rynneer

[rynneer]

someone please give her a hug

nurse leafpool 🍃🍂

[rynneer]

To Mend a Broken Heart

Pairing: Anders Johnson x reader

Words: 1,575

Warnings: grieving, sadness, crying, nudity

Summary: Anders assures you it’s okay to let yourself feel the pain you’re experiencing, doing his best to help you through the process of grieving.

A/N: I’m currently going through it myself and haven’t been coping well, so why not write it out with my comfort character? Sorry if this is kind of heavy. I didn’t tag anyone and please don’t feel the need to read this I just thought I’d put it on here in case anyone else needs this one day too.

———

You held your tears in all day, the muscles in your face sore and tired from the strain to keep your lip from quivering and pools that threatened to spill from your eyes at bay, but even now as you walked through Anders' doorway, they fought to rush through.

You closed the door and stood in front of it longer than you needed to, having seen the smile on his face as soon as you entered, not wanting to disappoint him with your grief. Anders knew you were struggling, and some days were better than others, but by now you should be past this. The amount of silent tears you cried to spare him from worrying and the nights you lay awake anxious in your thoughts was becoming too much, and you hated that you couldn't seem to move on.

You drew in a steadying breath, your hand still pressed against the door, willing yourself to be strong and match his enthusiastic smile and ever-shining charisma.

Turning, you flashed a grin that you knew didn't reach your eyes, your guilt hitting you in the chest when you saw his expression change.

"Hey..." he said, his voice trailing off, the words he planned to say dying in mid air as you crossed through to the kitchen and beelined it for the fridge.

"Hi, baby," you replied with as much normalcy in your tone as you could muster, opening the fridge to retrieve the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc that already had the equivalent of a glass missing from it. Turning to face the dining and living area, as well as your now concerned lover, you reached for a glass sat on the drying rack that had been washed from being used last night, filling it with a generous amount.

"Tough day?" Anders asked, moving to sit on the arm of the couch. You could see the furrow on his brow and the slight frown on his lips even without looking directly at him, knowing full well he knew the answer to his own question. You placed the glass to your lips and let the familiar dry, but sweet taste of grapefruit do its job in calming your reeling mind and hopefully work to dull some of the pain you felt in your heart. You heard him sigh, and even as you put the glass down carefully on the counter, you couldn't bring yourself to meet his stare. Your lip began to tremble and you clenched your teeth hard to stop it, your emotions bubbling to the surface from knowing his face was full of concern and sympathy, and that alone made a sob choke itself out of your mouth and the tears that lay in waiting behind your eyes spring forward.

You instinctively brought your hand to your mouth, screwing your eyes shut in an attempt to prevent the dam from breaking, but to no use.

Within an instant you felt Anders beside you, the warmth of his arm wrapping around your shoulders to pull you into him as his other hand held the back of your head, pulling you to lean against him.

"Shhh, it's okay," he whispered, his lips pressing a kiss to your head. You felt so small, your sobs causing you to buckle under the weight you felt, tucking yourself under him as if he was a place to hide from it all. Your hair moved when he exhaled into it, the warmth of his breath fanning over you like a blanket, making you reach your arms around his thick torso to keep him from moving away. His scent filled your nose as your weeping turned to even breaths, once again suppressing the things you felt in exchange for the goodness he provided. "You're allowed to cry, you know?" he said, his hands moving in a reassuring way over your back and he gently swayed on the spot with you.

"I'm fine," you lied, pulling away from him enough to finally look at him.

He smiled weakly, his disbelief in your words evident, and his thumbs wiped the tears from your cheeks before leaning in to meet your lips in a tender kiss.

"You sure?" he questioned, still holding your face in his hands.

"Mhm," you nodded, turning so he was forced to drop them, and you felt his eyes burn into you as you gripped your wine glass again and downed its contents. "I'm going to take a shower," you explained, hurrying past him to the bathroom before he could ask you any more questions or say anything else supportive that would make you crumble again on the spot.

Once in the bathroom, you turned on the fan and flicked on the taps to the shower, the sound able to drown out any of your crying you knew would come when you stood beneath the water and were left alone with your thoughts. You shed your clothes and looked at yourself in the mirror, a face you barely recognized staring back at you. You looked hollow, your sadness painted all over your face, the bags under your eyes visible despite how much concealer you used to disguise them. You held your hand under the rainfall of water, testing to see if it was warm enough, and once you felt it was a temperature you could tolerate, you stepped in.

In a daze, you managed to wash your hair as if on auto-pilot, your hands moving on their own accord without the use of your distracted mind. Just as the case with everything else, you were fine while having a task, focused on what you were doing rather than the pain that lingered just beneath the surface. You lathered, rinsed and repeated until your routine was finished, left to stand under the water not knowing what to do next. The tears came heavy and violently, your body shaking hard enough in an attempt to catch air that you felt you would be sick. The water washed over your face and mixed with your tears, the saltiness going into your mouth that hung open with no way of controlling the crying that came through it. Your hands wrapped around your waist, gripping at your skin to try to gain purchase on the pain that made you feel nauseous, your body lurching as everything you held in all week overcame you.

You didn't hear the door to the bathroom open, nor that of the shower, suddenly being held in Anders' arms with a strength you lacked, his surety allowing you to give in to what your body and mind had needed to for so long.

"I've got you," he whispered beside your ear, holding you close to his warm body, your hands grabbing at his clothes that now clung to his skin as they became saturated with water. As you thought to begin to protest, you knew it was of no use. Anders stood with you, fully dressed and soaking wet, giving you permission to cry until you couldn't anymore.

Unsure of how long you stood there, you eventually glanced up at him with a look that you were done, prompting Anders to turn off the water and step out to reach for towels. Wrapping you in one, he pulled you to his chest again, kissing your forehead in his lack of words for what had to be the first time in his life. Doing your best to convince him you were okay, you began to unfasten the buttons on his shirt and peeled the material that stuck tight to his skin away, revealing his bare chest that held his caring heart. Anders did his best to quickly step out of his pants and boxers, the amount of water on them making them even more snug on his thighs. Grabbing another towel, he tossed it over his shoulder and then bent to scoop you up in his arms, carrying you through the door that connected to his bedroom and placed you on the bed. He roughly rubbed away what drops of water he could before deciding being in bed with you was more important, his skin still wet or not, and climbed in over you to fall onto the mattress, laying behind your back. He pulled up the duvet to cover you both and wrapped his arm around your waist where your hands gripped his forearm, clinging to him desperately as your body racked from more tears. You felt his hold on you tighten, his chest so close to your back you could feel his heartbeat against your skin, and he nuzzled his face into the damp warmth of your neck.

"You don't have to hide your pain from me," he said in a quiet voice, his lips moving on the sensitive skin of your nape. "I'm here for you, whatever you need."

You nodded your head slowly, knowing he meant what he said even without the use of his powers. Thankful to have him by your side, you squeezed his arm, a way to show your gratitude for his patience through your silence, and your heart ached at knowing not many people gave him a chance to show this side of him.

Focusing on his steady breathing, you eventually stopped crying and fell asleep, knowing that the hole in your heart would never fully mend, but slowly he would help happiness weave its way through the spaces and make you feel almost whole again.

———

[rynneer]

To Mend a Broken Heart

Pairing: Anders Johnson x reader

Words: 1,575

Warnings: grieving, sadness, crying, nudity

Summary: Anders assures you it’s okay to let yourself feel the pain you’re experiencing, doing his best to help you through the process of grieving.

A/N: I’m currently going through it myself and haven’t been coping well, so why not write it out with my comfort character? Sorry if this is kind of heavy. I didn’t tag anyone and please don’t feel the need to read this I just thought I’d put it on here in case anyone else needs this one day too.

———

You held your tears in all day, the muscles in your face sore and tired from the strain to keep your lip from quivering and pools that threatened to spill from your eyes at bay, but even now as you walked through Anders' doorway, they fought to rush through.

You closed the door and stood in front of it longer than you needed to, having seen the smile on his face as soon as you entered, not wanting to disappoint him with your grief. Anders knew you were struggling, and some days were better than others, but by now you should be past this. The amount of silent tears you cried to spare him from worrying and the nights you lay awake anxious in your thoughts was becoming too much, and you hated that you couldn't seem to move on.

You drew in a steadying breath, your hand still pressed against the door, willing yourself to be strong and match his enthusiastic smile and ever-shining charisma.

Turning, you flashed a grin that you knew didn't reach your eyes, your guilt hitting you in the chest when you saw his expression change.

"Hey..." he said, his voice trailing off, the words he planned to say dying in mid air as you crossed through to the kitchen and beelined it for the fridge.

"Hi, baby," you replied with as much normalcy in your tone as you could muster, opening the fridge to retrieve the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc that already had the equivalent of a glass missing from it. Turning to face the dining and living area, as well as your now concerned lover, you reached for a glass sat on the drying rack that had been washed from being used last night, filling it with a generous amount.

"Tough day?" Anders asked, moving to sit on the arm of the couch. You could see the furrow on his brow and the slight frown on his lips even without looking directly at him, knowing full well he knew the answer to his own question. You placed the glass to your lips and let the familiar dry, but sweet taste of grapefruit do its job in calming your reeling mind and hopefully work to dull some of the pain you felt in your heart. You heard him sigh, and even as you put the glass down carefully on the counter, you couldn't bring yourself to meet his stare. Your lip began to tremble and you clenched your teeth hard to stop it, your emotions bubbling to the surface from knowing his face was full of concern and sympathy, and that alone made a sob choke itself out of your mouth and the tears that lay in waiting behind your eyes spring forward.

You instinctively brought your hand to your mouth, screwing your eyes shut in an attempt to prevent the dam from breaking, but to no use.

Within an instant you felt Anders beside you, the warmth of his arm wrapping around your shoulders to pull you into him as his other hand held the back of your head, pulling you to lean against him.

"Shhh, it's okay," he whispered, his lips pressing a kiss to your head. You felt so small, your sobs causing you to buckle under the weight you felt, tucking yourself under him as if he was a place to hide from it all. Your hair moved when he exhaled into it, the warmth of his breath fanning over you like a blanket, making you reach your arms around his thick torso to keep him from moving away. His scent filled your nose as your weeping turned to even breaths, once again suppressing the things you felt in exchange for the goodness he provided. "You're allowed to cry, you know?" he said, his hands moving in a reassuring way over your back and he gently swayed on the spot with you.

"I'm fine," you lied, pulling away from him enough to finally look at him.

He smiled weakly, his disbelief in your words evident, and his thumbs wiped the tears from your cheeks before leaning in to meet your lips in a tender kiss.

"You sure?" he questioned, still holding your face in his hands.

"Mhm," you nodded, turning so he was forced to drop them, and you felt his eyes burn into you as you gripped your wine glass again and downed its contents. "I'm going to take a shower," you explained, hurrying past him to the bathroom before he could ask you any more questions or say anything else supportive that would make you crumble again on the spot.

Once in the bathroom, you turned on the fan and flicked on the taps to the shower, the sound able to drown out any of your crying you knew would come when you stood beneath the water and were left alone with your thoughts. You shed your clothes and looked at yourself in the mirror, a face you barely recognized staring back at you. You looked hollow, your sadness painted all over your face, the bags under your eyes visible despite how much concealer you used to disguise them. You held your hand under the rainfall of water, testing to see if it was warm enough, and once you felt it was a temperature you could tolerate, you stepped in.

In a daze, you managed to wash your hair as if on auto-pilot, your hands moving on their own accord without the use of your distracted mind. Just as the case with everything else, you were fine while having a task, focused on what you were doing rather than the pain that lingered just beneath the surface. You lathered, rinsed and repeated until your routine was finished, left to stand under the water not knowing what to do next. The tears came heavy and violently, your body shaking hard enough in an attempt to catch air that you felt you would be sick. The water washed over your face and mixed with your tears, the saltiness going into your mouth that hung open with no way of controlling the crying that came through it. Your hands wrapped around your waist, gripping at your skin to try to gain purchase on the pain that made you feel nauseous, your body lurching as everything you held in all week overcame you.

You didn't hear the door to the bathroom open, nor that of the shower, suddenly being held in Anders' arms with a strength you lacked, his surety allowing you to give in to what your body and mind had needed to for so long.

"I've got you," he whispered beside your ear, holding you close to his warm body, your hands grabbing at his clothes that now clung to his skin as they became saturated with water. As you thought to begin to protest, you knew it was of no use. Anders stood with you, fully dressed and soaking wet, giving you permission to cry until you couldn't anymore.

Unsure of how long you stood there, you eventually glanced up at him with a look that you were done, prompting Anders to turn off the water and step out to reach for towels. Wrapping you in one, he pulled you to his chest again, kissing your forehead in his lack of words for what had to be the first time in his life. Doing your best to convince him you were okay, you began to unfasten the buttons on his shirt and peeled the material that stuck tight to his skin away, revealing his bare chest that held his caring heart. Anders did his best to quickly step out of his pants and boxers, the amount of water on them making them even more snug on his thighs. Grabbing another towel, he tossed it over his shoulder and then bent to scoop you up in his arms, carrying you through the door that connected to his bedroom and placed you on the bed. He roughly rubbed away what drops of water he could before deciding being in bed with you was more important, his skin still wet or not, and climbed in over you to fall onto the mattress, laying behind your back. He pulled up the duvet to cover you both and wrapped his arm around your waist where your hands gripped his forearm, clinging to him desperately as your body racked from more tears. You felt his hold on you tighten, his chest so close to your back you could feel his heartbeat against your skin, and he nuzzled his face into the damp warmth of your neck.

"You don't have to hide your pain from me," he said in a quiet voice, his lips moving on the sensitive skin of your nape. "I'm here for you, whatever you need."

You nodded your head slowly, knowing he meant what he said even without the use of his powers. Thankful to have him by your side, you squeezed his arm, a way to show your gratitude for his patience through your silence, and your heart ached at knowing not many people gave him a chance to show this side of him.

Focusing on his steady breathing, you eventually stopped crying and fell asleep, knowing that the hole in your heart would never fully mend, but slowly he would help happiness weave its way through the spaces and make you feel almost whole again.

———

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin: The Complete Edition

Chapters 15 & 16

Y/N doesn't know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince-but she does know one thing: she's carrying his child.

Updated weekly, or read the full version here

Chapter 15: Broken Crown

so crawl on my belly ‘til the sun goes down, i’ll never wear your broken crown. i can take the road, and i can fuck it all away—but in this twilight, our choices seal our fate.

-Broken Crown, Mumford and Sons

The commotion on the rampart grows louder as you rush up the stairs, going as fast as your diminished stamina lets you. You arrive at the top with a gasping breath, seeing Thorin already holding Bilbo atop the wall, staring down at Gandalf approaching from the gathered troops.

“If you don’t like my burglar, please, don’t damage him!” he booms. “Return him to me.”

God bless that wizard, you think to yourself. God bless that fucking wizard and his timing.

“You’re not making a very splendid figure as King Under the Mountain, are you, Thorin, son of Thrain?” Gandalf observes.

Thorin looks at him for another moment before letting Bilbo slip from his grasp. Balin and Fíli help him to his feet. The hobbit flings a rope over the wall, Bofur pushing him forward urgently, and scurries down.

“Never again will I have dealings with wizards,” Thorin shouts. “Or Shire-rats!”

You flinch at the venom in his words. Thorin’s eyes find you lurking by the wall. “What?” he demands, storming forward. “Do you have something to say?”

He’s nose-to-nose with you, daring you to defy him. You search his face, hardly recognizing the dwarf who begrudgingly accepted you into his Company, who shielded you from fire and wargs, who welcomed you into his family.

“This is wrong,” you whisper. “This isn’t you.”

Thorin is silent for a moment. “Then go,” he spits. “Go join your kin amongst Men. You are no Durin.”

Though you know his mind is twisted by the dragon-sickness, it doesn’t soften the blow against your heart. The other dwarves look at you in dismay.

After a moment, your face hardens, and you stand tall, standing exactly level with Thorin. “Fuck this,” you say quietly, pushing past him, rougher than necessary, towards the rope. “I’m not dying over a fucking rock.”

He sneers at you and turns on his heel to storm back into the keep. The dwarves pat your arm firmly as they pass, Balin squeezing your shoulders. “Be careful,” he murmurs.

Fíli and Kíli stay put, looking at you helplessly. Kíli grips Fíli’s arm. “Fíli…”

Fíli turns to his brother. They stare at one another wordlessly, then he grabs Kíli’s hair and pulls their foreheads together, whispering something in Khuzdûl.

Kíli nods, pulls back, and wraps you in a tight hug. “Be safe, little sister.” He withdraws and starts down the stairs, turning back one last time before vanishing.

It’s just you and Fíli on the wall now, watching the backs of Thranduil and Bard’s troops as they make for their camp. Tiny flakes of snow speckle Fíli’s armor, and his breath billows out in frosty clouds.

“Now what?” he asks.

Your mind whirls. In the book, the Durin clan dies standing together. In the movies, they die standing alone. I don’t know if I can save them all, you think, but I know I can save one.

“Come with me,” you urge, grabbing Fíli’s arm.

He tenses. “Y/N, I… I can’t just leave him… I’m his heir, the crown prince—it’d be the highest betrayal!”

You lean in close. “He’ll forgive you for leaving,” you whisper in his ear, voice trembling. “But I won’t forgive you for staying.”

“He’s family,” Fíli pleads.

Your heart twists in your chest, but you know you need to hit him where it hurts. You seize his hand and put it to your belly. “We are family too,” you insist. “Please, don’t leave me to raise our baby alone.”

Still, he hesitates.

One final weapon. “Fíli. If you stay, you die.”

Fíli’s eyes widen. “You said you’d never tell us our fates—you wouldn’t change the story!”

Your hold on his wrist tightens to a death grip. “I’m tired of pretending like I’m not part of this world,” you hiss. “I’m done acting like I’m not part of the story. I’m not going to let you die here, Fee.”

