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cupoftrembling · 7 months

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Lagrange

There is no word for luck in Mariposian.

Now, of course, there is a word for circumstances outside of one’s control that ends in your benefit, ‘veinard’ I believe it was called. A windfall, being in the right place at the right time. In the proto-Mariposian, which had its roots in the celestial language of the gods, these terms had mostly neutral, or often negative, connotations. One can fall into circumstance, allowing them to come out on top through no action or forethought on their behalf. To earn something not yours, not through force of will or strength or through camaraderie. It was the language one used for finding a crown on the ground. That, had it been anyone else the same situation would have occurred. That it was not due to the specifics of who you are or what you have done.

And yet, veinard was not how many Mariposian figures are described. Queen Mariposa the Kingbreaker, when her predecessor boarded the boat that would sink during the largest storm that the Askaven Continent had ever seen, was not called veinard. Rosalind Tyra was not a veinard when she won what would become Tyra Logistics in that game of jokers wild. No, they were described in each and every instance as ‘lucky.’

Luck.

A loan word lifted from the eastern dialects of the Confederacy of Eastern Kingdoms. An etymological stopgap that filled a niche in the biosphere of the Mariposian language. The word is, itself, some of the only remaining fae-tongue spoken on the continent still used by the so called mortal races of elf. Scholars argue from which kingdom the word luck was gallicized from. I, personally, believe it was Iji, Mariposa’s closest eastern neighbor, but that is corroborated by nothing but a hunch and blind faith in simple answers. Luck is, perhaps, a misnomer. A mistranslation, as its application within the Mariposian language is more closely akin to the word ‘guile.’ To be lucky is to have schemes and redundancies. To be lucky is to earn what is not yours through skill of mind and sleight of hand. It is to have a grin and a knife behind your back. Every Queen Mariposa had luck in spades, from Litigious to Negligent. The ability to make things the way you wish them to be, with such a skill that, to an uninformed outside observer, it might be mistaken as chance. That only through a close examination of the card up your sleeve or the gun in your hand, such guile might be revealed.

It makes me wonder; how many Mariposians may be lucky, and I just do not know? Has there been a long string of luck in Mariposa, longer than even history may know about, and perhaps I have just not looked closely enough? Is the veinard who finds the bag of coins dropped simply benefiting from some long laden scheme? What about the cleric who’s rival says the wrong word at the wrong party? What about the winds that brought the Cambion Kings away from the Butterfly Bay, thus saving Queen Mariposa the Kingbreaker from a war in her streets? Was that luck as well? Was the history of Mariposa naught but a long string of wires and webs?

Was it luck that brought Felix Bell Stride to the side of Elias Tvestok?

It is what he wondered as he sat in the Harts of Green that night next to the Vily. The bar was empty, save the two of them and whatever servants manned the establishment. It was a quiet winter's night, with a brutal chill sneaking under the ill fitting door and misaligned window panels. It was a season that Felix had hated. With the whipping winds and it driving men to huddle close to one another next to fire. He was a true Isosian that way, even if he had no faith in the Goddess of Order. The fungal elf looked small in the cool light of the bar, the halogen bulbs reflecting sickly off the birchwood of the walls. Elias was hunched over the countertop, feet dangling from his perch on a too tall stool.

Next to him, Felix’s bow sat, leaned up against the hardwood counter. It was a massive thing, with quarter-inch copper wire as its bowstring. It dwarfed the Vily it sat next too, thick wychwood ending in burls at either knock. It looked as if it was a young wych elm, cultivated specifically for the purpose of being turned into a bow wholesale. Not hewn, not shaped or carved, but bent in its entirety into a weapon of war. It even still had a few leaves coming from the top, just below the upper nock. The bow looked as if it required a titanic amount of force to draw, too much for any mortal hands and far too much for a man as slender as Felix to draw reliably.

It was wholly impractical for the modern combat of Mariposa, unwieldy for the streets and corners that his job required him to skulk. But it had been so long by Felix’s side, this weapon of war, that he was loath to let it go. It had been his constant companion, more so than Elias or anyone else in the grand iron cage that was Mariposa. It had its uses too. Hefted over one’s shoulder, the bow could make a formidable weapon. And with a long enough sight-line, with a still enough air, Felix would wrap three fingers around the bowstring. It would whistle as the copper screamed against the still living wood, scraping so hard as to singe and cinder the wych elm. The scent of ozone and soot would fill the air as Felix knocked an arrow. And the wind would sing as his arrow, perfectly straight with no fletching, flown through it.

Felix looked down into his drink sitting in front of him. Something dark green and smelt of wormwood. He glanced over at the copper knife sitting next to it, still sheathed in oryx leather and gold. He had not needed to use his bow today. Somewhere behind the two of them, a spider idly sat on his web. It was the same web it has always made, spun glistening in the flickering halogen lights of the bar. It was night now, and the lights were warm and distracting, making the spider almost invisible to all who might look upon it.

But not the web

It was so intricate that one would be forgiven for thinking it was weaved entirely from metal and light. Its spirals and fractals covered in a hoarfrost of light, reflecting and refracting throughout its many bends and curves. It was wholly entrancing, threatening to distract or distance anyone who dares to look upon it for just that moment too long.

Felix smiled and sighed in disappointment, bringing the glass to his lips, his eyes glancing and darting between Elias, the bartender, and Elias. He eventually settled upon his dower companion and continued to smile. “Something on your mind?”

Elias’ face dropped further, like a startled child being scolded by his father. His white eyes darted back between his drink and his drinking companion, the wrists of his suit coat tugged slightly, as if it was not properly tailored for him. A growth spurt during his service to the Rumor Queen. “What are we doing here, Felix?” He finally muttered, running a long nail across the rim of his glass. It was something weaker than what Felix had ordered. Elias always ordered the same drink whenever the two of them went out. Krum’s Rot, an orcish rye whisky But he would maybe drink two sips of it before they had retired for the night. I think Elias just hated how it tasted, like bile and sweetness.

“You did a good job.” Felix answered, uninterested in whatever game the rich kid wanted to play. “And so you got paid for it. The Rumor Queen might have her schemes, but ours are surprisingly not that complex.”

Elias sighed, putting his hand on his forehead, thumb rubbing the edge of his temple. He avoids eye contact with the barkeep, a young human with short cropped brown hair. Around his neck and pierced in his ears are golden effigies of a stag’s fang. “It was a fucking babysitting job.”

“It was not a babysitting job, Elias.” Felix rolled his eyes, raising his mug of something warm and spiced to his own lips. Elias was hunched over the countertop now, elbows digging harshly into the poplar. Felix’s shoulders were straight, his back arched just slightly against the backrest of the uncomfortable barstool. Behind them, the front door creaks, announcing the arrival of another would-be patron. Felix spots her from the corner of his eye, his head not turning in the slightest. Her horns poke out from beneath her hat. A cambion, perhaps. Certainly bestial.

He wonders if Elias sees her.

“That’s what Alace called it!” The lawyer blubbers, as if he was already drunk.

“I don’t think-” Felix begins.

“Witch-boss wants ya.” Elias interrupts with perhaps his most unflattering impression of the halfling. He looks up at Felix, his face contorted into a gross sneer. For a moment, Felix almost found it charming. Instead, he smiled into his still warm mug. Elias continues, nose scrunching in mock disgust. “Gotta have the lady’s best babysitter on it.”

“I was there, Elias.” The archer brings his drink back down against the countertop. “And he didn’t say exactly that it was babysitting. And you did do a good job.”

“I sat on a rooftop all night and watched over a warehouse for six hours.”

There is some commotion behind the two of them as another patron, one who must have just entered, pulls a stool out next to the cambion woman. She still was not within proper sightline of Felix, hiding in that spot right between his skull and his eyes. Her presence was still felt, however. Like a hand ghosting over his shoulder, he could feel her there burning like an absent flame. He could see the man, a gray orc from the looks of it, sitting next to her however. He was tall and uncomfortably sitting on one of the stools. Felix motions the bartender for another drink.

“You truly do think so highly of yourself, Elias.” Felix leaned forward on the counter, the rough and unsanded wood digging into his forearms. “Where are we going with this?”

Elias sighed and rubbed his temples. He took, for the first time that night, a sip of his whisky. He made a face, almost instinctively and certainly absentmindedly. “When did Mab hire you?”

Felix’s face did not move, although he did lean closer. “Where are we going with this?” He repeats himself, albeit quieter. He did not want to ask the question again.

“When she hired me, she sought me out.” Elias looked down into his orcish whisky. His reflection seemed to pale in comparison to what he thought he might look like. Maybe a bit longer hair, maybe a bit less pathetic. He wondered if that is how Felix saw him and, for a moment, fought the urge to smile. He ran a hand through his hyphae and looked back up at his companion. “She looked for me, sent me a missive. I was sitting in a cafe, late at night, when a courier brought me one of her letters. Red stamp, fine stationery, the whole deal. She summoned me, called for me. I must have been special enough for that.”

Felix sighed again and straightened up from his position. The bartender placed the drink in front of him with a loud clatter, startling the lawyer beside him. Felix looked up at the bartender’s face. He wasn’t looking at his customer in front of him, he wasn’t looking at Elias or Felix. He was looking at the woman behind the two of them, Felix could see her in the reflection of the bartender’s eyes. Her hat was off now, although through the glassy cornea all other descriptions were obscured. The man in front of them had not gone to serve them at any point since the two lawyers had entered the Hart of Green. And, as such, there were seemingly no drinks in front of them.

The bartender’s eyes shot down towards Felix. An instinct, to watch what was watching you. I am not even sure he knew that he was being observed. They were bloodshot, the bartender’s eyes. Like they had not rested in days. Felix raised the glass to his lips again and, absentmindedly, grabbed the knife on the counter. He was sure no one in the bar had seen him do it, not even Elias. He fought the urge to even look at the Vily besides him. ‘This must be why.’ Felix thought to himself, ‘Our lady didn’t seem to trust you with better jobs.’

Felix did not break eye contact with the bartender. Behind him, the spider wound a strung so taught I was scared it might break.

“She found me, half drunk on vengeance in a glen somewhere off the coast of the Eastern Kingdoms.” He finally responded after a second too long. The bartender looked away, to be busy somewhere else. Felix’s lips curled into a smile. The boy may not understand what the archer is doing, but the bartender did. “Offered me a place within her organization. I guess I was hungry.”

Elias looked up at him, eyebrows raised in an unreadable mixture of emotions. “Half drunk on vengeance?”

