#to wield that fire to let it ground you so you can forge a brighter future

[astrangertomykin]

I truly honestly understand what the hell Ashton was thinking in that moment and cannot find myself to be mad at them. When you spend your life in pain already, there is no threat or fear of more. It's all the same, really. Especially when this way you could use it to help the people you love and, finally, make that pain worthwhile.

#ashton greymoore #critical role spoilers #critical role #bells hells #CHRONIC PAIN FEELERS HOW WE DOING #BECAUSE FUCK #it's being given the chance to weaponise that pain that has hurt you your whole life #to take it and to grasp it and to gain strength from it to protect those you love #to do some fucking good #to fall apart and be remade with gold threaded through your veins and your skin burning to the bone #to wield that fire to let it ground you so you can forge a brighter future #fuck hey ashton if ya wanna talk after your friends stop beating your ass I'm here bestie #i get you

[aweebwrites]

Allies Ch15

Lloyd caught Morro in a large orb of his green energy, showing him a real whirlwind by having it spin around rapidly before slamming him down into the hot sand at top speed, an agonized roar echoing as he made impact. He wouldn't die from something so simple of course. He was Wu’s son after all. Lloyd shielded his eye as he kicked up a sand storm with an enraged roar. He really doesn’t quit, does he? His wind attacks are clearly barely effective and as annoying as sand is, it was doing zero damage. If they were in an area with more than just sand, he was sure he would put up a better fight but he was disadvantaged out here. This was becoming tiresome and he needed to ensure no-one goes to aid Wu. He gathered his green energy as Morro pelted him with sand. He allowed his green energy to explode outwards, banishing his sandstorm and throwing him out even further into the desert.

Morro grunted as he came to a stop, panting heavily as he glared down the so called Green Knight. He was at a disadvantage, that was clear. He couldn’t get close enough to make use of his talons or teeth because he had range on his side. Morro too had range but his range was ineffective. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to accept it, but he was too powerful. He couldn’t defeat him like this. He got to all fours, snorting once the Penumbrian Prince began walking towards him. His body was in pain all over and his back left leg was throbbing intensely but he had to keep fighting. He couldn’t win this like this, that was clear but he had to keep this guy away from his father. He didn’t know how but he had to. His attention was snapped to a bright flash of blue behind him before his eyes widened at the sight of a wave of blue energy moving rapidly towards them, leaving solid ice behind it.

Lloyd turned around at the loud sound of an explosion- before his eyes widened at the wave of blue energy racing towards him. This wasn’t apart of the plan! He turned back to Morro as he attempted to fly away from the blast and moved to take after him- only to be immediately encased in thick ice. Morro grunted as the shockwave threw him back, ice forming on his tail and wings, sending him spiraling out of the sky. He landed roughly but it was enough to break the ice on his wings. He grumbled as he pushed himself up, hating that he was batted around like a cat’s toy all of today. He glanced back- and his eyes widened at the thick ice that covered the landscape, thinning out then stopping right at his still frozen tail. He didn’t know Zane had powers like that… And it was a good thing that he did. The Green Knight was frozen solid, a determined expression still on his face. This was his chance! With him out of the way, he can help his father! He curled his tail close and bit into the ice there, breaking it off from his tail before he took to the sky.

____

Garmadon glared down the dragon that was his brother in the air as their powers clashed between them, gold on dark purple, pushing back and forth but unable to move more than a few inches in the opposite direction. He was chipping at Wu’s defenses but of course he and his brother had to be evenly matched. Someone had to eventually fall however, and that person would be- Their attention shifted once a loud sound filled the air, both Dragon and Oni’s eyes going wide as they spotted the explosion of blue racing towards them. They broke apart, Wu flying up to avoid the impact and Garmadon using his cloak as a shield, letting the ice engulf him from the blast while activating his destructive powers, shattering it almost immediately after. He shook his cape out then surveyed the damage, able to tell only he and Wu were the ones to escape the blast of frigid cold.

“Lloyd…” Garmadon whispered, worry filling his heart for his son.

He glared up at Wu as he descended again, fangs bared. This was something he hadn’t foresaw happening. He hadn’t known any of them had that much power or range. This battle has now hit critical. Garmadon grunted once a strong gust of wind sent him flying back, landing on all fours as he hissed, looking up at the son  of Wu who had also inherited the blood of dragons. He was outnumbered now, overpowered too. He refused to lose! He turned tail and ran up the mountain, both dragons firing at him, right on his tail. Morro kept trying to blow him off the mountain but Garmadon was keeping all six limbs on the ground for a reason, his claws allowing him to keep hold of the rocky surface that made up the Golden Peak. He glanced back, seeing them both flying in to grab him by the talons- then used his destructive powers to break apart the side of the mountain, throwing himself over the rock slide he created as he did. He didn’t wait to see if it slowed them down or not, not when he could see the top already.

He swore to his people, to his son he would end this war and he will even if it killed him. He panted as he finally came to the top, pulling out all four weapons then held them out before the mouth of the Golden Peak, brightly glowing gold bubbling just below. He grinned as an orb of said gold floated up to meet him and he released the weapons into it, allowing the mountain to do its part.

“Yes… It’s working…” He says as he impatiently waited for the Mega Weapon to be forged, the orb of gold glowing brighter, growing more compact.

He shielded his eyes as it exploded into an almost blinding burst of light. Once the light lessened, he looked back, marveling at the sight of the Mega Weapon floating just within reach, reaching for it. Before his claw could so much as touch it he was grabbed in strong jaws and thrown, a roar of rage leaving him as he soared, just barely managing to grab onto the edge of the peak, boiling gold below him.

“Your reign of terror ends now.” Wu says after shifting back into his more humane form, glaring across at him as Morro joined him.

Garmadon hissed, quickly climbing up the side and running back to where the Mega Weapon was floating, Wu reaching for it. If he gets the Mega Weapon-!

“Aah!” Morro yelled as both he and Wu were knocked aside in a flash of Green, Morro’s wind saving them from a burning death, setting them down on the mouth of the peak again.

“Lloyd!” Garmadon called in relief, the large green dragon that was his son beating his wings to stay mid air. “Quick Lloyd! The Mega Weapon!” He urged as he was closer than he currently was.

“No!” Wu yelled as Morro launched himself at Lloyd to stop him but he was too late.

Lloyd wrapped his paw around the Mega Weapon and Garmadon laughed, knowing victory was now theirs- But then, the weapon glowed a bright gold, the energy of it traveling up Lloyd’s paw and taking him over, turning his scales to gold as it went.

“Lloyd?!” Garmadon called out, rushing towards his son as Wu did, not liking this at all.

Lloyd couldn’t comprehend what was happening. So much… Power…! His eyes grew overcast with gold as the golden energy wrapped around him, becoming one with him. He was seeing flashes, seeing the Mega Weapon in his father’s hand, seeing him make his wish… Seeing Ninjago fall to ruin… Seeing everyone and everything fall under corruption… No. This can’t be true! His father would never! His father- his father- 

Garmadon chuckled as he sat upon the blackened throne of the Fulgoric palace that now lay in ruins, purple eyed and enslaved elemental masters awaiting his bidding. The people of this realm, cowering in fear of him… And his new army of Oni, of dark creatures with nothing but destruction and hatred in their hearts, who wanted to see all of the realms destroyed and nothing more… And him?... Locked away beneath his feet, shackled and muzzled like an animal.

He gasped as he came to again, shifting back to his humane form somewhere along that vision. He panted heavily as he stared wide eyed at the staff he still held, floating mid air as he still was. If his father… Got the staff then… Then…

“Don’t go anywhere near my son!” His father’s yell drew his attention and he watched as his father wielded the dark magic gifted to him for the first time since that accident, Wu quick to use his own Golden Power to counter it.

