#FOTFICS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mikathemonster · 6 months ago

Text

"scholars and skillets"

author's note: here I am after so long, with yet another THAUC pic to bring you all, thanks to @fellowshipofthefics ! it's definitely shorter than last year's, but I love it all the same. my partner (@AnnArtThing on instagram) also made an insanely gorgeous art piece for this, which i will feature below!! we truly hope you enjoy this collaboration!

Pairing: Kíli / Gender-Neutral Human Reader

Word Count: 5596

summary: when you're tasked with helping prepare a certain dwarven prince for his brother's accession to the throne, you're quick to discover he is not at all how you envisioned he would be…

content warnings: fluff :)

DO NOT REPOST OR COPY. MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

You sneezed from the sheer amount of dust in the library. Between the cobwebs, ash and grime that littered the shelves and texts before you, your trusty duster truly had its work cut out for it. Covering your face with your sleeve this time, you continued your job of cleaning the recently excavated room. It would take some time, but you were determined to have this place spotless by the end of the month.

“We found some more books we need organized,” a voice called, and your attention was snapped away from your cleaning.

“Hm?” You asked, seeing it was Balin and Ori, arms full of heavy scripts. “Oh, place them over there and I’ll see to it myself.”

The dwarves did as you instructed and made their way to the nearby table, albeit with a few hefty grunts from Ori. The moment they set the books down, dust scattered everywhere, ensuing a fit of sneezing and coughing from all three of you.

“It’s never ending!” Ori complained.

You covered your mouth as you let out a rather dusty cough. “Trust a dragon to leave such a mess!”

“Aye, and a dead one at that.” Balin sighed. “I’ll get some more help for this room by tomorrow.”

“That would certainly be much appreciated,” you said.

“If it meant there would be this much work, I would have never found this room.” Ori groaned, wiping down a chair before sitting in it.

“There’s always work to be done, Ori,” Balin chided. “And moping about won’t get it done.”

“Still, I’m grateful that you did find it,” you chimed in. “It’s a lot to do, but these are some of the oldest recorded texts of Erebor. We’re standing in a room of nothing but history!”

“Well it’s rather dusty history for now,” Ori frowned.

“Well, laddie, if you won’t help, why don’t you go find someone who will? Hm?” Balin raised a brow as he ushered Ori out, who begrudgingly left.

You watched the younger dwarf leave with a frown on his face, now standing alone with Balin in a certainly awkward silence.

“Is he alright?” You asked with a concerned tone.

“He’s still just a boy,” Balin sighed, leaning on the table. “But I suppose it doesn’t help that he’s been Thorin’s scribe all week.”

“Is that not your job?”

“It usually is,” he nodded. “But it’s high time he began learning the more difficult parts of the trade. Following the King around is no easy task.”

“But why not you? I have my belief in Ori, sure, but to have him take on this role at such a time as this?”

“I suggested it.” Balin smiled. “He’ll have to learn hands-on somehow, with the ascension coming up with the next moon. We’ve only thirty days from now.”

“But I worry about him,” you frowned. “It’s a much heavier workload than he’s used to. Surely he could’ve started learning after the Crown Prince takes his title?”

Balin sat down in Ori’s chair, motioning for you to join him. Abandoning your duster with a sigh, you reluctantly took a seat.

“I remember when you first arrived,” Balin said. “You were so young–”

“I recall being entirely grown,” you interrupted.

Balin waved you off. “When you’ve lived a life such as mine, everyone is young.”

You let out a soft chuckle, leaning back in your chair.

“As I was saying,” he began again. “You could barely manage on your own. Being under my wing certainly helped, of course, but you were a fickle thing. You’re no dwarf, either; you couldn’t even speak our language when we first met.”

Unaware of where he was going with this, you tried to defend yourself, feeling belittled. “I was well enough to lend a helping hand. This library wouldn’t even be complete if it hadn’t been for me. And my khuzdul is much better than it used to be!”

“Aye, and if it hadn’t been for those texts you found in the ruins of Dale, I doubt we would’ve ever met.” He drew in a breath. “What I’m trying to say is that we all start somewhere.”

He put a hand on your shoulder, giving a warm smile. “For you, it was those books. For Ori, it was the journey that got us here. And now that we’re finally picking ourselves back up from the wreckage, it’s time that both of you fill into your roles.”

“And what have we been doing this entire time?” You said.

“Well, just a wee bit of practice, I suppose.” He teased. “Now it’s time for the real work. The royal work.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call dusting ‘royal’, but–”

“That’s not what I mean, dear.” He interrupted.

“I don’t understand–”

“I’m having you help prepare one of the princes for the ascension ceremony.”

You gave a double take, now at a loss for words. This was entirely out of your realm. You were just a scribe, a scholar. You were certainly no royal advisor, let alone for dwarven royalty.

“Balin, I’m not even a dwarf.” You started.

“I’m sure he won’t hold that against you,” Balin chuckled. “And, don’t worry, I’ve already gone through the proper channels to get you this job.”

“With the King? Thorin Oakenshield is aware of this?”

“Aye, even he,” Balin nodded. “It took some convincing, but there’s no other I would ask for such a thing. Other than his mother, but Dís has got her hands full already.”

“No other? Balin, we’ve only known each other for a few years now!”

“And in that time, you’ve proven yourself time and time again that you’re someone I can trust.”

You took a breath, settling yourself with this new information. You had only been working under Balin for a little under three years after helping restore some dwarven texts. Without Ori or Balin, you always felt out of your depth. Sure, you did your best to manage on your own, but growing up in Lake-Town, Erebor and its culture and customs had fallen to story and legend before you had become a scholar in their studies.

“What exactly will I be doing?”

“Thorin’s nephews are finally ready to take their places in the royal court. But while Fíli is preparing to be announced as Crown Prince, there’s a certain amount of duties that get passed along to Kíli.” Balin explained. “It’ll be your job to assist me in discussing and preparing him for those duties.”

“And what would those duties be?”

“I’m getting there, aren’t I?” Balin frowned.

You bit your tongue, now giving him the floor instead of asking him more questions.

Balin sighed, seeing the anxiety written all over you. “Are you afraid?”

“It’s just… I don’t know if I�� That’s a lot of pressure, don’t you think? I just don’t believe I’m qualified.”

Balin rose from his seat, now standing in front of you with both hands on your shoulders. You looked at your mentor with worried eyes as he did his best to reassure you with his own warm gaze. The candle on the dusty table flickered, the light reflecting in his dark eyes, full of kindness.