“I made a promise a long time ago.” Felix looked over to his bow, its nock curving like a lyre. The man whose hand had hewn it rested on Felix’s chin. His fingers, supple and spindly, lay against his neck, at the vulnerable point where his jaw met his throat. An arrow knocked, whistling like music as it flew through the air. His arm brought back in recurve as his fingers, three of them, ran along the bow’s one, beautiful string. A weapon of war, beat from some beautiful music. Felix looked back from his memory, now towards the Vily, who was studying the archer’s face with grand consideration. Elias noticed that Felix was now back in the room with him and, quickly, returned to his glass. From behind the two of them, the woman rose from her stool but did not move. “I wasn’t quite done when Mab found me.” Felix continued. “But, ah, such are the follies of younger men.”

“I’m… not sure I’ve ever been there.” Elias muttered to himself in a moment of pure empathy. “So deep in vengeance, I mean. What was it like?”

Felix took a deep breath and did not close his eyes. “You’re good at getting beneath the armor, aren’t you Elias?”

Elias smiled weakly. The door behind them opened again. Felix looked over at the countertop across the bartender and saw the bell that hung above it, broken off. The door shut. Three and four. Another cambion and human. One, the human I believe, had a shotgun with a little charm on the end of it. Another stag’s tooth. Felix fights the urge to turn around. He believes they have come for him, and he would not give them the satisfaction of looking their prey in the eyes.

“I am good at my job, Felix.” Elias sat up straight for the first time since entering the bar. Did he not see the men behind him? “It’s why Mab hired me.”

Felix looked back at the bartender, their eyes met. After a long pause, Felix answered the Vily’s question. “It poured from the mouth like wine, like a cup overfilled and trembling.” He looked back at Elias. “It was all you could taste, like ash. It was like drowning in ash. Keened your senses into razors and sharpened you into something beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” The bartender interrupted. In his hand was an already clean glass. He glanced back behind Felix, as if the outburst startled someone.

“Beautiful.” Felix continued, furrowing his brow. “I chose the right word.”

Elias quirked an eyebrow. “Then why only half drunk?”

“Because I didn’t give myself to it, not fully.” Felix turned his head, just slightly, to the woman behind him. She took a step forward in acknowledgement. Elias did not follow his eyeline. “That was my mistake. Either do not start or finish it, Elias. Half of a transformation is misery.”

“Sounds lucky that she found you then.” Elias ran his hand along the rim of the glass.

Felix sneered, disgusted. “I abhor luck, Schemes and warding winter winds. It’s the one thing I hate about your employer, the one thing unbecoming of her station.”

“My employer?” Elias put his hand on his chest in mock aghast.

“Marabell Dayshaper may be your employer, she is my Lady.” Felix rejoins

Behind the two of them is another step. Trepidacous, heavy, and not joined by her companions Felix notices. If the cambion wasn’t so duplicitous, so lucky herself, he would admire her gall.

Elias smiled and turned away from Felix, now facing the bartender. “You sound like the old man.”

Felix also turned towards the human in front of them. Felix is staring at the bartender’s hands. They are worn red, as if they have been scrubbed repeatedly and obsessively. His fingernails were bit back to the stub. “You have a lot to learn from Bernard.”

“Not you?”

“I’m sure I do.” Felix leans back somewhat. He can feel the gun against the nape of his neck, it's cold iron burning against his sinewy skin. Who were they? What grand scheme had Felix Bell Stride fallen for this time. And the kid, Felix glared at him. Would he run? Hide? He oversaw him, Lady’s orders. Several missions, he was clumsy and aimless. Felix was sure the boy was a coward. Even now, he didn’t notice how in much danger they actually were. “But I’ve lived a bit longer than you, Elias Tvestok. And I worry my learning days are far beyond me.”

Elias sat up in a way that Felix saw as mimicry. “Do you regret this?” Behind them, the strand snapped, an errant and cruel wind unmoored the spider.

Another step. She would be on him in a moment. There was a door towards the back of the establishment. Perhaps it went to the kitchen, perhaps it went to some sort of back alley. But it was an escape. He could make it, but Felix would be unable to take both the boy and his bow that sat besides him. He, for a moment he did not have, debated which one to leave behind, stuck between two decisions.

If Felix could sweat, if the salt could stain his clothing, I don’t think he would have in this moment. It makes him proud to think that. His composure. That came with his position in Mab’s organization. He would have been disgusted in himself if he had broken now. He was unsure of what the boy meant, which part would have he regretted? The vengeance? The schemes, the wires? For the first time in Felix’s life, he felt the desire to lie, to twist some cruel words together in untruth. Although why, I am not sure.

It is anathema to him. He is a creature of truth, only as good as his word. Another step behind him. He can feel her now, he doesn’t even have to turn around to face his killer.

“How could I ever?” Felix responds, turning his head towards Elias with a smile. A hammer clicks behind the two of them. Felix’s eyes dilate. The gun is placed to the back of Elias’ neck.

A green hand wrapped around the pistol’s grip. Her hold. Tight enough to draw blood. It smells like niter. Like soot. From its pommel, a small golden stag’s tooth hangs. His heart pounds. A glint of smile from the assailant. Rage drips from between the gaps of her teeth. He can see it. In her eyes. He wasn’t the target.

Felix reaches for the knife.

He is not fast enough.

The room fills with a green flash. Sparks fly, searing phosphorus onto Felix’s eyes. There are stars, bright white spots where the absent flame burns. The ash he smelt the moments before burn his nose. His knife swings around, drawn from its sheath. The boy is thrown forward by the force. His chest hits the countertop. White, fleshy hyphae and cerebral fluid splatter across the poplar wood. Elias slumps over, head hitting the countertop. His body hits the ground like a dead dog. His foot kicks, twitches, trying to find purchase. The projectile went clean through him. Tearing white blood and flesh apart with grand force. The wood beneath him splintered. Singed. Elias’ white blood makes it look like a smoldering fire.

Felix dares not look down. His knife is braced in front of him. The blade catches the light like an absent flame. There are four of them. Five now, with the bartender. The orc has stepped in front of the door. Behind Felix there is the man with the shotgun, next to the other cambion who appears unarmed. The bartender has drawn a gun.

And the woman in front of him stands there. Her barrel is still smoking. The front of the weapon is completely caked in Elias, dripping white blood onto the floor. Onto her boots. He can see her now. She is still turned towards the corpse, not paying any attention to Felix or his drawn weapon. Her skin is verdant and green, starkly contrasting with the white blood on her hands, like she had washed her hands in him.

The woman did not strike an imposing figure. She was shorter than Felix by a couple heads. Her cheeks were gaunt like she had been starved for some time. Her eyes were red and tears were streaming down her cheek. The gun sat trembling in her hands. She lowered the gun, leveling it with Elias’ corpse.

“Who are-” Felix is interrupted by another white flash. She fires again into his still body. His body crumples around the force of the weapon. It smells like burning. And then another, the woman’s shoulder barely recoiling with each round fired, as if she had become a part of that baleful weapon. Felix flinches with each shot, four in total, and drops lower in his stance, pulling the knife in front of him.

“I’m the one holding the gun.” The woman responds, her eyes still locked on Elias’ body. She waits for him to stop twitching, to stop moving. She closes her eyes for a moment and, then, turns towards Felix. “I think that means I get to ask the questions.” Her voice is colder, more distant. Like speaking through a phone.

Felix fights the urge to look at Elias again. Instead, he glances again at the bartender. “Do you know who he worked for?”

The woman nods and speaks for him. “I do.”

“So, you know the trouble you’ve placed yourself in.”

The woman smiles, cheeks still stained with her sublimating tears. “I do.”

“Even if you kill me, you won’t get very far.”

“He was personal.” The woman lowers her gun now, finger still poised over the trigger. He knows, somewhere on the nape of his neck, that if he were to make a move, she could move faster than he could. It is in her eyes. Half drunk on vengeance. An absent flame. “An itch that needed to be scratched. You’re of use to me.”

Felix raised an eyebrow and his voice. “The boy?” He glanced back at the bartender behind him. “What, did he take your candy too? Knock you over on the swings? All of you?” None of the other conspirators looked at Felix. Nor at the corpse laying on the floor, at the exhibition of hatred before them.

“I guess I just have my vices, Felix.” The woman turned towards him, motioning with the pistol. It was alluring, it was more real than the woman holding it, caught the light more convincingly than her. “Should I make one of you?”

“I didn’t think vengeance was a vice of Isosa.” Felix motioned to the chain hanging from the pommel of her gun.

“Neither is indulgence.” She took a step forward, still limply carrying the gun in her hands. “But putting either above duty? But un-vigilance? A vice so low that we don’t even have a word for it.” She smiles in a way she thinks is meek. It was a mouth full of razors. “But I am no paladin, no priest.”

“How low they would think of you.”

The cambion continues to smile. A single bead of sweat rolls down the forehead of the bartender to the side of her. He eyes her wildly. The orc between Felix and the door has his finger over the trigger, shotgun leveled at the space between the two of them. “I am Sorrow Brightwind, and this is my Order of Broken Fang.”

A look was shared between her companions, one that neither Felix, nor by extension me, could decipher. A mix of rage, a tinge of obedience. Felix scoffed. “I have no interest in your sectarian violence. Nor did my companion.”

“Your employer certainly has an affinity for it.”

Felix bared his teeth. Sorrow's hands tightened around her gun. “This doesn’t seem like the crowd for you, miss.”

Sorrow places a hand on the bar counter. “Should I be in some cloister somewhere?”

“You are the one who said it.”

“I chose another path.” Sorrow gripped the countertop, teeth clenching together. Next to her, Felix’s bow, hewn from vengeance much like her. “No more no less.”

“It takes a stronger person than you to choose vengeance, to choose rage.” Felix looked at his bow as well and closed his eyes. He could hear its whistling, its purpose as a tool for violence. It, itself, was not violent in nature. It was a thing of beauty, of no will of its own. “For people like you, it is a gift, something given to you by someone stronger. Something you take in your hands, not something you make.”

Sorrow looked towards Felix’s bow. “People like us, Felix.”

“People like us.” Felix’s eyes shot away from the two of them, the bow and Sorrow, now eying a bottle of Krum’s Rot. There is a moment, and only a moment, dear reader, he could not hear his bow’s constant, droning whistle. For a moment, he feels as if he could walk out of this city. For a moment, he could walk into the sunset.

And then the whistling creeps back in.

It crawls in up his shoulder, wraps and weaves its way around his neck and the thought, the word of freedom, dies in his throat. It died right behind his teeth, its corpse now nestled where his tongue should have been. Where he should have had the words to bite Sorrow with. Where he could have had the courage to look down at his feet, at the blood pooling against his shoes. Ah, how distant that corpse had seemed. Elias’ blood ran cold against the leather of Felix’s boots. How he tried to ignore it. How indeed, dear reader.

Felix looked down, for just a moment, and all he saw was meat.

Felix looked back up at Sorrow, at her white spattered hands, still dripping just slightly. “What do you want from me? What peace do you think I can give you?”