“You’ve seen it, haven’t you?!” Wu yelled, looking up to meet his eyes as Morro recovered from an earlier attack. “You are the Green Knight! The only one in all of Ninjago to wield the same power as my father, the First Spinjitzu Master had! It is your destiny to save Ninjago! Not aid your father in destroying it! He may have filled your head with his lies but you must listen to your heart! You know this isn’t right! You must not let him have the Mega Weapon! Give it to me instead! The faith of Ninjago as we know it depends on it!” He yelled and Lloyd’s breathing picked up.

“Don’t listen to him son! Whatever the staff might have shown you is not true!” Garmadon yelled back, gathering destructive energy in his lower hands and blasting it at Wu too and he grunts, skidding back a bit.

“Give the Weapon to me!”

“No, to me!”

Lloyd pressed his hands over his ears, confused and in shock. What should he do? Should he betray his father and give the Weapon to Wu? Or should he believe his father and give him the Weapon? What was best for Ninjago? Who was best for Ninjago? He didn’t believe for one second that Wu was the good one here. But if that vision was right, neither was his father. He thought back to the Garmatron, thought of him using Dark Matter… He swallowed thickly. They both pledge peace but what is true peace? Does such a thing even exist? And really, if that vision… If it was true… Then… Then… Was he the evil one? Was all his hopes and efforts… For naught? He watched them battle, watched Morro glare him down as he held his broken arm, Wu before him. He has to make a decision! He looked at the Golden Weapon, at his reflection there.

Maybe he could do it by himself? End this war? He could use the weapon… At least then he’d be sure that Ninjago wouldn’t fall to ruin. But how would he do it? What would he say? How could he end this? Does he even have the mindset to even use it? The Weapon demands a strong mind to use it and right now, his mind was all over the place as he questioned everything.

“Lloyd!” He looked to his father once he called to him, his glowing gold eyes filling with tears of frustration, of just too much. “This is what destiny wants of you. It demands that you be the one to choose how this war ends. I will not force you to hand the weapon over to me but the Weapon can be dangerous to those without a strong mind.” Garmadon told him, a stalemate drawn between he and Wu as they looked up to him.

“Before this war, my kingdom and even myself, you are what matters most to me… Be strong and… Be careful.” He whispered at the end, red eyes filled with nothing but concern for his son.

“He’d clearly say anything to make you believe him.” Morro huffed and Lloyd looked to him with a frown. “Don’t you get it? He’s an Oni. Those monsters only think of hatred, revenge and deception, nothing more. You can’t trust them and you sure as hell can’t trust him. If you’re waiting for a sign of what to do, clearly you’ve already had it. Now either choose or use it yourself so we can be done with this!” He snapped and Lloyd frowned deeper.

“Embrace your destiny, Lloyd.” Wu nods at him and he looked at them all.

Destiny, huh? It’s always been about destiny. Every bit of this war has been stained by the word. Something is always destined to happen and always through hardship and sacrifice… He was starting to hate that word as much as his father does. Destiny… Listen to his heart… He lifted his head, gold eyes filling with adamancy. He’s decided. _______________________ (Who will he choose? 🤔 Thanks for reading!!!) _______________________ Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14

#ninjago #lloyd ninjago #ninjago morro #Lord Garmadon #Sensei Wu #aweebwrites' work

[whereisthefood123]

Two words mightier than iron

Setting: Alvarez arc, before the battle against Bloodman, the chapter/episode of "you're under arrest for complaining too much"

Words: 1.8k

Prompt Lovefest19: Day 2- Kiss me

A/N: It's been a while guys! As usual, I'm late for the event lol! This is for day 2 of Gajevy Lovefest 2019 - “kiss me” @gajevyevents. Thank you so much to @ranunculusfox for beta reading this :D Hope you guys enjoy this little thing I wrote! SFW even if it's for lovefest :)

AO3 // FFNET

"Kiss me"

It's a whisper and a clamour. It's a plea and a command. It's everything he wanted to hear and yet Gajeel's world is turned upside down by her words.

Figures. Words have always been her power, her domain, her weapon.

Yet, she doesn't wield them to strike Gajeel down, but he's still close to collapsing on his knees in front of her. Her words are always kind but powerful enough to bring down his iron walls, the ones he had carefully crafted around his heart.

Stay away. His walls had proclaimed a long time ago in cast-iron forged with the fire of his hate and cruelty.

But with each flick of her eyelashes that revealed bright hazel eyes, a new crack appeared on his walls. By the time they were on Tenrou Island, his walls were all but non-existent, yet he still believed he had them. Gajeel needed to believe it, he had survived within these walls; a dragon without a castle is a beast without a purpose. What was the dragonslayer without his barriers but a simple man with nothing to offer but iron fists and roars to the most amazing woman in the world?

Time passed since Tenrou, and he found himself sharing a living space with Levy and Lily in the Council's Headquarters. New walls rose around his heart, taller, mightier, sturdier than before. Instead of hate and cruelty, these new barriers were built from self-hatred and insecurities. She was too good for him, and he was a bastard that didn't deserve the love she was offering him so willingly. Besides, he reasoned, it had everything to do with her angelic nature and not with him; it couldn't be that she loved him. She was someone always willing to love everything. She loved every book, every fictional character she met in the lines of ink and paper, she trusted every stranger on the street and believed the world could be a kind place where anyone would enjoy the simplest things life had to offer, like a cup of coffee shared among friends, or the smell of the early blossoms in spring.

Gajeel loved her for this; he loves her for this. She was so simple and yet so amazingly complicated at the same time. A puzzle his mind and heart were still trying to decipher after all this time, and he enjoyed every single new detail he learned about her. Like how she is not a morning person, or how her smile widens when the early stars shine in the night sky; how her eyes light with something fiercer than the breaths of the fire dragons, or how her soul rejoices when a mission is completed with no major injuries involved.

She was everything he had ever wished for in a life partner yet she was also everything he had never thought he needed. He hated himself for loving her so much and his self-hatred only grew when he was reminded of how they've met. But the simplest things like one of her smiles thrown his way or the blush that tinted her cheeks when he was a bit too close to her, made him believe that maybe he was worth it. That maybe this, whatever it was, was right. That he could spend his life by her side, no labels attached, even when he was oh so willing to go down on one knee and offer her the world, a promise forged in an iron ring. He would be content to be by her side as long as she would let him.

But now, with the war against Alvarez looming over them and the battlefield so close to their campsite, Gajeel felt true fear for the first time in his life. Not even when Metalicana left had he lost his sleep like he did this night. Nightmares were familiar to the mage who wallowed in self-hatred since the Fairy Tail emblem was tattooed on his left shoulder. But this night, he couldn't even close his eyes without seeing the image of a blue-haired fairy lying face down unmoving on a flower field covered by snow and her blood staining deeply into the white layer turning it crimson.

He had sought some comfort in looking at the horizon, making sure no enemy would ambush them as the rest of the team slept snuggled close to the small bonfire to chase away the chill of the night. But he had sensed how restless she was since the moment their journey to the North began. It was no surprise when her shuffling steps came closer to him, the snow crunched under her light feet.

What surprised him were her words. Not that it was something uncommon, yet this time, her words lacked the usual breath of kindness and fierceness laced between each letter. Instead, insecurities traced the shape of her words, faintly reminding him of the essence that strengthens his iron walls. She worried about the battle and feared she wouldn't be strong enough to deal with this enemy. Gajeel could still hear her conviction underneath her self-doubt. She wouldn't back down from the fight, even when she thought the enemy to be extraordinary; she would go all out to protect her guild, her friends, her family.

That's what terrified Gajeel the most. The image of the blue-haired fairy on the flower field covered by crimson snow came back to his mind and he shivered.

Not a chance. He wouldn't let that happen. He would protect her; they would come out victorious from this battle. Fairy Tail would prevail so the iron dragonslayer could spend his afternoons at every bookshop in Magnolia accompanying a short blue-haired fairy in search for the latest novels she craved for so much.