A look of anguish crosses his face. Your vision starts to swim with tears as Fíli looks from you, to the rope, to the doorway Thorin had stormed through, to your stomach. The anguish hardens to resolve, and he nods slowly. “Alright,” he says with a deep, shuddering breath. “Alright.” He shifts his belt so his sword is along his back and wraps an arm tightly around your waist, hoisting you onto his hip. “Hold on tight,” he grunts.

You cling to his neck and he grabs the rope, throwing a leg over the wall and slowly belaying down. Heights don’t normally bother you, but you bury your face in his shoulder, unable to look at the ground far beneath you. Your bag sways and bumps against your back with each of Fíli’s bounces downward. The descent lasts far too long, but at last you feel solid earth beneath your feet.

No sooner than you land does a hand seize your collar and pull you into the shadow of the wall. “What are you doing out here?” a voice hisses in your ear.

Tauriel! “I thought you were dead!” you choke out.

She releases you and Fíli, who grabs your upper arm tightly, ready to flee. Tauriel looks down at you grimly. “It will take more than dragon-fire to put an elf of Mirkwood down.” Her eyes shift to Fíli. “So, you abandon your kin, dorn?” [dwarf]

Fíli bristles, but you place a hand on his chest and push him behind you gently. “We need to get somewhere safe. Can you help us?”

Tauriel regards the pair of you with a measured gaze. “Is Kí—is your brother safe?”

Fíli nods, and Tauriel visibly relaxes. She looks back up at Erebor, then across the field in the distance where the white top of Thranduil’s tent is just barely visible in the quickly fading light. “Follow me. Quietly now, and swiftly.”

You make your way across the frozen ground until you come to a halt in front of a pair of elven guards. They seem astonished to find Tauriel standing before them, intact, if a bit charred. Nevertheless, they cross their spears to block your path. “Daro!” they cry in unison. [Stop!]

“We seek an audience with the king,” Tauriel explains.

“The king has no interest in communing with traitors,” one snaps. “Perhaps the gornoth will take pity on your plight.” [dwarves (derogatory)]

“Please,” you beg, stepping forward. “At least let us talk to Bard, or–”

“My goodness, could that be the voice of Lady Y/N that I hear?” A wizened hand sweeps open the tent flap and Gandalf steps out, his eyes twinkling in the torchlight.

“Gandalf!” You duck under the spears and rush forward, throwing your arms around him in sheer relief.

Gandalf seems mildly surprised by the gesture and pats your back. He raises a bushy eyebrow when he notices Fíli, and pushes you back gently by your shoulder. “Does Thorin send you to parley?”

“No, we come of our own accord. To seek refuge,” Fíli adds, indicating your belly. He swallows. You know how hard this must be for the proud dwarf prince.

But as you await Gandalf’s response, it occurs to you now that he has no knowledge of you and Fíli’s relationship, and certainly not of your pregnancy. You hold your breath.

The wizard looks down at you, then back to Fíli with a frown. “Come in from the cold and we shall discuss this… development.” He ushers you inside, where Bard, Thranduil, and Bilbo sit at a small table.

The elven king is on his feet immediately. “Why have you brought a–” but his demand ends in a sputter when Tauriel enters behind you.

She meets the king’s eyes steadily and dips her head. “Your highness.”

A small smirk crosses Fíli’s lips at Thranduil’s stunned face.

Gandalf brings forward a small chair, gesturing for you to take a seat. You do so with a grateful smile. Fíli moves behind you and rests his hands on your shoulders. You take one with a squeeze.

Gandalf sits as well, leaning forward with his hands folded. “Am I correct in assuming that…?” he waves a hand in Fíli’s general direction.

You swallow hard and nod. “Things… things happened.”

“And what of Thorin and Company?”

“We can reason with him,” Fíli cuts in. “Now that you have the stone, there’s some bargaining power, surely!”

“It’s dragon-sickness, Fee, there’s no reasoning with dragon-sickness!” you snap.

“Y/N?” It’s Bilbo. “Do you know what comes next?”

You frown and dig in your bag for The Hobbit. Thranduil and Tauriel exchange looks of confusion.

“It’s a… power of prophecy, of a sort,” you mumble, thumbing through the pages. “We’re only a few pages into chapter seventeen…” you trail off as a dark word consumes your mind. “Orcs!”

Thranduil leans forward. “What?”

“Orcs. That’s—that’s it, that’s all I can think about—fuck!” You bury your face in your hands. “I can’t see it. I’ve changed the story.” You take a deep breath. “Orcs are coming. I don’t know when, I don’t know how many, but they’re coming.”

Gandalf rises swiftly, retrieving his staff from the corner of the tent. “Then we must be ready. Is there any possibility of reasoning with Thorin?”

You rub your temples. “I can’t be sure. I think he recovers—maybe Fíli leaving will speed it up?”

Fíli flinches slightly.

The wizard nods. “Ready your troops. Be prepared for battle by dawn. We will not be caught unawares.”

Thranduil and Bard offer their agreement, Bard standing to leave for his own lodgings. He pauses, glancing at you and Fíli with a curt nod. “Congratulations.” With that, the archer is gone. Thranduil is swift to leave as well, Tauriel falling easily into place behind him.

“Someone needs to warn Thorin,” Fíli says. He places a hand on the hilt of his sword and makes for the exit, but you snag his wrist. He twists against your grasp, and you hold tight, fingers digging into his sleeve.

“You’re staying here,” you insist.

“I’ll go,” Bilbo says quietly.

Fíli scoffs. “They’d skewer you with an arrow as soon as you’re within sight of the gates.”

“Well, I did manage to sneak in and out of Erebor without a terrible dragon noticing,” Bilbo points out. “I think I can get past a few dwarves.”

The dwarf just snorts in response.

Gandalf eyes the hobbit curiously, watching Bilbo’s fingers fidget in his pocket. “Very well then, Bilbo. As for the pair of you,” he raises an eyebrow in your direction, “I was just about to put on a pot of tea, and I believe Lady Y/N and her little one are sorely in need of some proper nourishment.” He dips his head and ducks out of the tent.

A long, shaking sigh escapes you. You lean against the back of the chair, weariness plaguing your bones. Fili returns to your side and presses a kiss to the top of your head. Then, he separates out a thin section of your hair, carefully beginning to weave it into a braid.

You let out a small gasp, covering his hand with your own. “Fíli? Now?”

He smiles, gently pushing your hand aside and continuing. “If I’m to go into battle at dawn, I want everything to be proper.” The braid complete, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny, wooden bead with delicate etchings.

You take it from his outstretched hand. The wood is rough and unsanded, but you can make out a crude attempt at your and Fíli’s initials in English, as well as runes you vaguely recognize as Khuzdûl.

He folds your fingers around the bead and sinks to one knee in front of you. You blush—you didn’t think your human courtship lessons had taken hold.

His eyes sparkle as he gazes up at you. “Will you marry me?”

Your eyes fill with tears. “Yes,” you whisper.

Fíli grins and takes the bead back, securing it in your hair and kissing it gently. You yank him in by the collar and press your lips against his. He melts into the kiss, fingers tangling in your loose hair.

Applause from the corner makes you pull back with a jump. You had forgotten Bilbo was still in the tent. With a lopsided smile, you stand and push the hobbit out towards Gandalf and the fire. “Give us some privacy!” you chide good-naturedly.

Fíli chuckles and rises as well, pulling you close. He kneels back down, lifting your tunic and kissing your stomach, making you flush even more. “You take care of your amad,” he whispers to the unborn dwarfling. “Adad’s got to go scout out the perfect place for our wedding.” He grins, and you grunt, when the baby kicks.

You sigh again and kneel with him, leaning into his arms. You’ve changed the story so much, the future is dark to you now—all that is left is to place your faith in the strength of the dwarves.

Chapter 16: From Now On

and we will come back home, and we will come back home. home again.

-From Now On (From “The Greatest Showman”), Peter Hollens

Stray shafts of pale dawn light peek through the tent flaps. You haven’t slept a wink, cradling a cold cup of tea in your lap. You’d downed three already, chasing the rush of caffeine to get you through whatever is to come. The others would not hear of you participating in the battle in any fashion. It’s frustrating, though you know in your heart that they’re right—the battlefield is no place for a pregnant woman. Still, you felt a twinge of dismay when Fíli left you in the tent to go practice some battle techniques.

Gandalf sits across from you, stirring his own cup. “So,” he begins lightly, “how long have you and Fíli…?”

You gulp, dreading the conversation in fear of judgment. “Since Rivendell,” you say quietly. “Everything happened so fast. We didn’t know if we’d ever get the chance to have a real life together. But maybe now…”

“Does this mean you no longer seek a way to return to your own world?”

That’s not the direction you expected the discussion to go. “I hadn’t thought of that.” You search within yourself, as if rummaging around in your very soul. “But I don’t think I can anymore—if I ever could.”

Gandalf raises an eyebrow.

“When I first came here, I felt this… this pull within me. As if some part of me was missing, like I left part of myself back in my own world. Like maybe I would wake up back at my campsite at any second. But now, I don’t feel that anymore.” You pause. That’s only partly true, isn’t it? You haven’t felt that pull in a long time. Not since you discovered you were pregnant. Your eyes grow misty. “All of me is here now. I… I don’t belong there anymore.” It’s painful to say aloud.

Gandalf seems to understand your conflicted feelings, reaching out a hand to pat your knee. “I’m sure you will be well looked after here in Middle Earth,” he comforts you. “Fíli seems quite proud.”

You smile weakly. “He is. Kíli too, for his part. I just hope Thorin–”

“Y/N! Y/N, Fíli, where are you?”

A shout rings out from outside the tent. You leap up and dash from the tent, recognizing the voice of Ori. The young dwarf in his ill-fitting armor huffs and puffs as he jogs toward you.

Fíli sheathes his sword, stepping forward and putting an arm out to shield you—just in case. “Ori? What are you doing here?”

Ori bends over, hands on his knees. “Thorin… Thorin wants you back… both of you,” he wheezes. “He… says he’s sorry… wants you by his side…”

Gandalf emerges from the tent. “Has the King Under the Mountain regained his senses, then?”

Before Ori can reply, you hear a tremendous roar from the gates of the Lonely Mountain. The troops of Dáin, who had arrived during the night, raise up their weapons. Even from far across the field, you hear them clearly. “Oakenshield! Oakenshield!” they chant jubilantly.

Fíli looks at Gandalf. “I think that’s your answer.” He dashes into the tent and grabs your bag, looping it over your shoulders. “Come on, then!”

Gandalf stops you with a hand. “Y/N. Are you sure this is wise?”

You swallow. “I’m not sure of anything anymore,” you admit. “But I’m not staying here if I can be with my… my family.”

He withdraws his hand. “Then move with haste and caution, and give my regards to the king.”

You nod, squeezing Fíli’s arm and falling into line behind Ori, who keeps adjusting his helm awkwardly as you make your way towards Erebor. The shadow of the mountain looms over you, and you shiver. Fíli rubs his hand up and down your back comfortingly. “We’re going home for good, Y/N,” he whispers. “I promise.”

You open your mouth to reply, but a rumbling interrupts you. From the north, you see them approaching, armor clanging and weapons beating against shields. The army of Azog.

A look of horror dawns on Fíli’s face. The three of you break into a sprint, as fast as you can manage. When you arrive at the wall, a rope falls down in front of you. Nori’s face peers down from the rampart. “Up, quick!”

You stare at the rope, then up at him, gesturing to your belly helplessly.

Fíli rolls his eyes and crouches down. “Come on,” he grunts.

You wrap your arms around his neck in an awkward piggy-back, clinging on for dear life as he slowly clambers up the wall. Just as you feel like your arms are about to give out, Nori’s hands grab yours and haul you over the rampart. “Welcome back, lass.”

“Where are the others?” Fíli puffs.

Nori waves down to the ground, where you can see Thorin and the rest of the Company at the front gate, their communion with Dáin interrupted by the approaching orc army. A thrill of hope and terror fills your heart when you glimpse Bilbo’s tiny figure among them.

“Y/N.” Fili grips your shoulders and kisses you firmly, fingers running along your courting braid. “I must fight.”

Throat tight, you nod. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He flashes you a smirk. “I would never!” Fingering your bead one last time, he turns and rushes down the stairs into the tower, grumbling something about climbing up the wall just to go back down. Nori follows.

Ori looks at your hair with delight. “You have a braid! And a bead! Congratulations, Y/N!” He chuckles. “Dori owes me—I wagered Fíli would propose before November’s end.”

You smile, but it fades quickly as trumpets sounds below you. The orc army is near now, and the combined men, elvish, and dwarven forces surge forward with a roar, Thorin at the head. A tiny blonde head bobs and weaves through the ranks, Fíli hastening to join his brother and uncle. You lift your hand as if he could see you.

Ori taps your shoulder and thrusts a crossbow into your arms. “Just in case.”

“Aren’t you joining them?”

He shakes his head. “We’re the defensive forces,” he says, puffing out his chest proudly.

Great.

You never realized how loud a battle really was—even though you had to adjust the volume when watching the movies as they bounced back and forth between quiet dialogue and triumphant fights. Up on the wall, it’s mostly calm, though you get the occasional shot in at a few particularly dimwitted orcs who stray too close.

You’re sitting against the wall when you hear it—a loud roar of rage, far too close. Scrambling to your feet, you peer down. At the base of the wall, among a circle of corpses, stand Thorin and Azog. Your heart leaps in your throat. Just like in the movie, just like in your dream, Azog drags Fíli by the collar. Hardly thinking, you grip your crossbow shakily and level it at the enormous orc. But you’re no skilled archer, and this is no ordinary foot soldier; your shot lands at his feet. It draws Azog’s attention, though, and he looks up at the mountain.

You load another bolt, struggling against the draw weight. Ori lends you his strength, and the arrow snaps into place. The distraction gives Fíli enough of a window to stab at the arm holding him, causing the orc to drop him reflexively. Fíli rolls away quickly and springs to his feet, taking his place at Thorin’s side. Kíli is there too, bow already drawn and aimed, but Thorin holds out an arm to stop him. This is his fight.

The dwarven king and Azog circle each other slowly. It’s hard to see what’s going on from the wall—you can’t bear it any longer.

“Y/N! Where are you going?” Ori cries as you sprint down the stairs, dashing through the halls from the tower to the gates.

Snow stings your face, and vomit rises up in your throat at the smell of death all around. You push past it, pressing your back against the wall to remain unseen. I just need to see what happens, you tell yourself. No closer.

Thorin and Azog still haven’t attacked each other, but Azog has gained a flail since you made it down to the battlefield. He spits something in Orcish that you don’t recognize, lashing out with his sword arm. Thorin ducks under the swing, slashing at the orc’s torso. Azog twists away and brings down his flail. He narrowly misses the dwarf and snarls in frustration. Blood spatters the snow from the stab Fíli inflicted.

Your breath shakes. They’re so close, so, so close. With sweaty hands, you raise your crossbow again, aiming right for the orc’s back, and fire. This time your arrow flies true and buries itself in the meat of Azog’s shoulder. He growls and whips around, tiny eyes pinpointing you against the wall. He takes a great, lumbering step forward.

Shit shit shit.

But as the giant orc approaches you, a little hobbit appears from thin air, throwing himself at Azog’s feet and causing him to stumble. The orc barely has time to register what’s beneath him before a blade rips through his chest. It withdraws and plunges through again and again with a fury until Azog sinks to a knee with a bloody gurgle. And suddenly, a jagged line appears across the orc’s neck, and his head drops to the ground with a wet thud. He remains upright for a heartbeat before collapsing.

Thorin plants his boot on top of the orc’s body, breathing heavily and gripping a glistening, bloody Orcrist. He spits on Azog’s corpse and raises his sword with a triumphant shout. “For Thrain! For Thror! For Erebor!”

The raging battle around you pauses, orcs and goblins gaping at their headless general. Somewhere, one shouts, and they start a hasty retreat. Bodies drop among them as elvish arrows pierce their armor and dwarven axes cleave through their helmets, leaving few to escape the battlefield intact.

Thorin lifts his head and meets your eyes. He lowers his sword and begins to approach, but stumbles as Fíli pushes past him in a sprint.

“What are you doing down here, ghivashel?” he scolds breathlessly, crushing you in his embrace.

You cling to him as if your life depends on it. “Saving your idiot uncle,” you choke out.

Kíli picks Bilbo up and brushes the hobbit off, mussing up his hair. “That was stupid of the two of you,” he says with a grin, pushing Bilbo forward. He embraces you tightly as well.

You squeeze your eyes shut against tears.

“Y/N.”

They blink open as Kíli releases you.

Thorin’s face is battered and dirty, blood dripping from a gash across his forehead. “I owe you my deepest apologies.”

Instead of replying, you reach out and wipe the blood away from his brow. “You look awful,” you reply with a wobbly smile.

He pauses, then smiles and claps you on the shoulder. “We did it, Y/N. Welcome home.”

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin: Complete Edition

Chapters 13 & 14

Y/N doesn't know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince-but she does know one thing: she's carrying his child.

Updated weekly, or read the full version here

Chapter 13: Saturn

i couldn’t help but ask for you to say it all again. i tried to write it down, but i could never find a pen.

-Saturn, Sleeping at Last

You hum quietly, nestled in the gnarled roots of an ancient tree, watching Fíli and Kíli spar with sticks through half-closed eyes. Exhaustion finds you more easily now, so you demurred when Kíli tried to rope you into their training session. Absentmindedly, you run a hand over your swelling belly. You have no need to conceal your pregnancy any longer, but you don’t exactly have access to proper maternity clothing in Middle Earth, so you’re clad in borrowed clothes from the dwarves. Óin, the Company’s de facto doctor, assures you that as you’re nearly halfway through your pregnancy, the worst of the symptoms should be behind you.