Sorrow looked down at her shoes, methodically thumbing the trigger of her gun. She, too, averted her gaze from the corpse below her for reasons that still escape me. Was it shame? Discomfort? Sorrow had killed once before, three nights before this one. In the dark alleyways of the ruins of the Economic District where the transient and wolfkin lay. Even before then, Isosian thought predicates violence. It is, itself, a cutting knife, carving away pieces of reality to best fit the Grand Weft of their patron god. Sorrow holds it in her hand, cut away the parts of her that made her un-vigilant.

Had she failed by refusing to look at her kill?

“I have not cut away enough.”

Her finger finds the trigger of her gun, but she does not pull it yet. Felix grips his blade just that little bit tighter. “And you would see me the knife.”

“Your friend here, he has- had- taken something from me. Something on behalf of your employer.” Sorrow walked towards the door, not to exit but to give space for her words. Let them sit in the room between the two of them.

“I’m sure you’ve been following other members, other people who could give you the information you need.” Felix took a step forward, still brandishing that bronze knife in his hands. Beneath him, Elias’ foot trembled. Sorrow reached for his hand, not in malice, not in compassion, but out of pure and fitful instinct. And Felix lets her. He lets her put her palm against his blade. The room fills with the smell of blood. There is a moment that passes, where Sorrow’s companions are unsure of who to shoot, where they just stand there. Sorrow smiles what she thinks is a meek smile, a passive smile.

It was full of teeth.

“None of them were as hungry as you are.”

And that is when the room ignites with absent flame.

The door behind them explodes into splinters, knocking one of Sorrow’s men to his knees. Wooden shards flitter and fly throughout the room, with one large one striking Felix against his brow, splattering green ichor against the bar. Felix barely has a moment to turn and look at the door breaking apart, barely a second to register who was standing amongst the smoldering ruin that was the door. She was tall, at least as tall as Felix was. With gray, almost ashen hair tied close in some sort of braid behind her head. Her pointed ears and equally gray skin stood out against her imperial garb, with its black fabric and green tint. Her epaulettes demarcated her as some sort of officer. In her hand, a wrought iron rapier, with a pappenheim hilt. It was black and hummed slightly with the song on the elf’s lips.

It was someone who Felix recognized immediately. Anyone in Mariposa knew of the Butcher of Blackvien and Conqueror of Karnata. The woman who stood head to head with the might of the Grand Butterfly and came out victorious. In her hand, a feykiller, this Felix was certain of. A iron weapon, cold steel that was anathema to those from the wyld. She was the only elven officer among the Empire of Night forces in Mariposa. She was tall, and razor thin, with one hand behind her back and her sword was held just before her nose.

She was Brigadier Delilah Nirdeh.

Did she know who was supposed to be here? Behind her, shouting instructions and curses, soldiers. It could have been the entire Empire for all Felix might have known. They came from the night, pushing past their brigadier as if she was as razor thin as her song. They began to flood the Harts of Green, with weapons of war keened. Felix was not able to see their faces behind their masks, frozen as he was. But he could see the steam escape from where their mouths would be, see their eyes dart from the slits in their helmets. He could see the cold iron rifles they held between their plump fingers.

Felix began to raise his knife but he found he couldn’t. For a moment, he blamed his nerves, that his old age and sentimentality has slowed him, gut him somehow. Sorrow seemingly did not notice his hesitation, merely keeping an eye on Felix himself. The archer broke the gaze first, glancing down at his knife to only see a third hand grasping around the blade. The grip was weak, but it is still there. Its fingers wrap themselves around the cross hilt, with half of them on the blade and half of them on the grip. Felix looks down in shock as Sorrow’s companions begin to open fire on the imperial intruders to see that the fingers were blue. Elias looked up at the blade between Sorrow and Felix, now half grasped in his hands. His head split open by the shot, fleshy hyphae singed by the absolute terror of Sorrow’s violence. Felix could see clear through his head to the gore stained bar floor beneath them. Already, the strands of Elias were reforming, attempting to close the wound that was once his eye. But it was a careful process, a laborious process. And on Elias’s face, plastered just below where his skin split and splattered with viscera and gore, there was a knowing and hungry smile. His hand gripped the blade tighter, so hard that, for but a moment, Felix thought the boy was about to break the blade.

There was none of the bumbling, none of the whimpering and sobbing that he acquainted with Elias. Only a sharpness, it was behind his one good eye. It was hidden behind his flashing bioluminescence, which was now dulled and empty. His eye lacked focus. Or perhaps, it was focused on simply everything, taking in every single stimuli at once. Felix wondered in the moment between moments, how this coward got so lucky?

And then, behind them, sat the spider.

It lay in yet another web, caught in its own contingency. The glisten of this secondary web was even fainter, even daintier. It was a more advantageous, more strategic position than its original webbing ever had been, shadowed by the vast and obvious net it weaved just above it, obscured in shadow. And among its gossamer thin strands, were just so many flies, each unaware of the threads they were stranded in, tugging and pulling against forces they, themselves, could not understand. They had thought they had avoided the web by flying below the first one. They wound themselves tighter with each struggle against the web. Felix could feel it now, even though the whole night he sat unaware of its prying eyes.

He swears he could feel the thing smile.

And Felix finally understood. He hated how much it made him want to smile back.

Elias grabbed the handle of the knife with a strength not yet seen by his companion, sliding its blade along Sorrow’s hand and driving it deep into her tender and soft thigh. That smell of blood, acrid and metallic, was gone with Sorrow’s separation from the knife, mooring Felix back to the real, back to his understanding of the world. The glimpse of the spider was gone, even if he still knew, somewhere, that he was still there.

She did not scream when the blade pierced her thigh, did not react in any way typical of a scared housewife or mother. A bullet whizzed past her ear, cutting a strand of her hair that had dared move out of place. It was as if the bullets were haloed around her, as if the guns could fire at anything but her, and that hair had simply forgotten its place in this. The bartender, still fumbling with his shotgun, takes a round to the chin, sending him limp and reeling against the shelf behind him. The clattering of bottles, the dripping ichor of them, spill against the floor. He had no such assurity as Sorrow, no such confidence in her well being.

Sorrow reeled back, fist clenching in absent flame, her blood dripping from between her clenched fingers. Her body twists, contorts in ugly shape. Her shoulder looks as if it might break, her muscles are pulled taught against her skin, her skin flay at the edges of her. It comes away just where her fingernails, grime covered and soaked in now drying and sublimating blood, meet her skin in strips. In that very moment, Elias reaches for the gun in his breast pocket with a precision that Felix has never seen. There is no fumbling for the handle, no fingers getting caught on latches or cloth. Felix could almost see them micrometers of adjustment that was happening in the errant twitch of the boy’s fingers. It was as if he was made for this, it was as if all the cowardice faded away, washed away in gore and violence.

It was at that moment, when Elias reached for his gun and Sorrow was mere inches away from behind upon him, that is when Felix began to run. Nirdeh would be on them in a moment, Felix knew that. He did not know how, or why, he knew that. Maybe it was in how she let the others flow around her, like she could give them the first taste of whatever was happening here. Felix grabbed his bow from beside the counter, still desperate for some kind of violence. As he rounded the bar, as his hand graced the wood of the counter, he turned his head to look back at Sorrow and Elias. His bow drawn, arrow knocked in a moment of pure motion and instinct.

She had her thumbs wrapped around the hole she had made in his skull and at the corner of his eyes. Her teeth were barred, her mouth exhaled vengeance. Her brow was contorted and twisted into a mix of cruel glee and drunken fervor. White viscera pooled from the re-opening wound. Her fingers, adorned with talons and claws, cut at his skin.

Elias had drawn his revolver. It was a cold black thing that always made Felix shudder to think of. His hand was perfectly, calculatingly exact. He could still see the movements, subtle adjustments that Felix only now realized what they were. They were not tremors, they were decisions. He was flitting between which part of her to shoot.

Nirdeh was behind them. Her sword was drawn and swept back. Her gloved hand reached towards Sorrow. Flecks of white blood splatter against the dark gray leather of her uniform. She grips her rapier even tighter. Flecks of song fall from it like rime ice.

All three of them were smiling.

Felix did not know which one to shoot.

He turned around just as a gun’s hammer found its place, as the round fired off. He flies through the door and into the cold, raining night. Elias had just pulled the trigger on his pistol, just squeezed his hand as its barrel was over her kidney. Sorrow’s hand withdrew during its ego pause, in between the moments between action and reaction. The hammer clicked, Elias wished to kill, and then the room was filled with smoke. The E-99 Oscillating Revolver, even this model that Elias had designed himself, had just as much recoil as his workhorse rifle. Elias’ elbow was braced against his stomach and was kicked into it, knocking the wind from the young Vily. His eyes still snapped shut. He had expected a yell, had expected to feel the dripping viscera onto him, he had expected Sorrow to crumble.

As his vision sharpened, as Elias blinked away the blood, he did not expect to only see Brigadier Delilah Nirdeh. Her long coat blew from the shattered door behind her, with subtle rain plittering down against the old hardwood floor. Her cloak was tattered and torn, singed slightly by the round that Elias let loose. The barrel of his revolver was still smoking. His other elbow was dug into the hardwood as he propped himself up. He turned around, twisting at the waist. Behind him, another open door, this time slamming against the door frame in the whipping wind. Beyond that door, Sorrow was running. A verdant green spot mixing in with the steel, industrial gray of Mariposa in the rain. She was gone, Elias knew this. There would never be a moment where she would so fittingly fall for his trap.

“A keener woman would think you shot at me.” Delilah Nirdeh stood above Elias, her backswept hilt turned towards him, point of her singing sword straight down.

Elias raised his wrist holding his gun up to his nose, wiping away some of his mycelial fluid. It was not blood, as most who were not Vily thought it was, but latex. The Vily form had no need for coagulants, and each cell of their body acted as an ersatz synapse, an isolated and specialized organism that made up the hive-mind that was the sprouting Vily. The mycelial fluid was a deterrent for predation. It made Brigadier Nideh’s nose crinkle in irritation. It flowed from his wounds with no sign of stopping, pooling over her boots and stained her leather so deep that she would never, truly, get it out.

“How keened are you?” Elias spat out between teeth in a venom that was neither intended nor necessary for the situation. Delilah scowled and extended an arm out.

“You aren’t the prickliest Fleur agent that I’ve met.” She shook her own hand, as if he were a dog and it was an enticing bone that Elias had yet to pick up the scent. “Suppose that counts for something.”

“I suppose I should thank you.” Elias responded, grabbing her forearm in a sort of greeting. “You did save my life.”

Delilah smiled, hoisting the Vily off of the floor. Her forearm was toned, her muscles almost seemed to writhe under his touch, as if she was bristling under his touch. Perhaps it wasn’t something the young brigadier felt all that often. “You seemed to have it handled, sir.”