He doesn't really know how to convey this though. Words were always her thing, not his. So, he let his magic flow, and it forms the iron pillars that now surround her. But she isn't afraid, maybe annoyed, but not fearful, not from him, not anymore since that day he took Laxus's lightning strike on her behalf. He leans close to her, maybe too close for someone who swears to be content with just spending time with this tiny fairy, with just being friends with her. Then, he makes a promise, hidden among his weird threats of imprisonment.

Thanks to any deity above she gets it, she deciphers the hidden message as easily as she has decoded ancient tomes. Then, she smiles at him, soft lips tilting up and eyes shining impossibly bright and it's all for him. With no one else around, he takes his time to commit to memory every single detail of her ethereal features. His hands twitch, yearning to hold her, to embrace her so carefully, to get tangled in her soft blue waves and rub gentle circles on her back.

As he's willing his hands to still and his mind to lock away his fantasies, she utters two words and his world turns on its axis as if the ground had exploded under his feet.

"Kiss me," Levy's soft voice commands him. She takes a step forward. He can almost feel her warmth so close to his body.

He notices it, of course, he notices it! How her eyes flick from his eyes to his lips and linger there, longing, yearning for something that could be but requires an enormous amount of courage to reach for it.

Gajeel always prided himself of his strong walls and iron hide. But two words, two words from the fairy that could will any letter to life with a flick of her fingers, had his barriers vanishing. They didn't crumble as Gajeel had expected. No, if they had crumbled to dust it would have been devastating, he would have felt vulnerable, exposed, raw to the world to mock the simple man that hid behind these walls. Instead, her words lifted his walls, they went up in light specs willingly and beautifully until they mixed with the stars above and shone in the galaxies hidden in her hazel eyes. His iron walls had kept the entire world at arms' length, Levy included. But the tender breath infused in her words made him see, for the first time, the path that lay ahead of him, where Levy stood with an extended hand for him to take and a gentle smile on her lips. There was no destruction, no havoc, no despair, there was only peace as his barriers lifted, as the blindfold tied securely around his heart was undone and he could finally see the eyes that shone a bit brighter only when they looked at him.

There is no hesitation when he dissipates the distance between them and leans even closer to her. With their breaths mingling together, he waits for a baited second, searching her eyes for the smallest trace of hesitation.

He finds none.

His lips seal over hers in a gentle caress, while his hands find their purchase at the back of her head and the small of her back. He breathes her in and everything, for once, feels right in Gajeel's life. Everything falls in place. A second that feels like an eternity yet too short for him makes him forget their beginning, his mistakes, his hatred and cruelty, his self-loathing and insecurities, the war looming over them threatening their future. Everything feels right just by holding Levy in his arms and kissing her soft lips with such tenderness that even Gajeel doubted himself capable of.

When their lips part, he looks at her with half-lidded eyes, begging to anyone, anything, that this is real and not just another clever hoax created by his mind. Because he had dreamt about this a thousand times if not more. But never, in all those scenarios, had his mind been able to portray the utter joy that radiates from her smile in this moment. She is beautiful, so full of love, of light, of kindness and oh so willing to share it with Gajeel.

He is such a lucky bastard.

Then, he notices something else. Just a quick flick of his eyes to her lips and he sees it. The promise he's made, sealed on her lips. A promise for a future together, for a family, for happiness.

He cannot hide the smirk that tugs at his lips. She is a cunning little fairy, a renowned script mage across all Fiore. She knows the power of words. And she also knows a kiss to be stronger than words thrown to the wind. No war, no enemy, no disaster would be able to keep Gajeel from tasting his fairy's lips one more time, in a peaceful moment, in the comfort of their shared home, in the quiet of the night.

I love you, Levy.

He lacks the courage, or the ability, or maybe both, to utter the words. But by any divine being that is looking after them, Levy understands him. Words were her prowess and she had learned long ago how to read Gajeel like an open book, her most favourite book.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoy this :) leave a comment/reblog if you did! I'll try my best to write more often now that I have a least chaotic semester haha

WTF (Where's The Food?)

#gajevy #gajevylovefest #gajevylovefest19 #gajeel redfox #levy mcgarden #fanfic #fairy tail #where's the food fanfiction #Gajeel has a lot of feelings #and he's bad at dealing with them #lucky him he's got levy to help him get his shit together #*me after three margaritas in a bar with some friends* I HAVE THE PERFECT IDEA FOR THAT PROMPT OF LOVEFEST #*proceeds to write all of this as soon as I got home* #I'm going for some beers tonight too. I hope I get the inspo and write for the discord weekly challenge lol

[a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan]

Linked Universe Fanfiction ch. 9: Can We Get Back to Adventuring, Please?

Stop! You’ve Violated the Law!

So, you’ve stumbled upon this original post for my Linked Universe fanfiction. That’s okay, it happens to everyone. As of March 2021, I’ve uploaded the entirety of this fanfic to my Archive of Our Own page. Along with finally giving the story a name--Oops! All Links: A Linked Universe Story--I made substantial edits to some of the chapters. These range from minor stylistic revisions to fixing a gaping plot hole that kinda completely broke the character conflict in the earlier chapters. I also renamed and renumbered (but not reordered) the chapters. Specifically, this is now Chapter 11: Can We Get Back to Adventuring, Please?

The AO3 iterations of these chapters are the definitive versions. So, if you would like to read this fanfiction, please do so on AO3, right here. With this embedded link. Hehe. Geddit? Link?

Note: My screen name on AO3 is FrancisDuFresne. Yes, that is me. I am not plagiarizing myself.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, the rest of the original post is below the cut.

The Links continue their journey to the next village and now face a dense, dark forest. By the way, have you ever wondered what the Links think of the Timeline? Thus continues my fan narrative of the @linkeduniverse AU. Word count: 1275

“Just a few more minutes, boys!” Wind exclaimed. “We’ll be out of these hills and into the… oh, shoot.”

Legend smirked. “You forgot about the possible swarms of monsters?”

“… Yeah.”

The Links had been walking a shade above three hours since returning to reality. The fire was far from gone from their minds, but they were glad to be rid of this place. They had to admit it was beautiful, though. The noontime sun shone on rolling hills, wind blowing the tall, swaying grass. A few clouds had crept up on the edges of the horizon but showed no sign of raining on their proverbial parade.

As far as Time was concerned, things were back to normal. His companions hadn’t brought up the masks, and they acted no differently towards him than before today. Time suspected they may still have questions but didn’t want to dampen their good mood by asking them. That was fine. They could discuss it more tonight when they were comfortable and safe in an inn.

Wild chuckled. “Relax, Wind. We don’t know for sure if there are any monsters. The woods are just so thick that I can’t get a good reading of it.”

“After yesterday,” Legend began, “I’m not shocked there are limitations to that Slate of yours.”

Wild was about to shoot back a retort when Sky butted in, “Drop it. We got out of there safely.”

“Thanks to you, Sky.” Hyrule said.

“You can thank Fi,” he replied, patting the Master Sword’s hilt above his right shoulder. “She was the one that guided us.”

“She is quite the sword,” Time added. Secretly, he hated the Master Sword. He saw it as a curse, one of the many factors that led to his childhood suffering. However, it was a blessing to the other six of them that wielded it. He felt it best not to sully their opinion of it.

“Fi helped me too, once,” Wild said.

Sky looked at the back of Wild’s head; the latter had the map and was leading the group. He thought Fi had only ever spoken to him. He wasn’t offended, per se, more shocked than anything. “Really?”

“I was mortally wounded when Calamity Ganon struck my Hyrule a century ago. Zelda thought I was doomed, but the Master Sword glowed and sort of sang to her. That let her know I could still be saved. I suppose I owe Fi my life.”