“Y/N, you’ve proven yourself to be one of my fastest learners. I see the way you work to restore this library as if it were your own. You know our history, you’ve read it yourself.”

“Only for the last few years-”

“And nobody will hold it against you. I will be there to help, of course. You won’t be entirely on your own, and I’ll teach you everything.”

What Balin had chosen to omit was that Thorin Oakenshield wouldn’t have allowed you to be Kíli’s only advisor. You may have been a scholar, but you were no dwarf. But Balin knew better than to mention that.

“I have no doubt that you’re the perfect candidate for the job.”

You still didn’t know if you believed him, but you knew you believed in him. And for now, that would have to be enough. You gave him a small nod and smile as a sign that you were listening.

“Aye, there they are,” he smiled. “Come, I’ll show you everything you’ll need to do before you start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You rose out of your seat. “But what about the library?”

“There’s always someone we can put to work. Besides, it doesn’t take much to clean a dusty shelf.”

“Easy for you to say; I’ve been at it all morning!”

Balin began walking away, waving an arm as he expected you to follow him. Reluctantly, you finally gave in. It seemed today was going to be a long one.

Long was an incredible understatement. You hadn’t been a coffee-drinker before this, but suddenly you were three cups deep without any sleep as you stood next to Balin outside of the prince’s door. All you could think about were the copious amounts of notes you had taken overnight.

“It’s all been a bit bureaucratic lately, with the salvaging process,” Balin had said last night while handing you three enormously thick books. “But the old ways are all written down in here. For now, it’s best to study what you can before you meet the prince.”

You had been under the impression he would teach you all of this, but he had insisted you read some of it first. You had taken vigorous notes, doing your best to commit as much of it to memory as you could, but even now your brain felt like a soupy muddled mess as Balin knocked three times on the oaken door in front of you.

It was still early in the morning, a time Balin had insisted on, and the halls of Erebor were only just beginning to sound with their typical business and hustle.

You felt utterly spent and still completely unprepared. It was like cramming for a class you had never taken. You still weren’t even convinced you were the right person for the job. Even though Balin had explained you would be taking more of an assistant’s role to him, you felt wildly out of your league.

A sigh escaped you as you watched Balin knock on the door again.

He gave you a once-over followed by a frown. “Y/N, I told you that you needed rest.”

“I wanted to be prepared, I’ll be fine.” You shook your head.

“Prepared is one thing, but it’s only your first day. You look miserable.” He knocked on the door again, casting a worried look to you. “Why don’t you go get yourself something to eat? I can take care of this for a little while before you join us.”

“This is important, I don’t want to miss anything,” you frowned.

“You’ll miss more if you don’t take care of yourself.”

“Balin, I promise I’ll be alright.” You insisted on staying, much to Balin’s dismay.

He let out a sigh, knowing you were just as stubborn as his brother.

“Alright, I trust you. But I’m a little concerned.” He turned back to the door, now annoyed as he knocked for the third time. “Kíli, wake up before I go in there myself.”

A loud groan sounded through the wooden door followed by silence before it eventually opened, revealing a very tired dark-haired prince. His hair was mussed and tangled and some of it was stuck to his mouth. His eyes could barely stay open as he was still coming to life. And to top it all of, he was still in his sleepwear, which was oversized and hanging off of his shoulder as he leaned against the door.

“Balin, I thought we said we’d do this in the afternoon,” he groaned, still groggy with sleep.

Balin frowned, unamused. “I told you we would be here at sunrise. You said you’d be awake.”

“I lied,” he shot a lazy grin before looking over at you. “And who’s this?”

“This is Y/N, they’re helping me with preparing-”

“Oh, so you’re the librarian!” Kíli smiled, seemingly remembering who you were. Which was strange, because you two had never met. And you certainly wouldn’t call yourself a librarian.

“I’m sorry?” You raised a brow.

“Ori told me about you, he said you tend to that room he found?”

“Oh, right. Yes, I have been in charge of that…” You nodded. He wasn’t technically wrong, but you tended to align yourself more with the term of scholar rather than librarian.

“Listen, Kíli,” Balin interjected. “Get yourself settled, we’re on a busy schedule for today.”

Kíli groaned again and you came to realize that he was not matching the image of him you had conjured up in your head. It was hard to believe that this lazy dwarf was the same Prince who had joined Balin on his journey to Erebor.

“Alright, alright. Give me a few minutes, I’ll get dressed.” He shut the door on both of you and you couldn’t hide the frown on your face.

“Is he usually like this?” You asked Balin, keeping as delicate a tone as possible.

“He sleeps like a mountain now that he has a soft bed every night,” Balin sighed. “But he’s never been a morning person. In any case, now we can get started.”

You nodded in response, choosing to withhold any opinions you currently had about the younger Prince of Erebor. First impressions could always change, after all. Surely it would serve you better to erase the idea of his lazy behavior from your mind. You didn’t know him personally; perhaps he simply just wasn’t a morning person.

Suddenly the door was open again, this time with a much more well-kept Prince behind it. You had to stop yourself from doing a double take; he looked like an entirely different person to you now.

His brown hair was now smoother and brushed and slightly swept out of his face, save for his bangs. Fine dwarven fabric hung from his shoulders as he stepped outside of his room and you had to stop yourself from staring. His brown eyes seemed much more full of life now that he was finally dressed and his face was clean. Altogether, he suddenly looked a lot more royal than before.

“Well, that took you long enough,” Balin commented.

“Beauty can do that, yes,” Kíli retorted with a rather cheeky smirk. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Well, time waits on no one, much less beauty,” Balin sighed, adjusting his belt as he began trailing away. “Come along now, there’s much to do.”

A few hours passed by and the day quickly became more and more draining, each minute feeling longer than the last. You felt like you were melting into a puddle of exhausted slop with each step you took, your feet sore after how much walking you three had done. Honestly, you were sure you had walked at least seven or eight miles by now. And while it may have been nothing to the likes of Balin or even Kíli, it was truly starting to wear you down.

It was your own fault, really. You should have taken Balin’s earlier offer to run off and get yourself some food. Or perhaps have gotten a good night’s rest the previous night. You were all out of sorts and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed in yourself. You had been so focused on studying that you had forgotten to take care of yourself, and look where it had gotten you. Balin was right.