Elias stood up, with the brigadier’s help of course, and shook the dust and grime from off his lapel. “I am never going to get this out of my coat.” He looked at the hem of his sleeve, the one that once held the knife. It was splattered with blood, true blood, real blood. Green, verdant blood. He stared at the ichor for a moment that was just too long. Below his hand, the knife sat on the floor, reverberating, harmonizing even, with the song that was still coming from Nirdeh’s lips.

Delilah looked back towards the flapping door and gripped her sword a hair tighter. “They your friends?”

“Tall one is.” Elias glances to his side. He knew that she would chase someone, could see it in her eyes. That same, starved look that Sorrow had. She needed a hunt. “I’d prefer to keep him intact if it's all the same to you.”

The brigadier nodded and turned around towards her men. “We’re looking for a green Cambion, woman. Ran away from an active crime scene.” As if the soldiers were a part of her, some fruiting body, they filtered out of the bar, leaving only Elias, Nirdeh, and the corpses.

Elias survailed the scene. Not his best work, he thought. A bit sloppy. He glanced down at the bronze knife, Felix’s prized possession. He knelt down and grabbed it. He had gotten what he wanted. “I take it you’re stuck behind a desk too much.”

Nirdeh sighed. “That is evidence, you know. In your assault.”

“You’re dodging the question.” Elias smiled, pocketing the sticky blade in his coat.

“The 81st doesn’t stay in one place for too long. We often leave the actual governing to the auxiliary forces.” She scowled. When the 81st Legion took Karnata, Nirdeh did not stay long enough to see what she had left behind. Nine different legal, judicial, and political legions filtered in to replace the bureaucracy that she slaughtered invading the nation, three times as many as was normal or necessary.

“Bang up job you’re doing here.”

“I’m a soldier.” Nirdeh glanced over to the Vily. “I usually don’t work in law enforcement.”

“What do they have you out here for then?” Elias continued, rummaging around his own gore on the floor for something. Hidden behind the viscera, his torn ear. Inside it, a crystalline bullet. Cracked, leaking entropy, but still working.

“It was my round.”

Elias looked up at her incredulously. “Officers have to take the beat?”

“We were responding to a concerned citizen, Mr. Tvestok.” Nirdeh responded. “Someone said his brother was in here.”

Elias sighed, standing up from his crouched position. His head and ribs should hurt more than they do, should be sharp and warm. He held the bullet in his hand as it began to ring. He did not pick it up. “How patriotic.”

Nirdeh grabbed his shoulder, tight glove digging into the fabric of his suit. They were alone now, even the patter of rain outside seemed to cease. “Should I be worried about a Fleur agent operating so boldly in my city?”

Elias looked over his shoulder with his good eye, head lolling to one side. “Maximillian signed the armistice with us, made us the governing body.” Elias smiled. “If anything, it's our city.”

“The General bought out your contracts from the Corporate Lords so that you may serve in our best interest.” Nirdeh rejoined with a bit more venom than I think she intended.

“Ipso facto anything I do is in your best interest.” Elias continued to smile, his teeth as white as spider webs. “There’s no need for him to sick his hunting dog on me.”

Nirdeh let go of his shoulder and sighed. “I trust you, Mr. Tvestok. I’d simply be remiss if I didn’t ask.”

The Vily raised an eyebrow in shock, unsure of what truly to say. “I.” He paused, the words dying in his throat. He turned around to face her, she stood a good head taller than Elias. Her face was all sharp angles, much like his. “Thank you, Delilah.”

Nirdeh turned around, towards the door her prey absconded from. “Do not make me regret that.” And, into the night, she was gone, the bullet in his hand still ringing, echoing throughout the now empty bar.. Elias turned away, turned towards the shattered door. He saw, in the rain, a single, purple Vily underneath a street light. He held up a black umbrella and was adorned in a black, tight suit, much like Elias’. He held his hand up to his ear. The bullet in Elias’ hand rings again, this time a bit louder.

He affixed the bullet into his one good ear and tuned it into his brother’s frequency.

“Was it a good sortie?” The smug voice asked him, words cutting and cruel.

“A good evening to you as well, Quincy.” Elias sighed, pinching the bridge of what remained of his nose.

“What have I, what has Dad, told you about going in half cocked?” The figure gesticulates from across the way. This was the only way they could talk, with the distance between them.

“I got results.”

“Oh?” Quincy responds flippantly. “And what result is that? You getting your face blown off?”

“Consider it setting tolerances.” Elias rejoined. “Or, maybe it's better saying that I was setting operational boundaries, if you wanted something that would sound like it came from you.” He turned towards the bar, towards the corpses. Each stamped with an Imperial Mark, a bullet hole in their backs and in their heads. All kill shots. The Empire had no need for the rank in file, so they took none in. “Now I know what these people think of me.”

“You organized your own hit.” Quincy talks with a deliberate cadence, words each implying their own malice. “So you could find out if that boy likes you?”

“You make it sound so juvenile.”

“Is that not what you did?”

“I had to know what he knew of me. Had to know why she was following me.”

There was a break, a pause in conversation. Short as a breath. “You knew Sorrow was following you?”

Elias’ shot a look back at the figure across the street. Above him, the street light flickered. “A friend of yours?”

“I ran into her on another operation.” Quincy mumbled out, shifting in place somewhat. Elias narrowed his eyes. “At Rae Courtyard.”

“She’s that little devil?”

“The very same.”

“So you got me shot.” Elias began to laugh, a choked chuckle cut off by the pain of his mangled face. “I don’t know why you hide such things from me if I’m just going to find them out anyway.”

“Did not.”

“Good thing she didn’t know how resilient us Vily are. Otherwise I might not be walking right now.”

A sigh broke over the radio wave. “I won’t always be around to scrape you off of the floor, Elias.”

Elias looked back down at the corpses and their Imperial marks. He almost muttered out some sort of prayer, some sort of guiding word for their soul. He fought the urge. “You were here rather fast, weren’t you, Quincy.”

Another beat. “I was in the area.”

Elias smiled. Behind him, the spider sat in its hidden web. It's belly full and brimming with squirming flies. A smile, content and proud, plastered across its mandibles. Elias shot Quincy that same smile from across the street, so wide now it might as well have been continents away. Quincy did not know what he saw, or what Elias was thinking, but it made him squirm in his boots all the same. Like a predator late for a hunt.

“I am sure you were.”

#cup of trembling #creative writing #fantasy #writing #dnd writing #dnd #ttrpg #ttrpg writing #Elias Tvestok #Felix Bell Stride #Delilah Nirdeh #fantasy horror #mariposa

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trashcancalicojack · 2 years

Text

Full name: Fili Durin

Nicknames: Fi, fee, lion, golden lion, goldilocks, princeling , nanu (Dis and Thorin's affectionate nickname for Fili)

Age: 82

Race: Dwarf

World of Origin: Middle Earth

Date of birth: TA 2859

Place of birth: Blue Mountains

Current residence: Erebor/The Shire

Gender identity: Man (or Dwarf I guess)

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexual orientation: Bisexual

Heritage: Crown prince of Erebor

Religion: Vala Aulë

Current status: Single as a Pringle

Occupation: Jeweler, Prince? And sometimes an inconvenience

Hobbies: Smithing, making jewelry, singing, dancing and reading

Mother: Dis

Father: Vili

Brother: Kili

Uncle: Thorin Oakenshield

Pet: Didn't have one for the longest time but when they got Erebor back he found a kitten between the ruins of Dale and Erebor and kind of adopted her. At first it was only to give the little kitten strength to make sure it'd survive the winter but after a while he officially adopted it. The kitten name is Emily Lickingson, Emi for short.

Love interest: None, until the fandom decides otherwise.

Friends: Too many to name them all, but some of them are Thorin's Company (duh), Gimli, Tauriel, Jack (shut up, my sheet my rules), Elladan, Ellrohir, Frar son of Dar, Ibun Firebeard, Asphodel Brandybuck, Lily Proudfoot...

Enemies: Probably the old assholes that were at first in Erebor's council when the mountain started filling again. Oh, and Azog.

Said and done, it's not everything because i will be rationing it but HERE IT IS, THE CHARACTER FILL of @tolkien-fantasy fantastic/amazing/wonderful OC character sheet with Fili!

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enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog · 9 months

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The Best of Intentions-

Chapter 12

Dis*

She let the tea steep a little longer than normal. She needed a strong brew to awaken her soul. After leaving Thorin alone last night with Mistlynn's unforgettable entrance, she had gone back to the feasting hall and enjoyed a couple more dances and several more glasses of wine as she caught up with Dain and Sindri. An extra boost of vigor was needed for this day.

She had been most pleased with how the night had played out. Seeing her brother laugh and dance, truly enjoying himself had nearly brought tears to her eyes. He had seemed a century younger, before all that death and responsibility had been heaped upon his young shoulders. Their talk in the courtyard had been enlightening as well. She was shocked when he said that she was stronger than him, although that sentiment could not be farther from the truth. That was high praise coming from him. She knew her brother held her in high regard, but he had always been a dwarf of few words, especially after the death of their mother.

It pained her to see him afraid, vulnerable. He had always been the strong unmovable pillar in her life, a resilient and impenetrable stronghold not unlike the mountain he ruled with an iron fist. He had always been her protector, her respite from the cruelty of the world; he stepped in and raised her boys and supported her when her Vili lost his life. He would never understand how much she cherished and appreciated him for his strength and selflessness. She could only hope that her words had been enough to soothe that fear, to encourage him to pursue something that would bring him happiness, for once in his life think of himself and put himself first.

An abrupt knock sounded at her door, interrupting her thoughts jarringly. She winced slightly before regaining her poised composure. Never show weakness, especially if it came in the form of a hangover. "Enter." She called out briskly.

The door opened and the white-blonde head of Mistlynn poked in. She had her hair braided half up and down, and she was wearing a pair of breeches, a flowy white tunic and a leather bustier of her own design. "Sorry I am late." She smiled brightly before stepping in shutting the door. "I got caught up in my workshop. Ori rescheduled our lessons for later this afternoon." She chuckled as she approached swiftly with a very confident sway to her hips as an irresistible zest radiated from her. "And just how are you fairing my friend?" she teased, her green eyes bright.

A suspicious smirk teased Dis's lips. "What has you in such a fine mood?" Her eyes scanned over her, and she quickly spotted a certain braid tucked behind her delicate ears. Dis jumped to her feet and rushed to Mistlynn, her eye wide and eager to confirm what she hoped and suspected. She touched the braid and lifted it gently with her fingers, an elated smile brightening her face as she saw her brother's bead firmly clasped on the end of the intricate braid.