“Huh,” Sky replied. He drew the sword. Its silver blade reflected the sun brighter than the others’ swords, save for the Four Sword. He smiled. “Heh, I wouldn’t expect any less of her.”

Given he himself had forged the Master Sword, Sky gathered that his adventure somehow took place before any of the others’. It still confused him how they all could coexist. By reciting the legends and history they knew, they figured out a somewhat cohesive, yet confounding, chain of events.

Sky forged the Master Sword and Hyrule had yet to be established. He was clearly first. Time witnessed the split of the Triforce, so he must be next. Based on the historical texts in Hyrule Castle, Twilight seemed to live centuries after Time. Over their time together, Twilight began to see eerie similarities between Time and the ghostly Hero’s Shade who mentored him. He preferred to ignore them for his own sanity’s sake.

It all got muddier after that. Time had suspected Zelda sending him back in time had somehow disrupted the flow of time. Lo and behold, Wind seemed to also live centuries after Time, but Hyrule had been flooded. His legends told of a Hero of Time that disappeared when he was needed. Time wondered whether Wind lived in the world that Zelda sent him away from.

Even more disturbing was Legend’s story. In his world, Ganon was sealed away by the seven sages, but not a hero. In this alternate reality, could Time have perished in his fight against Ganon? Hyrule had heard vague legends of a legendary sword, but never figured it was the Master Sword until he met his other selves. Strangely, Warrior and Wild somehow seemed to hail from a melding of everyone else’s worlds.

Four was the most peculiar case. Neither the Triforce nor the Master Sword seemed to exist in his world. Instead, there were the Picori bestowing the Light Force upon the Hylians. The concept of it all utterly confused the Links. After trying to piece it together, they never mentioned it again.

Sky was snapped out of his thoughts of multiple timelines and realities when Warrior said suddenly, “Well, it’s about time.”

They had reached the top of a hill and were faced with a tall, dense forest. The heroes couldn’t see the village beyond, but figured the treetops were obscuring it. Wild frowned. He thought they would be able to see it based on map’s elevation readings. He hooked the Sheikah Slate back on his belt.

He withdrew his paraglider from his pouch, gripped one handle with his left hand, and knelt on the ground. In a flash, ghostly flames appeared around Wild. He jumped. An updraft carried him a hundred feet in the air, a hazy image of a Rito soaring up with him. His paraglider holding him aloft, he got a better view of their surroundings.

Satisfied, Wild returned to the ground. Despite seeing him use this ability several times before, the others were still awed by the sight. The concept of fallen warriors imparting this and three other powers upon him was foreign. Time’s experience with his masks was similar, but Wild’s seemed much more wholesome in nature.

“Don’t worry, I can see the tops of buildings way down there,” Wild confirmed. “Five or so hours in there and we’ll be through.”

“Wait, wait,” Warrior said. “Let’s think this through. We do not want another ambush on our hands.”

Wind groaned. He found Warrior’s obsessions with plans and tactics annoying. Time shot him a look. Wind saw it and stood at attention.

Warrior continued, “Legend, arrow count.”

Thinking back to last night, he remembered that he had counted the arrows before going to bed. That seemed so long ago. “Uh… oh, right. Forty-two.”

“Hm… four each. Wild, you’re our best archer, you need more. Volunteers?”

Sky shrugged. “Aye. I’m better with a sword anyway.”

“Seconded,” Time said.

“Third…ed?” Wind flubbed.

A chuckle spread across the group. Fighting back more laughter, Warrior composed himself. “Okay, Wild, take sixteen. Make them count.”

Wild nodded.

“Legend, Twilight, Four, Hyrule. Take four each. I’ll take five.”

Legend pulled their stash of arrows out of his pouch and divvied them up. Warrior came up last and took the remaining five. They fit their ammunition in their quivers. “Right, next order of business,” Warrior continued. “Twi, transform and take point. We need your senses. Wild, I want you behind him with two arrows nocked. Fire at Twi’s mark. Sky, cover them. Everyone else, fall in behind them. I’ll take up the rear. Keep your eyes on the shadows. It looks pretty dark in there, so everyone grab a lantern. We’re low on oil, so let’s try to get out of there ASAP.”

The others nodded. This seemed easy enough. At least, if they didn’t encounter anything nefarious. They knew they probably would, but they could handle it. Warrior turned to Twilight and nodded. The latter took on his beastly form and took the lead. Wild drew his bow and nocked two arrows. The others unsheathed their swords and raised their newly lit lanterns. With a last look at the clear blue sky, the heroes entered the dark forest.

#linkeduniverse fanfiction #linkeduniverse #my own #my writing #fanfiction #Can We Get Back to Adventuring Please

[kittypatra-zosan]

Legend of Ryuma

So, here’s a little something that Mossy and I have been sitting on for a while now. We thought about holding on to this even longer, but (thought a stretch, I admit) it is connected to some of what I want to bring you in December. With that being said, we decided to post it. As of now there is no art, although knowing Mossy, that may change, but this is jackal history and vitally important to Zoro’s character in For A Heart.

Please enjoy.

“When the gods were still young and fought mostly amongst themselves, a young jackal warrior named Ryuma quickly rose up among the ranks of my army. He was a brutal fighter; swift and agile, graceful and cunning. Ryuma and his companion, a white jackal named Ichimonji, shown brighter than any other. I rewarded this greatness and named Ryuma a general within the Army of Anubis. There he, and Ichimonji, fought until all the battles had ended.

“Peace flooded the gods realm and the time for armies was put aside. Now, skirmishes would still arise, so I made Ryuma the head of my guard and it was his job to command all of the guards who looked after the palace and temple grounds. The rest of the army dispersed throughout the underworld, creating homes for themselves and waiting, in near silence, in hopes I would have need for them to fight once more.

“Time passed, as it always does, and even Ryuma would grow restless, taking Ichimonji for long walks around the underworld. A favorite pastime of theirs was to walk to the lake of fire. Unfortunately, it would be there that would be their undoing.

“While out for a walk one day, Ryuma and Ichimonji were attacked by the god, Set. Set is an evil god, looking only for ways to further his powers. He’d heard rumors of Ryuma’s eyes— eyes that had the ability to see the innocence in people— and decided he needed them for himself. He set a trap for Ryuma and Ichimonji, pleased when they both fell into it without the slightest bit of warning to its presence. Ryuma was outraged by the incident, but kept his head, freeing Ichimonji before himself. This is also where Set made a grave mistake.

“Instead of pouncing right away, Set laughed and watched as Ryuma struggled in his bonds, only acting once the jackal was free by revealing himself, in his towering form, as the mastermind behind the trap. Ichimonji stepped between Set and her master, but Set easily kicked the jackal aside before descending upon Ryuma. Unable to free himself, Ryuma could do nothing but lay there, on the cold obsidian ground, as Set gouged his eyes from their sockets, setting them aside to kill Ryuma. Ichimonji appeared, returning too late to aid her master, but she was able to find his eyes, abandoned in Set’s foolishness, as he killed Ryuma in front of her.

“Ichimonji was furious, fleeing with her master’s eyes and hiding them away so Set could not find them and use them for whatever evil it was she knew he would attempt. Leading him away from their location, Ichimonji avoided Set’s capture until she was sure Ryuma’s eyes were truly safe, then she turned and faced her master’s murderer. In the end, Set killed her as well. Both Ichimonji, and the whereabouts of Ryuma’s eyes, have been lost to us.” Mihawk walked across the armory toward the forge, hands behind his back. He’d brought Zoro to the weapon smith in hopes of getting his young son a weapon of his own. On the way, he’d told Zoro the tale of Ryuma, in hopes of getting his attention and sparking an interest in learning to fight.

The master armorer was a large dark skinned man, easily wielding a hammer as he worked to form a heated piece of metal against his anvil. As soon as he noticed Mihawk, he set the hammer down, calling over another to continue to craft the weapon he was working on. “How can I be of assistance to you,” he asked, bobbing his head in a nod of greeting.