By now, Balin had taken the two of you on a tour of sorts, bringing Kíli to important halls and rooms of Erebor while explaining and delegating what new tasks would fall to him once his brother took his role as the Crown Prince. From the throne room to the forges, there was always something new for Kíli to learn or expound upon. Many of his new tasks weren’t all that unfamiliar to him, as his mother had been helping prepare him for this. But as much as you wanted to be present and fully soak up all of this knowledge as Balin’s assistant, you were utterly spent. Your feet felt stiff like bricks as you trudged along behind Kíli and Balin and the dark circles under your eyes were becoming more apparent with each passing hour. Neither of them had noticed your condition until you three were finally alone.

There you were, in an empty hall of the library while Balin was explaining to Kíli what would be expected of him at the ascension ceremony itself, arms full of a script with pictures depicting a ceremony long past, when your stomach suddenly let out an embarrassingly loud grumble. Your eyes widened and you clutched your stomach in a panic, as if it would somehow muffle the noise. But itt didn’t.

You were horrified. Speechless, even. Balin sighed, leaving Kíli confused as to why something as trivial as this would even warrant a reaction.

“Y/N…” Balin said. “If you need to eat, I’m sure I can handle him myself.”

Kíli scoffed, slightly offended at his words. “Well, you’re the one who’s been going nonstop without any break. I would be hungry too!”

“And are you?” Balin raised an unamused brow.

All eyes were on Kíli as he looked down, almost embarrassed to admit defeat.

“...Yes.”

Balin set the book down on the table beside him, running a hand to his temple. You frowned, not liking his annoyed demeanor, but in truth it was all directed at Kíli.

“Well then, I suppose we can take a short break. I’ll be up in the Archives for now. Return in an hour after you properly feed yourselves.”

“An hour? What’s the rush?” Kíli’s jaw dropped, appalled at the idea of a quick meal.

“I won’t give you any royal treatment, Kíli,” Balin countered. “We’re far past formalities.”

“Aw, come on, even a normal person would want more time. I might be technically royal but–”

“Aye, and a royal pain at that,” Balin sighed. “Two hours. And then I want you both back and ready to get to work.”

You nodded eagerly, grateful even for the first hour. “And we will, of course. Thank you.”

“We’ll be back before you know it!” Kíli chimed in.

Balin rolled his eyes, waving you two off as he began his own journey up to the Archives of the library. You watched him go before turning to exit, planning on going to your room to cook when suddenly a hand tapped your shoulder; you turned to see Kíli now throwing you a grin.

“Come on, let’s go,” He motioned to the exit with his head.

“I was going–” You tried to explain but were quickly cut off.

“To eat by yourself?”

“Well I have–”

“Come on; we’ve only got so much time and we haven’t had any to get to know each other.”

You pursed your lip, not feeling too keen to have your plans derailed. But it didn’t feel right to decline a royal, even one as childish as him.

“I wanted to cook at home.”

“Even better! Home-cooked meals are the best!”

You sighed. He would not give in.

“I don’t know if I have enough in my pantry to share…” You tried your best to give one last excuse, but he was quicker.

“How about I grab some of my own food and meet you at your house? We can combine the ingredients and make something delicious.”

For a silent moment, you could only look at his stupid grin while you weighed your options. But you weren’t averse to more food being offered and he clearly didn’t seem to take any negative answer.

“Fine.” You caved. “But please be quick about it. I don’t want to waste this time waiting on you and I mean that as politely as possible.”

He chuckled at your politely rude comment, leaving the library first to what you assumed was his own home.

One hurried walk later, you had finally gotten home and begun preparing your meal. All you had left were some vegetables from your weekly visit to the market and some rice. Rather good options to be stuck with, if you thought about it. It seemed a delicious stir fry would be your meal today.

Quickly, you got to work on cleaning your vegetables, a mixture of squash and greens, before chopping them up in your kitchen. A heavy knock sounded at your door and you set your cutting knife down to go answer it.

You swung the door open and soon reality hit you. Kíli, one of Erebor’s Princes, was standing outside your front door holding a clothed bundle of something and you had no idea how he had gotten here.

“I don’t recall telling you where I live,” you said aloud, but softly as though it was supposed to only be heard by your ears.

“Ori told me,” Kíli explained. “And that’s not usually how you answer the door, if I remember.”

His wit snapped you out of your reverie and you quickly allowed him inside. But you weren’t exactly thrilled at his news.

“And why did Ori tell you where I live, if I may ask?”

“You may.” He chuckled at that comment. You didn’t find it funny. He quickly realized that.

“It came up when we were discussing Balin’s newest pupil. Ori mentioned how you had been living here for quite some time when I said how far the traveling was from here to Dale.”

You sighed, nodding. “You thought I was from Dale.”

It made sense, after all. You weren’t a dwarf.

“A stupid comment on my behalf, truly,” he tried to save the conversation, finally revealing what he had in his hands. “I hope these will add to whatever you’re already preparing.”

You looked down to see thick cut bacon and a sealed bottle of ale. The good stuff too, this was definitely higher quality than you were used to. You could already feel your mouth salivating at the idea of such a tasty meat in your stir fry. A small bit of ale would also enhance the flavor and even add some new ones.

“These are actually very promising,” you said, once again aloud but more so to yourself. Still, he heard you.

“That’s what I was hoping for.” He smiled up at you. “So what are we making?”

You walked past him, now making your way back to your kitchen. He followed suit, albeit after removing his shoes. That seemed to be one of his few redeeming qualities.

“I have the rice cooking now, but I need to finish cutting the vegetables and get the bacon cooking so it’s ready to be added by the time the rice is done.”

“Sounds great! How can I help?”

You froze for a moment, now realizing there was another living being in your kitchen. This wasn’t exactly a common situation for you. In fact, you liked your cooking how you liked your work in the library: alone.

But who would you be to tell a Prince that? And especially a Prince who had brought over such fine ingredients… You were caught between a rock and a hard place, and it was time to make a choice.

Gingerly, you stepped farther from the chopping block and closer to your hearth. You only had two hours to eat; it only made sense to let him help.

“You can cut everything and I will cook it.” You nodded as you spoke, as if you were still trying to get yourself on board with the idea. You honestly couldn’t recognize if it was working or not, but Kíli was happy to lend a helping hand. And quite ready to get started too, as his hunger was starting to get to him.

“Great, then let’s get started.” He eagerly grabbed the knife, chopping your squash in such an indelicate way that you could do nothing other than watch with eyes wide open, mouth ajar. None of these pieces of squash were the same size. Or even the same shape, for that matter! It was like he was chopping them all willy-nilly without any air of culinary prowess.