An uncharacteristic squeal left the raven-haired princess as she pulled Mistlynn into a bone crushing hug, hangover immediately forgotten. "Oh, he did it! Mahal be praised! He did it!"

Mistlynn was laughing at her friend's reaction and hugged her back tightly once she was able to wiggle her arms free.

"I finally get a sister! I've been waiting for so long! Do you have any idea how long?" Dis giggled as she shook her to emphasize the point. "You guys were beginning to pain me! It was so excruciating to watch!"

Mistlynn blushed a deep red. "Was it really that obvious? Half the time I couldn't tell if he was glaring at me or offended by my very existence!"

"Oh, you were driving him mad, but not for the reasons you think! I'm sure he made it abundantly clear to you last night, eh? Judging by that betrothal bead and your blush." Dis teased, her face still beaming with joy.

"It's so surreal still. I woke up thinking it must have been a dream! But when I woke up my room was full of flowers. I've never seen or even smelled such amazing flowers before!" Mistlynn was gushing, thankful she was able to celebrate with someone other than Luna.

"I always knew he would spoil his bride-to-be, and you certainly deserve it my dearest!"

A series of urgent knocks pummeled Dis's door before it burst open as Fili and Kili rushed in. "Amad! You will never believe what I heard from Bombur, who heard from Brienne, who heard from her maid that Uncle bought out the entire flower market and had it delivered to…" The words rushed from Kili's mouth before he noticed that Mistlynn was standing next to his mother, both with joyous smiles on their faces. "Mistlynn!" both princes exclaimed in unison before hugging her.

"When is the wedding?" Kili asked eagerly.

"They haven't discussed that yet!" Dis chided, shooing her youngest off.

"A little bit soon to be discussing a wedding, isn't it?" Mistlynn chuckled nervously as she rubbed her palms against the side of her legs.

Dis, Fili and Kili all stopped talking and stared at her. She shrugged her shoulders awkwardly, "I mean, weddings are a simple affair in my kingdom. We perform a handfasting ceremony in front of our family unit and closest friends. We don't normally have the means to support a feast afterwards."

"Well, that sounds so… intimate and romantic." Dis tried to smile encouragingly but was fighting with herself how exactly to explain what a royal dwarven wedding entailed.

"That sounds absolutely awful." Kili was blunt, earning him a punch in the arm from Fili and a scolding look from his mother, "I'm sorry, I can't think of any other way to describe that! You know who you are marrying right?"

"And that marrying my uncle means you become Queen of Erebor. The first Queen since our Great Gamul Amad! That's reason enough for a huge celebration!" Fili added, not sure if breaking it gently to her was the right approach or not.

Dis nodded, agreeing with her sons. "We won't make any permanent decisions until Mistlynn discusses with Thorin what they want. It's their wedding after all, not yours."

"She's going to be our aunt! We just want to celebrate one of the few good things that has happened to our family since we reclaimed Erebor." Kili grumbled, before looking at her directly. "By the way, I am so glad you're his One. I was so scared he was going to marry someone old, and strict, and scary."

Fili laughed loudly while Dis tried to smack Kili again, who dodged it. "Bite your tongue! Your uncle is not old, Kili!"

"Could have fooled me!" Kili shot back as he crossed him arms over his chest.

"Stop it, Kili." Fili scolded as he pulled an uncomfortable Mistlynn into a side hug. "Don't worry about it. No matter what happens it will be great. My Amad knows how to throw an amazing party, whether it be small or big."

It was at that moment Thorin walked into the room, not at all surprised to see his family and his fiancé standing together. "Hhm. Now I can only imagine what this is about. I've been looking for the lot of you all morning."

Dis rushed to him. "How dare you not tell me you proposed! I only found out because I saw Amad's bead in her hair!"

"You're not my keeper Dis. I had every intention of telling you after you awoke this morning. Not my fault you slept in." He cocked his eyebrow challenging her.

"Please tell me you guys are going to have a big wedding." Kili begged, walking up next to his mother.

"Well, that is something I am going to discuss with my fiancé, not you Irakdashat. Don't you have your own maiden to go woo?"

"The wooing has been done, now I'm just waiting on a certain kingly uncle to give me the go ahead to plan my own wedding, Thank you very much. Until then, I plan on living vicariously through yours."

Thorin just shook his head, breathing in deeply while closing his eyes for a moment to pray for the sake of his sanity,

"Looks like I'm the favorite nephew again." Fili grinned, trying to get Mistlynn to laugh and help her relax.

"Enough now." Thorin grumbled, unable to help the smile that was teasing the corners of his mouth. He was looking at her now. "Has their incessant meddling changed your mind?"

Her laugh was lighthearted, and all the nervousness melted away. "They have only proven that I made the right choice."

Fili tried to subdue his smile as he stepped aside so that Thorin could approach her, granting them a small measure of privacy. "Thank you for the flowers. They were so beautiful! When I awoke, I thought I was still dreaming. I've never seen so many! How did you do it?" Her eyes twinkled, making his smile brighten.

He picked up her hand and tenderly kissed the back of it. "I have my ways." He teased.

"Ah, there are the two lovebirds!" Balin walked into the room. "The news is traveling fast; we must get ahead of it."

"The entire flower market Thorin, truly? "Dis laughed. "I'm not surprised all of Erebor is buzzing with the news."

"I had no intention of keeping it a secret." Thorin winked at Mistlynn before he put her hand on his arm before turning to face the others in the room. "What would you have me do Balin?"

Balin smiled fondly at Mistlynn. "First, I would like to congratulate the lady. I am truly happy for you both."

She beamed, her cheeks flushing a rosy hue. "Thank you Master Balin."

"Now we must discuss a date for the wedding. Sooner rather than later I gather?" his eyes twinkled. "The sooner we can get invites sent out to our neighboring kingdoms the better."

Thorin felt Mistlynn's body freeze next to him as he nodded. "I have a feeling you have a date already in mind, my friend." Thorin could see the silent conversation between Dis and Balin, he wanted to ask Mistlynn what had caused her to react in such a way but now was not the time.

"I think the last day of summer would be perfect. Gives us 6 weeks to prepare everything and give Mistlynn a proper overview of Erebor and what her duties as Queen will entail."

Dis nodded, agreeing with Balin. "I agree. It's a good amount of time for Dori and I to teach her what she needs to know and get her fitted for her wedding gown and new wardrobe."

Thorin felt Mistlynn's hand clench his arm slightly. He looked down at her to see slight trepidation in her eyes. "6 weeks is not a very long time. I fear I won't be able to learn all that I need to in that time. I was thinking next spring would be a good time?"

Thorin raised his eyebrow in surprise as he turned to look at her. "You want to wait that long?"

Mistlynn shrugged nervously. "6 weeks just isn't much time Thorin. I feel like there is still much for me to learn about your kingdom and your way of life in general. I do tend to stand out in a crowd don't you agree?"

Thorin processed her words for a moment before adverting his eyes and looking at Balin and his family. "Could you give us a moment?" He asked, his tone neutral.

"Of course." Balin nodded. "I'll be outside." He left the room, followed by Dis, Fili and Kili quickly. Kili shot them a wink before he shut the door.

"Is there any other reason other than you think you will not be prepared in that time?" Thorin asked, his tone gentle as he held both of her hands in his.

"Thorin, of course not." Mistlynn stressed, squeezing his hands with hers comfortingly. "It's just a lot you know, everything is changing so quickly. I've only been here a couple months. Not to mention my being from a kingdom no one here knew existed until I showed up unannounced. Some of your people may not like the idea of you marrying me, I am a quarter elf you know. We cannot ignore that fact. Even you knew that when we first met, and you were not happy about it either."

Thorin groaned as he released her hands, and rubbed his over his face and pushed back through his hair as he closed his eyes. "I knew that comment was going to come back and haunt me. It was disgusting of me to even call you that, I had no right! I was frustrated and confused by my feelings for you I didn't understand why you were under my skin so quickly. I was desperate for anything to keep you at a distance. But it doesn't and will never excuse me calling you that foul word. Please forgive me for that."

Mistlynn shook her head, stepping forward to put her hands on his chest, imploring him to understand. "That's not what I meant. I've already forgiven you. It's not like you were wrong, it is what I am and others have picked up on that fact. Most seem fine with it, but I know that others in your council are not going to be as understanding."

"You're my One, M'eudail. The council has no standing when it comes to that; and if anyone dares question it, they will be removed from my council and will not be welcome in Erebor. I will not stand for it."

"I will not have you tear apart your kingdom for me. You've worked too hard to build it back."

"I've worked too hard and lost too much in my life in the name of duty, I will not lose you because some old goat feels your lineage is lacking, which it isn't!" He sighed, taking a step back from her.

He paced for a moment before stopping and facing her again. "I am not as young as I used to be. I just accepted I would never find my One, that I would never have a love or family of my own. And now that I have found you, I don't want to wait any longer. I know it seems fast, but we have felt the pull, we know that we were meant to be together, to belong to one another. I want to start our life together as soon as possible."

He approached her, his eyes locking onto hers. He slid one hand along the curve of her waist and pulled her closer to him while he pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear before cupping her face. "But if you are uncomfortable with our wedding and your coronation being held so soon, I will wait. But I am afraid I cannot promise you a small wedding; it would be rude of me to not invite my people or our allies to witness our union and celebrate with us."

Mistlynn looked deeply into his eyes, her own turbulent with many emotions. Thorin sighed, removing his hand from her cheek, and taking a step back. "You don't have to make any decisions today. I don't want you feeling pressured."

Mistlynn shook her head, instantly missing his closeness. "No, Thorin. That's not necessary." She ran her hands up his chest and rested them around his neck. "Six weeks is enough time for me to acclimate. I am a fast learner, after all." She smiled coyly at him before rising on her tiptoes to capture his lips with hers. She felt the tension leave his body as he gave in to her kiss. They savored the taste and feeling of one another for a moment, before she pulled back, a breathy giggle escaping her lips. "You talk as if you're at death's door, Thorin. You are not that much older than me."

"I am 72 years older than you." He grumbled, his lips forming a slight pout as he brooded at her words.

She threw her head back, a beautiful laugh filling the room around her before she jumped up against him, forcing him to catch her as he stumbled back into the back of his sister's armchair. "Mahal knows I'll keep you on your toes, force you to keep up with me. You are in your prime you silly dwarf, I've always known I wanted someone more … mature."

Her light voice turned sensual before capturing his lips again, surprising him once again at her assertiveness. She bit his bottom lip teasingly than soothed it with her tongue, making a growl rumble deep from within his chest as he gripped her backside tightly with one hand while burying the other into her luscious platinum curls. He fought to keep his composure as she dominated the kiss as her legs wrapped around his waist tightly. He managed to pull back from her lips, desperately trying to focus on anything else other than her lips latching onto his neck directly under his jaw. "Another reason why we should get married quickly, you keep testing my resolve you minx."