“I came to see if we could arm my son.” Mihawk raised his hand, meaning to rest it on Zoro’s head, but he had seemed to have vanished from Mihawk’s side. “Zoro?” Turning, he frowned, unable to spot the boy, or his jackal, from where he stood in the back of the armory. “Zoro,” he called again, taking a step back the way he’d just come from. Next to him, Yoru huffed and Mihawk looked down to the black jackal, inhaling to yell for his son a third time.

“Bahk!” Zoro’s voice sounded from another room of the armory. “Look what I found!” Zoro appeared, backing out of a small room while dragging a white non-descriptive staff after him. Kitetsu ran around him barking as he went, tail wagging happily. “Can I have this?”

“Zoro,” Mihawk started, his frown still in place. “You mustn’t treat a weapon like that. Pick that up.”

The young god paused, grunting under the weight of the staff as he tried to pick it up off the floor. He didn’t make it far, but Zoro was, in fact, able to lift the long, heavy staff off the ground. Mihawk was wholeheartedly impressed with the strength his son showed.

“Anubis,” the master of arms spoke up. “If he wishes to use a staff, I have some smaller ones, better suited for young jackals, such as himself.”

“No,” Zoro interrupted, still struggling to lift the staff. His ears were tilted back against his head, a frown of his own etched onto his young face as he concentrated. “I want this one,” he grunted, finally managing to shift the staff upright.

“Zoro,” Mihawk started, trying to reason with his son. “That staff is meant for an adult, it’s much too big for you to wield currently. Let’s find a smaller one that is better suited for your size. You should listen to the master armorer, he knows of what he speaks.”

“I want this one!” Using both hands, Zoro slammed the butt of the staff against the floor, holding it tightly in his grasp. Turning from what he was sniffing, Kitetsu ran to Zoro’s side and sat next to him, reacting to the sound the staff made on the stone, even without being taught. The staff was a couple feet taller than himself, but Zoro was holding firm in his decision, tail held stiff and ears flat back against his hair in his anger.

Mihawk rubbed at his temples as the master armorer chuckled beside him. “He is your son, Anubis.”

“I know. Zoro,” Mihawk placed a hand on the shoulder of the man standing next to him. “Put the staff aside and let’s see what else there is in the armory for you.”

“I am keeping this staff.” Zoro’s grip tightened around the weapon as he squared his shoulders and stood up to his full height, glaring up at Mihawk. Kitetsu mimicked Zoro’s actions and Mihawk huffed in annoyance. There was a defiance there, one Mihawk could recognize as the one he’d taught Zoro himself: challenge everything.

Mihawk resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Yes, Zoro was indeed his son. “Yes, you can keep the staff, but all Anubis Warriors also learn to use a scimitar, among other weapons. Every warrior is a true master of weaponry. You must learn to master several weapon styles as well, if you are to become an Anubis Warrior.”

Zoro nodded sharply, his mouth set in a hard line. “Yes, Father.”

“Very good.” Walking over to him, Mihawk reached out for the staff, only to have Zoro yank it away with a growl, almost toppling over with the heavy weight of it. Snapping a hand out, Mihawk grabbed the staff to steady Zoro and the weapon, but his son pulled the weapon away again, this time almost hitting both Yoru and Kitetsu in the process.

“No,” Zoro started, baring his teeth as he continued to growl. “I said I’m going to keep it.”

“I agreed you could.” Dropping his arm to his side, Mihawk frowned down at the boy, whose ears were still pressed flat against his hair in anger. “How do you expect to look at other weapons while holding that staff?”

“I don’t want another weapon, I want this one.” Zoro squared his little shoulders and held onto the staff tightly, glaring up at Mihawk again. Despite his anger, Mihawk could see the very tip of Zoro’s tail wagging in hopes that Mihawk would cave and let him have his way. Next to him, Kitetsu was pleading in his own way, head tilted to the side slightly with his ears forward and his golden eyes looking up at Mihawk.

What choice did he really have? Mihawk took a deep breath and was about to speak, when the master armorer spoke up behind him. “Maybe starting him with a scimitar isn’t the right path for him. Why don’t we look at the rest of the staffs.”

Zoro’s ears twisted forward and he grinned. “Really? Can we, Bahk?”

“Well, I—”

“I still want this one!” Zoro shifted his grip on the white weapon, grunting under its weight as he moved passed Mihawk toward the blacksmith. “I’m keeping this one.”

Turning to watch Zoro fumble under the weight of the staff, his jackal walking calmly next to him, Mihawk shook his head. Even at such a young age, when Zoro’s mind was made up, that was that.

#zosan #for a heart #kittypatra #double moss combo #also thinking of making a lore thing on Ao3 for these background type things #what do you guys think? #We are just wicked excited about December #and there will be more lore as well #like the 100 followers piece #it may not seem like it #but Zoro's history is important #and Mossy is doing Sanji in the comics #so much lore

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Twist of Fate

Dwalin walked beside Thorin in bitter silence. The only sound below the cold light of the moon was that of the parade of fatigued boots upon the cobbled streets and the hushed chatter of the dwarves to which they belong. An argument had stilled Dwalin’s tongue, having pleaded with his king to avoid the small town and stifled by the stubborn snakebite of his king’s reproach.

Thorin had insisted the company was tired and another cave would do little for their condition. A tavern would rejuvenate and offer them one last respite before the long trek to the Mountain. Dwalin was wary of the eyes which could espy them in the crowded halls of an inn; what stories could be carried away from the liquored stools to enemies which sought to undermine their homecoming. Whatever his misgivings, he could not oppose his king’s orders but could remain vigilant to those who may seek to observe them.

They finally came upon the crooked doors of the local tavern, The Boar’s Tusk painted in uneven letters across the lintel and the odor of stale alcohol seeping from within. With a final sidelong glance, Dwalin followed Thorin inside and held the heavy slatted door open for the rest of the Company. At the tail, the hobbit dragged his bare feet and did not even glance up at the glowering left-hand of the king. There was a pang of pity for the Shire creature but Dwalin had more pressing worries than the misery of the tea-drinking mouse.

Within, three rooms were made available to the dwarves, those which remained uninhabited by Men and elves with preference for feather mattresses over piles of straw. It was an insult to be offered quarter often left to the livestock but it was more common for dwarrow to be tossed back into the street before offered a roof of any kind.

It was rarer still for dwarves to turn their nose up at a pint of ale and so Dwalin followed his companions into the barroom, setting down a piece of silver for a stein. The others received theirs first and retreated to sit around tables and remove their road-stained cloaks as their moods lightened with the taste of alcohol. Claiming his own drink, Dwalin turned to the dim chamber and searched out Thorin who sat sober and grim in the corner.

Dwalin stutter-stepped as he set his sights on his king, a dark blur catching his eye as it disappeared through the tavern door. He seemed to be the only to notice the movement and stared at the door as it shuddered closed behind the figure, his brows knitting with unease. Resisting the urge to pursue the shadow, Dwalin continued his path to Thorin’s side and lowered himself into a chair with a grunt.

With his eyes on the door, he set down his stein and waited for the king to speak. Silence fueled his paranoia and finally, he looked to Thorin, sighing his impatience before gulping down half his ale.

“We’ll not linger in the morning,” Thorin explained, “I know you don’t like my choice, but my men…” He looked around at his Company ruefully, “They need some rest,” He rubbed his forehead as he glanced back to Dwalin, “You included. I know you’ll not admit it but we’re all tired. Exhausted, even.”

“Tired as we are, it won’t stop those orcs that been chasing us,” Dwalin grumbled, watching the ripples along the pale surface of his ale, “We may have lost them for the night but they’ll be even closer come the morning. If they don’t find us before then.”