Something inside of you snapped and you knew you had to say something. You couldn’t help it!

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” You spoke slowly, still processing the horror in front of you.

Kíli wasn’t exactly thrilled about your attitude, either, but he did his best to dismiss it. “I’m helping… I’m cutting this squash.”

“But you’re not even dicing it—“

“I didn’t know that’s what you wanted.”

“It’s going with rice, I feel as though you should want to cut it smaller.”

“Does it matter? It’s all going to end up being eaten, isn’t it?” His tone was sterner, now getting more upset.

“But it needs to be small enough to blend with the rice,” you countered. “Otherwise it’s rice with squash on the side.”

“These pieces aren’t that big—“

“They’re chunks! They’re chunky, look at them!”

“I’m the one cutting, I’m sure I can clearly see that’s they’re perfectly fine pieces—“

“Have you ever even used a kitchen knife?”

“Have you ever tried letting someone do so before you critique their cutting abilities?!”

And suddenly, a loud grumble rang out from your stomach, effectively shutting the both of you up. You let out a breath, rationalizing with yourself as you realized there was no reason to be this upset at such a tiny thing. You weren’t someone who typically enjoyed sharing your space with a stranger all that much. Being practically starving wasn’t doing you any favors, either. But it was certainly embarrassing. Demeaning, even. Truly, you were hangry.

You looked away from the Prince in your kitchen, staring blankly at the boiling rice in front of you. A sigh left your lips before you turned back to face him.

“I’m sorry,” you nodded. “Let’s just work on getting this cooked.”

Kíli nodded, having realized the same thing as you; both of you were hangry and yelling at each other for no reason.

“I’ll cut them smaller,” he said quietly, referencing the squash.

You let out a small nod, returning to your pot of boiling rice that you stirred. “Thank you.”

For a while, you two coexisted in the kitchen in silence; Kíli cut the vegetables and the bacon while you added it to a wok for cooking, the sizzle of the ingredients hitting the pan filling the quiet of the room. Without needing to be told, Kíli uncorked the ale, handing it over to you as you tossed a splash into the pan. Steam rose and the smell hit your nostrils with a cozy aroma as the meat and veggies cooked in the pan.

Finally, after adding in the rice and seasoning it to your liking, the dish was done. With a soft smile, you plated the food into two wooden bowls, offering one to Kíli.

“It looks amazing,” he commented. It seemed you had both calmed down some since your argument. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“I just fetched some water yesterday,” you answered. “The cups are in the cupboard.”

He picked up the bottle of ale, still quite full. “There’s also this, if we wanted. What do you say?”

You frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We have to be back in a little more than an hour.”

“Suit yourself,” he said. “But I doubt one glass will hurt anyone.”

You watched as he poured himself a cup before leaving to go sit at your dining table. A part of you would’ve been tempted to have some yourself, but Balin and your empty stomach would disapprove. You would be satisfied with just this; your body needed it.

Kíli joined you at the table with a smile, quite excited to eat. You watched him as he sat down, taking notice of his beauty as he tucked his hair behind his ears. He was very pretty, even by your standards. You wondered how you hadn’t seen it before. But then again, you had been distracted by his laziness and childish mannerisms, not to mention the previous argument.

You two began to eat in silence, sharing a meal in a comfortable quiet that was occasionally broken whenever Kíli would gulp down his ale. For his sake, you hoped he wasn’t a lightweight.

“How much longer do we have?” He asked in between bites.

“An hour, I think?” You shrugged. “It’s probably smart to leave once we’re done.”

“In a rush?”

“I don’t like to keep Balin waiting. I respect him too much for that.”

“I see. You’ve been working with him for a while now, haven’t you?”

You looked up at him, realizing he was actually making conversation. A part of you was surprised, but you didn’t know why.

“It’s been a few years now,” you answered.

“Do you like it? Working with him, I mean.” Kíli smiled at you, his warm eyes catching the light of the candles on your table.

It was alluring.

“I do,” you admitted, smiling at the thought. “He’s very kind. And funny, in his old way. He’s taken care of me for a while.”

“Has he?”

“He’s always looking out for me, but he also doesn’t let me shy away from chances where I could grow.” You sighed, looking at your food. “I look up to him a lot.”

“Well,” Kíli took another swig of his drink. “You certainly sound a lot more grateful than Ori does.”

“That can’t be true,” you chuckled. “What does Ori say?”

“It would be easier to list what he doesn’t say,” he joked. “He’s always going on about his workload being too much. He’s either cleaning the library or running around on Balin’s orders.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “He’s just ranting, I’m sure. He can get frustrated rather quickly but we all know he loves his work.”

“He does, it’s true.” Kíli laughed to himself. “He loves working with you, from what I hear.”

“Does he?” You raised a brow, your interest now piqued as you took another bite of food.

He nodded, chewing his own mouthful before continuing. “Nowadays he’s always talking about how helpful you are to him; he thinks you know the library better than him now. I remember him mentioning you when you two first met, my brother and I could’ve swore he had a crush on you.”

“A crush?” You choked on your food, hitting your chest to clear up before trying to eat again.

Kíli held back his laughter, bearing a smile so wide it captured the light around you. “Yes, he must have!”

“I highly doubt–”

“He would go on and on about how pretty you were, how you dressed, or you smelled. One time we couldn’t get him to stop talking about ‘the librarian’s hair’ as if he were some star-struck child!”

Your cheeks were feeling warm by now and you were sure it wasn’t due to the hot food in front of you.

“I don’t know how to feel about that,” you admitted. “He’s sweet, but I’ve never realized–”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s passed by now,” he said quickly in an attempt to reassure you. “He really just doesn’t get out much. None of us do, really. We’re all so busy trying to keep this place running and back to its former glory.”

“I see,” you nodded, now feeling a little relieved. Things would feel so awkward if Ori actually did have a crush on you. You certainly were fond of him, but not in that way.

“He wasn’t wrong, though,” Kíli said softly, snapping you out of your thoughts as you met his gaze.

“I’m sorry?”

“I just…” He trailed off, looking back down at his food. It seemed like he wasn’t expecting you to hear him as his face started turning red.

You in turn looked down at your own food, confused by his behavior. You gave him one last look, seeing his eyes meet your own.

“He wasn’t wrong. You’re beautiful.”

