frodo sat, hugging his knees. Staring at the fire, he commented softly, “I don’t think I would have made it this far without him.”

Ah. The hobbits really did remind Faramir of himself. He had seen that exact look before in the mirror, while thinking of Boromir. “He’s a good companion.”

“More than he realizes.” Frodo added with a quiet smile. His fingers played with the folds of his pants. “He’s my best friend.”

His brother was his best friend too. No, Boromir had been his best friend. A dull ache came at the correction, at the realization that he had a lifetime of it. Faramir took another sip, the liquid carving a hot path down his throat. “Did my brother ever tell you about Gondor?”

“Yes, he wanted us to come.” Frodo nodded, chuckling. He glanced at Faramir. “He told us about your feasts. He said you’d have to roll us home after breakfast.”

Faramir shook his head. That sounded exactly like Boromir. Always terribly proud of Gondor, even in the smallest of matters. “I’m sure he made us sound grander than we are.” He looked at the bowl in his hands, warmer than any meal he’d had in Gondor since his brother left. If a trace of this could return to the halls, perhaps his father could change.

Perhaps they could all change and become the Gondor his brother was proud of once more.

“It might not be as filling, but I’ll make breakfast tomorrow,” Faramir offered.

“Really?” Frodo snapped his head to stare at him, excitement crossing his face. “Ohh…Merry and Pippin will be jealous.”

Faramir could almost hear his brother’s guffaw.

#lord of the rings #lotr #frodo baggins #aragorn #sam gamgee #faramir #boromir #eowyn #merry brandybuck #pippin took #legolas #gimli #fanfic #I couldn't include my favourite friendship #aragorn and frodo #their parting scene still is one of my favourite scenes

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anari3l · 5 years

Text

The Bargaining Chip pt. 2

Words: 1662

Pairings: Thranduil x Reader

Notes: So ... I’m glad to finally have this out, and sorry it took so long. This was originally planned to be the battle sequence, but I couldn’t make that work. So ... there will be more.

PART 1

Sitting against the cold stone was not comfortable, you had to admit. You would much rather sit against the wooden roots and caverns of your own home than sitting here, watching the two youngest dwarves pull pranks on one another.

The daft King was rarely seen after the last conversation with Bard and Thranduil. Balin and Dwalin were usually conversing about a plan of action while the other dwarves of the Company cleaned out rooms and halls and made the mountain fortress a bit more homey. For them.

Bilbo had disappeared as well. You had been speaking to him more often as you sat, waiting for the first sound of elven arrows being loosed, but he had a tendency to go off and disappear for hours at a time.

The sunset over the plains between Erebor and Dale was golden, highlighting the wildflowers within the valley, and tinting the ruined city of Dale into an almost frightening reminder of Dragon fire.

Balin had brought you tea, sitting down before you without pretense and sighing heavily. You glanced over to him, then down to the cup he had set before you. Your fair dress of silks and brocade were a stark contrast to the dark stone you sat upon.

“You must be able to speak with him,” Balin started.

Rolling your eyes, you turned away, back to the view of the fading sunlight. “This mountain holds more than jewels Thranduil wishes to be returned,” you spoke softly, but the edge in your voice was still present. “Perhaps I could speak with him, but you wish for me to get that stone back for your King …”

Balin nodded. “It is Thorin’s right —“

“He has a right to it, yes,” you spoke softly, turning back to Balin. “But what he lacks is the right to bargain a soul for an accursed rock. Let me leave this dank cavern of a mountain, and perhaps, I may speak to my king. I cannot guarantee it will do much.”

Balin sighed once more. “No, I do not believe it would.”

“They are both rather hard-headed,” you mused with a small smile.

——-

A loud crash followed Thranduil into his tent, the sword and armor stand by the doorway knocked to the floor, taking with it the small silver tray holding a wine service.

“Another day and no word from the mountain?” Bard asked, stepping into the tent after the elven king.

Legolas spoke for his father, watching the fury and anger swirl in Thranduil’s features. “Thorin will not part with Her so long as you hold the Arkenstone,” he answered.