You reach over to your backpack and rummage through it for the blanket you were given in Mirkwood—your pack reappeared “mysteriously” in Lake-town, along with a few of Kíli’s weapons. You wonder if Tauriel is still following the Company from afar.

“Y/N?”

It’s Thorin. You sit up a bit, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders against the October evening’s chill. “Thorin,” you greet him, patting a space on the root beside you.

He sits against the tree and tips back his head with a deep sigh. The pair of you sit in amicable silence. After spending a month sharing a cell, you don’t find the future king as intimidating as before. Between the crackling of the fire and the thwacking of sticks, you find your eyelids beginning to droop. But any oncoming sleep is interrupted by a loud yell from Fíli—he’s disarmed Kíli, who in response tackles his brother to the ground with a whoop.

A small smile appears on Thorin’s face as he watches his nephews scuffle in the dirt. It vanishes when the princes roll too close to the bedroll where poor Bilbo is trying to turn in early. “Fíli! Kíli!” he barks. “Do not crush our burglar before he gets a chance to do his burgling!”

Kíli pops up and tosses an apology over his shoulder to the hobbit. He grabs Fíli by the back of the shirt and drags him further from the bedrolls before resuming their wrestling match.

“Boys will be boys,” you remark with a smile.

Thorin grunts. “I wanted to speak with you about something.”

“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

He clears his throat. “It is about Fíli.”

“I guess I did do that.” Adjusting the blanket, you twist to face Thorin as best as your belly allows.

Thorin ignores that last quip. He looks at your stomach for a while. Then his gaze shifts back to Fíli, who holds a wriggling Kíli in a headlock. “He smiles more now,” he comments with a glance in your direction. “I don’t believe I have seen him this cheerful since we set out from Bag End.”

You squirm shyly.

“You make him happy,” Thorin continues, in case his meaning was unclear. “I… appreciate that.”

Heat creeps up your neck and you duck your head. “I don’t do much,” you deflect.

A hand tilts your chin back up gently. “You do a great deal,” Thorin insists. But his expression becomes more solemn, and he releases your face. “I wonder though… what you… what you see in him,” his words are stilted, as if trying to tiptoe around something.

You frown. “Um. I’m sorry?”

The dwarf sighs and rubs the back of his neck. Looking toward the others, now beginning to settle down for the evening, he shifts closer to you and lowers his voice. “I named Fíli as my heir long ago. He stands to inherit a great deal—and I am not young,” he adds with a dry chuckle. “There are many dwarf lords who would see their daughters wed to him for the throne. If he is to marry, I want it to be for the right reasons.”

You’re not sure if his request is endearing or insulting, but his face is earnest. “He’s…” you trail off, eyes softening as you watch your prince. Fíli flashes a triumphant smile at you as Kíli finally gives in. It still makes your heart flutter like a lovesick teen. “Kíli and I are a lot alike,” you start over.

That statement seems to surprise Thorin, who looks at you curiously.

“We’re fiery, impulsive. We know when we’re right and we won’t let it go without fighting. Not that Fíli isn’t passionate either,” you add hastily. “But he looks out for Kíli. He protects him. I guess I wanted that, too. And he’s funny, he’s kind, he’s noble… he’s anything I could ask for in a prince.”

Thorin doesn’t respond for a long time. Finally, he tips his head toward you. “And do you know what he sees in you?”

If you were flushing before, now you’re beet red.

“Beauty, naturally. But you are brave, too. You face all the same dangers as any of us with fewer of the skills. Kindness, intelligence, and stubbornness to rival that of any dwarrowdam.” He gives you a fond smile. “You will make a fine queen.”

Right now, in your bashfulness, anywhere but Thorin’s face seems to be a good place to look. The moon peers down through the golden leaves as if trying to catch a glimpse of the pile of dwarves snoring under its light. An owl calls from afar, voice nearly lost on the wind.

You fiddle with the hem of the blanket in your lap, earlier words from Thorin bouncing around in your head. “Thorin?”

“Hm?”

“What you said back in Mirkwood, about claiming me as kin…” you swallow hard. “Do you really mean it?”

He blinks in surprise, brows drawn together. “Of course, Y/N. I would never go back on my word.” He leans over and touches his forehead to yours. “You are of the clan of Durin now, and you will have a place of honor under the mountain. I swear it.”

He pulls back and claps your shoulder. “Get some rest. We head for Erebor at dawn.” Thorin stands and arches his back in a stretch, grunting as something pops. Before he leaves for his bedroll, he looks back down at you. “What was it you were humming earlier?”

Your lips quirk upward. “Oh, just an old love song of my people,” you murmur, rising as well and picking your way to the sleeping bag next to Fíli’s bedroll. You sit down and wriggle into it, pressing close to the now drowsy dwarf.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and gently kisses the top of your head. “What did Thorin want?” he whispers.

“Nothing important,” you reply sleepily, snuggling into his chest. He smells of leather and campfire smoke.

In the morning, you’ll face the last stretch of your journey and confront the fiery reality that stirs beneath the mountain. But right now, in the arms of your dwarf, nothing could seem further away, and you slip into a warm and easy slumber.

Chapter 14: The Rockrose and the Thistle

a single thread hangs limply down, and i breathe “not now, not now.”

-The Rockrose and the Thistle, The Amazing Devil

Freezing wind bites at your face as you follow Kíli through the watchtower. He slows and presses to the side of the wall when you reach the end of the passage, pulling you close protectively and leaning out into the cold air.

“Anything?” you whisper.

Kíli doesn’t answer.

You shouldn’t be here.

You don’t know how you got here.

How did you get here? Why–

Boom.

A drumbeat echoes around the stone. Your heart drops. Vibrations pulse through the bricks beneath your feet. Little rocks rain down around you and Kíli. You tear away from him and scramble out into the wind, squinting against the light as you search the crumbling stone above you.

It’s Azog—but you knew that already. He’s got Fíli—but you knew that too.

He drags Fíli by the back of the collar and lifts him into the air like he’s nothing, dangling the dwarf over the edge.

“This one dies first,” Azog rumbles. You don’t know the language, but you know what he’s saying. You know it by heart, by broken heart. “Then the brother.”

Kíli lifts his head slowly, confusion, recognition, terror all battling for dominance on his face. Terror wins as he stares up at Fíli.

You glimpse Thorin, Bilbo, and Dwalin on the other tower. Thorin rushes forward as if he could actually reach his nephew and skids to a halt. You’ve never seen him afraid. Never truly afraid, until now.

“Then you, Oakenshield. You will die last,” the orc sneers.

For a brief moment, Fíli struggles, squirming against the hand holding the last moments of his life in its grasp. It’s pointless, and he knows it, but you will him to keep fighting, to do something.

He stares across at his uncle. “Go,” he chokes out. You don’t know if you actually hear him say it or if it’s your mind filling in the blanks. His eyes dart down to you, as if in apology, then back up to Thorin. “Run!”

The blade rips through him as if he’s not even there. Fíli gurgles for a second, and his head falls against his chest. Even Dwalin cannot watch.

“Here ends your filthy bloodline!” Azog releases Fíli unceremoniously. The limp dwarf plunges to the stone before you, landing with a dull thud.

It’s so strange, that thud, because it wasn’t nearly loud enough to deafen you.

And yet no sound reaches your ears as you fall to your knees, scrambling towards Fíli. “Fíli! Fíli, Fee, please,” you gasp, pressing your hands desperately against the ragged wound in his abdomen. Whispered prayers spill past your lips—to Mahal, to Eru, to your own God, fuck, you pray to Tolkien himself. Bile rises up in your throat and threatens to choke you when your fingers instead plunge inside the hole with a squelch, guts slimy around your wrists. It’s too wide, too deep for any gauze to fill. Blood pools beneath your hands. You search Fíli’s face. His chapped lips are parted, eyes dark and staring sightlessly at the sky. They’ll never see anything again.

You feel a hand grip your shoulder as Kíli falls next to you as well. He’s shouting something. He shouldn’t be shouting, you think dully. Fíli needs his rest so he can recover. So he can get better and he can see the birth of his baby and we can get married and he can see Thorin be crowned–

Kíli shakes you roughly and grabs your chin, turning your face to look at him. His bottom lip trembles, and it finally all breaks.

A scream tears from your throat, raw and rough and guttural, and you collapse into Kíli’s arms.

”Y/N…”

“Y/N? Y/N!”

You’re still screaming when you wake against Fíli’s chest. He pulls away to look at you. But in your sleep-addled mind, you don’t see the concern in his eyes. In the flickering firelight you still see the face from your dreams, slack-jawed and empty-eyed. You tear out of your sleeping bag and scramble to get away.

He reaches out, but you kick his arm away in panic, crawling desperately to the edge of the clearing. The Company stare at you in bewilderment as you press against the tree where you and Thorin had sat just hours before.

Balin rises from his bedroll by the fire pit and extends a hand to you, but you flinch away.

“Let me try,” comes a quiet voice from behind Balin. It’s Bilbo, who cautiously lowers himself next to you. He places a gentle hand on your arm, his face puzzled but kind. “Y/N?” He speaks softly, like you would to a frightened child. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Your fingers curl around his arm, and you bury your face in his coat, shoulders heaving. He closes his arms around you and lets you cry yourself dry.

“He’s gonna die, Bilbo, he’s gonna die,” you sob over and over again. “He’s gonna die and Kíli’s gonna die and Thorin’s gonna die and I can’t do anything because I’m not supposed to even be here…”

Bilbo doesn’t say anything, just patting your back comfortingly.

Finally, you lift your head, peering past the hobbit’s shoulder at the Company. It’s Thorin who makes a move toward you first, but he’s halted by an arrow whistling through the air and piercing the ground at his feet.

“Daro, gorn.” [Stop, dwarf (derogatory).]

A leg clad in brown leather appears before you. Tauriel’s bow is already drawn again. “Did they hurt you, my lady?”

Thorin reaches for a sword on his belt that is not there, but Tauriel raises her bow anyway.

Fíli leaps to his feet, and Tauriel turns her bow on him. At that same instant, Kíli jumps up and slides beneath her arm. He seizes you and Bilbo, pulling you from behind the elf. Tauriel starts to aim at him too, but lowers her bow when she recognizes him.

“What are you doing here?” Kíli demands, pulling you against his side. What would normally be a protective move makes your stomach turn; he had done the same in your dream.

His brother retrieves you, and you clutch at Fíli with a small whimper. He rubs your back gently, pressing your head down against his shoulder.

Tauriel’s face falters slightly as she watches the tender gesture. “I heard a pregnant woman scream and saw her trying to escape the dwarves with whom she travels. Now, have you harmed her?” she asks again.

You can feel the heat creeping up Fíli’s neck. “Harmed her?” he splutters. His fist balls up in the fabric of your tunic in anger. “Why would I harm the woman I lov–” He shuts his mouth so fast you hear his jaw snap. It was supposed to remain a secret within the Company.

You lift your head and look over your shoulder at Tauriel, who gapes at Fíli. Her narrow, green eyes find yours. “Does he speak the truth?”

Throat tight, you nod. “It’s his,” you whisper. Your legs start to fail beneath you as the adrenaline from your dream drains from your blood, and Fíli carries you back to your sleeping bag.

Tauriel doesn’t seem to know what to do, looking at the dwarves around her. Bifur and Nori look particularly mutinous—Bifur mutters something dark in Khuzdûl under his breath, running his thumb along the blade of a knife. With a sigh, Tauriel sits on the roots you and Bilbo vacated. She reaches over her shoulder and pulls a long bundle from her quiver, tossing it at Thorin’s feet.

His murderous expression turns to confusion, then surprise as he kneels and unwraps the cloth. It’s Orcrist. He looks up at her. “Is this some sort of trick?” he growls.

“No trick.”

“Why?”

She sighs again, longer and deeper this time. “I have left Mirkwood. King Thranduil did not agree with my suggestion to send a patrol to tail your party.”

A few of the dwarves take issue with that remark, but she holds her hand up to stop their shouts. “I mean only to ensure that the lady remains safe. I do not want the blood of an expecting mother on my hands.” Almost as an afterthought, she pulls another small bundle from her pack, tossing it to Fíli this time. More herbs.

“If you think I will allow an elf to follow my Company to our mountain…” Thorin doesn’t finish, instead fixing Tauriel with a furious glower.

Tauriel picks at a blade of grass. “I could return to the king and inform him of your destination,” she says lightly. “Or I could accompany you and furnish your lady with provisions that will ensure a healthier pregnancy than anything a band of dwarf men could.” She looks up at Thorin. “I would say the choice is yours, but I believe the lady’s opinion should hold more sway.”

At a loss for words, Thorin turns back to you. Glancing at Tauriel, you nod.

He presses his lips into a thin line. “Rest, Y/N,” he grunts. “We break camp at first light. Ori, Gloín, you take watch.” With a withering look in the elf’s direction, he returns to his bedroll.

Tauriel seems satisfied with this, beginning a quiet conversation with Kíli, who sits just a little too close to the she-elf. You release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Fíli gently cradles you against his chest and eases the pair of you to the ground. “You don’t have to tell me what you dreamt of if you do not want,” he whispers. “But I swear to you by all the gold in the mountain, I will never leave you.”

Your heart clenches, and tears prick at the edge of your eyes as you clutch at his arm. “Don’t make promises you don’t know you can keep.”

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin: The Complete Edition

Chapters 11 & 12

Y/N doesn't know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince-but she does know one thing: she's carrying his child.

Updated weekly, or read the full version here

Chapter 11: She’s in Love with the Boy

and even if they have to run away, she’s gonna marry that boy someday.

-She’s in Love with the Boy, Trisha Yearwood

You’re starting to get really fucking tired of this forest.

You trudge along behind Dwalin, following your captors to God-knows-where. Well, you know where, as fragments of the events to come slowly start to return to your mind. But your irritation starts to subside as you reach the cave system where the woodland elves’ fortress lies, replaced by awe. Beside you, the red-headed Tauriel smirks at your reaction. You were surprised to find her among the Mirkwood elves, turning this Middle Earth into some strange mix of book and movie canon. But movies really didn’t do the palace justice, and you almost forget your predicament when the large stone doors swing open, and you are led along winding paths and into the hall of the Elvenking.

Thorin is clearly not impressed, launching into an argument with the king. You tune him out and rise up on your tiptoes, peering around to count the Company members. Bilbo. Bilbo is missing—he’s already used the Ring, you realize with a shiver.

“You. The lady.”

You jump. Thranduil regards you with a curious gaze. “You are no dwarf. What is a daughter of Man doing with this foul bunch? And in such strange clothes, too.”

Indignation stirs in your chest, and you cross your arms. “None of your business,” you snap.

Thranduil takes a step closer and lowers his voice. “We can save you from these dwarves. Just say the word,” he whispers, eyes narrowing as he reaches out to raise your chin.

As soon as his cold fingers make contact with your skin, a hand pulls you back by your shoulder roughly. Thorin plants himself between you and the king. “She stands with us. Touch her again…” Thorin doesn’t continue, letting the threat hang in the air.

Thranduil curls his lip and turns away. “Very well, then. She goes with the others.”

One of the elven guards grabs you and Thorin by your arms, dragging you along with the rest of the Company. Your heart quickens as you reach the cells. There’s not enough.

Tauriel has realized it as well, pursing her lips in thought. “Double them up, then. Careful with the woman,” she adds, looking you up and down. “She carries a child.”

The blood drains from your face and you gape at the elf in horror. How can she tell?

A confused murmur ripples through the Company. Before you can say anything, you and Thorin are pushed into a small cell, the door clanging shut behind you. Your head spins. Of course, you were going to tell him eventually, but surely not this soon. Thorin is shouting through the bars, but you only vaguely register the sound, curling up into a shaky ball in the corner.

At last, he relents—but not before spitting through the door. “They mean to divide us,” he growls, starting to pace the length of the cramped cell. “Making up filthy lies—”

“It’s not a lie,” you whisper, trying to cut his rant short before it can even begin. It works.

He turns to you slowly. Dangerously slowly. “What?” Thorin’s voice is low.

“She wasn’t lying,” you repeat, uncurling and lifting your top with a trembling hand to expose your midriff. The bump is just barely noticeable if you know to look for it.

Even in the dim light, Thorin finds it immediately. “You said you had no paramours in your world,” he says slowly. His thick eyebrows draw into a frown, blue eyes impossibly dark.

“I don’t.”

“Then how…” he trails off as you look over his shoulder, and turns to follow your gaze. In the flickering torchlight of the hallway, in the cell directly across from yours, stands Fíli. His knuckles are white as he grips the bars tightly, pressing his body against the door as if he could melt through it and reach you if he just tried hard enough.

“Fíli.” Your love’s name is barely a breath from Thorin’s mouth. “You?”

When Fíli meets his uncle’s eyes, he straightens up, chin raised. “Yes.” That one word, that first public acknowledgment of the love between you and your prince, shatters the tension in the air. A clamor breaks out among the rest of the Company, who had been watching the exchange with bated breath.

“Enough!” A shout cuts through the noise, silencing the other dwarves. To your surprise, it comes not from Thorin’s lips, but Balin’s. The old dwarf sighs and shakes his head. “Thorin. They’re young and in love. Something was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“In love?” Thorin repeats, dumbfounded. “You knew of this?”

Balin glances around at his companions—at least, as well as he can from the confines of his cell. “I believe you’re the only one who hasn’t noticed them.”

Murmured agreement and nodding from the dwarves. “The will-they-won’t-they was starting to get quite unbearable,” Dwalin grunts.

“Oh please,” snorts Kíli, standing from where he had lain sprawled out behind his brother. “They passed ‘will-they-won’t-they’ ages ago.”

Fíli goes to smack him, but Kíli dodges. “I caught them together in bed in Rivendell one morning. In her bed, no less,” he continues with a lazy grin. “Can’t imagine what she sees in an oaf like him, but to each their own.”