You froze, the room completely silent save for the crackling of the candles. Here you were sharing a meal with a Prince who had just told you he found you beautiful. Admittedly, it was all a bit much.

You gave a nervous laugh, fixing your posture in your seat as you shoved another forkful of food into your mouth. You chewed and swallowed, nodding as you tried to horse down the rest of your meal.

“Balin should be expecting us soon. We should hurry up,” you said, refusing to make eye contact as you ate.

Kíli smiled, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before returning to his own food.

“Right, we wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

You two managed to make it back in time, arriving to see Balin’s nose stuffed in one of the thickest books you had ever had the fortune of seeing. The rest of the day was long as the tour continued, but you had caught Kíli stealing a few choice glances your way whenever Balin wasn’t looking. You were caught off guard, sure, but you weren’t entirely averse to the attention. It was something new. Nice, even, and it made you think that perhaps this dwarf wasn’t entirely as ridiculous as you thought.

Of course, what you didn’t know was that he was almost certainly even more ridiculous than you took him for. But that certainly wouldn’t dissuade him from trying his best to capture your attention.

62 notes · View notes

mithrilhearts · 9 months ago

Text

bagginshield | pirate au | teen+

The lost treasure of Durin the Deathless has been sought by many and found by none, but to Bilbo Baggins, it’s merely another riddle just waiting to be solved. The self-proclaimed “Deathless” expert finds himself whisked away aboard The Ravenheart, led by the infamous Captain Oakenshield, and the two embark on an unexpected journey to solve one of history’s biggest mysteries.

#bagginshield #thilbo #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #bagginshield fic #fotfics #fic: as the tide turns #maeve writes

61 notes · View notes

plutolichen · 6 months ago

Text

[THaUC24] Parenting Mishaps

This year I participated in The Hobbit: an Unexpected Collaboration!

Goes with this wonderful fic by the talented @bishkebab. Excerpt below:

On Monday morning Legolas rolls out of bed after the maximum number of snoozes and elbows his way into the bathroom amongst his erstwhile siblings to claim his spot at the sink; once his hair is sufficiently tamed he disappears back into the bedroom that he shares with Bain to dress. He comes downstairs in a sweep of dramatic triumph, outfitted impeccably: black cargo pants tucked into new Doc Martens, deliberately low-slung to better show off the crop top and his exposed navel. He gets to the bottom of the stairs and rounds the corner to the kitchen, already smelling coffee, and then he stops. His dad is sitting on the kitchen counter top, perched in his customary spot next to the sink, his legs crossed comfortably and his favorite mug steaming with coffee in his hands. Bard is leaning casually by the refrigerator with his own mug, saying something soft that makes Thranduil laugh as he takes a sip. Stretched obscenely tight across Bard's chest, and similarly taut on Thranduil's shoulders, matching crop tops proclaim Baby Slut. "Mornin', sleepyhead," says Bard, looking up as if he's just noticed Legolas's presence. "Good morning, lief," says Thranduil, smiling at him over the curling steam from his coffee mug. "I hope you have slept well." "Oh my God," says Legolas in disgust, and stomps upstairs to go change.

Bard tummy hee hee...........

@fellowshipofthefics

#barduil #bard x thranduil #the hobbit #fanart #digital art #art #fotfics #thauc24 #plutolichen's art tag

38 notes · View notes

shujinkomononobe · 6 months ago

Text

Hi everyone! I worked with @blueberryrock for this year's THAUC fic! My first time and I enjoyed it! And @shurikthereject gave us two beautiful drawings! Thank you @fellowshipofthefics for this delightful opportunity!

"With all these mismatched pairings being happy, perhaps Frodo can pair up his cousin with his own?"

Read more for a snippet!

Mismatched Pairings

“Indeed I am! And I’m also the Guildmaster of the Cooks’ Guild! And the dining hall is our Guild’s Main Hall! I gotta be here from time to time to run the place after all!” Bombur replied enthusiastically, looking proud. ”Oh, by the way! Bilbo, your pebble Frodo is here! Gloin’s wee Gimli is guarding him as usual.”

“Oh dear, did Frodo sneak out of the castle again?” Bilbo sighs before chuckling, “Gimli should know to say no by now.”

“Ah well, you know us dwarrows are weak to those large wet eyes, you hobbits possess. His dwarvish features make it more prominent for us,” laughs Bombur as he shows them the way towards the young prince.

There is the small dwobbit sitting on the lap of an auburn-haired dwarf, taking large bites out of a baked potato. The dwarf makes a disgusted expression but doesn’t complain when the dwobbit offers him a bite. When the dwarf notices them headed towards their direction, he straightens up, looking a bit red. “King Bilbo! Your Majesty, I-”

“Now Gimli, I told you this before. Uncle Bilbo is the only title I’ll accept from you.” chides Bilbo fondly.

“I wouldn’t dare, your Majesty! I am-” Gimli is interrupted when Bilbo makes a dramatic sigh.

“I suppose you can address me in more formal titles, since you obviously don’t believe we’re close enough to be family.” the hobbit replied dramatically, making his son giggle while the dwarf looks shocked.

“N-no! That’s not what I meant uncle Bilbo! I jus-” Gimli’s words die down when he sees Bilbo grinning and he huffs, knowing he stepped into his trap. “… Fine uncle Bilbo. You win.”

31 notes · View notes

cilil · 11 months ago

Text

Summer Stories

AN: Have one Angbang for the gang!

Prompt: Ice | Melkor x Mairon Synopsis: As the dark lords enjoy a relaxing summer day, Melkor shares a cold treat with Mairon. Warnings: /

"Not even a spoonful?" Melkor purrs.

The Lord of Darkness is sitting on a lounger, watching the werewolf pups play in the grass. In one hand he holds a spoon of ice cream, scooped from the sundae he's been consuming, and his other arm is wrapped around his beloved who clings to him as if the summer sun isn't warm enough.

Mairon purses his lips.

"It's chocolate," Melkor tempts him.

"It's cold."

"It will melt."

Graciously, Mairon accepts the treat at last, and it sizzles on his lips and tongue.

Smiling, Melkor leans in and steals a kiss in turn.

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @destinyeternity1 @edensrose

@elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @melkors-big-tits

@melkors-defense-attorney @numenhore @sauron-kraut @stormchaser819

@urwendii @wandererindreams

#fotfics #summer stories #mairon #sauron #melkor #morgoth #melkor x mairon #angbang #drabble #silmarillion #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #cílil writes #my writing

48 notes · View notes

emyn-arnens · 6 months ago

Text

Across So Wide a Sea: Part 2

Summary: The Second Age draws to a close, and Galadriel finds herself hemmed in by fears.