“The Orcs you mentioned will be on us in a matter of hours,” Bard started. “There must be a way to reason with him —“

“He will not believe it,” Thranduil interjected, sitting in his chair at the front of the room. His chin rested on his hand, his gaze focused on a strand of the rug covering the dirt floor of the tent. “Tell The King Under the Mountain an army of Gundabad Orcs ride for the mountain, for his head, and he will still not part with Her, nor the jewels I desire.”

“Then we must send word to her,” Bard started, a hopeful gleam in his eye. “From what I’ve heard she’s a warrior. She must know —“

“How?” Thranduil interjected, voice stern and icy. His blue gaze bored into Bard. “His little Company fires on any messenger that rides into the valley.”

Silence dragged on between the three of them. Legolas bowed his head, listening to Tauriel’s voice as the guard was brought into line outside. Bard dropped his gaze, thinking back to all that had happened the last few days.

After a moment, Thranduil’s posture shifted, and both he and Legolas turned to a small sound in the corner of the tent, where the corner of the rug was flipped over.

“I’ll take a message,” a small voice said from behind Legolas and Bard. Bilbo stood a bit awkwardly near the doorway of the tent, hand tucked into the pocket of his waistcoat.

“You?” Bard asked.

Thranduil grinned, although it hardly changed the features on his face. “The Halfling has been able to get through the gates unseen. This is his second visit with us,” he mused, almost fondly. “Tell me, how do you manage it?”

Bilbo shrugged, stepping forward. “I’m quiet.”

“Will you take a message for us then?” Bard asked.

“I wish only for the safety of my friends and the Queen,” Bilbo nodded, gaze focused on Thranduil. “She’s a wonderful storyteller,” he added mostly to himself.

—-

A small scuff on the marble floor alerted you, ears pricking up the sound as your eyes focused on the darkness around you. Bilbo stepped around the small broken column at the opening of the little area you had confined yourself to, smiling brightly as he held out a rather large wrapped package for you.

The end of the package knocked against the stone bench as he neared, sending him off balance. Taking a few steps to correct himself, Bilbo smiled, setting the package to the side. “For you,” he nodded, sounding out of breath. “It was harder to hide than I had planned, and even harder to climb with it, but …” he trailed off as your hand pulled away the cloak wrapping the Elvish longbow.

“Where did you get this?”

“Thranduil,” Bilbo nodded succinctly. “There is news. News I would wish to share with the others, but Thorin will not listen to me. We are not safe here. Orcs … The Prince mentioned Orcs riding for the mountain.”

“No.”

Bilbo nodded, still trying to catch his breath. He started to pace, patting the pocket of his waistcoat as he thought, each step calculated and thought out whenever a new idea came about.

“I know Thorin wants the Stone. I know he will not let you leave until he has it, and even then, I’m not sure he will honor his word. I know you’re a strong fighter, and that Thranduil and Gandalf, and the Prince trust your abilities. So, a gift. I’ve never fought or ran in a dress, but I imagine it is a bit difficult. The Prince picked out the bow …”

“Thank you,” you interjected with a fond smile, fingers running over the woven tunic and leggings folded neatly in the package. “But, doing this,” you started, lowering your voice a bit more as you leaned forward. “This is dangerous, my friend. Why are you helping me?”

Bilbo met your gaze and faltered for a moment as he turned to face you, planting his feet square on the ground before straightening to address you. “They have the worst manners you could possibly imagine, but I know this is not Thorin. So, I’m helping.”

You smiled. “Thank you again, my friend.”

—-

You strode along the top of the gate, watching as the young dark haired dwarf notched arrows, readying his aim. His brother stood a few feet down, on a lower ledge with Dwalin, arrows notched and at the ready. Your little cubby hole around the top of the gate hid the quiver and bow Bilbo had snuck to you last night, the tunic and leggings hid beneath the dress you had been wearing, the bodice no longer fitting snug over the linen shirt beneath.

And the fields before you were riddled with corpses, both men and elf, you noticed as your gaze swept the plains. At the edge of Dale, you see the silver haired figure of your husband, sitting straight atop his elk. Turning on your heel, you faced Thorin, gaze icy and jaw tense as your anger bubbled to the surface. “This is what the lust for that stone has caused! This is the cost of …. of madness!”