Thorin looks down at you, then back to his nephews. He leans against the wall, sliding down to the floor with his face in his hands.

You exchange a nervous look with Fíli. “Thorin?” you venture.

He doesn’t look at you. “Where’s Master Baggins?” he asks after a long silence, voice muffled. “What comes next?”

His question brings the reality of your situation rushing back to you. “Oof,” you exhale loudly, puffing out your cheeks. “He’s… he’s okay. Just trust him. He knows what he’s doing. Well… he doesn’t yet. But he will. We’ll be here for a while, I think.”

Thorin finally lifts up his head wearily, as if a hundred years descended upon him in mere moments. “Do you understand how incredibly foolish the pair of you have been? A pregnant woman on a journey like this? That child could jeopardize this entire quest.

A hot flash of anger burns through you. You leap to your feet to argue, but it quickly turns to pain. You feel like an ice pick has been jammed into your abdomen, and you sink back to the floor with a groan. Fíli echoes it, the desperation in his eyes heartbreaking as he can do nothing but look upon you from afar.

Thorin’s face falters, but he makes no movement toward you.

“Thorin,” Balin says after another long silence. “The babe carries Durin’s blood. The first in nearly eighty years—it will be an heir to the throne someday.”

It’s as if Balin’s words slapped him in the face. Thorin stares at him, then whips his head back around to you, then Fíli. You can almost see the gears turning in his head. “An heir…” he mutters.

Clanging from down the hall makes you jump. To your surprise, Legolas appears before your cell, carrying a cloth bundle.

Thorin is on his feet in an instant, blocking the elven prince’s view of you with his bulk. “Come to gloat?” he sneers.

Legolas’s lip curls in distaste, but he looks past the fuming dwarf to you. “For the lady,” he says, holding out the bundle through the bars. “From one of our own women.”

You rise shakily, nudging Thorin out of the way hesitantly and taking it from him. “Thanks, Legolas,” you murmur with a small smile.

Thorin and Legolas give you identical looks of confusion, and you remember too late that Legolas doesn’t know you the way you know him. “You’re… welcome,” he replies slowly.

Within the blanket you find a small amount of food, some herbs, and a little vial with a bubbly liquid sloshing around in it.

“It’s for the baby’s health,” he explains, glancing at your belly. “We’re not monsters.”

You repeat your thanks and settle back into the corner, wrapping yourself in the blanket. The events of the past few days collapse over you, and you give in to the exhaustion, falling into an uneasy sleep.

“Y/N.”

A gentle hand shakes you from sleep.

You squirm beneath the blanket. “It’s too early, Fee,” you grumble, screwing your eyes shut even tighter. “Gotta… sleep for the baby…”

“Y/N.” The shaking is more insistent this time, and you reluctantly crack open an eye. Thorin stands over you, bringing you back to reality.

By your count, you’ve been in the cells of Mirkwood nearly four weeks, anxiously awaiting Bilbo’s barrel-riding rescue. The days pass slowly, with little to fill time other than teasing Kíli from across the hall about the growing flirting between him and Tauriel, constantly reassuring Fíli that you’re not on the verge of labor, and playing the same ten songs over and over from your phone—before the battery died. Your solar-powered charger is useless here beneath the earth. The elves have been noticeably kinder towards you than your dwarven companions. Whatever herbs and elixirs Legolas continues to deliver have dampened your morning sickness significantly, and Tauriel often escorts you on walks around the lower palace levels for the baby’s health. If either suspect who the father is, they don’t show it—you and the dwarves agreed it was best the elves not learn you were carrying a half-dwarf child, in fear that they revoke their preferential treatment of you.

You blink up at Thorin in surprise. He has rarely spoken to you despite sharing a cell, always seeming to be brooding over something or another. But now he holds out a hand and helps you to your feet, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips.

He clears his throat. “This has been on my mind for quite some time,” he says, stepping back and glancing over his shoulder at Fíli, who watches from his cell apprehensively. All the dwarves’ eyes are on you and Thorin, in fact.

“It is true that you are not… entirely what I had in mind as a bride for my heir.”

You wince, but Thorin places a hand on your shoulder and squeezes it. There is an odd look in his eye, a familiar expression, but one you struggle to place.

“Y/N. The child in your womb is of the line of Durin. You may not carry Durin’s blood in your veins, but you carry it all the same.”

As he speaks, it dawns on you. The look in his eyes—it’s pride. The same pride and affection you’d only seen when he watched his nephews when he knew they were not looking. “Before today, I claimed you as a member of my Company.” Finally, he smiles. “Now, I claim you as my kin. And when all this is over…”

Thorin trails off and looks back at Fíli again. “When all this is over, and our home under the mountain is restored, I will see the pair of you properly wed. You have my blessing.”

He gently wipes tears from your cheek that you hadn’t realized were there, and leans in to rest his forehead against yours, that tender dwarven expression of affection you’d come to love. “Take care of that little one, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice oddly thick with emotion.

Your throat tightens and you open your mouth to speak, but the clattering sound of metal-on-metal draws your attention back to the cell door. It’s Bilbo, fumbling with a large keyring. “Come on, come on,” he whispers urgently.

You smile. Barrel time.

Chapter 12: Surrender

but that was then, and this is now, and we made it through the woods somehow

–Surrender, Malinda

“That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!”

Cheers rise from the dwarves gathered around the table as they finish their song. Bofur stands in the middle of the table, immediately launching into the next drinking song. You dodge splashes of ale from the mug he holds aloft. Spirits are high after your welcome in Lake-town, and the generous house and pantry provided to the Company by the Master.

You and Thorin are the only ones not caught up in the revelry. Thorin’s chair is pushed back from the head of the table to avoid the food flying through the air and the alcohol splashing about—though he has the largest mug of beer out of any of them. Bilbo, understandably, opted to take his dinner in the kitchen when they started up their song.

All the noise is just a bit too much for you after spending a whole month in a cell. Quietly, you take your plate and slip away, heading for the living room. A fire roars in the hearth, a very attractive prospect after being stuffed in a barrel and tossed around in a river.

“Y/N!” Arms seize your waist from behind.

You jump, nearly dropping your plate. Before you can get a word out, you’re turned around. The plate is snatched from your grasp and any protest is immediately silenced by Fíli’s lips covering yours. He puts the plate on the small side table by the couch. One hand pulls your head down closer to him, the other rubs up and down your back. The kiss is rough and desperate. He breaks away breathlessly, resting his forehead against yours. “I’ve missed you so much.”

You’re out of breath as well. “Fíli, you’ve seen me every day.”

”You know what I mean.” He kneels down and lifts up your shirt. “Is the little one alright?”

Your bump has grown steadily, straining against the confines of your clothing. “It probably got quite the roller coaster ride, but I think it’s okay,” you reassure him. A loud cheer comes from the dining room, followed by a few voices raised in drunken song. “They’re celebrating. You should be with them.”

“They can spare me for a while. I have to make sure my ghivashel is well.”

You smile, taking one of his mustache beads and rolling it between your fingers. “I’d be a lot better if I had the opportunity to eat,” you say with a glance at your untouched plate.

Fíli pulls your shirt back down, giving your belly a pat. He takes your hand and leads you to the worn-out couch by the fireplace, then retrieves your plate. “Why did you not stay with the rest of us?” he asks as he hands it to you.

“Dwarves can be a bit much sometimes,” you answer with a shrug. “No offense.”

Fíli places his hand on his chest. “Your words, how they hurt me! I fear I shall never recover from this wound!”

You roll your eyes. “Do you want me to kiss it and make it feel better?” you mumble around a mouthful of potatoes.

His eyes sparkle, and he scoots closer to you. “Is that an option?” he whispers, his breath on your neck giving you goosebumps.

“Maybe once I finish my dinner.” You scoot away, giving Fíli a pointed look.

He huffs, but relents. You eat slowly, savoring your first proper meal in ages. Fíli fidgets with the laces on his tunic, sneaking peeks at you every few minutes. Your lips twitch—the prince is getting antsy.

But you feel the same pull that he does. It’s been over a month since you’ve even been close enough to hold hands. Every cramp, every wave of nausea seemed so much worse without Fíli at your side.

Sitting in a cell for so long gave you plenty of time to reflect on your relationship with Fíli. Everything happened so quickly. Even now, you’ve known each other barely six months. And yet you’re no longer just two young adults acting on lustful urges, or even romantic partners. He’s the father of your child. You’re a mother now, so early in your life. Impossibly early by dwarven standards.

There’s a little thought gnawing at the back of your mind. A tiny voice you try your best to ignore, reminding you that dwarves live far longer than humans. Your relationship is guaranteed to end in heartbreak for Fíli as he lives on for decades after your death. He might even outlive your child.

“You’re doing far too much thinking over there.” Fíli takes the empty plate from your hands. “I’m still mortally wounded, remember?”

“Of course,” you say, shaking away your anxious thoughts. “Where does it hurt?”

“All over,” he replies with a mischievous wink.

You crawl over to him and curl up against his side. “That’s quite the wound. How about if I start right here?” You plant kisses in the bristly hair of his beard, slowly traveling closer to his mouth with each peck.

But the impatient dwarf turns his head to capture your lips. His hands creep down to the hem of your shirt and start to lift it.

You push them aside gently. “Uh-uh, Fee, we’re not doing anything unless it’s in a locked room. We’ve traumatized Kíli enough.”

“Mm, but I can’t get to all of you with your blouse still on.” Fíli lowers his head and nibbles on your neck, just above your pulse point. “How will you hide all of my marks?”

“I don’t have to hide them anymore,” you reply softly. You pull away, smiling and brushing strands of golden hair from his face. “We’re free. No more sneaking around. No more secrets.”

”So we don’t have to hide when I do this?” And his lips are on yours again, his tongue in your mouth, one hand fisted in your hair. Clutching you tightly, Fíli lets himself fall backwards on the couch, so you’re lying on top of him.

You brace yourself with an arm on either side of his body to keep from rolling off the edge and straddle him to take any pressure off of your swollen belly. “Don’t squish the baby,” you mumble in between kisses. You try your best to stifle any noise, keenly aware that the rest of the Company is just in the other room.

Someone clears their throat. You freeze, lips still pressed against Fíli’s, almost afraid to look. Thorin stands in the doorway, looking at you with an odd expression. His face hovers somewhere between surprised and disturbed. Your relationship is no secret anymore, but you realize he’s never actually seen you be physically affectionate. And certainly not in a position like this. Past him, Balin shakes his head in amusement, while Bilbo wears a similar expression to Thorin.

Your face pulses with heat, but Fíli doesn’t seem fazed. When he sits up, he keeps you close to his chest. He holds Thorin’s gaze steadily, almost defiantly as he combs through your hair where his fingers had tangled it.

Thorin’s jaw clenches, just for a second. You can tell he’s barely biting back a comment. He sits in the armchair across from you, staring into the fire. Deliberately not looking at the two of you. “What’s next?” he asks at last. Balin takes a seat in the chair next to him while the hobbit paces behind them.

You concentrate, trying to tease the memories out from the back of your mind. Flashes of Lake-town, Erebor looming over you, glimpses of the moon. “It’s even fuzzier than normal. We keep getting further and further from how the story is supposed to go.” You push away from Fíli, wincing as a stabbing pain shoots through you. “At this point, I can’t tell if the pains are from us deviating from the story or from the baby.”

“Hey!” Kíli pokes his head through the doorway with a dismayed expression. “Why is Fíli part of your little council and not me?”

“Fíli was already here,” Thorin points out with an impatient huff. “He seems to be attached to Y/N, or else I would send him off as well.”

Kíli leans against the wall and crosses his arms. There’s a short staring contest between him and his uncle, but Thorin finally breaks away. Kíli strides triumphantly to the couch, perching on the arm and ruffling your hair playfully.

You smack his hand away and start to stand up. “Let me get the book.” Your backpack appeared on the house’s front porch within hours of your arrival, intact.

Fíli is faster, pushing you back down. “I’ll fetch it.” He dashes from the room and swiftly returns with the small, green volume. He tosses it to you, and you nod your thanks.

Bilbo stops his pacing, scurrying around the couch to peer over your shoulder. As the most bookish of the Company, and the namesake of the novel, he’s taken the most interest in it. However, his curiosity has grown greatly since you passed under the mountains, and he picked up the Ring. You wonder if he’s looking for mentions of it as you flip through the pages.

”Is that all that’s left?” Balin asks quietly when you reach the last page with text on it. There’s barely a hundred pages left. A few more words appear: “A large house was given up to Thorin and his company…”

And then they stop.

You bite your lip, looking up at Thorin. “That’s all.”

His face grows grave. A solemn silence fills the room, broken only by pops from the fire and clattering from the dining room.

It’s Fíli who breaks the silence. “Y/N, didn’t you say there were other stories about Middle Earth?”

“Well, yeah, there’s Lord of the Rings,” you reply slowly. “What are you getting at?”

His eyes light up. “Do you remember it?”

“Of course I remember it!” you scoff. “How could I forget… oh.” Your eyes widen.

Kíli frowns, looking between you and Fíli. “Am I missing something here?”

“Yes, I would quite like to know what you are getting at,” Thorin interjects, leaning forward.

Balin nods knowingly, stroking his beard. “If the lass remembers the other stories, she would know if we are in them,” he explains. “She would know our fates.”

All eyes are on you. You look at the faces of the dwarves around you, the pieces slowly clicking into place in your head.

Thorin. Balin. Fíli. Kíli.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

A lump forms in your throat, nearly choking you. “No.”

Thorin stares at you. “What do you mean, ‘no?’”

“I won’t tell.”

His eyes darken and he stands, looming over you. “You alone know our fates. You hold our lives in your hands—and yet you will say nothing?”

You shoot up, looking him dead in the eye. “I’ve already fucked up the story enough,” you snap. “Do you think Fíli is supposed to–”

”Uncle.” Fíli cuts you off. He reaches forward and takes your hand, pulling you down. “She said no.” He rubs your back gently, but you push him away and wrench your hand free.

“This is serious, Fíli. Don’t try and calm me down,” you hiss. “I’ve fucked things up. Just by being here, I’ve fucked things up. I have no idea what effect this will have in sixty years when important things are at stake!” You stand back up, storming over to the doorway. Breathing heavily, you rest your forehead against the frame. There’s a jerking, tumbling feeling in your belly.

You close your eyes and rub your bump. “It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, trying to slow your heartbeat. “Mama’s just… frustrated.”

A hand lands on your arm. You tense.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Bilbo assures you. He gives you a strained smile. “No need to worry the, uh, the little one, right?”

Bilbo. Alive.

Taking a deep breath, you nod, placing a hand beneath your belly to support it.

Thorin is seated again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Then we are back where we started.”

“Not quite,” you say, letting Bilbo guide you back to your seat. “We know we’re reaching the end. Whatever the ‘end’ is.”

“We’ve one month until Durin’s Day,” Balin comments. “It would be swiftest to take the river.”

Thorin scratches at his beard, eyes sweeping over his little council. He nods slowly. “We rest. Restock our provisions, gather what weapons we can. We will head down the river in a fortnight. And the Valar help whatever stands in our way.” With one last nod, Thorin strides from the room.

”Well then.” Kíli slaps his thighs and hops off of the couch. “I’m going to make sure the lads haven’t finished the ale yet. You two have fun,” he adds, ruffling your hair again on his way out. Balin chuckles, winking at you and following the younger dwarf.

You snuggle into Fíli’s side with a sigh, laying your head on his shoulder. “I think I could sleep until the Fourth Age.”

“I did find a cozy room upstairs,” Fíli murmurs in your ear. “But I’m afraid there’s only one bed.”

“Perfect.”

[rynneer]

The rest of the thread is here.

tl;dr: Don’t monetize AO3, kids.  You won’t like what happens next.

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin: The Complete Edition

Chapters 9 & 10

Y/N doesn't know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince-but she does know one thing: she's carrying his child.

Updated weekly, or read the full version here

Chapter 9: Meet Me in the Woods

show me yours and i’ll show you mine—meet me in the woods tonight.

-Meet Me in the Woods, Lord Huron

Trigger warning: pregnancy

You sit hunched over by the fire, poking at the cinders with a long stick and watching the rising smoke disappear into the leaves overhead. The stars are just barely visible as twilight descends over the woods. In the distance, a lonely wolf howls. You shiver, missing the security and sturdy walls of Beorn’s home. A sharp pain runs through your abdomen, and you unconsciously wrap an arm around yourself. The cramps are coming more frequently. You aren’t sure how much longer you can hide them before the rest of the Company catch on. For now, the dwarves seem preoccupied with making camp, too distracted to notice your discomfort. Bilbo sits beside you, his nervous eyes darting in your direction every once in a while. If anyone is on the verge of finding out, it’s the burglar.

Gandalf left the party a week ago, mentioning some vague business he had to attend to. Now, more than ever, you wish he had stayed—he was centuries old, surely he’d have some advice. But he’s gone, leaving you with thirteen dwarves and one hobbit. And he took the ponies, too. Your feet are in agony.

Another stabbing pain makes you grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut.

“Y/N?” Bilbo nudges you gently. “Are you alright?”

You force a smile. “I’m fine, Bilbo. I’m just… thinking ahead.” You glance down at the book beside you. The Hobbit.

Bilbo’s eyes follow yours. The hobbit doesn’t seem quite satisfied, but he doesn’t press further. You pick up the book and thumb through its blank pages. It’s about halfway full now.

Another cramp—a bad one. You quickly turn away from Bilbo, biting your tongue so hard you’re surprised you don’t bite right through it. You can’t take it any longer. With a sigh you get to your feet, absentmindedly adjusting your bra strap. “I’m going to get more firewood,” you announce to nobody in particular. A few of the dwarves grunt in acknowledgement. You scan them, evaluating who would take the news the best. Glóin? He’d have first-hand experience, but you haven’t spent much time with him. Not enough to talk about this. There’s the kind-hearted Bofur, but you don’t trust him to keep your secret for long. Finally, your eyes reach Balin. Perfect.