Rating: G

Word Count: 10.1k (total: 20.1k)

S. A. 1350, Hithui

The Nandor in Lórinand have accepted Celebrían and me readily. Amdír the king welcomed us courteously and bade us remain for as long as we have need to. I am glad even more now that we endeavored to establish trade with them, for I have had to call upon them for aid even sooner than I thought I would have to.

Celeborn writes as often as he may, bringing word of Ost-in-Edhil in messages sent over the mountains (for he refuses to place his letters into the hands of Dwarves) when the snows are light and the paths passable. He writes that Celebrimbor and Annatar wholly disregard him, which greatly eases my mind. It is best if Annatar is given as little cause as possible to remember that Celeborn still dwells in the city. Although from what I have been told by my spies and the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm, Annatar has had of late little interest in matters outside of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain and ventures rarely from the guildhouse. The forges burn day and night, and a cloud of smoke hangs ever above the roof of the guildhouse, staining its roof.

But as fortunate as this may be for Celeborn, it is, I think, a worse turn of events. I cannot conceive what Annatar works at now that he wished to not have me present for, and my mind is full of foreboding. Annatar is a craftsman of great skill—that cannot be denied. I do not know of what powers he may possess. Whenever I treaded near the question with Celebrimbor, he evaded me and sought to close his mind to mine. I glimpsed in his mind a protectiveness of Annatar, a wish to keep the smith to himself.

Read the rest on AO3.

#silmarillion #galadriel #finrod #celeborn #celebrian #celebrimbor #sauron #amdir #amroth #fotfics #silm fic #tolkien fic #my fic

19 notes · View notes

inkedmoth · 6 months ago

Text

Respite from Revelry

A request for Anon, they requested a noble seeking solace from the celebrations in the stables where Éomer finds them! Enjoy! Want to request a one-shot? Here's the post with details!

Pressing her fingers to her brows, Lady Lhinniel tried to blot out the riot of colours, sounds, and scents from her mind. When she’d agreed to join her father’s excursion to Rohan and Edoras, she hadn’t quite expected it to be this… lively.

Oh the Meduseld was welcoming to Lord Drauhir and her, the King and his sister had been more than hospitable to their delegation, and discussions of trade and other opportunities had been going smoothly.

But now they were celebrating midwinter, and Lhinniel had a headache.

Not ideal when she was meant to be playing the role of perfect daughter, even less ideal since she was meant to be a grateful guest, and especially not ideal when her father was hoping to offer her hand in a bid to sweeten trade deals and give him a foothold into the newly recovering Kingdom of Rohan.

Manwë’s breath her head hurt.

Peering through her lashes, Lhinniel scanned the main hall of the Meduseld, quickly passing over the blonde, gold, and red heads of hair, until she finally found the near-black-brown of her father’s hair. Stood with some of the other lords that had joined their delegation, and was discussing something rather animatedly with… what was his name again? Marshal Ekerend? Erkenbrand?

A high-ranking member of Rohirrim society at any least.

Even as she watched, her father raised his hand, the mug of ale or cider nearly spilled as he gestured in her vague direction. At which point Lord Erkenbrand glanced over, and there was a split second of uncomfortable eye contact.

It was too late to affix a more pleasant expression on her face, as the Marshal quickly turned back to her father and said something to make him laugh. Even from across the room, Drauhir’s laughter was grating, at odds with the lute and the fiddle and the drums and the chatter and the noises and the smell of roast meat spilt ale honeyed mead an—

It was too much.

She needed to get out of this hall. Now.

With a fleeting glance to make sure her father wasn’t watching, Lady Lhinniel gathered her skirts in one hand, and hastily swept through the crowd, eyes locked on the large main doors and promise of fresh air beyond.

It was a testament to the sheer number of bodies within the hall, that even in the dead of winter, the chill of frost and snow barely breached the open doors. It was also a testament to her up bringing that she didn’t just start elbowing people out of her way. The doors were almost in reach, when one Rohir stepped back from the conversation he’d been having, and she all but bounced off his shoulder.

“Apologies, good sir.” The words left her mouth without conscious thought thanks to her lessons in etiquette, eyes too fixed on the great doors to care beyond hasty politeness.

Any response or chiding was lost to the hubbub, as with a last burst of speed, she broke free of the stifling crowds and all but stumbled onto the terrace before the main doors.

The chill was instantaneous, hitting her face and lungs like shards of ice after the stifling heat of the hall. Almost recoiling in shock, it was only the grating laugh of her father that stilled the impulse to retreat. A good thing too, as after a moment or two of breathing, the freezing chill subsided into something far more manageable.

Sadly with the general cacophony of noise at her back, the headache didn’t vanish instantly, but at least the cold air was refreshing after the heat and close packed bodies. Although her gown of green silk and fine white cotton wasn’t exactly suitable for lingering outside for long.

But while it was cold, bitterly cold, it was also fresh.

Moving to one side of the terrace –so not to be visible should her father glance about for her– Lhinniel wrapped her arms about herself and eyed the town below.

It looked homely and comforting, but strange compared to that of her home in Gondor.

Gone were the sturdy stone buildings, gone was the white-grey stone, the columns, the arched open windows, the ornate craftsmanship. She was used to buildings being angular, squared, with practicality and uniformness.

The houses of Rohan were starkly different.

Just in this upper part of the city there were dozens of houses and buildings all clustered together, with their steep thatched rooves, their wooden walls painted in vibrant colours, and many windows lit by a warm light from within. The orange glows reflected on the thick layering of snow that had blanketed the city during the day, turning the place into a beautiful winter vista. Somehow even the skies and stars were clearer and brighter.

It was beautiful and peaceful—

“Lhinniel!”

A very unladylike curse almost slipped out at the sound of Drauhir calling her name, and without a second thought, she snatched up her skirts in both hands, and went trotting down the steps of the Meduseld, aiming to escape detection.

Slippers were not suited for snow.

Thankfully a path had been somewhat cleared, and other than the stray patches of ice, Lhinniel was able to follow its route and vanish into the one building she hoped no one would think to check.

*****

Éomer King blinked after the head of dark hair that hastened away from him.