Thorin’s gaze stayed on the field before the mountain, watching the fight. There were a few orcs you could see, but no larger company yet. The dwarven king stood with shoulders straight, the crown atop his head, and hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“You will let innocents die because of your greed?” You challenged, stepping forward as Thorin’s silence ground your nerves.

As your words died in the air, a thunderous sound erupted around the valley, and you watched in horror as a mountainside collapsed under the sheer numbers of orcs. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Thorin visibly tense.

Turning back with a flourish, you stalked past Thorin and Balin. “Sit up and here wait, then,” you conceded, unclasping the bodice of your dress to reveal the tunic. “Sit up here and watch like the daft king you are. But I will not stand by and let my kin die for your mountain!”

“Uncle!” Kili called from below, eyes wide as he spun to look up to Thorin.

Affixing the stolen quiver to your back, you spun back on your heel, notching an arrow before you had even reached the edge of the gate where Kili stood. None of the dwarves seemed to take mind as both you and Kili loosed arrows into the valley as orcs converged on the armies.

A large raven swooped low overhead, the bird coasting along before landing with a soft hop on the ledge beside Thorin’s hand. Following the bird with your gaze as you loosed another arrow, blindly into the valley, your brows furrowed as Thorin’s grin grew, his eyes sparkling as he turned slightly. Turning back, eyes widening, you watched as Dain’s army converged on the rise to your left, the dwarven army stampeding down into the valley.

Slowly, you turned back to Thorin, who had shed the heavy cloak he was wearing to grab a sword. Your grip on the string of your bow slackened, your gaze flicking back to Dale where the sight of Legolas and Tauriel riding away from the fight froze you to the spot.

#thranduil x reader #lotr fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert

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rotationalsymmetry · 2 years

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Re:

J. R. R. Tolkien: I will write about the horrors of war.

K. A. Applegate: lol what if Gandalf gotten eaten alive in front of them like immediately

OK, so I’m not going to fuck around on this person’s actual post, because while I’m a joyless pedant I’m at least a joyless pedant capable of recognizing when someone’s trying to make a joke and not serious literary analysis. (and ok, the joke is pretty funny.) At the same time.

Tolkien was absolutely not writing a story about the horrors of war. There is no way that’s a credible reading of Lord of the Rings.

It does have psychological suffering as a major theme. But that suffering does not come from war, and indeed is often ameliorated by fighting.

I am going to put forth arguments for this, please keep in mind that I’m still not an anti and “this book has a message I disagree with” is not “omg you’re a terrible person if you like this book” for crying out loud. You can be against war, and understand LOTR to not be anti-war, and also like LOTR. I would argue it is necessary to allow for the possibility of works that are “problematic” or that have messages that you don’t personally agree with, but are still ok to read, because if you don’t you end up pretending that books are saying different things than what they actually are. Your faves do not have to be unproblematic, any more than you and your friends should be categorically incapable of causing harm. People fuck up, books are problematic, it is how things are, and denying problems that exist is strictly worse than recognizing problems as problems.

I am aware there’s a popular fan theory that LOTR sprang out of Tolkien’s WWI experience, but I don’t think Tolkien would have endorsed that (given what he said in the forward about people suggesting the story was an allegory for WWII: I mean I guess it’s only human for people to speculate about whether a writer was influenced by personal experiences or world events, but at any rate Tolkien explicitly denies doing it on purpose) and also, even if the story was connected to his personal experience, a reading of the actual texts in no way supports a “war is harmful” message, definitely not a “war is useless/unambiguously harmful period” message (which, by the way, is a message media can have? Howl’s Moving Castle does, Terry Pratchett‘s Jingo and Small Gods do — in general, stories where the protagonist‘s side isn’t justified in fighting and that don’t end with the protagonist taking up arms for the other side) but also not even a ”war is sometimes a necessary evil, one that should be engaged in as little as possible becuade it causes tremendous harm even when it is the least bad option“ (iirc, the TV show Hercules takes this approach, but it’s been a while so I could be wrong; some episodes of DS9 go with it too.)