Balin was the first dwarf to readily accept you into the Company. He had taken a fatherly attitude toward you since the beginning, comforting you when the homesickness became too much to bear.

“Balin? Would you help, please?”

The old dwarf furrows his brow. There is already a small stack of firewood near the bedrolls. You put on your best pleading face. Still a bit confused, Balin shrugs and makes his way over.

Bilbo stands, brushing off his waistcoat. “Believe I’ll come along, if you’ll have me,” he says. “I could do with a brisk walk.”

Again, you bite your tongue. You consider the hobbit before you. The two of you have the most in common out of the Company, both thrust into some strange adventure and completely out of your depths. You relent with a sigh, leading your companions away from the fire until you can no longer hear voices bickering over who should sleep where and who took the first watch last night.

“Whatever you mean to tell us, I do believe we are quite far enough from the others,” Balin comments.

“What makes you think I want to tell you anything?” You keep your tone light.

“You’ve no tool for felling wood. What’s on your mind, lass?”

You stop, curling and uncurling a fist nervously before turning back to him.

“I… I’m not sure how to say this,” you mutter. Deep breaths. “I skipped my period. Two weeks ago. I never skip.” You begin pacing.

Bilbo glances back and forth between you and Balin with concern. “Period?”

“Shark week. Aunt Flo. The crimson tide. Bloody Mary. Japan is attacking. For fuck’s sake, my bleeding, Bilbo,” you snap, grabbing at your hair in frustration. “At first I thought maybe it was the stress of the journey, but I’ve been so tired, and my boobs have been sore, and my clothes haven’t felt right, and I wake up nauseous, and–”

“Lass,” Balin interrupts quietly, reaching a hand out to pause your pacing. Concern is etched into every line on his face as he looks up at you. “Are you telling us that you are with child?”

Without even thinking, you place a hand on your belly protectively. “I think so,” you whisper. Tears fill your eyes and spill onto your cheeks.

Bilbo gapes at you. “You’re pregnant?”

A sniffle and a nod. “Eight weeks along, I think.”

“Oh, lass,” Balin murmurs. He pulls gently on your arm, easing you to the ground and wiping your wet cheeks with his cloak. “How do you feel about it?”

“Scared,” the word escapes your lips before you have time to think. You look down at your lap, tears dripping onto your faded denim jeans.

Balin nods. “I imagine that’s the proper way to feel.” He pauses, searching your face. “You must tell Fíli.”

Your eyes widen and you snap your head up. “How…?”

“Well, it’s rather obvious,” Bilbo interjects. “Anyone with eyes could see it.”

Heat pulses from your reddening cheeks. “We were trying to keep it secret,” you mumble. “Especially from Th–”

“Y/N? Balin? Bilbo?”

A shout from the trees makes you jump. Fíli comes stomping through the leaves and pushing through the undergrowth. “Bombur’s got a stew going, and…” his words die on his tongue as he takes in the scene before him: Bilbo crouching nervously by your side while Balin gently rubs your back. “What’s going on?”

Balin stands. “I believe Y/N has something she needs to tell you.” He beckons for Bilbo to follow, patting Fíli on the arm as he passes. “Congratulations,” he whispers.

Fíli frowns. His little mustache braids sway as he looks between you and the retreating figures of Balin and Bilbo. “What was that?” He kneels and gently strokes your cheekbone with his thumb. Concern fills his blue gaze, the gaze that had ensnared you, stolen your heart back within the safety of Rivendell. “Are you alright?”

You sniff and clumsily wipe at your eyes with your sleeve. “I didn’t know how to tell you, but… I’m…” You trail off, the words sticking in your throat. Instead, you take Fíli’s hand from your face and slip it beneath your shirt to rest on your stomach. Slowly, you look up at him, willing your eyes to say what your lips cannot.

He stares at you blankly. But as his eyes flicker from your face to his hand under the cloth, you watch the realization slowly dawn on him. “Y/N…” he whispers in disbelief. “You’re…?”

You nod, bracing for anger, rejection, disappointment. Instead, you find yourself wrapped in his arms and lifted into the air as Fíli spins you around, laughing. He stops abruptly and sets you back on your feet, gripping your shoulders and holding you back at arm’s length. “You really are?”

The boyish excitement on your dwarf’s face brings a small smile to your lips. “I really am.”

He lets go of you and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m going to be a father,” he breathes. Suddenly, he pales. “It… it is mine, isn’t it?”

That finally coaxes a laugh from you. You step forward and wrap your arms around him, burying your face in the hollow of his shoulder. “Of course,” you murmur. “No one else but you.”

“I love you, ghivashel,” he murmurs back, lips gently brushing your neck. You stay like that for what feels like hours, melting into each other.

“Fíli! Y/N!” A sharp call comes from the trees behind you.

Hastily, you push away from Fíli and clear your throat as his uncle pushes through the brush. Thorin jerks his head back toward the fire. “You two have first watch tonight,” he grunts. Seeing the two of you standing so close, he narrows his eyes and opens his mouth as if to continue, but shakes his head and starts back toward camp.

You take Fíli’s hand and intertwine your fingers as the pair of you follow the path of broken twigs left by Thorin’s heavy steps. Fíli starts to pull his hand away as you reach camp, and reluctantly you let go. The agreement still stands between you: no one finds out until the quest is fulfilled.

But with the secret now bearing literal fruit, you wonder how much longer it can last.

Chapter 10: Everywhere, Everything

everywhere, everything, wanna love you ‘til we’re food for the worms to eat.

–Everywhere, Everything, Noah Kahan

“Fíli, we’re supposed to be keeping watch.”

“I’m watching you, aren’t I?” Fíli drapes an arm over your shoulders, the pair of you leaning against a stump while the Company sleeps. Stars peek out from behind clouds, sparks from the fire swirling up to join the cosmos.

“I don’t think that’s what Thorin meant, exactly.”

“To hell with what Thorin meant.” Fíli pulls you sideways into his lap. One arm supports you while his warm hand sneaks beneath your shirt to caress your belly. “A baby, Y/N,” he breathes. “We’re going to have a baby.”

“I know.”

“Us, parents! Our own little one!”

“I know, Fíli.”

“Aren’t you excited?”

You bite your lip and duck your head.

“Y/N?” He gently lifts your face to look at him, cupping your cheek in his hand.

You lean into his touch while you gather your words. “Fíli, I’m scared,” you finally whisper.

His face falls. “What’s there to be scared of? Don’t you want this?”

“Of course, but… Fíli, what if something goes wrong?” There’s a knot in your stomach just from thinking about what’s to come. A journey across Middle Earth isn’t easy at the best of times, let alone while pregnant. As difficult as the road has been so far, it will only get worse. The Company hasn’t even reached Mirkwood yet, and you can’t remember when you will see Gandalf again.

Fíli strokes your cheek. “I won’t let anything happen to our baby. Or you, my love.”

“‘My love,’” you echo softly. “We never talked about that, Fíli. What are we?”

Fíli cradles you to his chest. He rests his chin on your head. “Well,” he muses. “I’m a dwarf, and you’re a… what do you call the race of Man in your world, again?”

“Human.”

“And you’re a human.”

“No, what are we?” you ask again, shifting slightly to look up at him. “You and I. Are we dating? Was it a one night stand? Friends with benefits?”

Fíli doesn’t reply for a long time. His embrace is so warm, you’re almost falling asleep by the time he speaks. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper.

“Then that’s all that matters.” Fili leans down and kisses you tenderly. He slips his hand beneath your shirt again, where a new life has taken hold. “There’s a little dwarf in there.”

“A little human.”

“Both,” he replies softly. “Strong, like me, and smart, like you. What will it be—a dwarrow or a dwarrowdam?”

“A boy or a girl?” You place your hand over his. “I don’t know… I think I’d like a girl.” Images flash through your mind: A chubby, blue-eyed baby resting on Thorin’s knee. A little dwarfling toddling along, arm reaching up to cling to Kíli’s hand. A young girl with Fíli’s blonde hair riding atop his shoulders, or running down a stone hallway in the mountain.

Fíli’s mind is far away, the orange light of the fire flickering in his eyes. “A little dwarrowdam,” he murmurs. A small, wistful smile spreads across his lips. “She’d be a princess.”

“Princess?” you repeat, puzzled. “How would she be a princess?”

Fíli blinks in surprise, looking back down at you. “Well, if we are to be married, that would make you the crown princess, and our children would be princes and princesses as well.”

Married? You hadn’t even considered that.

The dwarf notices the alarm in your eyes. “You… you do want to be married, do you not? To me? Us, together in Erebor?” He’s almost pleading. “I can make you happy. You’ll want for nothing!”

“Fee, I don’t know if I’ll stay in Middle Earth. I’ve felt wrong ever since…” you trail off, expecting that familiar pain in your chest, that cold feeling, as if part of your soul is missing. It has become almost a companion, reminding you that you do not belong here. But in Fíli’s lap, with him stroking your belly, you feel nothing but warmth. It feels complete. It feels right.

“Since when? What do you mean by wrong?” Fíli asks. He shifts you in his arms, laying you down so that your upper body is in his lap, and you’re looking directly up into his concerned face.

“It’s gone,” you breathe. “I don’t feel it anymore.”

Frustration clouds his eyes. “You don’t feel what?”

“I belong here now,” you continue, not really answering his question. “I’m not going back.”

Relief washes over you, coaxing a smile onto your lips. Middle Earth will be your home now. Here, with Fíli, with Kíli, with Thorin, with all the rest. But just as quickly as the relief comes, it’s replaced by sorrow. “I’m not going back,” you repeat, your voice cracking. “Fee, I can’t go back. I can’t tell my dad that I found a boy that I love. I can’t tell my mom that I’m having a baby.” Tears flood your vision, rolling sideways off of your upturned face.

“Oh, ghivashel,” Fíli whispers. He leans down and gently kisses away your tears. “I’ll take care of you. I promise. We’ll win back the mountain. We’ll have a proper home to raise a family. And we’ll be king and queen someday!” His kisses travel down your cheeks to your mouth, becoming rougher, more insistent.

You part your lips to accept his. Fíli lifts you up higher to get a better angle, his tongue begging for an entrance. You let it slip past your lips, the taste of your dwarf making you dizzy. He pulls you completely upright, putting his hand against the small of your back so that your bodies are pressed together. Hot desire builds in the pit of your stomach, your tears entirely forgotten. You wrap your legs around his waist and sit up high on his lap, so Fíli has to tilt his head up to meet you. You nibble at his bottom lip, and he shudders with pleasure.

His pants are tented beneath you, pressing against that sensitive spot between your legs through the fabric. “Careful, love,�� he moans, pulling back just enough to speak. “You're already occupied.”

With his lips separated from yours, you bend your head and attack his neck instead, sucking at the skin and marking him as yours. He’ll have to come up with an excuse for the little bruises come morning, but you couldn’t care less. You don’t even care that the rest of the Company, that his uncle, slumber just a few dozen feet away. All that exists in this moment is him and you, and you want him.

With great effort, he tears his neck away. “My turn.”

You let out a breathy moan as he nips at you, starting at your collarbone and traveling upwards, leaving angry, red marks. The cool metal of his mustache beads trail over your skin. You tilt your head back to allow for better access, eyes closing in bliss. While he assaults your throat, your hands stray to his tunic, fumbling with laces.

Without missing a beat, he undoes his tunic and flings it aside. Fíli pauses just long enough to yank your shirt over your head and unclasp your bra. His ministrations move south of your collarbone, lighting your skin on fire. You haven’t been intimate since your final night in Rivendell, and all the pent-up frustration speeds both of you along. Sweat beads on your brow, dripping onto Fíli’s cheeks like salty raindrops.

“I love you,” you mumble. You cup his cheeks in your hands and pull his head back up so you can nuzzle his face, probing at his mouth with your tongue. He grants it entry. It tastes even better when it’s your tongue exploring his mouth. His fingers struggle with the ties on his pants.

“Do you honestly have to be doing this now?” comes a harsh whisper.

You gasp, snapping your head around to see a very tired, very grumpy Kíli leaning against a tree, watching you. Fíli pulls you tightly against him to guard your bare chest from his little brother’s eyes. You grope for your bra. Fíli finds it first, hastily wrapping it around you—upside down. You push his hands away and remove it, fastening it on right side up, followed by your shirt.

Kíli snorts and shakes his head. “You two are animals, you know that?”

“We’re celebrating,” Fíli rasps. He clears his throat.

His brother raises an eyebrow, looking between the two of you. “Do I want to know what kind of news would warrant this sort of celebration?”

Briefly, you look back at Fíli. He nods.

“I’m pregnant.”

Kíli is wide awake now. He rushes over and drops to his knees in front of you, staring at you. “You’re lying,” he whispers. “No, no, you’re not… you’re really…?”

It’s like telling Fíli all over again. You beam.

His shock turns to glee, and he claps Fíli on the shoulder. “Congratulations, brother!” But it fades quickly. “Thorin will be furious,” he says quietly.

It kills the mood instantly. Your shoulders slump, and you rest your head on Fíli’s.

“We have to tell him,” he whispers.

“Not yet,” you insist. “Once… once it starts to show. Then we can tell him.”

Kíli shakes his head. “You really should tell him sooner. He’ll only be more angry that you kept it from him.”

“When I start to show,” you repeat firmly.

The dark-haired prince looks at his brother, then you. His lips are pressed into a thin line, a very Thorin-like expression. “You should get some rest, Y/N,” he says, changing the subject. He sits down next to Fíli. “I’ll stay up the rest of the shift.”

Instead of returning to your sleeping bag, you just shift to lay your upper half more comfortably in Fíli’s lap and close your eyes.

He bends over, planting a kiss on each of your eyelids. “Sleep, amrâlimê,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep watch over you.”

Your lips curl into a smile, and you let yourself drift into a half-awake, half-asleep daze.

[rynneer]

Misty Memories Cold

When you wake in Fíli’s bed with no recollection of anything after an accident in Mirkwood, he’s ready to risk anything, even his uncle’s wrath, to bring back what you had together.

<< Beginning | < Previous

Chapter 8

“I don’t think I’ll ever move again,” Fíli declares. You watch through the mirror as he falls backwards onto the bed.

It’s not the fanciest of rooms, furnished with just the large bed, a vanity, and a bedside table with tray of fruit and a bottle of wine. Not quite fit for visiting royalty, but Fíli, sinking ever deeper into the plush mattress, doesn’t seem to mind. “These are definitely better accommodations than the last time we were here.”

“Oh?” you ask, standing from the vanity as you run a comb through your hair. “And what were those accommodations like?”

“Cold, hard, cramped… a typical dungeon. But it wasn’t all bad.” Fíli sits up, leaning back on his elbows and watching you through half-closed eyes. “I remember it quite fondly, in fact.”

“Seriously? Why?”

Fíli smiles. “That’s when I first said I love you.” He stands and closes the distance between you, gently stroking your cheek. “It’s where we had our first kiss. I must say, you were quite aggressive about it,” he adds with a chuckle. He closes his hand around yours and places the comb back on the counter, running his fingers through your hair instead.

“Me?!” you exclaim in mock indignation, struggling to hold back a smile.

“Yes, you!” he laughs. “You yanked me in by the collar! I would have been more gentle. Like this.” Fíli cups your face in his hands, bringing his lips down to meet yours in soft yet hungry kisses, over and over again.

You let out a small whine as you stand on your toes and wrap your arms around his neck. “Fíli…” The playful mood vanishes, replaced with desperation.

His calloused hands leave your face, ghosting down your neck, your chest, your waist, finally resting on your hips. “You’re wearing one of my tunics, you little thief,” Fíli mutters, pulling away to smirk at you. His fingers dance along the hem of your stolen nightwear, tickling your skin. “I’d quite like it back.”

You’re still breathless from his kisses, barely drawing in enough air to reply. “Take it.”

It’s all the encouragement he needs. Fíli slips his hands under the tunic, sliding it up and over your head. He takes half a step back, eyes running up and down his wife’s figure. “Mahal, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs as he takes you in his arms once more. “I’ve missed this.” He plants gentle kisses down your scarred cheek until he reaches your neck. His bristly beard rasps against your sensitive skin, the prickling immediately soothed by the cool metal of his beads. “I’ve missed you.”

You whine his name again and tug at the front of his nightshirt. Fíli pauses just long enough to let you undo the buttons and toss it aside. He swiftly pushes you down onto the bed, covering you with his warm, heavy body. His mouth returns to yours and he lets out a deep growl of approval, tongue running along your bottom lip.

You part your lips to grant his request, but a low groan from the neighboring room makes you freeze. Fíli sits up. You prop yourself up on your elbows, barely breathing.

Another groan, louder this time, ending in a sharp cry. “Tauriel… Tauriel, please…”

You and Fíli lock eyes, your disbelief reflected on his face. “Is that… is that Kíli?” you whisper.

Fíli drops back down onto you with a huff and buries his face in the sheets next to your head. “Trust my little brother to ruin the mood.”

“I don’t know,” you snicker, “it sounds like they’re having a great time.”

“Should I go tell them to be quiet?”

“And spoil their fun? That’d be cruel!”

“They spoiled ours!” Fíli protests, lifting his face from the sheets. But his annoyed expression melts away as his eyes sweep over your body again. “I suppose we can ignore them for a little while,” he concedes, resting his forehead against yours. “Now, where were we?”

His knee lands between your thighs to part them, but you wince in pain when his leg brushes against your bandaged calf. Fíli immediately withdraws. “Did I hurt you?”

“It’s just my leg. I’m fine,” you say through gritted teeth. The bandage is warm to the touch and slightly swollen.