The impact to his shoulder hadn’t exactly hurt, but it had come as a surprise to realise the daughter of Lord Drauhir had collided with him, even more surprising was that her steps didn’t slow in her haste to leave the hall. Had she not noticed that she’d collided with the King?

Apparently not.

“Tch.” The disapproving click of a tongue came from the man alongside him. “That’s Stáning folk for you.”

“Éothain,” Éomer said quietly but pointedly, using Rohirric much as his Deputy had, least any of the Gondorian’s overhear. “They are our guests.”

There was a quiet grumble that sounded a lot like he was complaining about their manners, but a pointed frown was quick to nip that in the bud. The delegation from Gondor were welcomed guests within the Meduseld, and they held great potential for securing trade deals, lumber, and resources from south of the White Mountains. They deserved respect and civility.

Even if Lord Drauhir had just spilt ale on Erkenbrand’s sleeve.

“—m’daughter’s a fine lass.” The older man was speaking loudly to the Marshal, who’s expression Éomer recognised as ‘reaching the end of his tether’ even if he was still smiling. “Very agreeable, she’s an excellent cook, a good hand at sewing and the arts you know. And, she’s of marrying age.”

The wink and nudge weren’t needed to drive the point home.

“She might get along with my daughter,” Erkenbrand replied, absolutely refusing to rise to the bait. “They’re about the same age, after all.”

“Indeed! We should introduce them,” Lord Drauhir was quick to take the bait, “Lhinniel!”

Béma’s Bow that man had a loud voice.

Éomer glanced away from the beleaguered Marshal and tipsy Lord, towards the great doors of the Meduseld where he’d last seen Lady Lhinniel heading. They’d been left open in a bid to provide the hall with ventilation during the celebration, but even stood scarcely fifteen feet from them, he could barely feel the chill of the winter air.

Someone else, however, could.

A silken dress of emerald green, with white cotton sleeves and lace, abruptly darted down the steps outside the Golden Hall, and vanished from view. Lady Lhinniel had her arms wrapped about herself, and even with his brief glimpse it seemed she was struggling with the chill.

So why on Arda was she leaving the warmth and safety of his hall?

Edoras was safe, much safer now the Dunlendings had been mollified and the orcs were being hunted. But it was still the middle of winter, with snowdrifts reaching five feet deep, and she was wearing a silk gown of Gondorian styling, which certainly wasn’t a practical fashion for Rohirric weather! At best she’d catch a chill, at worse… she could slip and fall, become trapped within a drift of snow, or suffer from exposure and lose her fingers to Frost Blight, or any number of horrific things he’d seen happen to people better prepared for the weather than her.

None of which he could let happen to a guest.

Biting back a sigh of frustration, Éomer set his near empty tankard upon a table, made his excuses to Éothain, and slipped from the hall. The loud voice of Lord Drauhir seemed to follow him, but why had his own daughter fled his call?

Stepping out from the Meduseld, the frosty wind tried to burn his skin and chill his body, but the thick cloak of office with its fur lined collar was more than enough to keep winter at bay.

Pausing atop the terrace, Éomer’s eyes scanned the city below, seeking any flickers of movement. Nothing in the streets, no signs of disturbed snow, and no cries of alarm or panic. But the fact he still couldn’t see Lady Lhinniel was concerning.

He’d have to go find her.

Éomer had taken one step forwards, when a familiar voice to his left spoke up.

“Sir.” Gamling, stood sentry and keeping watch. “The stables.”

“My thanks,” Éomer replied shortly.

Pacing down the steps, eyes locked on the large doors to the stables –now slightly ajar– he had to wonder why this Lords daughter would be sneaking out to the stables in the middle of the festivities. Her father was most keen on trading horses for lumber, and while he’d offered many fine deals, Éomer was reticent to accept so easily. Lord Drauhir simply felt too… eager.

Had he asked Lhinniel to assess their stock?

It was no matter, these were the High Stables, and the horses within belong to the royal family, their kin, or the Marshals –or the delegation from Gondor– and as such were unavailable for sale. Not unless this visit was some great ruse to steal his prized stallions in the depth of midwinter.

Stepping carefully through the snowdrifts and ice patches, Éomer moved on quiet feet towards the stables, pausing at the edge of the doorway to peer within and let his eyes adjust.

Lady Lhinniel was indeed inspecting the horses, but rather than an expression of calculation and cunning, she looked… curious. Dark brown eyes softening as she greeted extended necks with soft touches and quiet words. Perhaps a little nervous, shying away from any curious lipping or nibbles, hastily backing up whenever the horses went to investigate her silken skirts. But she didn’t leave the stables, in fact, she headed deeper in.

Intrigued, Éomer followed.

*****

It was a little warmer in the stables, although not as hot as the Golden Hall had become, and with the scent of horses and hay heavy on the air, but it was still a welcome relief from the crowds, music, alcohol and food. Lhinniel found herself alone, wondering past the stalls, inspecting the occupants as much as they inspected her. The horses of Rohan were indeed impressive, even to her untrained eye they were large and powerful, with strong necks and noble faces.

They were also, a little intimidating.

“That’s not for eating,” she murmured softly, as a brown horse tried to catch a hold of her sleeve. She moved away slightly, and the horse’s ears went back in annoyance. “I know but it’s my best dress.”

With a gentle touch to its nose, she moved on to greet the next stall.

This one was a fearsome looking beast, standing almost a clear foot taller than herself –and Lhinniel prided herself on her noble height– with rich brown eyes, a dark mane and tail, and a dappled grey coat. It was restless, pacing about in its larger stall, turning back and forth, its tail flicking and swatting at its haunches.

Was it lonely? Bored? The stall was a good size but with all the snow outside she couldn’t imagine there was much chance to ride out.

“Hello,” she greeted softly.

The beast’s ears flicked her way, its pacing abruptly turning towards her and approaching eagerly. Its head was almost bigger than her own torso, quickly thrust over the stall door, stretching out towards her with a quiet whicker. Despite how intimidating it was, Lhinniel lifted her hands to pet it, the nose soft and velvety beneath her palm.

“Firefoot likes you.”

A startled noise, half curse half squeak, was pulled from Lhinniel’s throat, as she whirled about to face this intruder. Only to freeze in alarm, blood surging to colour her face and neck.

Éomer King stood scarcely five feet from her.

“M-my lord,” she stammered, and dropped into a hasty curtsy. “I’m so sorry I didn’t realise, had I known—”

The King raised one hand, and her mouth snapped shut.