She giggled, still peppering his neck with kisses before claiming his lips for one final kiss before returning to her feet and stepping back, her chest heaving as she savored the look of her fiancé absolutely wrecked and wanting while leaning against the chair. "Should we inform them of the good news then?" She giggled, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

Thorin laughed breathlessly as he attempted to stand and adjust himself. "They are probably leaning against the door trying to eavesdrop."

Mistlynn helped him straighten his tunic, allowing him to see the nervousness that flittered across her face before her mask slipped back into place. "Please tell me if you feel like your overwhelmed. I will help you navigate all of this."

She nodded, taking a deep breathe. "I know you will. And I know you sister, nephews, and everyone else will help as well. I just have to stop overthinking it."

Thorin leaned down and kissed the hair on the top of her head. She closed her eyes and snuggled into his embrace. It was at that moment she felt like she could take on the world.

#erebor #hobbit thorin oakenshield #hobbit thorin oakenshield x oc fanfiction #thorin and company #thorin durin #thorin fanfiction #thorin oakenshield #balin #hobbit fanfic #fili durin #dis durin #kili durin #kili and fili #sons of durin #durins #king thorin #alternate universe

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setokaibapetty · 1 month

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5 + 1 Fic Friday Roundup: Raised by Other(s)

Have some fics about kids getting to grow up with a different family (and/or organization) or that had additional family unit(s) (which can include adoption). It's a fun AU premise since how much does an altered childhood change a character (and, thus, their story)?

A Greater Purpose (AO3) - "A young Byleth is adopted by Archbishop Rhea under false pretenses and is raised within Garreg Mach. Although groomed for a singular purpose, Byleth finds her goals becoming complicated after being appointed as a professor at the Officers Academy. As history catches up to her, she will have to decide who she is and what is the right path for her."

The Beast from Mordor (AO3) - "A year after Smaug's death, a messenger comes to Erebor with terrible news - Prince Vili, husband of Princess Dis, and their only son, a dwarfling of four, have been killed in an orc raid. The messenger is right, but only on one count. For at that exact moment, the little dwarfling is on his way south to Mordor, clasped to a female orc's breast. Many decades later, a young dwarf emerges from Mordor, completely shorn of hair, heavily dyed, and believing himself to be an orc. Will he ever discover his true identity or be reunited with his family?

Pack Horde (AO3) - "Involving Janet Drake being the serial adopter instead of Bruce."

a watched kettle never boils (AO3) - "Endeavor doesn’t show up to Sekoto Hill, but Gang Orca does. This changes things."

Another Brother (FF) - "It was a mission of revenge. There weren't supposed to be any survivors, but Chief Hakoda couldn't bring himself to kill the Fire Nation boy. Against his better judgment, he brought him home. A Zuko joins the Water Tribe story."

Bonus: A Crown of Laurels (I Lay Upon Your Head) (SB) - "A young man, reincarnated as Criston Cole, remembers his past life, and Rhaenyra Targaryen is forever changed for it. For better or for worse, Westeros is set on a different path."

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lordoftherazzles · 2 years

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PLOT BUNNY #2 ↳ HEARTSTONES

Summary: It’s believed that dwarves are blessed in one of two ways: by their heartstone, or their heartcraft, both a calling of the soul. When Thorin is convinced he has neither, a quest for his happiness takes him far beyond the Misty Mountains to the West. It’s within the West that Frerin is convinced they’ll find Thorin’s calling. Be that a happiness of the heart or the craft.

If you want to see this fic in the future, be sure to like, reblog, and/or comment! Feedback is welcome, and I can’t wait to see what fic wins the raz2k! Check out the MASTERPOST to see the other plot bunnies!

Heartstones and heartcrafts were the ultimate callings to any dwarf. It was a gift given by birth in order to find your place in the world, be it a place of one’s heart or within a form of creation, it was a high honor, just as it was unthinkable to be without either.

Each race had its own name for it, but it was most commonly known as Ones among the dwarrow, and soulmates to others. Heartsongs for the elves, heartblooms to the hobbits of the Farthings, and for the most oblivious of races, heartfelt for men. It was fairytale fodder in the eyes of many, but sacred to others–such as the dwarves where heart and craft were praised in many aspects of their lives.

Thorin was close to giving up on the idea that soulmates truly existed, whether it be of the heart or of the craft, he had yet to feel that special something that other dwarves raved about. Typically most dwarves minded their own business when it came to the beautiful discovery of one’s heartstone or heartcraft, but for a Prince of Erebor like Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, to be without both? It certainly spurred no small amount of conversation, much to the dismay of the Line of Durin.

“And once we get just beyond Bywater that’s where we’ll meet our escort, supposedly,” Frerin chipperly spoke up, breaking Thorin out of this cycle of doom and gloom roaming about his mind.

There was nothing quite like being seen as a disappointment in the aspect of both love and craft, which were things that dwarves were very passionate about. Of course, Thorin could have fibbed and latched onto his talent for the forge, but to be untruthful about something so sacred in the world of the dwarrow, would be a punishment in itself to live with that lie.

“I will continue to insist that this trip is pointless. Just because you found your Kurdu'aban(heartstone), does not mean mine is out there,” Thorin lamented before feeling a playful clap on his shoulder.

“Trust in me, brother, your One is out there. Once we find the stone they are equivalent to, then it will be much easier to recognize them. It’s how it happened to me! And for Dis, if I recall. How long was it before she saw her first sunstone? Then came Vili shortly after.”

Thorin’s eyes rolled, remembering just how excited Frerin had been to find his heartstone. A dwarrowdam from Ered Luin who had been visiting with a caravan of merchants, ready to peddle their fine silks and threads. Needless to say, the dwarrowdam in question became a permanent fixture in Erebor and was to be wed to Frerin in due time.

“Fjola insists there are caves in these parts that are untouched by dwarven hands, and if there is a chance at discovering your gem of heart, then we must take it. Father wants you to be happy, as do all of us–”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps everyone is tired of hearing about Thrain’s oldest son as being Iklalu'kurdu(cold of heart)?” Thorin grouched, instantly souring Frerin’s mood as they walked, a small platoon of dwarves at their heels that were likely listening carefully, but finding it easier to not butt into the conversation more than anything. “I have been through the various guild halls more times than I care to count. No craft calls to my heart, regardless of skill. Nor has any gem mined out of the mountain…or any one person…”

“That’s what this quest is all about! Don’t think of it as us being in search of a title or a release from one, but…for your happiness. Everyone deserves that, don’t you think?” Frerin’s tone was low and calm, just as it was sincere. He might have been an eccentric sort on most occasions, but when it came to the happiness of his family, he would always be there to boost them up. “And if all else fails, we head north and pay a visit to our distant kin in Ered Luin.”

The grumble that sounded off from Thorin was enough to spur a sigh from Frerin, shaking his head and giving up on the idea of cheering his older brother up for the moment. Instead, he focused on flashing a grin over his shoulder towards a few of the dwarves following behind.

“Have any of you been to the Shire before? I’ve heard many rumors and don’t want to cause too much trouble, but I have to say…I am genuinely curious…”

It was Dwalin who scoffed first, and Bofur who chuckled second among several other mixed feelings sounding off.

“Oh, aye! I’m sure at least half of the rumors are true, and one I can absolutely guarantee is their Longbottom Leaf is quite the prize!” Bofur cheered, ironically a pipe wedged in the corner of his mouth as he bumped elbows with his brother and cousin. “And the food, you won’t believe the kind of worship these little lads and lassies have over their meals. I wonder if Leanna is still baking that blackberry pie of hers…”

There were several other things discussed among the group of dwarves when it came to hobbits and the supposed rumors. Just like there were no doubt rumors of dwarves, elves, and men that circled around these parts. All Thorin could do was continue to remain quiet and grumble whenever something mildly irritated him. It wasn’t that he was jealous or unappreciative of the efforts put forward by his friends and family, but he had very little faith that they’d find something.

This long journey would be a waste, and then to show back up to Erebor without any decent news? How could he face his father? Or even his grandfather? Both had insisted that Thorin was fine the way he was, but gave blessings and assistance to put him on the path to finding his one true desire–with little success thus far.

All of this work for nothing, regardless of how anyone insisted, Thorin wasn’t sure he could shirk the guilt in favor of acceptance of himself. He was dubbed as being cold of heart, and he certainly felt like it more often than not. The thought made his expression sour which hardly went unnoticed.

“Thorin?” Frerin piped up, hooking his hand around Thorin’s elbow and starting to pull him aside. “We’re taking a break! Rest your legs for a few minutes, alright?” Continuing to drag Thorin along to the side of the path, away from prying ears, Frerin’s brows knit together. “Tell me what’s wrong, Nadad(brother).”

Of course, Thorin remained rather closed off for the moment. His arm yanked away and folded across his chest, his gaze never meeting that of his brother’s, and his mouth tightly clamped shut.

“It’s not just about the heartstones is it?”

For as tightly wound as Thorin felt, practically coiled in on himself emotionally, the words fell out of his mouth without much thought. “What happens if there is nothing? I care not for what others think, if they wish to continue whispering that I am Iklalu'kurdu behind my back, then so be it, but…” Thorin’s eyes dropped with uncertainty within them that felt as painful as it looked. “Everyone has something…and those who have nothing are miserable. It’s a wretched feeling that the universe has decided you are…binzirikhul(unwanted)...how am I to be seen as anything but cold of heart? To being the disappointment of our line. Every great king has a calling…”

“Thorin…”

“I want to make them proud. Father, grandfather…and those who are no longer with us. I want to feel…something. Something other than this rotten swirl of self-doubt and self-loathing. I want to belong somewhere and not feel like such an outsider amongst my own.”

“You have my word, Nadad, we will find your happiness. We won’t stop searching until something, or someone calls to your heart, just as you deserve.” A small grin began to spread across Frerin’s lips as he could see the dismay slowly melting away from his older sibling. “Whether we find the gem that calls to you here or not, we will keep searching. You deserve every ounce of happiness the world has to offer. And who knows, perhaps the hobbits here can teach you a thing or two about that.”

It was a far stretch, but Frerin would take whatever positive thoughts he could muster and shove them at Thorin relentlessly.

“I suppose we can consider this an educational experience if anything…” Thorin muttered low but wasn’t completely dour in tone. “We should keep moving, our escort may become less enthusiastic at housing a few dwarves if we fall off schedule.”

“Right you are, Brother! Though from what I’ve heard, Mister Baggins is quite a respectable sort, so I have no doubt in my mind that he will be a most suitable host for two princes of Erebor, even if we are running a tad behind. Just you wait and see.”