1. Frodo: not harmed by war either directly or symbolically. He‘s harmed by the Ring, by a physical manifestation of evil. He is harmed by evil itself, not by warfare -- he doesn’t even fight, except incidentally and occasionally (eg against the Balrog.) The character who’s physiologically destroyed the most in the book does almost no fighting.

2. Theoden: I don’t remember how the movie handles this, but in the book, Theoden is harmed by Wormtonge’s malicious council, again, being harmed by evil itself, and taking his sword up makes him better. There is no conceivable way a scene that involves lines like “As his fingers took the hilt, it seemed to the watchers that firmness and strength returned to his thin arm” is meant to be critical of warfare, in any regard. (This scene is also profoundly ableist, which is not surprising, since ableism and glorification of war tend to go together, for some reason (sarcasm).)

3. Sauruman: corrupted by greed and/or fear, not harmed by war.

4. Denethor: i’m not pulling together a case here, but I’m pretty sure whatever is going on with Denethor does not support a war is bad message.

5. Gimli and Legolas with their kill count competition. And in general, just…how the battle scenes are described, there’s suspense in “what if the good guys lose?” but the act of killing is presented as something that does not harm the killer. The danger is in being killed or conquered, not in inflicting violence or in witnessing violence.

6. The scouring of the Shire could potentially be seen as a ”war is bad” point — I don’t think it’s meant as war itself is bad, but that evil is bad and has to be fought. Very different message. also with some “wrecking the land is bad” and maybe “technological change is bad.” In our world, those things are very much connected to war, but apparently in Tolkien’s world the good guys are perfectly capable of fighting while still coexisting peacefully with the natural status quo as it were, or even embodying nature (the Ents.)

7. Evil. I’ve elsewhere argued that having an unambiguously evil opponent that can’t be defeated, pacified, or otherwise prevented from causing harm except through violence, is an intrinsically pro-war position, even if the writer is otherwise presenting a ”horrors of war” storyline. (Humans are very capable of going “look at this horrible thing that I find thoroughly horrifying” when…they’re actually kind of into the thing but don’t want to admit it? A lot of “look at this gross sex thing these other people do” is more rooted in fascination than revulsion, and that can happen with things other than sex too.) It’s possible that’s overly simplistic, and in any case, if you can have fundamentally anti-war stories that also focus on scenarios where war is according to the story’s logic necessary, LOTR is still not that kind of story. There are horrors in LOTR, and there is war, but the war is not the horror.

8. Side note, since I’m primarily arguing what war isn’t in LOTR rather than what it is (it isn’t presented as horrible, psychologically damaging, etc) but one could also make a case that battle in LOTR is symbolic of the internal struggle against despair. Fighting evil externally, orcs and Nazgûl and so on, is symbolic of fighting the internal evil of despair.

#Disagreement welcome

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reality-warp · 6 years

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Point That Thing Somewhere Else: Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Bonus

A/N: In answer to the very popular AU question in my inbox: what would it have been like if Eleanor had woken 65-ish years earlier in The Hobbit timeline, and joined the Company of Thorin Oakenshield instead of the Fellowship? Well…

We were down there for what felt like days before Thorin finally returned, informing us unashamedly that he’d insulted the king of the Woodland Realm into imprisoning us for probably the next hundred years.

I didn’t have the energy to be mad.

Or scared.

Or react at all really. Even when the occasional annoyed guard came to check up on us and peered curiously at me through the bars..

I was truly exhausted, and must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing I knew I’d woken up suddenly hours later, chilly, and curled on my side on the smooth stone of my cell.

How long had I been out?

It must have been a while. The rest of the company were all finally quiet again after hours of hurling dwarves abuse. And there was the sound of something going on up on the floors above. Sounds of laughter, and music, and the unmistakable clamours of happy, drunken merriment.

Whatever it was going on up there, it sounded like a miles better party than anything I’d ever seen thrown in Rivendell. I was almost sorry I hadn’t tried to blag my way out by cunning use of my elf status.

Almost.