“Maybe we should just get some rest instead,” Fíli suggests. He plants a quick kiss on your forehead when he sees the disappointment on your face. “We’ll have plenty of time for this later.” Fíli leans over the side of the bed and retrieves his tunic, slipping it back over your head. As his head hits the pillow, he lets out a long sigh, then opens up his arm to you.

You oblige, curling up against his side and laying your head on his chest. His arm around you is tight and warm, his heartbeat steady in your ear. You lie still for a while, then lift your head. “Do you think he’s on top or bottom?”

“Y/N! That is my brother!” Fíli scolds you, pushing your head back down. But you feel him holding his breath, listening closely. “Oh, he’s definitely on the bottom.”

The Company is ahead of you. You do not recognize these mountains. It is dark. It is cold. You are falling behind.

Someone near the back pauses. They turn and call your name. Pick up the pace, they say.

You open your mouth to reply. The words come slowly. They feel foreign on your tongue. Slow down, let me catch up. Trudging through the snow, your feet grow heavy. The snow traps your ankles like thick mud. It refuses to let you move.

The Company grows distant. Wait! you cry. Please, I’m stuck!

They do not hear you. You manage to free a foot and take one step. Another step. You collide with an invisible wall.

You can barely see the Company now.

Help! Please, don’t leave me! You bang your first on the wall.

They do not hear you.

Did they ever hear you?

Were you ever really there?

Morning comes with a firm knock on your door. “The king awaits,” a voice announces.

You groan and bury your face in Fíli’s neck.

Fíli chuckles and gently tugs at your hair. “Come on, love. Time to get up.” He slides his arm out from underneath you and sits up, ignoring your protests as he abandons the bed.

A wave of dizziness washes over you when you sit up. You brace an arm against the headboard and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stop the world from spinning around you.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” You wave away Fíli’s concern and take a few steadying breaths.

His eyes continue to track you as you dress, not at all convinced by your dismissal. He takes note when you press your hand against your mouth, trying to push down a sudden surge of nausea. He sees your slight limp as you avoid putting weight on your injured leg. His brow furrows, but he remains quiet. You’d tell him if you felt ill, he reassures himself. But even so, he takes your arm and lets you lean on him, just barely, as you follow your escort to the Elvenking’s throne room.

Fíli seems thoroughly unimpressed with the woodland elves’ halls. You, however, marvel at the grand staircases, the walkways carved from stone, all illuminated by bright torchlight. Your escort ushers you through a large set of doors, giving you a small nod. Tauriel moves smoothly to walk in front of you, shoulders back and head high.

You tighten your grip on Fíli’s arm as you approach the throne, eying Thranduil warily.

“Manners, Y/N,” he whispers, freeing himself from your hand and bowing slightly to the king. You follow suit, then grab his arm again.

Thranduil reclines in his seat, tilting his head curiously. “The princes and princess of Erebor,” he muses with narrowed eyes. “It must truly be an important matter if the King Under the Mountain is willing to send his heirs.” His eyes flick to Tauriel. “You have returned early, and without your charges.”

She dips her head. “I would not have returned so quickly if I did not believe this to be serious, my lord.”

“Continue, then.”

Tauriel closes her eyes for a moment as if gathering herself. “Princess Y/N suffers from an ailment of the mind. I believe it to be magic in nature—magic borne of Mirkwood.”

The king raises an eyebrow. “And what sort of ailment troubles her?”

“It was that stupid stream,” Kíli interjects. “It…”

You’re dizzy again, darkness creeping in at the edges of your vision. Kíli is still talking, but his voice sounds strangely far away. Your grip on Fíli’s arm tightens as you struggle to stay upright.

Fíli notices immediately. He takes a few steps back, putting Tauriel between you and Thranduil. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a little dizzy,” you say. The darkness fades with a few blinks. “It’ll pass.”

The prince frowns and pulls you to the side of the room, evidently trusting his brother and Tauriel enough to plead your case themselves.

“You’re keeping something from me. Out with it,” he orders. He fixes you with a stern look, one he surely learned from watching his uncle.

You squirm a bit under his gaze, then sigh. “Fine. I’ve had a few dizzy spells today. And some nausea. But it’s nothing, I promise,” you insist.

Fíli opens his mouth to speak, brows set low, but a whisper from Kíli interrupts him.

“Get back here!” he hisses. “This is about you!”

Fíli nods curtly at his brother, shooting you a look that tells you he’s not finished with this subject yet. He shakes his head slightly at Tauriel as she raises a brow in question.

“So, you have run afoul of the powers of Mirkwood,” Thranduil fixes his full attention on you. “And you come seeking aid.”

“Can you help us?” Your voice comes out stronger than you expected.

“No.”

Silence descends upon the room as the four of you stare at the king, stunned.

It’s Kíli who jumps in first. “Can’t help,” he begins with a growl, “or won’t?”

Tauriel brushes her fingers against his arm. A warning, and a gesture that does not go unnoticed by Thranduil.

“I will forgive your insolence this time, Prince Kíli,” he replies slowly. “But I would advise you against testing my patience further. We cannot provide the help your princess needs,” he continues. “The magic of Mirkwood runs deep. It is an old magic, and not ours to command. It would be an extraordinary healer indeed who could cure whatever ails you, if it is even possible. You will not find such a healer in these lands.”

Your shoulders slump and tears sting your eyes. So that’s it, then. A year of your life, gone forever. The memories of Fíli’s confession of love, of your wedding, of your first time together, all whisked away like spider silk in the breeze.

“Extraordinary healer…” Fíli mutters, brow creased in thought. “What about Elrond? Could he do it?”

All eyes turn to him. Even Thranduil is caught by surprise. “I suppose… if you really mean to pursue this… I will not stop you. But remember,” he suddenly leans forward, looking at you intently as he continues, “interfering with old magic is a dangerous game, daughter of Man. You would do well to remember your place in this world. Do not forget where you come from.”

Beside you, Fíli bristles, but you simply nod. “That’s it, then. Rivendell. Thank you, Your Highness.” You dip your head to Thranduil. “We’ll, uh, we will take our leave then.”

Thranduil nods, waving a hand to dismiss you. Tauriel and Kíli waste no time in heading for the door, the she-elf striding with purpose. Your hand closes around Fíli’s as you quickly follow, fighting the urge to run straight to Rivendell this very second. Rivendell! A beacon of hope and safety, a chance to reclaim your life!

“Tauriel.”

She halts, turning back to her king. “Yes, my lord?”

“You are released from my service.” Thranduil rubs his forefinger and thumb together idly, tone light, as if he had merely remarked on the weather.

Tauriel stands frozen. It takes a few tries before the words come out. “My lord?” she manages.

“It is clear that you have cast your lot with the dwarves. You are released from the service of Mirkwood.” Thranduil looks directly at her, the casual mask dropping away, eyes sharp as flint. “You may go now.”

It’s as if her feet have taken on roots. Tauriel’s mouth opens and closes silently, her carefully maintained composure slipping away with each passing second. Tears shimmer in the corners of her eyes.

“Come on, Taur,” Kíli murmurs. He laces his fingers with the elf’s, gently pulling her from the hall. “It’s not worth it. Let’s go.”

Tauriel stumbles slightly, but lets him lead her through the winding corridors to your twin set of guest chambers. Each step is stiff, her eyes staring into the distance.

“Will she be okay?” you whisper to Kíli as he ushers the elf into his room. His only reply is a grimace and a shrug before he shuts the door.

You sigh as you enter your own room, your excitement for the next step of your quest nearly forgotten. You join Fíli as he sits on the edge of the bed, plucking at the dark red duvet.

“So,” he says at last, clearing his throat. “Rivendell?”

Leaning against him wearily, you nod. “Rivendell.”

It didn’t take long for the elves to come for you once you woke.

You lay with your head in Fíli’s lap, both a little tired after the… excitement of your mutual confessions. He dragged his fingers through your hair, a lazy smile pulling at his lips as he imagined all the beautiful braids he would weave into it. Braids, beads, clips, ties, all showing the world that you were his.

You opened your eyes halfway, chuckling at his expression. “I never expected the lion prince of Durin’s folk to be so soft,” you teased. You reached up and tugged at his mustache playfully.

“Only for you, amrâlimê.” He kissed his fingers and pressed them against your lips.

Sitting up, you leaned in expectantly. “A real kiss, please,” you requested, closing your eyes in anticipation. Fíli answered with a soft peck on the lips.

Across the hallway, Bofur shook his head in amusement. “Regular pair o’ lovebirds, the two of you,” he laughed. “Careful lad, keep that up and she’ll be mounting you before you know it!” His remark drew chuckles from the other dwarves in earshot, and an eye-roll from Kíli.

Fíli draped his arm over your shoulder and rested his head against yours. “They’ll be insufferable once we’re out of here. I’m sure it won’t take long?” He gave you a questioning glance, but you pressed your lips together tightly and shook your head. No spoilers. “Worth a shot,” he mumbled with a shrug.

You pushed his head off of yours and leaned into him. “I’m tired,” you murmured.

“If I let you go to sleep, how will I know you’ll wake again?”

“If you try to wake me up, I’ll smack you.”

“I suppose that would work.”

You smiled, sinking down and further nestling into his side, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of another person for the first time in so long. He adjusted his arm around you and stroked his thumb up and down your arm as you drifted off.

You kept your word, swatting away the hand gently squeezing your shoulder. “Geddoff,” you grumbled.

“I suggest you try a little harder to wake her,” a dry voice remarked.

You cracked an eye open. A shadow loomed over the two of you, belonging to a tall redhead. Tauriel’s guard uniform was neat, not a single crooked seam, no hair out of place. It contrasted starkly with the dwarves’ worn-out clothing you’d grown used to seeing.

“Up. You have an audience with the king.”

“I didn’t ask for one,” you muttered as you untangled yourself from Fíli and stood. You dusted yourself off and ran a hand through your hair to straighten it. She turned the key in the lock and pulled open the door, motioning for you to follow her.

Fíli stood as well, but she quickly shut the door again. It nearly hit him in the face.

“Just her,” she said.

Fíli squared his shoulders and fixed the elf with a glare.

You reached back through the bars to squeeze his arm. “I’ll be fine,” you reassured him.

“If they do anything to you–”

“They won’t, Fee.” You cut him off firmly but offered one last squeeze before moving to follow Tauriel through the winding halls.

“Y/N!” A relieved call echoed through the hall.

Thorin!

Another guard was escorting the dwarf back toward his cell on the lowest level. Thorin jerked his shoulder away from the elf. “Can a dwarf not have a moment to comfort his frightened ward?” he demanded with a glare.

The elf hesitated, then halted with a sigh.

Ward? As you approached, he reached out and folded you into an embrace, startling you. “The others?” he whispered in your ear, dropping his act.

“They’re alright.”

“Baggins?”

“Don’t worry about him.”

“How long here?”

“A few weeks.”

Thorin sighed and pulled away, then paused. “I’m glad to see you awake.” He offered you a brief, small, real smile, before his guard whisked him away.

Tauriel raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She guided you to walk next to her as you entered the throne room. Tauriel bowed to the king and moved off to the side. “My lord.”

Your heart hammered in your chest and your hands shook slightly as Thranduil stared down at you. You quickly hid them behind the back. That damned headache began pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

“You are a strange one,” he said, rising from the throne and approaching you. The king circled you slowly, head tilted. “You are no dwarf…” With each word, he took another long step. “And yet too tall for a hobbit.”

Step. Step. Step.

“Then you must be a daughter of Man—ah, but you are so small.” Thranduil came to a stop back in front of you. He bent over to look you in the eye. “How curious.”

You did your best to hold eye contact, but his gaze was too intense. Your eyes dropped to the ground.

Thranduil straightened back up. “Perhaps you will be more willing than your leader to share the purpose of your journey?” Again, he circled you. “Perhaps we could find more suitable accommodations for a lady. Finer clothing, finer food. Safe passage home, even.”

Your stomach growled at just the mention of food. It would be so easy… a bed to soothe the aches from sleeping on stone… maybe even a bath… But you shook away the thought as you pictured the betrayed faces of the Company, of Fíli. No, you would not be bought by luxury. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“Such loyalty,” he tutted. “But why? They are not your people.”

“They’re the closest I’ve got,” you shot back.

Your sudden defiance seemed to amuse the Elvenking, who chuckled. He turned back to his throne and waved a hand lazily. “You may go.”

“Wait, that’s all?” Did he really summon you just to stare at you and bribe you?

“That is all. If you will say nothing, you are of no use to me. Tauriel, please.”

“Yes, my lord.” The she-elf escorted you from the room, swiftly guiding you back to your cell.

Fíli leapt to his feet when he saw you, gripping the bars of the door. “Y/N!” He ran his hands down your sides as Tauriel returned you to your little cave. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

You gently pushed his frantic hands away. “I’m okay.” With a huff, you sat down against the wall. You crossed your arms. “They called me small.”

“Well…” Fíli sat down next to you. “…you are small, my love.”

You looked over at him briefly, deflating. “I don’t like this,” you sighed, resting your chin on your knees and wrapping your arms around your legs.

Fíli nudged your head with his own affectionately. “I think you’re perfect,” he offered. “You fit just right in my arms.” To emphasize his point, he pulled at your arm to uncurl you and bring you into his lap.

You allowed him to arrange you in a more comfortable position, resting your head on his shoulder. You closed your eyes in hopes of resuming your interrupted nap.

“…Y/N?” Fíli’s quiet voice made you stir. “May I ask you something?”

“Mmph,” you mumbled.

The blonde prince hesitated, finally clearing his throat. “Would you… if you could choose… would you… stay? Here? With us?”

Something told you he wasn’t referring to your little cell. You drew back, taking your time with an answer as you stared at him. The pink lips, chapped but soft. Little strands of straw-colored hair sticking out of his braids. How his forehead creased in worry as you remained silent.

It’d been at least six months since the unexpected party at Bag End. Memories of your home flashed through your head, making your heart ache.

But had you ever felt such fierce affection before? You were already in Middle Earth. Would it really be so terrible to just… stay?

Finally, you leaned back in and wound your arms around his neck. With a content sigh, you buried your face against his skin. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I think I could stay.”

And the headache faded.

[rynneer]

[rynneer]

so if someone is shot with an arrow and we’re not supposed to (or more likely can’t, because of the arrowhead design) pull the arrow out of a wound, but we shouldn’t push it all the way through either… how would someone go about removing an arrow? In a less lethal area at least, like a limb. You can’t just leave it in, especially if it’s pinning together muscles that you need to be able to use.

So, eventually, that arrowhead is going to need to come out. The recommendation about leaving the arrow in the wound is more for immediate first aid, rather than a long term solution.

Specifically, the first aid advice is to bandage around the arrow, so that the entire thing is stabilized. In the event that the arrow is helping to seal the wound, you don't want to pull it out, but you also don't want it moving around causing more damage. It's a bit of a delicate balance in that regard. If it's in a leg, and the injured individual cannot walk on their own (which is likely) they'll need assistance, either a stretcher or someone to help support them, while they get to help.

This is one of those times where the best medical practice runs counter to the popular image of how an arrow in a wound is treated. Which is to say, the character who's just been shot ripping it out, staring at it for a moment, and then throwing it a way. Much like pulling a knife out of a wound, this is a great way to accidentally start a fatal bleed out.

If aid is being rendered by someone with actual medical training, in an environment where a bit more work can be done, then the arrow does need to come out. This may also require packing the wound with gauze in the event that it does start bleeding seriously, and bandaging the wound to minimize further aggravation.

Now, if you need to use the muscles that just got pinned together, I've got some bad news. Even after the arrow comes out, those muscles are not going to be working right for a while. As we've mentioned before, your muscles are basically bundles of meat chords, getting pulled over your skeleton based on electric signals. If some of those chords have been cut, they're going to need to heal before they'll do anything, and the ones around them in the same muscle will be under much greater strain, and also at risk of tearing. So, the affected body part will be weakened, after the arrowhead comes out, and trying to use it in any serious way, runs a serious risk of inflicting further harm and impairment. Worst case, if strained too severely, this can actually cause a muscle to completely tear. In this case, you're probably looking at surgery, just to get the muscle to start healing.

The good news, such as it is, you don't need a full surgical theater or surgeon to get the arrowhead out. A reasonably trained medic with decent supplies can do it in the field. The problem is if the arrowhead nicked an artery, and is holding pressure, if that comes out, you're probably going to die. (Then again, even in a surgical theater, with a wound like that, it could easily be touch-and-go.)

So, yes, the arrowhead does need to come out, and it can be removed by a trained medic. What you don't want to do is the, “badass,” reach up and rip it out, routine, because that can kill you. (Also, a trained medic will be in a much better position to make an educated guess whether it's safe to pull out the arrow, or if it really needs to stay where it is until the injured individual can get to a hospital.)

What's harder is that even after you can get articulation back, that area's going to be hurting for a long time. Torn muscles (which includes if someone's carved you up with a blade, or asked you to hold an arrow for them) can take more than three months to heal. So, while getting the foreign object out is a critical step on the path to recovery, it's going to be a bit before you're up and going after that.

Modern medicine grades all of these (including where the muscle has been completely severed, or torn) as “muscle strains” with three grades. Grade I strain indicates a few stretched or torn fibers, but nothing too serious. You've probably experienced this from time to time, and while your body's ability to repair these injuries is technically limited, it will usually heal in a couple weeks. Grade II strains (which is what you're seeing from an arrow wound) will take at least two months to recover. Grade III strains are where the muscle is completely severed, and as mentioned, require surgery, and will still take months of physical therapy after the injury, in addition to the healing process.

-Starke

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[rynneer]

So. There is no safe place (in the body) to be shot. There are places that are slightly safer than others to be stabbed (i.e. being stabbed in the meat of your calf is less likely to be lethal than your torso). For the purposes of an arrow wound, which feels like a combination of shot+stab for a swords n sorcery world, is there a “less lethal” place to take an arrow? My character is traveling with companions and gets into a fun little goblin skirmish. I need her to catch an arrow somewhere that will be concerning, but not immediately fatal. Magic Bullshit™️ will keep the wound from healing properly for a few days, but I’ve accounted for field wound care (cleaning and bandaging and such) as she’s being taken on horseback to get proper treatment.