“Mahal’s sake, Dwalin, we’ve given them a false trail, more than enough for us to get out of here before they figure us out,” Thorin’s jaw clenched visibly and vein pulsed in his neck with irritation, “You’re the most loyal dwarf I’ve ever know but damn it if you’re not the biggest pain in my ass.” The king rose abruptly, causing the table to wobble, “Drink your ale and just…relax. I’m going to sleep while I can. You consider doing the same. Don’t keep yourself awake fretting over thin air.”

“Mmmp,” Dwalin averted his eyes resentfully, “Whatever you say.”

“Good night, Dwalin,” Thorin hissed as he turned on his heels, his patience having at last run out, “I mean it,” He shot over his shoulder as he stepped away, “Get some sleep.”

Dwalin watched Thorin walk away, his shoulders sinking as he did, but the sound of hooves distracted him. His suspicions were once more riled as he listened to the steed departing from the tavern, its steps slow as if to stay undetected. Dwalin rose from the table as Thorin exited through the far door and edged over to the window, peeking out through the slats of the shudder.

The small figure he had seen leaving quickly upon their arrival led away a stout-legged mule, coaxing it to move carefully. Though they kept themselves concealed below the grey wool of their cloak, the secretive shadow gave little fire to Dwalin’s suspicion. While they may be sneaking away in the dead of night, he could see nothing to their person which betrayed underhanded motives. A single rider as small as that was surely more afraid of the sudden arrival of heavily-armed warriors than working against them.

Shaking away his anxieties, Dwalin resigned to let them be and instead follow his king’s orders. He needed a good night’s sleep as much as any and he would not let the chance for one slip away at the whims of his own pessimism. He would wait for the morning to prove him right or wrong, but in the meanwhile, he would let fate take its course.

Your mule’s ears perked up, an unusual gesture for the dull beast. Hidden in the shadow of trees in the growing morning light, you sat up from your slumped position and slowed the step of your steed with the woven reins. You listened as its hooves came to a stop but heard nothing but the chirping of birds. Slowly, you squeezed your thighs around the mule’s back and he broke into an unhurried gait.

Noon was upon you and the sun beat down even brighter, the crispness of morning dissipated entirely. There were no trees left to shield you from the heat and under your cloak, a sheen of sweat coated your body and your head grew hazy with fatigue and warmth. Your trance was broken by a sudden release of tension and the sound of the air being pierced by stone and wood. Before you could look to the source of the noise, your mule cried out in agony and collapsed onto its side, taking you with it.

You separated from the beast before it met the ground and saved yourself from being pinned beneath it. You hid behind its form, reaching for the sword crushed beneath as you heard the flurrying of an attack. The mule wheezed in pain, braying sharply in its death throes and you turned your attention to the knife at your waist, unable to retrieve your sword.

You ended the mule’s sufferings swiftly and with a prayer to Mahal. It was a grim act but must be done for the sake of you and the beast. You heard the approach of hurried steps and turned to swipe your knife at the charging orc. With a slash across it’s abdomen, you had done enough damage to put the hideous creature into retreat. Ducking back down behind the dead animal, you reached once more for the sword and grunted as you fought to dislodge it.

The orc, holding its wounded stomach, returned to its attack as you struggled and this time, you threw your knife at it, the blade sinking into its shoulder with a sickening squelch. The orc reared back as it grabbed at the dagger protruding from its flesh and the dark blood flowed down its chest. It was a deep enough cut that the strength drained quickly from its muscles and it slowly sunk down onto its side, dying much like the mule beside you.

You could hear more orcs positioned on the other side of the mule, unseen but speaking loud enough to be known. There were more than you could fend off and you knew that your survival was utterly unlikely. You wriggled the sword by its handle, slowly leasing it from beneath the mule as you resigned yourself to death. You would not live, but you would not die in the dirt.

Slowly you lifted the metal of your blade to shine in the sunlight, a reflection glancing off the silver. The sight of a horde of orcs had your blood running cold but an even eerier sight raised the hair on the back of your neck. One of the wretched creatures suddenly hurled forward as if hit by an impenetrable force and landed on the ground in a squirming pile. The others quickly dispersed and you peered cautiously over the mule’s corpse to see them swinging their weapons in defense.

Ducking down, you took a deep breath and steadied your sword in your hand. Pushing yourself up with the blade, you leapt over the mule and with a fierce battle cry, you ran towards the forming fray. You collided with the first orc, distracted by another beating him back with a thick-headed axe. You sliced the back of the orc’s calf and it shrieked as the axe-wielding dwarf bashed his weapon into its chest and sent it flying to the grass.

You turned to the next foe, the lot of towering orcs rallying to regain their advantage as a dozen dwarves crowded around them with arms bared. The scarred leader of the orcs called out in his gristly voice and his cronies turned and fell into a retreat, fending off the blows aimed in their direction. Mounting their snarling wargs, the deformed creatures scattered in flight and the dwarves form a circle, prepared to fight off any subsequent barrage.

There was no second assault and you watched, with sword still raised, as the orcs raced beyond the curve of the plain and into the horizon. Your hand twitched as you turned back to the small army of dwarves who stared back, ready for a fight. They may have saved you from the bite of orcish steel but theirs seemed just as sharp. Knowing the tactic of your own kind, your hopes were as narrow as they had ever been.

“Swords down,” The call stilled the beating of your heart, a dwarf with long dark waves called to the rest and he sheathed a finely forged silver blade across his back, “Now. We do not quarrel with dwarrow, even if they are strangers.”

Your hands shook as you refused to break your battle stance, the dwarves reluctantly following the order and tucking away their weapons; axe, sword, mace, bow. The leader, or so the dark-haired dwarf seemed, crossed his arms as he stared back expectantly and you glanced at the stern-faced comrade at his side. His axe was in his hand but not held in offense, his bare scalp patterned with inked runes. You recognized him from the tavern you had fled not a day before.

“We will not hurt you,” The leader avowed as he stepped away from his brutish crony, “Please. Dams are rare enough to find in this world. Though quite peculiar out in the wild and surrounded by a pack of orcs.”

“I…” You glanced along the line of dwarrow once more, another halfling among them which was much too dainty to be of the same ilk. You lowered your sword cautiously as you returned your attention to the leader and stepped back, afraid that he may lunge. Even if you were of the same stock, you had little trust for any in this world, “I’d say it’s just as odd to find so many dwarves wandering these plains. Not to mention, so heavily armed.”

“You,” The bald dwarf stepped forward, adjusting his grip on his axe as he pointed it at you, “You were at the tavern. You fled upon our arrival. Why?”

“I am not one for crowds,” You narrowed your eyes darkly at his challenge, “And I’d say I have good reason.” You looked around at the orcish corpses and that of your mule, “Wouldn’t you?”

“Dwalin,” The leader set his hand on the axe head, gently forcing it down, “She’s a dam. She’s alone and she just lost her own companion. She doesn’t need your paranoia.”

“Why would she run if she weren’t hiding something?” He whispered but his words were easily heard, “She’s right about us being an unusual sight. She could have been running to tell of our approach.”

“She was ambushed by the very orcs we’re running from,” The leader set his hand harshly on the other’s shoulder, “I doubt she’s working for them. Now put away your axe before I take it from you.”

You watch silently, patiently, ready to meet any challenge from the tattooed warrior should he disobey the other. Yet, he did not. With his eyes on you, he turned his axe in his hand and lifted it to sheath it with his other on his back, the pair form an x across his shoulders. The leader turned to you and held his hands out in an appeasing manner.

“Please, we mean no harm…but those orcs did. And they’ll return,” The leader peered towards the horizon, “We need to keep moving, you included. You should not be out here alone.”

“Oh, and should I join the likes of you?” You eyed the ragtag company with doubt, “I thank you for your offer but I’m better alone. Faster. I’ve a mission and little time to waste.”