As I sat up something metallic clattered to the stone beside me. I jumped a little at the echoing sound piercing the quiet, but relaxed when I saw it was only one of my little throwing knives �� one of the few I’d managed to hide before we’d been forced to give up all out weapons by the supermodel brigade. The sight of it was oddly welcoming in the dim light of my cell, and a comforting weight in my hand when I picked it up, twirling it between my fingers like a pen.

“Where did you get that?”

This time, I did jump. The male voice had come from right outside my cell, and I jerked my head up to see the blond Disney prince glaring down at me from right outside the bars.

What the hell? How had he got so close without me hearing him?

His icy grey-blue eyes were fixed on the little throwing blade in my hand, his expression stuck somewhere between and confused and annoyed.

I smiled up at him, hiding my nerves behind the practiced wall of bravado I’d been perfecting over the past few weeks walking and talking with Fili and Kili. This prissy git didn’t need to know that I’d accidentally sliced through half the laces on the front of my breastband in my haste to hide the little blade up there. Or that I’d had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from wincing every time the hilt poked into my boob as we’d been walked inside the halls.

“What? This little thing?” I asked, twirling the blade between my fingers like it was a playing card or a poker chip. “It’s barely a toothpick. I have surgical needles that could do more damage.”

The handsome elf didn’t look in the least bit impressed. He just stuck a bare upturned hand through the bars, and I noticed he’d changed out of his previous leather armour and gloves into so a simple green tunic — the nearest equivalent to casual wear elves generally got.

If it wasn’t for the death glare, he’d have almost looked at ease. At home.

“Hand it over,” he ordered. I eyed him, still smirking.

“Afraid I’ll pick my way out?”

He glared harder.

“Even if you did, there is nowhere in these halls where you could run.”

“You haven’t seen me run,” I countered, standing up to face him very carefully so I was exactly two paces from the door.

I’d worked out earlier that my cell was just big enough that if I stood in the absolute centre, I’d be just out of reach of anyone’s fingers were they to try and grab me through the bars. The dark expression that crept into his eyes said he knew it too, and I held up the little knife pretending to inspect it for dents.

“You know, highness,” I said feigning confidence I didn’t quite feel, and got a twinge of satisfaction at seeing his eye begin to twitch. “Just because you’re a prince doesn’t actually mean that everything you say goes. As you so eloquently pointed out earlier, you’re not my sovereign. So, if you want this back, you’re going to have to unlock that door to get to it.”

Judging by the look on his face moments before I was pretty sure my baiting words would have condensed his quiet annoyance into outright anger. Instead, his face shifted from a deep frown to a quietly puzzled expression, looking at me through the bars as if trying to solve a riddle in his head. Then his eyes flicked to the knife still held loosely in my grip, closed his eyes, shook his head, and walked away towards the stairs.

He’d barely gone a few steps when a nagging question flew out of me.

“How are the others?” I heard myself call before I could think better of it.

I knew he’d heard me when his footsteps halted. I really expected him to just ignore me and continue back to the party upstairs. So it was a bit of a surprise when he answered.

“They’re sleeping…” he said quietly, paused, then added; “And snoring.”

The air escaped my lungs in a rush of relief.

“Good,” I whispered, closing my eyes for a second, letting a little of the anxiety leave me. “It’s been a long journey, they’re all exhausted. Might not be high class accommodation but at least they’re getting time to rest properly.”

Maybe the wine he’d had at the feast upstairs had loosened his rigid grasp of protocol because when I opened my eyes he was at the bars of my cells again. Only this time he didn’t look angry, annoyed, or judgment. He just looked confused.

“You care about their wellbeing so much?” He asked softly. He actually had a nice voice now that it wasn’t laced with distain. Low, smooth, and surprisingly gentle.

I met his eyes through the bars and refused to flinch away from them.

“I’m their healer. It’s my job.”

“And what does a Dwarven company require of an Elven healer?” He asked, that curious gleam never leaving his eyes.

I shrugged nonchalantly.

“Besides a regular cure for hangovers?” I asked, folding my arms and smiling at him. He didn’t look impressed, rolling his eyes and starting to turn away again. The odd thing was, for some reason, the very idea of him going and leaving me here on my own in the quiet again made me feel cold. So, again, I spoke without thinking. “Your Guard Captain was down here earlier. She seems to have grown quite fond of our second youngest and his tall tales.”