Not deeply.

So, the problem with all of these is tissue disruption. If the injury gets deep enough, the chances that it will hit something vital (especially on the torso) increase dramatically. So, getting stabbed and having the blade catch bone, instead of getting in deeper is “relatively” safe. Similarly, getting stabbed (or shot) in the hand or foot is unlikely to kill you (though, those injuries are likely to result in permanent damage impairing the use of injured appendage.)

Arrows are a little different, in a couple of ways. First, if you get shot, you do not want to pull that off (nor break it off and push it through.) That will increase the risk of bleeding out. Arrows make fairly large holes in people, but if the arrow sticks in the wound (which, it should) it will actually limit the amount of bleeding. Effectively the wound has a partial plug in it. Pulling out the arrow means that plug is no longer there, and they can happily bleed to death on the spot.

The second thing about arrows is that they actually pin muscle together. Think of it a bit like holding two pieces of meat together with a toothpick. If the toothpick isn't there, the pieces can slide across each other without issue, but that's not possible when there's a wooden shaft running through them. Your muscles are a complex web of meat, that slide over each other as you move. Pinning those together means that part of your body will actually lock up. For example, if you're shot in the shoulder, you won't be able to adjust the position of your arm. It's been toothpicked, and it's not going anywhere.

Arrowheads can get wedged in bone. If it's a broad head, or hunting tip, that will be obnoxious to get out.

At the risk of reading too much into your setting, goblins often means poisons, or other nastiness. Though, really, even just getting a tetanus infection (it used to be called “lock jaw”) from their blades is a pretty horrific potential fate. Even if the wounds themselves were relatively minor (cuts and scrapes, maybe a graze or two), a couple days might still result in some pretty horrific harm after the fact.

Also, remember, it's unlikely that bacteria will be understood by the medical science of your setting. So, first aid would still run a real risk of secondary infections.

Depending on their skill in first aid, anything outside of a severed artery or catastrophic organ damage should be (technically) survivable, though the wounds could easily result in permanent impairments, depending on exactly what was hit. A punctured lung might not kill her, but it could result in permanent respiratory issues, such as a cough, and chronic pain while breathing heavily from then on. It could also result in pneumonia and death, which is also, usually, pretty permanent.

Some of this depends more on where you want to land on a spectrum between dark fantasy and swords & sorcery. The genres are similar (and potentially overlapping), but can scatter out into dramatically different works. But, you do have some options on how you want to proceed.

-Starke

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[rynneer]

Blood of Durin: The Complete Edition

Chapters 7 & 8

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing: she’s carrying his child.

Updated weekly, or read the full version here

Chapter 7: Mine

do you remember, we were sitting there by the water? you put your arm around me for the first time…

-Mine, Taylor Swift

Soft, silvery moonlight floods your bedchambers, casting everything in an eerie glow. You groan and pull the blanket over your head, doing your best to block out the light that has kept you from sleep for the past two hours. Normally, you’d be in awe of how clear the night sky is in Middle Earth, how bright the moon. But tonight, all you want is sleep. It was a long, hard day before the Company reached Rivendell—to say nothing of the encounter with the pack of orcs. You close your eyes and focus on the sounds of the valley.

Running water and cascading waterfalls.

Crickets and cicadas.

Footsteps outside your room.

Footsteps outside your room.

You sit bolt upright and fumble for your dagger by the bedside, cursing as it clatters to the floor.

“I hope you weren’t planning on stabbing me.” Fíli appears in the doorway, hands up in surrender. “May I come in?”

You sigh in relief. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Jesus, Fíli, you scared the shit out of me.”

The golden-haired dwarf steps through the threshold, slowly lowering his hands. He looks calm, but you can see a nervous twitch in his right hand. “I was wondering if you would join me for a walk?”

“Now? Fíli, it’s–” you check your watch, “–one a.m. Why are you even awake?”

“I could not find sleep.” With just a few strides, he’s beside your bed, hand outstretched. You take it and let him pull you to your feet, smoothing your nightgown with your other hand. He glances at your chest for a moment and quickly turns his head away, cheeks flushing. You’re suddenly very conscious of your appearance. The elves gifted you several nightgowns made of sheer, white fabric, leaving little to the imagination. Your cheeks flush as well and you cross your arms over your chest tightly, mumbling something about a chill.

The stones are cool beneath your bare feet as you and Fíli make your way down a winding path to the river at the bottom of the valley. “I found a nice place to sit,” he says, taking your hand and leading you to an outcropping of large, flat rocks that hang over the water. You lower yourself down and let your legs dangle over the edge, toes just barely brushing the water’s surface. Fíli settles beside you. For the first time, you notice that he, too, is wearing clothes of elvish make. A plain, silver tunic over matching pants. He starts when you touch his sleeve, rubbing the silky fabric between your fingers.

“Better not let Thorin see you in this,” you chuckle. “He’d throw a fit if he knew his heir was wearing elvish jammies.”

Fíli shrugs. “He can say what he wants—it’s comfortable.” His eyes find yours, and he lifts a hand to brush against the flowing sleeve of your own elvish nightwear. He trails his fingers along the back neckline until they reach your other shoulder, where he changes trajectory, bringing his hand down to your waist. Fíli doesn’t break eye contact, but his touch is shaky, hesitant, as if waiting for an answer.

With your heart in your throat, you settle into him, laying your head on his shoulder. Giving him permission. “Is this still part of Thorin wanting you and Kíli to keep an eye on me?” you murmur.

Fíli smiles slowly, tightening his arm around you and pulling you closer. “No,” he whispers. There’s a pleasant pressure as he rests his head against yours. “This is just me.”

The two of you sit like that for a while in silence, holding each other up. You wonder if he can hear your pulse racing. You had always admired the pair of princes as the youngest and prettiest dwarves from the movies. The two were obviously intended to be heart-throbs, and it worked. But it’s completely different actually being in Middle Earth, seeing them in flesh and blood and learning their personalities. Kíli is hotheaded and impulsive. Fíli shares his fire, but tempers it with more caution as he watches out for his little brother. It was that caring nature that first attracted you, making you long to be the object of his attention, his protection.

And here, beside the river, wrapped in his warmth, a wicked thought enters your mind.

“Fíli?”

“Hm?”

“You can swim, right?” You pull away from him, tilting your head with what you hope is an innocent face.

“Of course. Why–”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish as you push him into the water, dodging the splash and giggling. Fíli pops back up and shakes his long hair from his face, looking back up at you in shock. “You little devil!” he cries, grabbing your foot and pulling you down into the cool water with him. You shriek as you go under. Your feet find the bottom quickly, and one push into the mud sends you back above the surface, the water reaching up to your shoulders. Opening your eyes, you find yourself face-to-face with the dwarf. Fíli’s impossibly blue eyes are wide, as if seeing you for the first time. Then his gaze shifts down to your chest, where the wet fabric clings to every little curve. He bites his lip.

You blink innocently. “I guess we should go change out of our wet clothes before the elves find us.”

Fíli frowns. After a few seconds, a slow, devilish smile spreads across his face. He moves his arms beneath the water to grip your waist, heaving you up onto the riverbank before pushing himself up. He lets you gather your dripping skirt before scooping you up with a grunt. You lean into his broad chest and wrap your arms around his neck. Through his wet tunic you can hear his racing heartbeat. It’s oddly comforting, knowing he’s just as nervous as you are. Or excited…

But you’re disappointed when Fíli leaves you alone in your chambers with a polite bow. Crestfallen, you slip into a dry nightgown and retrieve your dagger from the floor, replacing it on the bedside table.

“I thought we agreed there’d be no stabbing?”

A shirtless Fíli leans in your doorway with a sly smile. He closes the distance between you, placing his hands on your hips. His expression turns tender as he leans close, resting his forehead against yours. Heat coils in your core, and you press into him. Droplets of water from his still-dripping braids sneak down the back of your nightgown, making you shiver. Fíli’s grip moves up to your waist, and he places you on the bed. He pulls back, lightly running his knuckle down your jawbone. In his eyes is a question, a request for permission.

Instead of speaking, you reach out and finger the bead at the end of one of his braids. Fíli reaches up and catches your hand, sliding the bead off and into your palm in a single motion. “Turn,” he orders softly.

You do, and he gathers your long, wet hair in his hands. His deft fingers work quickly, intertwining strands like weaving together cloth. In no time, you have two delicate braids joined at the back of your head.

He reaches for the bead in your hand, but stops. “Y/N,” he murmurs in your ear. “Do you understand what this means? If I put this bead in your hair?”

Breath hitching, you nod. Fíli takes the bead and ties off the braids. He turns you to face him, and in his eyes is a new look of wonder, a new tenderness, but it’s still tempered by hesitation. The unasked question remains unanswered.

You answer it now. Leaning in close, you tangle your hands in his hair and press your lips to his.

Fíli smiles against your mouth and deepens the kiss, pushing you down onto the bed. “I’ve waited so long for this,” he murmurs, breaking the kiss and pulling back to look at you. “For you.” He drags his fingers lightly down your jaw, your neck, brushing your collarbone so gently with his calloused hands. It draws a whimper from you, and you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back down, the two of you rolling over to put you on top.

“I’ve waited longer,” you breathe, kissing him again, running your hands down his sides, now slick with sweat. His warm hands sneak up your arms and pull the loose sleeves from your shoulders at the same moment that you hook your thumbs around the waistband of his pants. The rest is a blur, until the two of you collapse in a sweaty, euphoric daze, drifting into a warm and hazy sleep.

Kíli knows something is wrong as soon as he wakes and his brother is not beside him. You and Bilbo received private quarters, while the dwarves were doubled up in rooms lower down in the valley. He kicks off the blanket, and stumbles sleepily to the door.

“Fíli?” His shout is met with nothing more than the faint twittering of birds in the misty dawn light. Frowning, he climbs the pathway to where he saw you head last night after dinner and drinks—maybe Fíli passed by your room on his way to… wherever he is.

“Y/N? Have you seen–” Kíli can’t even finish. His jaw hangs open as he takes in the sight before him: his brother, his big brother, tangled in the sheets with a woman. With Y/N. “Heh. Heh heh heh.”

Kíli’s building laughter rouses you from sleep. You blink blearily, sitting up with a deep sigh. You look around in confusion for the source of the noise and yelp when you find Kíli doubled over in your doorway. Color blooming on your cheeks, you snatch up the blanket to cover your chest and smack Fíli on the arm. “Go get your brother,” you groan in lieu of a good morning.

Fíli leaps from the bed with a strangled cry and tackles his brother, nearly choking him to shut him up. “Have you never heard of knocking?” he hisses.

Rolling your eyes, you gather the blanket around your shoulders and get out of bed, yanking Fíli off of Kíli before he smothers him. “I was having such a lovely dream,” you grumble.

“Was it before or after the se–” Kíli doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Fíli is on top of him again. He shoves his older brother away, then freezes, staring at your hair.

“What?” you ask with a glare.

“Fíli,” Kíli says quietly. “Thorin is going to kill you.” He picks himself up from the floor and reaches for your hair, lifting the bead at the end of the braids to the light.

Fíli scrambles up off of the floor as well and swats Kíli’s hand, pulling you against his side protectively. “I– she–” he stammers. Kíli raises an eyebrow, and Fíli takes a deep breath. “We won’t tell him. Or anyone. Right?” He fixes Kíli with a stern glare, an expression nearly identical to Thorin’s own glower.

“Fee, it’s not a matter of telling or not telling. A courting braid? That is telling enough. You know that.”

It’s strange to hear Kíli be the voice of reason, scolding his brother. Gently, you release yourself from Fíli’s hold, laying a hand on his arm. With the other, you reach behind your head and remove the bead from your hair, pressing it into Fíli’s palm. Then you lower yourself back onto the side of the bed, pulling him with you. “Fíli,” you murmur. From the look on his face, his dejected eyes, you’d think you’d kicked a puppy in front of him. “Fíli,” you say again. “I don’t want to make any trouble for you with Thorin.”

“But–”

“Shh,” you interrupt, squeezing his arm and doing your best to smile. “Let’s see this whole quest bullshit thing through first, hm?”

“Gandalf doesn’t seem too eager to leave Rivendell for at least another week,” Kíli adds. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to fu–” This time it’s you who shuts up the younger prince with a well-timed pillow aimed at his face. Kili holds up his hands in surrender, finally relenting and ducking out of the room.

Satisfied, you lean in for a soft kiss, Fíli’s mustache braids tickling your cheeks. He returns the kiss, placing his hand on your back to pull you in. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. “Now get out of here before Thorin wakes up.”

Chapter 8: Down to the River to Pray

oh brothers, let’s go down, down to the river to pray.

–Down to the River to Pray, American folk song

“No way.”

“Lass…” Bofur rolls his eyes.

”No, I am not doing it.” You cross your arms, glaring down at the dwarves in the river from your seat atop the boulder. They’re all stark naked. Thankfully for you, the water isn’t quite clear enough for visuals, and the sunlight is quickly fading. Bilbo crouches in the shallows, refusing to remove his britches. “I’ll wait back at camp and then you can fetch me when it’s my turn.”

“No one is to be alone. Too dangerous.” Thorin walks up from behind you, shedding his layers. “And it is not likely we will find a better opportunity to wash up.”

You quickly turn your head away as he moves into your field of view. The last thing you want to see is the bare ass of Thorin Oakenshield.

You hear footsteps behind you, and suddenly you’re flung through the air. Your shriek is cut off as you plunge below the surface, almost landing on top of Ori. Kicking frantically, your feet find purchase on the riverbed, and you propel yourself up. Wiping hair from your face, you turn to see your tormentor.

Kíli stands on your vacated rock. “Oops,” he says with a grin. He strips and dives in gracefully, hardly making a ripple.

You expect Thorin to scold Kíli for the sneak attack, but he struggles to hide an amused smile. “Y/N, we are all likely to see certain things sooner or later.”

You throw your hands up in defeat. “Fine!” Making your way to the shallower water, you face away from the dwarves and peel off your shirt. It falls to the ground with a wet splat. Next to go are your shorts, showing far more leg than usual. You hear a low whistle from someone behind you. You pause in your undressing to flash a middle finger back towards the Company. Unfortunately, the meaning of the gesture goes over their heads.

All that remains are your bra and underwear. You sneak a glance over your shoulder. “Could you at least look away for this bit? Please?”

Thorin shrugs and turns his back. The other dwarves follow suit as you unclasp your bra and yank down your underwear, folding them neatly. You wade slowly into the river until the water covers your chest. “You can look now, I guess.”

A few turn back around, but most just continue their washing. You frown. Soap seems to be in very limited supply. With a sigh, you wade back to the bank and stretch your arm as far as you can to try and snag your backpack, but it’s in vain.

“Need help?”

You look up. Fíli stands over you in just his braies. He nudges the bag closer with his foot, lips twitching as if holding back a smile.

“Thanks,” you mumble, rifling through for your toiletries.

The two little bottles of shampoo and conditioner tumble from the bag, followed by a bar of soap. You squirt a bit of shampoo on your hand and start lathering up your hair, sighing in relief as you wash away dried mud and grime. You duck under the water to rinse it. The suds float away in the current.

Fíli sheds his last article of clothing—don’t look, don’t look—slipping into the water and holding out his hand. “Do you have any to spare for a poor, filthy dwarf?”

You toss him the bottle. “That’s the last of it.”

The shampoo and conditioner get passed around the Company. Even Thorin takes some, unraveling his braids and running it through his long hair.

You sink below the surface again, savoring the feeling of the current gently tugging at your body. Despite your initial discomfort, the longer you spend in the water, the less self-conscious you feel. The dwarves don’t seem fazed at all by your naked body among their own. No one is trying to sneak a peek, no one is making fun of you. It’s… nice. They treat you like one of the guys. You do your best to return the respect, but your eyes can’t help but linger on Fíli. You haven’t seen him shirtless since those nights in Rivendell. He still looks very, very good.

A wall of water crashes over you. You whirl around to find Kíli, face lit up with what can only be a wicked idea. He raises an eyebrow and tips his head slightly towards Fíli. You smirk and pointedly look down at the water, then back at Kíli with a small nod.

He grins. “Hey, Fee!” he calls. “Come look at this!”

As you’d hoped, Fíli turns and makes his way to Kíli. The other dwarves watch as you duck below the surface, some starting to snicker as well. Thorin leans against a rock with his arms crossed, lips curled up ever so slightly.

Without anything to protect your eyes, everything is blurry, but you find your prey quickly. The Jaws theme flashes through your head. Your hand flies out, and you seize Fíli’s leg. He screams as he’s yanked underwater. You pop back up, grinning, and give as best a bow as you can as the other dwarves roar with laughter.

Fíli resurfaces, gaping at you. “I’ll get you for that!” he cries, tackling you and wrapping you in a loose headlock. You laugh and squirm, trying to ignore the spark between your legs as his naked body presses against yours underwater.

“Say you’re sorry!” he growls.

“Never!”

“Say it!”

“No! I won’t–” your breathless giggles end in a sharp gasp of pain as your stomach cramps.

Immediately, Fíli releases you. “Are you alright?” His eyes are anxious. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”

Another stabbing cramp. “It’s fine,” you hiss through gritted teeth. Your face grows warm looking around at the dwarves. The very masculine, male dwarves, all watching with concern in their eyes. “I, uh, I think it’s almost that… that time of the month.”

Fíli still looks puzzled.

“Her bleeding, Fíli,” Balin says quietly, giving you a sympathetic look. “Have you never been around a lass before?”

You nod sheepishly. It’s definitely your period. But… wasn’t it supposed to come a week and a half ago? Why so late?