#raz2k #bagginshield #thilbo #thorin oakenshield #frerin #bilbo baggins #technically #hobbit fic #hobbit fanfic #bagginshield fic #soulmate au #the company of thorin oakenshield #razzywrites #fic: sneak peek #razpb

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jjamjamm · 2 years

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They Gave Each Other a Pledge

Masterlist

Wordcount: 1493

Summary: Thorin's youngest sister is in a secret relationship with his best friend. All is well until he catches them together. NSFT

“Evening Princess.” Dwalin said, keeping his voice low as he approached the table in Erebor’s library. After passing rows of bookshelves, he knew he would find her in her usual hidden spot, by the roaring fireplace. Apart from that and a few torches, the library was dim and deserted.

Y/N looked up from her book upon hearing his voice, lighting up with a grin, “Mister Dwalin, what brings you to the library?”

“Oh, just thought I’d find a pretty young lass sitting all alone with her nose in a book.” He teased.

She reclined in her seat, stretching for the first time in hours, “Well, it seems you have. Wonderful timing too, I was getting a wicked crick in my neck.”

“That won’t do.” He said, walking around to the back of her chair. Had he been any other dwarf, or had they not been alone, he would never have been permitted to do what he was planning to. Part of their meeting in secret was to permit such tender moments without fear of reprimand.

Dwalin wasn’t known for having gentle hands, but for Y/N, he tried. He rubbed his palms together and blew into them before carefully moving her hair aside and resting his hands on either side of her neck. He moved slowly, lightly pressing his thumbs into her muscles and moving them in wide circles.

Y/N hummed lowly, rolling her neck to the side as he worked, “You’re marvelous, you know that?”

Dwalin smiled at that, “You could say so more often. Is this too rough?”

“It’s perfect.” She assured him, leaning into his touch, “My brother has been stealing you far too often lately. I’ve missed our secret meetings.”

At the mention of Thorin, Dwalin frowned. He didn’t like that he had to hide from his friend like this, but the dwarf was too stubborn for his own good and made a point to scare off all potential suitors interested in courting his baby sister. Dis had stood up to him, fighting to see Vili and won. When Y/N had tried a short while later, Thorin would have none of it.

“If I bend this far, I’ll break.” Thorin lamented, “Who is it? Who do I have to set straight? Dwalin and I will go over and pay him a visit right now.”

Y/N couldn’t deal with her brother, but at least Frerin had taken pity on her. He helped her sneak around and soon got Dis involved in it as well.

“Ooh, well he’s a hunk of dwarf.” Dis had winked at her sister upon hearing the news, “I could talk to our dear Thorin for you, if you’d like.”

Y/N grew wide eyed at that, “I don’t want him to hurt Dwalin. They’re such good friends, I couldn’t stand to be the reason they stop talking.”

“Thorin does have that Durin’s temper.” Frerin agreed, throwing an arm around her shoulders, “Tell you what? We just keep him out of the way and let you two spend some time together?”

“With Frerin and I distracting him, Thorin will never find out.” Dis assured you, “Until you want him to, that is.”

“I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to understand.” Y/N frowned as their meeting was interrupted.

Dwalin stood in the doorway, looking dutiful as ever, “Princess Y/N, your father wishes to see you.”

Frerin grinned ear to ear, nudging Dis, “Oh, does he? Can’t keep adad waiting Y/N.”

Dwalin rose an eyebrow at their strange behavior, but Y/N briskly tugged him along down the hall.

“Why does adad need to see me?” She asked, looking up at the guard.

“He doesn’t, I wanted to.” Dwalin admitted, “I thought we could go to our little hiding spot?”

Y/N beamed at that and the two were off, winding through hallways until they reached a usually unvisited corner of the mountain. There were rooms upon rooms down there of storage, where inventory was taken roughly once a month. Since inventory had just been done, the two would be safe from peeping eyes or surprise inspections.

Y/N laughed as Dwalin took her hand, leading her into their usual room. He took her by the hips and lifted her, placing her down on the table covered in a couple of rugs that had been beaten out during the inspection.

“They cleaned.” Y/N noticed briefly, before pulling him down to meet her in a kiss.

“Plus, we won’t have to worry about my brother coming by in search of some forgotten edition of a book.” Dwalin grinned, keeping his hold on her hips, “Might have to move you back to make this work.”

“Table too tall for you?” Y/N teased, scooting back and beckoning for him to join her. The two moved to lay with one another along the length of the table, and Dwalin shifted her skirts around to brush his hand along her thigh.

“Oh, my beautiful princess.” He said, pressing kisses down her jaw and neck, “I’m the luckiest dwarf in the world.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Y/N’s laugh turned to a gasp as he revealed his other hand had undone his breeches. He teased her gently, savoring the little noises she made before he asked if she was ready, “Perhaps we should wait for someone to walk in first?”

Dwalin grunted at that, always some sort of smart remark coming from the lass, “You’ve a wicked tongue.”

“Something you’re familiar with.” She grinned up at him, “Unless, you’ve forgotten and need a reminder?”

“Don’t tempt me lass.” He warned as she lined him up and lifted her hips to meet him, “Easy now.”

He angled himself over her, pressing his length deep within her with a groan. A satisfied sigh came from the girl beneath him as he filled her, and she brought her hands to her breasts.

Her mouth fell open as he began a rhythm, slow at first but was soon pounding into her, his arms hooked under her thighs and held her close to his hips. Y/N shuddered and reached to grab something, needing to clench her fist around fabric. She knocked something off the table, which hit the ground with a metal clang before she grabbed hold of Dwalin’s shirt.

“Dwalin!” She cried, painfully close to an orgasm. He grunted above her, keeping his pace up until a deep voice growled out his name.

“Dwalin.” It said, cold as stone and dripping with anger. Dwalin pulled Y/N’s skirts to cover her and lowered her to the table beneath them.

Thorin stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he stared daggers at his friend.

“Thorin, I can explain.” Dwalin tugged his pants on, scrambling to fix the situation.

“Get away from her.” Thorin warned, standing between the two, “Y/N, get off the table.”

“Thorin, I-” She tried.

“Now.” He ordered and she moved quickly, never having been on this side of his temper before.

“Thorin, it’s not what you think.” Dwalin assured him, kneeling on the table still. He was pleading with his friend not to react too rashly, before he knew what was happening.

“Isn’t it?” Thorin asked, “My best friend has been whisking my baby sister off to screw her. He didn’t even have the decency to put a braid in her hair first or ask me what I thought of it!”

Dwalin winced at Thorin’s yelling and climbed down from the table, looking to see how upset Y/N was.

“We wanted to.” Y/N assured him, “We were terrified you’d say no, we couldn’t bear the thought of being forced apart.”

“Prince Thorin, what was the noise?” A guard paused as he saw the scene. He immediately turned on his heels and left the doorway and Thorin took a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Do you love her?” Thorin asked.

“What?” Dwalin was stunned at the question.

“Do. You. Love. Her?” Thorin repeated, looking his friend dead in the eyes.

“With all my heart.” Dwalin swore.

“And you feel the same?” Thorin turned to his sister, not looking as furious as he was when he had torn them apart.

“I do.” Y/N replied, “More than anything.”

Thorin nodded at hearing that, trying to reason with everything, “Here’s what will happen. If you two truly intend to continue your relationship, it will be done properly. She is a princess after all Dwalin, you have to follow tradition.”

“Aye.” Dwalin nodded, “To a tee.”

“Alright then.” Thorin didn’t seem thrilled with the idea, but he appeared to be able to live with it, “The only other question I have is: did Dis and Frerin know about this?”

Y/N dodged his gaze, and he had his answer. Of course they had known.

“I’ll be good to her.” Dwalin swore, putting his hand on Thorin’s shoulder, “By my beard, I swear it.”

Thorin smiled at that, appreciating the words of comfort. Thorin patted Dwalin’s hand and nodded, “I know you will.”

#the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #Dwalin #nsft #ficdump

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 1 year

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And finally we have reached Part 3! I have actually done this little segment at the end of every year, and EVERY YEAR it gets harder and harder to narrow it down. So here is Sunny’s:

Top 5 Writings from 2022

5. Washing Each Other’s Body (Haddotin drabble)

“I love you too.” He whispered.

There was a shaky exhale and a soft press of whiskery lips against his shoulder blade. The simple gesture alighted his every nerve, and stole away his pain. A potent drug that Tintin vowed to seek out more of in the future.

@dimdiamond has done a great job of sucking people into the Haddotin ship, and I was certainly not an exception this year.😂 I’ve done a few drabbles and one-shots for this ship, but this was one of my favorite lines and I have to thank @tra-golden for the request!

4. Guardian of Kings, Chapter 6: Ushmarê (Bagginshield fic)

He did not know it was his to break! He would have done nothing less than wrap it in the softest of comforts, if he knew he had the right.

I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE I FINISHED THIS FIC THIS YEAR!! It should have been much sooner, but I finally got it done. Sadly, this means this is the last year that I have a line to share from this story.🥲 But that just means, we can make room for other stories next year.😁

3. The Twelve Transformations of Bilbo Baggins, Chapter 2: Baby (Bagginshield fic)

“I never liked the dark.” He admitted. “I could make up so many monsters that had somehow appeared in dark corners. So when I was little, my mum and I used to spend the evening catching lightning bugs and putting them in a jar. We would then place the jar next to my bed before I went to sleep, and the glow would comfort me. However, I’d always wake up the next morning…and they’d be gone! I figured out later in life, my mum would come in and let them out through the window. Much too kind to let them die overnight, but…it’s silly I know…but I always thought they just turned into dreams.”

Thorin hummed appreciatively, and Bilbo thought that may be the end of share time when the dwarf opened his mouth once more.

“We didn’t have fireflies, as my people call them, inside the mountain when I was a pebble. But we had glow worms that would cling to the stalactites in the deep caverns. Their light was more blue than green. Still after Smaug came, and we were spending so many nights camped out under the stars, I would see the fireflies and think…the glow worms sprouted wings and followed after us. Because even they couldn’t stand us not being back in our mountain home.”

Are you guys confused yet? Yeah...this chapter was supposed to post last week, but holidays...surgeries...end of the semester stuff...BUT I hope you guys appreciate this teaser all the same because this chapter will definitely be posted first thing this new year!!

2. As Brothers Do (Durin Family Feels)

“But…” She interrupted him with a sharp look. “I was reminded last night of something else I had lost without even realizing it. Faith. So I’m placing my faith in you Thorin Oakenshield. And with that faith, my entire family. Don’t you dare let me down.”

So this was a prompt @guardianofrivendell posted as part of her birthday celebration in June! This is a “what-if Vili lived” fic, but this particular line from Dis was so powerful and raw when we consider it from a canon standpoint, that I had to throw it into my top 5.