Again, he stopped. Well froze really, only turning back to face me after he’d schooled his handsome face into a deliberately neutral expression.

It looked a little like he’s just bitten into a lemon.

“What?”

I shrugged again. “Your Guard Captain. You know: hazel eyes, wicked with daggers, long red hair past her hips. She was down here listening to Kili telling stories just a little while ago.”

Now it looked as if he’d bitten into a rotten lemon.

“What? You disapprove?” I asked amused, eyeing him closely. When he didn’t react, I leaned forward, squinting at him. Then my eyes widened as I realised what he was trying to hide. “Oh my God, you’re jealous!”

That spurned Disney prince analogy was starting to look rather accurate.

“I am certainly not,” Legolas’s sharp cheekbones coloured very slightly as he scowled at me. I snorted.

“Please, with a pokerface like that you have no secrets.”

His annoyed expression turned even more pink around the ears, and I almost regretted the jibe. Trying to soften my amused expression, I inclined my head to him.

“Have you thought about just telling her?”

I don’t think I could have gotten a most flustered reaction from if I’d started stripping right there in the cell.

“That is not—” he all but sputtered, unable to hide the reddening of his cheeks, neck and ears, even when he dragged a hand down the centre if his face. He half sighed half growled at me. “Even if I were, I hardly think it is any concern of yours.”

I just raised an eyebrow at him. He glared down at me for a long moment, then finally made a disgusted noise, all but throwing his hands up in defeat.

“You truly expect me to take romantic advice from a prisoner being held in my own cells?”

“They aren’t your cells, Prince Charming, they’re the King’s. Anyway, it’s not like I have anything better to do in here than hand out unsolicited advice.” I waved a hand as if sweeping away the idea, leaning towards him a little more in question. “So?”

He looked away down the hall at the other cells, rubbing the back of his neck in aggravation, as if afraid another guard might appear on the stairs and overhear him. But he didn’t leave.

“I… have considered it,” he admitted reluctantly. I nodded in understanding, refusing to let the amused smile onto my face.

“She seems fond of you.”

“Not in that way.”

“I noticed that too,” I said gently. “I’m sorry.”

His handsome face twisted at the edges, a dark look slipping down over his eyes as he stared hard at me through the gloom.

“I do not require your pity.”

I rolled my eyes at him, not even trying to hide my annoyance.

“It’s not pity, you knob. Its empathy,” I snapped, sinking down to sit crosslegged on the floor of my cell, leaning my elbows on my knees. “I know what its like to not feel good enough for someone.”

Silence hung in the air like fog for a long while. I didn’t bother to look up, and was half sure he’d vanished back upstairs again. But then he asked me something I hadn’t been asked in almost three years.

“What is your name?”

I looked up from the stone floor of my prison to meet his eyes. His pokerface was back in place, but his eyes were no longer chips of ice boring into mine. They were the soft grey-blue of a winter sky at dawn, when the sunlight is a gentle warmth on your skin, but the frost in the air is crisp enough to show each of your breaths as steam…

“Eleanor,” I answered softly, hearing myself as if far away, then without thinking added; “my friends call me Ellie.”

Now why the hell had I told him that?

“And why are you travelling with thirteen Dwarves, Eleanor?” He asked, nodding his head towards the other cells where I could hear Dwalin and Bomber snoring. I rolled my shoulders in a tired shrug.

“Does it matter? It won’t change the fact that I have a set of bars between me a freedom now.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, stepping a little closer to said bars. “But I would still like to know.”

I’d never been very good a lying, and I’d never liked doing it even when I had to. I’d barely known this pointy-eared guy for a few hours, if that. I didn’t like him, and I didn’t trust him. But for some reason the very idea of being even vaguely dishonest with him made my stomach twist in discomfort. I couldn’t explain why, but it felt like he’d know I was deceiving him by just hearing my voice.

I shifted in my sitting position, suddenly uncomfortable there on the cold stone floor.