You shake it off. It’s probably just because of the stress of the journey.

With your hair finished, you grab the bar of soap, running it gently over your shoulders. The bar slips from your hand, landing in the water with a plop. As you turn around to retrieve it, you collide with Fíli.

He snags the soap, moving even closer until your bare chests are almost touching. “You dropped this,” he whispers, handing it to you.

“Easy, tiger,” you reply softly, eying Thorin’s back nervously. “We have company.”

Fíli sighs and moves away, but not before pinching your waist below the water, making you squeak. You do your best to stifle it when Thorin looks in your direction.

Most of the dwarves are finished washing up, getting dressed and heading back to camp. But you want to enjoy the water a little longer, swimming to the deeper area where you can’t quite touch the bottom. You let the current gently push you downriver to the rock Thorin leans against, still fiddling with his hair.

You sink a little lower in the water to hide your body, resting against the rock and tipping your head back. “I could get used to this.”

“Don’t,” Thorin replies. “It is unlikely we will come across another good place to bathe until we pass Mirkwood.” He rakes his fingers through his hair one last time and quickly weaves it back into braids. “Time to go.” He straightens up, making for shore.

When you don’t immediately follow, he looks over his shoulder. “Y/N,” he says sternly. “I am not leaving you alone in the river with a pack of orcs tailing us. Time to go.”

You sigh, ducking back underwater and swimming to shore. Resurfacing, you find Thorin still waiting on the bank for you. At least he has pants on now. He turns his back as you get closer. Carefully, you pull yourself up onto the rock where you left your clothes and backpack, putting an arm across your chest to guard your modesty.

But they’re not there. All that remains are your bra and underwear. You stare blankly at them. Peering around the rock, you don’t find anything on the ground either. You put them on, grumbling.

“Thorin?” you call out.

“Mm?”

“Someone took my stuff.”

He doesn’t reply for a few seconds. “Are you… decent?”

“As decent as I can be without a shirt and pants.”

Thorin turns around, looking a little unsettled by your nearly naked appearance. So much for his earlier nonchalance at nudity. “I believe I know who took your things.”

“The boys?”

“The boys.”

“You’ll have to find yourself some new heirs,” you huff, storming past him towards camp. “I’m going to kill them.”

Crossing your arms tightly over your chest, you enter the small clearing. “Would anyone happen to know what happened to my stuff?”

Bilbo sputters when he sees you, covering his eyes. Most of the dwarves politely avert theirs as well—except for two. Fíli reclines on his bedroll, hands behind his head, his broad shoulders stuffed tightly into your shirt. Kíli lounges by the fire, his hairy legs exposed by your shorts. He’s pawing through your backpack.

“I haven’t the slightest clue,” Kíli says, looking up and blinking innocently.

“You really ought to keep better track of your belongings, Y/N,” Fíli adds.

You fix them with a glare worthy of Thorin himself. “Give them back.”

“But they’re so comfortable!” Kíli protests. “Besides, you wouldn’t want them anyway—they’re soaking wet.”

“And whose fault is that?” you fire back. “I seem to recall someone throwing me into the river fully-clothed.”

“Ah, leave ‘em alone,” Bombur chimes in. “They’re just having a bit of fun.”

You stomp over to Kíli. Leaning down, you yank the shorts down his legs. They slide off easier than expected—he didn’t get them entirely fastened.

His eyes widen. “Hey!” he protests. “Now what am I supposed to wear?”

His own pants are right next to him. You pick them up and throw them in his face. Grabbing your backpack, you pull out the dagger and stand over Fíli next. “I swear to God, I will cut you out of that shirt if you don’t give it back.”

He puts up his hands in surrender, squirming out of the tight shirt. You snatch it back and lay the wet clothing by the fire to dry. But when you open your backpack, you don’t see any more clothes. A bundle of cloth smacks you in the face. A jammie shirt, followed by a bra and jammie pants. Fíli has his arm cocked back, ready to lob a pair of underwear at you as well.

Instead of waiting for his next attack, you tackle him, flattening him on the ground. “Give them back!” you shout, grabbing his fist and trying to pry his fingers apart. He finally relents, but not until you’re lying directly on top of his bare chest.

Fíli smirks as he lets you take back your undergarments. He may have lost the wrestling match, but he achieved what he set out to do. There are a few whispers from the other dwarves. Face red, you roll off of him and take your things back to your sleeping bag. You zip yourself up inside and dress yourself, a task made more difficult by the darkness and limited space.

As you finish, someone grabs your legs through the polyester fabric, dragging you to who-knows-where. You squirm in vain. They lay you back down, and a weight settles on your stomach. Popping your head out of the sleeping bag, you find Fíli laying his head on you.

“You make a lovely pillow,” he comments brightly.

You look at Thorin, hoping he’ll scold his nephew. But their uncle just shakes his head at the boys’ antics with a small smile. You sigh, wiggling into a more comfortable position. Fíli shifts so that his head is instead resting on your chest. “Bold move,” you whisper, glancing at Thorin.

”Shh.” Fíli’s eyes sparkle in the firelight. “Pillows aren’t supposed to talk,” he scolds lightly, putting a finger to your lips. It takes all your resolve to resist biting it.

You lay your head back, allowing yourself to enjoy the feeling of his weight against you. “Fine,” you whisper, giving in. “But I get to use you as a pillow tomorrow night.”

“Oh, I look forward to it.”

[rynneer]

Misty Memories Cold

When you wake in Fíli’s bed with no recollection of anything after an accident in Mirkwood, he’s ready to risk anything, even his uncle’s wrath, to bring back what you had together.

<< Beginning | < Previous | Next >

Chapter Seven

Fíli is up in an instant, grabbing his belt from his pony and tightening it around his waist, swords at his side.

You scramble to your feet as well, retrieving your own weapon from the fireside. “Where? How many?”

“Ten, fifteen perhaps,” Tauriel replies curtly as she slings her quiver over her back and tosses Kíli’s to him. “Right on top of us. Three have wargs.”

Sure enough, you hear the stomping of heavy feet growing closer. The ponies whinny and stamp their hooves, ears pinned back in agitation.

You creep to the edge of the ridge, peering around it, heart thumping rapidly. Fat raindrops start to fall around you, and a bolt of lightning briefly illuminates your foes. No more than a few hundred yards away, in armor that glints in the flash. And heading your way, fast.

Fíli yanks you back by your tunic, covering your mouth with his hand to muffle your startled squeak. Placing a finger to his lips, he pushes you toward the ponies. “Ride. Make for the trees. Keep your head down. We’ll cover you.”

“I can fight!” you protest.

“Not this time,” he says, hoisting you up onto Domino himself when you don’t move. “We’re so close—I will not risk it. Now go!”

He slaps Domino’s haunch, earning a startled squeal from the pony before he bolts forward in a burst of speed.

Cries ring out from the band of goblins—you haven’t escaped unnoticed.

You lean forward over his neck, an arrow whistling by your ear. It’s followed by a cry that’s quickly cut short. The rain pounds on your hood, the storm making it impossible to see your companions when you look over your shoulder. The edge of the woods slowly comes into view ahead amid the downpour. Another arrow whizzes past you. You squeeze Domino’s sides with your legs. “Just a little more, buddy, we’re almost there!” The woods can’t be more than fifty yards away.

There’s a beastly growl from behind you, barely audible over the pounding of hooves. You dare to sneak another look over your shoulder, blood going cold. A goblin riding atop a warg, spittle flying from its snarling mouth and mixing with the rain.

Forty yards.

They’re gaining on you.

Thirty.

Domino is tiring, his breathing more labored, his pace slowing. The goblin nocks an arrow and pulls back the string.

Twenty.

You lean over your pony’s neck and brace for the shot.

Ten.

A strangled scream and a high-pitched yelp cuts through the night. The warg stumbles, pitching its rider forward over its head. There’s a bolt through the goblin’s neck. Three more rapidly pierce the warg’s throat and face, and it finally falls to the ground.

Domino skids to a halt and rears onto his hind legs as you reach the trees, unable to continue through the thick brush. It sends you tumbling off and you land with a thud on your back, knocking the wind out of you. But you hardly have time to register anything before a hand grips your forearm and pulls you back to your feet. “Into the forest, go,” an oddly familiar voice orders you. Shaking with adrenaline, you do as you’re told, and collapse against a tree. Another yelp of alarm rings out beyond the forest as they loose a few more arrows. Dark shapes materialize from the rain, charging right towards you.

“Hold your fire!” one shouts. It’s Tauriel. She pulls on her reins to slow her horse, stopping short of the trees. Fíli and Kíli are close behind on their ponies.

“You are back early,” your savior remarks dryly. “And you bring guests?”

“If it pleases you, my lord.”

“It is not me whom you must please, but my father. Though I would rather we see to the lady’s injury before we continue further.”

As he bends over to retrieve a small lantern, you finally get a look at your savior. Legolas. Of course.

Fíli is the first off his pony. “Injury? Where is she?” he demands. “What have you done with her?”

“Calm yourself. She is right–” he doesn’t get to finish as Fíli storms past him. Tauriel shakes her head in apology and follows with Kíli.

Fíli grimaces as he kneels at your side and sucks in a sharp breath. As the adrenaline drains from your system, a throbbing pain runs through your left leg, keeping time with your heartbeat. The elf prince places the lantern next to you, earning a short, curt nod of thanks from the dwarf prince. He gently pulls off your boot and rolls up your torn pants leg, revealing a gash along the side of your calf. No longer obstructed, blood flows freely from the wound. It stings as air hits the wound.

“She is lucky,” Legolas remarks. “It was a grazing blow. A few inches to the side and it could have shattered bone.”

“Doesn’t feel very lucky,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Legolas is correct,” Tauriel says. “This could have been far worse. I will return in a moment.” She ducks out into the rain again, retrieving her pack. She rifles through it and pulls out a roll of bandages.

“What are you doing back so soon? And with such company?” Legolas asks while Tauriel dresses your wound.

“I have a better question,” Kíli pipes up. He leans against your tree and flicks his bangs out of his face. “What were goblins doing so close to Mirkwood? Do you not patrol your own lands?”

“That is precisely what I was doing,” he replies smoothly. “We believe them to be scattered survivors from the battle. This is one of the largest groups that we have seen—and the first warg-riders.”

“A solo patrol on a stormy night?” Tauriel does not sound convinced. You wince as she wraps the bandages increasingly tighter, red blood blooming through, but not fully saturating them.

“You think I lie?”

“I don’t trust you to be entirely forthcoming with us,” Fíli interjects, crossing his arms.

“That is your decision; it matters not to me. I have been tracking their nighttime movements along our border. I trust the task to no other.” He extends a hand to you as Tauriel finishes up, helping you to your feet. “Stay off of that leg. Our healers can see to it properly.”

Fíli grabs your other arm, almost yanking you away from the elves, and scoops you up.

“You know,” you begin, “as much as I appreciate being carried, I am starting to get a little tired of being the injured one all the time.”

“Then stop getting injured all the time,” Kíli fires back with a smirk. He dodges as you swat at him.

“I’d rather just ride one of the ponies.” You peer over Fíli’s shoulder past the trees. “Where are the ponies?”

Kíli gives a piercing whistle, calling the beasts to the cover of the trees. They respond eagerly, grateful for the shelter from the storm. “Can you sit up on your own?” he asks as he snags Domino’s dangling reins.

“I think so.”

“Up you get, then.”

Ponies and horse in tow, your little band follows Legolas through the woods. Like your small fire before, his lantern barely touches the pitch-black of a forest on a stormy night. Sometimes, you swear you can see eyes flashing in the dark, or the hissing and skittering of creatures with too many legs.

A hand lands on your foot, making you start. “Sorry,” Kíli whispers. His other hand is fisted in Fíli’s coat. “I don’t want us to lose each other. This is a foul place.” He casts a suspicious glance into the darkness.

“This ‘foul place’ is my home,” Tauriel counters. Her tone is light, but edged with a warning.

“You are under our protection, while it lasts,” Legolas adds. “We will find no danger here.”

“Right. Except for giant spiders and cursed rivers,” Fíli mutters. “Perfectly safe.”

“For one with such a strong dislike of this realm, you seemed eager to arrive. What is so important that the King Under the Mountain sends both of his heirs and the princess?”

Fíli and Kíli exchange uncomfortable looks. Important mission or no, they are still dwarf princes in a foreign, elven kingdom. “How much do we tell him?” Kíli whispers.

“Let Tauriel handle it,” Fíli replies in kind.

“It’s that enchanted river, actually,” you speak up. “The one I fell into last year. You know of it?”

“I am familiar. It is within our lands—it splits off from the forest river near our halls.” He pauses and turns to look at you. “Is that how you became…?”

“As far as we can tell,” you reply with a shrug. “We thought that was it, until I woke up a few weeks ago and couldn’t remember what happened after.”

“It was exactly a year to the day,” Fíli interjects. “Tauriel said you could heal her.”

Legolas remains silent, brow slightly furrowed. “I will make no promises,” he says at last. “Come. We are nearing our halls.”

“Let’s hope this visit goes better than our last one,” Kíli whispers.

Fíli grits his teeth. “Mahal willing.”

Hissing filled the air and his surroundings blurred as Fíli faced down a hulking spider, all hair and legs and chitin. He lunged forward to slash at the beast’s eyes, but the spider darted away just in time. Its pincers clicked menacingly, dodging the dwarf’s twin blades and rearing up on its back legs. Fíli ducked down and stabbed its exposed underbelly just as the spider brought its front legs down, almost crushing him. It let out a strangled squeal that ended in a gurgle when Fíli yanked his blade back out.

With his foe taken care of, Fíli whirled around to assess the rest of the battle. The very darkness itself seemed to churn with skittering legs and flashing eyes. He pushed down a wave of revulsion, scanning the scene. Kíli. Thorin. Bofur.

Where’s Y/N?

His heart dropped. You were nowhere to be seen among the fray. And for every spider that fell, another took its place. We can’t win this.

Adjusting his blades in sweaty palms, he ducked and rolled to avoid the stabbing leg of another spider. An arrow whizzed just past Fíli’s ear and pierced the spider’s mouth. He spun around and finished the creature off with a stab to the face. “Thanks Kee!” he shouted breathlessly.

Fíli shoved past the twitching body of a dead spider, eyes finally landing on your unconscious body. He nearly collapsed with relief. He positioned himself over you with swords bared, daring the foul creatures to even try to touch you. His blades sang as they cut through the air, neatly slicing the leg off of a smaller spider as it darted toward you.

More arrows flew overhead—too many to come from just Kíli. Some of the dwarfs let out cheers as spiders dropped around them, but their jubilation was short-lived.

Abruptly, everything went silent but for the rustling undergrowth as the surviving spiders fled. Fíli’s breath caught in his chest when their rescuers stepped into view, bows drawn and fixed on the Company.

A blonde elf trained his arrow on Thorin. “Don’t think I won’t kill you, dwarf,” he sneered. “It would be my pleasure.”

At just a slight nod from their leader, the elves herded the Company into a small, grumbling cluster, stripping the dwarves of their weapons.

Fíli ducked behind a fallen spider’s carcass to shield himself from the elves’ view. Sheathing his swords, he knelt by your side. Sticky threads of silk clung to your tangled hair. Your clothes were splattered with blood, both from the spiders and from small cuts decorating your arms and face. He removed his coat, carefully wrapping you in it and scooping you into his arms. Your breathing remained steady, your slumber undisturbed despite the chaos.

“There are two more over there,” one of the elves said, finally taking notice of Fíli. A hand seized his arm, pulling him to his feet roughly.

“Search them,” a red-haired elf ordered.

But as the elf released Fíli’s arm and reached a hand to search you, his blood ran hot. “You will not touch her,” Fíli spat, jerking away. “Frisk me all you want, but you will not lay a finger on her!”

“Hurry!” the blonde leader called. “The spiders will not hide for long.”

The elf gave a short sigh, kneeling down to remove the blades from Fíli’s belt and pluck the axes from his boots. His hand moved back to the coat wrapped around you, but withdrew as Fíli clutched you tighter. “Move,” he ordered.

With one last glare at his captor, Fíli fell into line behind his brother.

Kíli dropped back slightly to walk next to him. “At least we won’t get lost now,” the younger prince muttered. He glanced at you. “Is she alright?”

“It wasn’t enough to wake her,” Fíli whispered back.

Kíli shook his head. “Probably for the best.” His eyes wandered over to the redhead flanking Dori a few paces ahead. “D’you think they’ll kill us?”

“Why go through the trouble of dealing with the spiders just to slit our throats?”

Something jabbed Fíli in the back. “Quiet,” the elf snapped.

Fíli turned to sneer at him, but fell silent. As they ventured deeper into the woods, he felt his head begin to go foggy again, the foul magic of the woods clawing at his mind. He blinked, and suddenly the trees vanished. In their place was a door of wrought iron bars, clanging shut in his face. Fíli stumbled backwards in surprise, nearly dropping you as his back collided with a stone wall. Beyond his bars, he glimpsed Bofur in a similar cell, and Kíli next to him.

Fíli leaned back against the wall and slid to the floor, letting out a sigh. Now, more than ever, he wished you were awake, if only to reassure him that this is how the story goes. He shook you lightly. “Y/N?”

No response.

Fíli sighed again, running his hand over his face. “Shit.”

[rynneer]

has this been done before

[rynneer]

[rynneer]

why is religious Christmas imagery all so joyful and pleasant? where is the inherent horror of the birth of Christ? A mother is handed her newborn child, wailing and innocent. Her hands come away sticky. Red. Simply by giving her son life she has already killed him. He is doomed from the beginning. Her love will not save him from suffering. Because the thing cradled in her arms is not a baby, it is a sacrifice: born amongst the other bleating animals whose blood will one day be spilled in the name of what demands it. the night is silent with anticipation. Mary, did you know? That your womb was also a grave?