“Well, so do we,” The leader countered, “Likely one which could find you on the way to your destination in one piece,” He straightened his shoulders and sighed, “Besides, dwarrow cannot allow a dam to wander alone, vulnerable to the like of orcs and other foe.”

“I prefer my own company,” You lowered your sword and hooked it on your belt, “And I’ve wasted enough time. I’ll be slower without my mule as it were.”

“Tell me, at least, where it is you are so eager to be?” The leader challenged as you half-turned, thinking of the pack you would have to unbury from beneath your dead mule, “You never know, our paths may just cross again.”

You tilted your head as you considered him and his fellows. They were like any dwarves you had ever known. Thickly bearded, gruff yet genial to their own, determined, and Mahal if they weren’t as stubborn as the beast lying dead amidst the grass. You sighed and rubbed your forehead, cursing yourself before you surrendered, “I am to Erebor. The Mountain of my people. I have made a promise I must fulfill.”

“Erebor?” The dwarves immediately broke into a chatter and the bald one bristled at the words, his deep voice incredulous, “You barely kept your skin from that lot of orcs and you seek out the dragon beneath the Mountain? Aye, girl, you are a fool. And a dead dam walking.”

“Don’t see how it’s any of your business whether I die,” You gripped the pommel of your sword angrily, “Now, I truly must be off. I haven’t time for this bickering.”

“Wait!” The leader reached out to grab you, stopping you in your tracks before you could walk away, “We are headed in the same direction,” You glanced back and eyed his hand with disgust, the sharp look causing him to release you, “Please, allow me to introduce myself,” He smiled despite himself, “I am Thorin Oakenshield, heir of Durin and King Under the Mountain,” He flourished his arm towards the dwarrow behind him, “And this is my company. We are to reclaim Erebor…would you join us?”

You raised a brow in disbelief, once more examining the dwarves with doubt. Your family had not joined those in the Blue Mountains but you could tell the marks of Mountain dwarves. The bearing of the dwarrow, their attire, the craftsmanship of their weapons, the ornaments upon their belts and cloaks. You turned to the plain and the dead mule at the centre of it.

Had it not been for this half-army you would be there with the beast, bloodied and lifeless. It seemed as if fate had ordained the encounter and you would spite Mahal should you turn it away. Shaking your head at the coincidence of it all, you lifted your chin to the sky and hid your grin from the dwarves behind you.

“I’ll fetch my pack,” You announced, “But I will not tarry any longer, “You lot better be quicker than you look.”

“Help her, Dwalin,” Thorin commanded from your rear and you heard he grass being crushed beneath heavy footsteps, “Then we continue on before Azog returns to finish his work.”

The bald-dwarf followed at your shoulder and you resisted a peek at him. He seemed little fond of your presence or the invitation of his king. You bent to tug at your pack, half-buried below the mule’s body, and the dwarrow lifted the lifeless creature so that it slipped out easily. He watched you strap your bag across your back and adjust the sword at your waist as you tried to ignore his gaze.

“You alright with all that, lass?” He asked and you looked at him curiously, giving a curt nod, “Right, then.” He turned to watch the rest of his kin approach, “We’ve no time to waste. And we will wait on no one, not even a dam.”

With that, he joined the parade of dwarves and you followed with a scoff, keeping to yourself as you took the rear of the line. You may have the blessing of the king but it seemed your welcome was limited to him alone. As far as you could tell, these dwarves were as contrary as any you had ever met and the trek before you would bode even more tedious.

“Why do you distrust her so?” Thorin asked as the pit crackled before him and Dwalin, his oldest friend’s eyes set on the dam as they so often were, “Mahal, Dwalin, how often is that one just stumbles upon a dam in this world?”

“I don’t,” Dwalin insisted but his tone lent little to his words, “I care not for her. One way or the other.”

His king’s brow furrowed as he considered him and Dwalin averted his eyes to the fire, though the shape of the dam was still branded in his vision. He had always been skilled at concealing his thoughts but all too often was caught observing the dam. At first, it had been suspicion but after a time, he could no longer claim such distrust. She had traveled with them so far, wielded her sword in defense of their common cause, and offered what little she could to their nightly stew. He was not so stubborn as to treat her as an enemy after so long.

So why was it that he watched her so closely?

Thorin looked away with a glimmer in his eyes, as if he were toying with an unanswerable riddle. Dwalin sighed and looked over the fire again, this time he caught the attention of the dam and she appeared nettled by his gaze. She lowered her head once more over her sewing, pulling a sinew cord through the hide of her boot with a thick needle as she tried to repair the damage done by the wear of the stony passes.

He had noticed earlier when they were climbing through the craggy trails that she had slipped and her boot had torn, the sole hanging from the toe awkwardly. Blood had also followed as her footsteps had left a trail of dark red droplet and he could see the stains around the hole as she stitched. She was tougher than any other member of the company, it seemed, as she had not limped along their trail that day nor flinched as she bandaged her wounded foot.

Dwalin felt an elbow in his side and turned to look darkly at Thorin who seemed amused by him. He cleared his throat as he shied away from his king and a chuckle came from his friend’s lips, though no sly remark followed. He couldn’t be sure Thorin had thought him anything but paranoid but Dwalin struggled to understand even his own obsession. He need to forget about the dam and focus on the journey. Every day they were all that much closer to the dragon awaiting them and he knew it would take all their wits and strength to take back what was theirs.

You pulled another stitch through the thick hide of your boot, your leg jutting out from you so that no weight was set upon the wounded arch. Your soles had been wearing away for far too long and so you were not much shocked when you had slipped on the sharp rocks and torn the old boot open. You had gritted your teeth as you forced yourself to carry on and the blood pooling in your sock had added to the discomfort of your endless trek.

Weaving through the needle once more, you could not suppress a curse as the needle snapped in two. Your meagre possessions were dwindling by the day and your boot would remain only half mended, the sole flapping open at the toe like a duck’s beak. You hissed and tossed the boot away from you, frustrated at the series of calamities. You dropped your head into your hands and closed your eyes; perhaps it would be better to retire to your bedroll.

The sound of twigs and dirt being crushed disturbed your thoughts and the air stirred as a weight dropped down beside you. You lifted your head to look over to Dwalin as he held your boot in his hand and examined it closely. “Can’t say a repair will do it much good,” He commented as he set it down before him, unfolding a small envelope across his knee and withdrawing a needle from within, “But it will only get worse without.”

You could think of no response as you watched him in confusion. He rarely spoke to you and it was even less often that he left the side of his king. He pulled the remnants of you needle from the hanging sinew and replaced it with his own. He offered no explanation as he continued the stitches, securing the sole firmly and tying off the sinew with ease. He turned the boot in his hand with admiration of his work before holding it out to you with a shrug.

“Thank you,” You took it from him but made no move to pull it onto your throbbing foot, “You, uh, didn’t have to do that.”

“A few stitches never killed no one,” He looked away, bringing up a hand to wipe away the sweat forming above his brow, “You can keep the needle.”

He handed you the needle, biding no argument, and you tucked it into the leather kit you kept in the side of your pack. You uttered another tepid gratitude and he avoided meeting your eyes, though he made no move to rise. A tense silence rose around the two of you and you glanced around the camp, realizing that many of the company had settled down for the night. Only Oin remained awake, sitting against a tall stone as he took his watch.

“It must be late,” You thought aloud, “I didn’t realize.”

“Must be,” Dwalin agreed and he looked around at the slumbering dwarves, “Suppose we should join them, eh?”

“Suppose so,” You said but merely remained where you were, merely yawning into your sleeve, “Long day ahead.”

“Mmm-hmm,” He grumbled and you felt the warmth of his stare. You turned to meet his eyes and he blanched, clearing his throat as he looked to the fire with visible panic, “Uh, I’ll be off to bed then.”