“I’m… looking for something. Or someone, I guess,” I admitted, avoiding his eyes and instead fixing my gaze on his tunic’s embroidered collar. “… My brother.”

“Would I know him by name?” He asked. I pulled a face and shook my head in an uncertain motion.

“I don’t know. I’m having some… issues with my memory. I can only remember a nickname, a voice, and a face… Var. His name is Var. Curly brown hair, green eyes like mine.” I explained, curling my arms around myself, the words tumbling out of me without me really thinking about them, or who I was offering them up to. “I know it’s not much to go on.”

He inclined his head in agreement, that gentle look in his cool eyes softening just a little more than before.

“Indeed not. Though if I happen to hear of him, I will inform you.”

I blinked up at him in surprise. But I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Thanks,” I murmured, a bit dazed by the sudden civilness. He just nodded at me in acceptance of the gratitude, and before he could move to either speak again or walk away, and shifted forward to interrupt him. “By the way there is something I wanted to ask of you actually.”

Now it was his turn to raise a dark gold eyebrow at me.

“Oh?”

“My knife, the one you took back in the forest…”

Maybe it was my imagination, but I could have sworn I saw a flicker of remorse cross his features before it was smoothed away.

“I cannot return it to you while you are still a prisoner,” he told me gently.

“Obviously not,” I said impatiently, sighing and giving him what I hoped was a sincere look. “Just… look after it for me, please? It’s very important to me.”

To my surprise, he didn’t turn his nose up at me or sneer. He looked me dead in the face and inclined his head, placing his head over his heart in promise as he did.

“No harm will come to it. You have my word.”

I don’t know why, but I believed him completely, and the relief that came with it forced the breath from me in a rush.

“Thank you,” I smiled, genuinely this time.

Again, maybe it was my imagination, but I could have sworn for a second that he almost returned it, the corner of his lip twitching ever so slightly upwards…

“Though, on that subject of blades, there is just one more problem that requires my attention.”

“And what is—?”

Before I knew what was happening, his arm had shot through the bars like a striking snake, seizing me by the wrist. I was pulled off the floor as he yanked me towards him, falling hard against the door at an awkward angle. My knife — which I’d almost entirely forgotten I was holding — fell from my fingers, and went clattering through the bars and across the floor outside.

Bloody hell, he was strong.

I could almost feel the future ring of finger-shaped bruises encircling my wrist. I was almost too shocked to react at first, the sudden pain rushing up my side from where I’d hit the doorway. Pulling myself out of my daze I noticed absently that he was still holding my arm in his hand, though not nearly as firmly as before. I automatically opened my mouth to give him an ear full and…

And the words died instantly on my tongue.

I hadn’t realised how close we’d got when he pulled me to the door, and the shock had forced me to suck in a startled breath. And with it, the unmistakable scent of freshly cut grass, pine needles, the aroma of a forest after a rainstorm, all lightly tinged with the rich notes of red elvish wine…

His scent, my subconscious purred, the thought sending an uncomfortably warm sensation pulsing through me.

But that made no sense. How could one person smell like all those things at once?

My nose had become ludicrously good as an elf. I could identify most toxins and herbs just by their scent alone, but this was…

Whatever had just happened to me, something similar have obviously happened with him too. The blond elf prince just stared at me incredulously, still gripping my bare wrist, though his hold had gone slack. I could feel the warmth of his paralysed fingers on my skin, his blue-grey eyes wide with shock, lips slightly parted…

And barely inches away from my own.

I jerked away from the bars on instinct, falling onto my butt and trying to put as much distance as I could between our faces. He made no attempt to hold me there. He just stared slack-jawed and wide-eyed at me, like I’d just whispered a terrible secret in his ear.

“Wha…what just…?”

But I didn’t get a chance to finish asking what in hell had just happened before he stood, winter sky eyes still wide, and fled back up the stairs on eerily soundless feet.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Bonus

#mine #my writing #ravame's bane #ravame's bane trilogy #hobbit au #au #alternate universe #alternate timeline #eleanorxlegolas #eleanor dace #legolas #fili #kili #tauriel #orelion #ocs #mirkwood

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