AND FINALLY!!

1. A Smile for a Cold Spoon (Bagginshield drabble)

Thorin stood there and just stared. Stared at the Cold hobbit who can smile at a silver spoon that reminds him of his dead mother. Stared at the rather fussy being who can remind Thorin of the good qualities in himself. He didn't know what this was. But for the first time in his life, he didn't dread his gifts. He didn't worry about a path of madness that seemed to be the only fate ahead of him. Because here was a being that knew how not to let the emotions he inspires in others take over the emotions he feels himself.

I polled some of my friends “which of my writings were your favorite” and unanimously, this fic was voted into my top 5. This is CRAZY to me, especially considering I wrote it at the gym in a couple of hours!🤣 In a lot of ways, I really feel like I need to go back and give this thing a major facelift and in a lot of other ways, I like it how it is.🤷‍♀️

If you didn’t get a chance, check out Part 1 and Part 2. Here were my Top 5 Writings from 2021, and below are the “Honorable Mentions” that I struggled with keeping out of my top 5.

One More Little Adventure, Chapter 6: To Grow with You

“I feel like you have only borne witness to my worst moments, but I make this vow to you, little acorn. Just like the mighty oak that is my epithet, I will be a shield in defense of my love instead of the sword cutting him down. I will shade and shelter him as any husband ought to, and most importantly, I will treasure him as dearly as a hobbit treasures life on this earth. Kanayuthu (thus be it).”

99 Problems But Our Love Ain’t One, Chapter 10: A Lesson Carved in Stone

“What do you mean you can’t help me?” He demanded, trying to hide his aggravation. “You’re the HEAD LIBRARIAN! You’re the only person who could possibly know about Mahal’s Anvil.”

Ori stopped just long enough to fix Fili with a raised eyebrow and a twisted scowl.

“You’re talking about an object that most dwarves don’t even believe exist!” He complained. “Of the maybe five books in here even on that subject, I doubt even one of them goes in detail about the powers or the anvil or how did you phrase it again? How to ‘undo an act made by someone unworthy’? What’s that even supposed to mean?”

The Marali Festival, Chapter 13: Kiss

“Just once, plainly, for me…tell me you love me?” He whispered fearfully, shutting his eyes against the idea of rejection now.

A string of kisses traced his jaw before finding his lips once more. Chaste, questioning, but present.

“Bilbo Baggins, I love you.”

#sunny says stuff #year in review #top 5 writings #did any of these hit in your top 5?#feel free to tell me your favorite writings!

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devilshalf · 1 year

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Journey to the Past

Fandom: The Hobbit, Post Smaug and Pre-Quest

Characters: Dis/Vili(OC), Thorin, Balin/OC

Summary: A young dwarf with no memory of her past is on a journey to find her family when she meets a dashing young stranger who tells her how she has the same eyes as the long lost princess. Valiantly offering to take her to the royal family out of the goodness of his heart, and absolutely nothing to do with rewards.

There was a time, not so long ago, when dwarves lived in mountains filled with fine jewels and veins of gold so thick and long, they had yet to find an end. The year was 2770 and Thrór Son of Dáin was The King Under the Mountain, Ruler of the Seven Dwarven Kingdoms and Protector of Erebor. His line of succession was held strong in that of his son Thráin and grandson Thorin, it was a time of wealth and prosperity for all dwarves but none more than the royal family. The royal halls of Erebor were filled with every gem, gold flowed from their treasury even as they spent it on the most extravagant of parties; parties that could last for days with no reason at all. However, the feast for the King’s youngest grandchild’s tenth name day was said to be the most lavish one yet, merchants had flooded to Dale as even the race of man rejoiced. For you could ask any man, dwarf or even elf and they would all say the young Princess Dís shone brighter than any gem, her smile able to light up the darkest of mines with eyes so blue the seas envied her. She was loved throughout her kingdom, dotted on by every member of her family she loved them all back but held a special place in her heart for her brothers.

“Sister.” A voice caught the young girl’s attention, her long hair following behind as she spun to meet the voice of her eldest brother “This is for you, happy tenth name day.”

“Thank you Thorin!” She smiled gleefully as her little chubby hands clutched at the small box, opening it up her lips parted to reveal her gap-toothed grin “A new hair bead!” She squealed and passed it to her mother who was currently trying to get the young princess to hold still while she finished her hair.

“It is more than just a bead.” Thorin’s smile grew as he held out his hand for his sister to place the bead in, Frerin coming up beside them he offered out a neatly wrapped little parcel to his sister “It is a joint gift, go on open it.”

Dís’ eyes grew to the size of saucers when she revealed the intricately made golden box, she needed two hands to hold it and yet it would fit in her brothers without a problem. The runes carved along its edges their family symbols, a raven with a sapphire for its eye on the lid she adored every detail as her brothers mentioned having found the best music box maker in middle earth “A music box?” she gasped as Thorin inserted the bead she had just received, turning it thrice clockwise the lid opened and a sweet lullaby began; her mother’s voice behind her began to sing with the familiar melody.

“I love it!” Dís threw herself into both her brothers who stumbled down to the ground causing all three children to laugh.

“Come now. Off the floor, boys you will enter with your adad. Frerin no funny business, tonight is about your sister. You must all be on your best behaviour, the whole kingdom will be watching.” Their amad levelled a serious look to each of them before going to adjust their fathers’ medals, Frerin poking out his tongue at Dís who drooped her eyes and scrunched up her nose at him; Thorin shoving them both into place as their mother’s eyes darted back at them.

“The Royal Princess Freyja and the Young Princess Dís.” The herald announced their entrance, his voice carrying across the room of chattering royals and dignitaries, the entire ballroom of Erebor bursting at the seams with extravagant gold laced gowns, fur coats and bedazzled belts. Silence. The entire room flooded with awe as the mother and daughter stood together at the height of the stairs. The future queen was dressed in a pure gold gown with white gold jewels to accompany. Meanwhile, the little princess wore the opposite, a sheer dress of pure white had not one gold lacing or gem to hold it together. Instead the entirely plain tunic was the canvas for the jewels that covered her, bangles of gold attached to an intricately pattern mesh which covered her hands and hooked to her fingers, it made her hands glisten as she moved to pick up her skirt. The pair made their way down the stairs, Dís’ nose twitched with the movement as her nose ring which was covered in small sapphires had a fine strand of gold connecting it to the top of her ear; it moved with every step and tickled but she did not dare show the discomfort. Murmurs began to circle about her hair, the dark black hair of her father, which had her birthday gifts from her mother, fine strands of gold, laced into every braid. A sea full of people looked at her but the little girl only had eyes for one of them, for him, her father.

“Nâthuê kurdu” Her father, the crown prince of Erebor, bowed to his young daughter who giggled with joy as he offered his hand “Will you do me the honour?”

“Yes Adad.” Dís smiled sweetly, as he pulled her to the centre of the room, she looked around at the eyes on them as they waited for the music, so many eyes, it was the young girls first official ball and suddenly she wished to be back in her room playing with her toys.

“Look to me.” Dís looked up at her father, his gentle eyes soft and his smile reassuring as the music started, her father spinning her around she could not help the laugh that escaped her lips as others joined. She looked for her older brothers, Thorin pass with their mother, Frerin winked on his way pass as he had somehow managed to pull their grandmother from her throne, she seemed equally annoyed and pleased. Dís would not believe anyone could be happier. Then it happened. The King had been cautioned of what his greed would lure to the mountain, but all warnings were disregarded, all signs of the sickness that grew in him ignored until it was too late. It began with far off rumbles, at first thought to be a mine collapsed, but more followed and then the alarm as a voice bellowed out:

DRAGON

Dís had been with her father, he had held her so close to him she had barely been able to breathe as the people around them no longer noticing royal, noble or cook as all dwarves raced for any exit they could find. In the chaos Thorin found them when they all near collided into each other, blood stained his left leg as he clutched at it.

“Grandfather, a guard said he was going to the throne room.” Thorin panicked as his father grasped his forearms he steadied himself, he was a warrior, a prince; he could not panic.

“Thorin take your sister. Protect her. I will go back for the King.” Thrain looked to his children, Dís irrationally holding his coat a little harder

“Adad-“

“Go Nâthuê kurdu, stay close to your brother.” Thrain peeled her off him and pushed her into her brother’s arms which wrapped around her, Dís lashing slightly as she screamed for her Adad only for her screams to be drowned out by the roar of Smaug.

“Dís come. Come we must go.” Thorin wiped his own eyes as he grabbed his sister’s hand, they ran from the royal courtyard to descend the stairs when a tremble sent rocks the size of mammoths down upon them, Thorin pulling them both back just in time but the stair case was gone.

“Brother.” Dís whimpered to him as he looked around frantically, the next set of stairs was so far away and his leg burnt hot with pain.

“Prince! This way!” A voice called out, a young serving boy in plain clothes waved frantically at them over to the wall and upon pressing a firm hand a door opened “It’s the server’s staircase, take the third exit and you will be right by the main gate.”

“Wait my music box!” Little Dís cried out as she realised it had fallen from her coat pocket, but Thorin gave her no time to go after it as there was none to spare as the mountain was crumbling on top of them as that which stayed strong was set on fire.

“Dís come, we must go.” Thorin pulled her harder down the spiralling stairs, Dís certain she had never ran so fast in her life as the sunlight guided them out onto the bridge they all raced out sucking in the fresh air as smoke billowed from the mountain. They continued to run until Thorin slowed, he was looking up and he let go of Dís’ hand so he could wave, calling for the elves perched up on the ridge he called for them.

Dís, however, could not see them, she could not see a thing as the smoke stung her eyes, she stumbled back as one dwarf pushed past, she had only just been able to see the large ram hurdling towards her as she leapt back her heels hitting the barricade of the bridge. But it was not at its usual height. For if it had not been reduced on Smaug’s entrance she would have to lift herself up to even dare see over the ledge. But as the back of her legs hit the edge no further support came as her feet were launched into the air she screamed.

“Thorin!” She cried her tears only making her vision blurrier, but she could still see his figure as hands reached out for her until they clutched at one of her wrists, it was all she felt as she dangled above the raging waters below, she wiped her eyes to look at him to see the terror flood his own eyes as her little wrist slipped through the bangles.

“Dís!” He cried for her, and she watched as three dwarves stopped him from jumping in after her, terrified she screamed for him in hopes he would break free and rescue her. So many lives were destroyed that night, Erebor which had stood for so long was lost and the sweet Princess Dís was never seen again.

30 years later

“Name and reason for travel?”

“Aná and I am going home…I think.”

Translation from: https://islenthatur.wordpress.com/welcome/

Nâthuê kurdu – Daughter of my heart or My Daughter of Heart

#the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #dis durin #thorin #thorin oakenshield

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