He climbed to his feet and you watched him bemusedly. It was the first time you had seen him fazed and it was almost comedic in its effect.

“Good night,” You offered and his widened at you before he stuttered out an echo of your words.

He slowly turned away, measuring his steps as he lumbered around the fire to grab his bedroll from atop his pack and unroll it beside Thorin’s. He lowered himself heavily and laid so that his back was to you. For a minute, he was inert and then you saw his hands come up to cover his face, as if hiding in embarrassment.

You smiled to yourself, impressed that you had garnered such a reaction out of the gruff dwarf. Only a month ago, he had seemed ready to swing his axe at your every move and now…Well, you weren’t quite sure. You reached over to unbuckled your own bedroll and spread it out across the ground, another yawn rising within you. You stretched out over the thin roll and brought an arm up under your head, closing your eyes. All thoughts fluttered away as sleep overtook you and the crackling of the fire faded from your ears.

It was the first time since the tavern that you had been under a roof which was not that of a prison cell or musty and leaking. While you hardly trusted The Master of Laketown, you were thankful for the dry lodgings and the odorless clothing he had proffered. It was ill-fitting and you had to roll the sleeves and legs, but it was better than what you had been left with. Besides, it was easy to overlook the innocuous flaws for the food laid out in a feast before you and the rest of the Company.

You sat between Balin and the elder of the Durin brothers, the latter fretting over his injured kin who refused to admit the pain caused by his infected wound. You gorged yourself on the carved boar and the medley of roasted potatoes and vegetables, forgetting the anxiety wrought from the road ahead of you. Tonight, you would sleep in a bed with a full stomach and the next day, you would begin the final stretch to the Mountain.

Deep laughter boomed across the chamber, so voracious that it nearly frightened you. You had never heard the echoing set of guffaws before and were shocked to look over and find that they belonged to Dwalin. His face was twisted in an unusual smile, so broad and cheerful that you were certain you were not truly seeing it. It made you want to join in on the mirth but you merely swallowed your mouthful of food and kicked your feet out below the table.

The gruff dwarf had become exasperating to you. Since that night around the pit when he had mended your boot, he had continued to plot similar encounters. What frustrated you was that he only ever consorted to speak with you when no other were looking. After your time at the bargeman’s home, you had realized that he had avoided revealing any comradery towards you even when you were cramped into a single room with him and thirteen others. It was a difficult feat but he had managed to avoid any contact with you and you had begun to think that you had merely imagined any progress you had made with the distant dwarf.

You sighed and Balin looked over at you with concern. You shook your head at him and he gave a kind smile as you brought yourself to your feet, your chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor. You pushed back your braids and turned from the table, leaving your half-empty ale where it sat as you searched out the door. In the corridors, you yawned noisily and trailed your fingers against the fading wallpaper. Once you found your bed, you could forget about the nonsense of dwarves.

You turned the corner, the rear doors of the feast hall ahead of you and you could hear the rumble of voices from within. The Master’s house was a maze to you and it was the only path you could recall which led to your consigned chambers. As you passed by the double doors, one swung open and nearly collided with you. You leapt against the wall as Dwalin appeared before you, visibly surprised to find you standing before him.

“Oh, uh, Y/N,” He stammered as the door clattered shut behind him, “I was just coming to find you.”

“What?” You grimaced, “Why?”

“Well, why are you leaving so early?” He asked, picking at the cuff of his tunic nervously, “I thought you’d stay and enjoy the ale.”

“I’m tired,” You replied dully, “Besides, what do you care?”

“Huh?” His eyes rounded, “What do you mean?”

“Please, Dwalin, just leave me alone and I’ll return the favour,” You crossed your arms, “I mean, I’m not daft. You only ever talk to me when there’s no one to hear. I can take a hint.”

“What? I…” His voice died as he thought and he frowned at himself, “Oh, no, Y/N. It’s not like that at all, it’s only, I, uh…” He pressed his lips together as he saw the cynicism on your face and you shook your head at him.

“Can’t think of a lie I’d believe, eh?” You scoffed and laughed bitterly, “That’s quite alright. I wouldn’t expect any different.”

“Y/N, truly, it’s not what you think,” He sputtered, his cheeks colouring as he spoke, “It’s just that I’m…shy.”

“Shy? I don’t think I’d ever describe you as such.”

“Really, I am, it’s just, when there’s so many people around and I think of saying something you, I feel like…I feel like I’m going to choke. Like, if I said what I wanted to, they’d all know and I’d be a fool.”

“They’d all know what?” You dropped your hands to your hips, “That you dare speak to the vagrant dam?”

“No, no, that I…” He looked around warily and cleared his throat, “You know, I can’t really figure it out. How do I say it? I, um, you know, I’m no good at these things,” He began to ramble as his eyes darted around erratically, “I don’t really know myself. I’ve never really understood. All this silliness going on. And my stomach, it’s all wobbly and I can’t stand still.”

“What in Mahal are you talking about?” You interjected confounded, “Because whatever it is, I can’t understand it either.”

“Well, I’m not too sure, ’cause I never felt like this before,” He reached up to smooth out his beard, finally daring to look at you, “I think, perhaps, that I might, um, what’s the way to say it…love you?”

“Love me?” You echoed in disbelief, “Love me? You won’t even look at me.”

“Oh, I look at you. All the time. ‘Specially when you smile.” He paled and chuckled nervously, “Not in a weird way, you know. I just can’t help it. You’re just so…pretty.”

“Ah,” You pondered his words, thinking back on all the times you had caught him staring, “I just thought you were keeping an eye on me. That you were afraid I’d pull my blade on you.”

“Well, I can’t say it didn’t cross my mind,” He kidded weakly, “But that’s not what scared me. I was afraid of myself. Of what I’ve just done. Made a fool of myself and all.”

“Having feelings doesn’t make you a fool, Dwalin,” You looked up at him with a half-grin, “What makes you a fool is thinking they do and acting like a complete bastard just to hide them.”

“I—Sorry,” He looked to his boots pitifully, “For being a bastard.”

“Don’t be,” You stepped closer, searching out his eyes until he looked back at you, “But from now on, don’t. Say what you mean and tell it true.” You softly touched his elbow, causing him to blush once more, “And for Mahal’s sake, talk to me,”

“S-so, you don’t hate me?” He asked hopefully.

“Of course, I don’t,” You chuckled, “For if I did, you’d surely know it.”

He smiled, a gesture which sparked your own joy, and he laughed, the same laugh he had issued in the feast hall. Before you could react, he had reached out and pulled you into his thick arms, embracing you tightly as he guffawed with relief until he fell into a contented silence. With a flinch, he seemed to recall himself and released you, backing up to look you over.

“Uh, sorry ‘bout that, I wasn’t thinking, I just--”

“Not at all,” You laid a hand on his shoulder, “It’s quite alright. Pleasant, even.”

“Truly?” His face brightened as he swayed on his feet.

“Truly,” You took his hand in yours, his calloused palm rough against yours, “Now, you were saying something about ale? You wouldn’t mind if the others see us share a pint, would you?”

“I’d be prouder than a groomed pig,” He preened and squeezed your hand excitedly, “Shall we?”

He opened the door with his free hand and guided you through into the roaring feast hall. You couldn’t help but grin as he pulled you around the long table of dwarves and offered you a chair. He sat beside you and poured two steins of ale as Thorin looked on curiously from his other side. You took the cup he offered and he clinked his own against yours, watching intently as he sipped from the rim.

“Well, it’s about time, old friend,” Thorin patted Dwalin’s shoulder with a chortle, “I thought you’d never grow a--”

“Oh, shut up.” Dwalin grumbled as he lowered his stein, “Can’t you see I’m busy,” He smiled over at you and angled his chair away from his king, “Now, lass, where were we?”

#the hobbit #fic #one shot #dwalin #the company