“Peace, Lady Lhinniel, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said shortly, “I saw you leave the hall, and didn’t wish for you to chill. Although I didn’t expect you to be here.”

In the stables. Petting other people’s horses. Avoiding the celebrations.

If she wasn’t ready blushing, she’d have done so again.

“But Firefoot seems to like you,” the King continued, and Lhinniel realised with a jolt that the large stallion had all but rested his chin on her shoulder. “And he is a good judge of character.”

“He’s… impressive,” she managed to say, hands fisting and scrunching at her skirts.

“I take it you’re not enjoying the celebrations?”

The abrupt shift in topic had her reeling, trying to find her footing within the conversation, and her voice floundered unhelpfully.

“No,” she said, and Éomer King’s brows dropped into a frown, “no! No I mean I am enjoying the celebration,” she hastily continued, “it’s just, I’m not keen on large crowds. I needed to get some air and take a break, and its far more peaceful out here. With weather like this I’d much rather be reading in a quiet corner.”

Apparently her response was something to be puzzled over, as the King’s head tilted to one side in consideration.

But then Firefoot gave a huff and nudged at her. Automatically Lhinniel lifted her hands to the stallion’s nose, smoothing them over the velvety fuzz and soft whiskers. At least it gave her something to do rather than crease and wrinkle her skirts.

“The winter months are harsh here,” Éomer eventually replied, “I’m surprised you joined the delegation, unless you were left with no choice?”

What an odd question.

“I asked to join,” she said carefully, starting to feel as though she was being interviewed. “I’ve never travelled so far north, or left Gondor for that matter, and with the war over… why shouldn’t I try to see a bit more of the world?”

“So you’re not here to seek marriage to one of my Marshals?”

Ah. So he’d heard her father’s plans.

For a moment Lhinniel didn’t answer, keeping her eyes on the dappled grey fur and dark mane of Firefoot. Considering how restless the stallion had been at her arrival, he was surprisingly peaceful now he had attention. She couldn’t say the same for herself. Every appraising glance, every cautious conversation, every awkward introduction had anxiety wrapping tighter about her chest. Like an overdrawn corset, squeezing the breath from her lungs and constricting her heart.

“My father… wishes to strengthen any trade deals,” she said slowly, not meeting the King’s eyes, “and I am of marrying age.”

“There are easier ways to do so without selling off your hand to the highest bidder.” The sharpness of his words had her head lifting, chancing a glance and finding Éomer’s brow set in a frown. But his eyes were on Firefoot, not her. “There’s also easier ways to gain a foothold within Rohan, if that’s what he wishes.”

Too late, a grimace flickered across her face, and was immediately noticed.

“I may be a new King but I’m not oblivious,” Éomer said wryly, a smirk pulling at his lips, as he moved forwards to stand alongside and reached up to pet his steed’s neck. “Lord Drauhir will have to get in line, I have six other Gondorians trying to meddle as it is.”

Despite herself, Lhinniel laughed softly. “We are late to the party, I take it?”

“You waited until we’d at least recovered from the war,” he countered. “The lumber he sent as a coronation gift was sorely needed, and much appreciated. Others have been considerably less generous, which is precisely why I invited your father to visit over midwinter. He’s pushy, but at least he was considerate.”

To Éomer King, maybe. Not everyone was so lucky.

With a quiet exhale, Lhinniel’s hands dropped from Firefoot’s nose, and she took a step back. Putting space between herself, and the King. Hands smoothing over her skirts, eyes down and beating back the frustration in her chest.

“Lady Lhinniel?”

Her father was considerate, he was a good father to her after her mother died, Manwë bless him. But he was pushy. She was accustomed to being Lady of the House, to taking care of their estate, to overseeing the books and managing the accounts, to employing the workers for the lumber, the ordering of supplies, the sending of deliveries. The gift to Rohan’s newly crowned King had been her idea, she’d read of how Rohirric houses were crafted of wood –not stone– and as such they’d be able to help.

But now her father was eager to marry her off to one of these horse-lords, her willingness to help and interest in visiting, had been interpreted as a wish to integrate.

Rohan was beautiful, but it was not her home.

“Lhinniel?”

A warm hand touched her arm, and she jolted back to the present, finding a concerned expression on Éomer King’s face, his brow furrowed, shadowing his eyes, head tilted as he considered her.

“You looked miles away,” he apologised, “do you wish to return to the hall?”

Yes. Maybe. Not really. No.

“I do not wish to marry any of your Marshals,” she said, and Éomer’s head drew back at the way her words shook, “Rohan is beautiful but it’s not my home. I don’t wish to leave my home. In truth I do not wish to marry at all. Is tha—Will that be a problem with negotiations?”

“What? No, no why would that be a problem? Not one of my men would accept a marriage to someone unwilling, no matter how your father may encourage such a thi—” he cut of sharply, almost incredulously. And then his voice hardened alarmingly, eyes darkening so dramatically that Lhinniel’s breath caught in her throat. “Is he making you do this?”

“No. He’s just… encouraging me.”

There was a derisive snort from Éomer, a very unkingly sound. “You can say pressurin—”

“Fine then he’s pressuring me.”

That earnt a laugh, either at her sharp tongue or the swiftness of her response. But the King shook his head in amusement, a rare smile on his face. How often had she seen him smile? A mere handful of times in the weeks they’d been within Edoras, and usually when his sister said something sharp or witty.

And despite the sobriety of the topic, Lhinniel smiled ruefully.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to drop that on you,” she said quietly, “returning to the hall means returning to my father, and the suggestions, and it’s all just a bit much.”

“Honestly if I could get away with it, I’d remain out here too,” Éomer said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, despite the only other ears around being that of horses. “But unfortunately it’s my party and therefore I must play host.”

And with that, the King straightened up, running a hand across his dark gold hair as though to check he’d not ruffled it. She had to admit he was a striking figure, tall and broad shouldered, a neatly trimmed beard and hair pulled back into a half tail. His clothing was fine, and his bearing was regal. And yet… he’d been thrust into this role. He’d not chosen it, he’d found it settling on his shoulders just as the world seemed fit to end.

And yet he bore it well.

“—if you wish to remain out here a while longer, I’ll not take any offense to my hospitality,” he was saying, thankfully oblivious to her studying of him, “likewise if you wish to retire now instead, then you are welcome to do so.”

The night was still young, no matter how dark the skies.

She had the Kings permission to retreat, to hide, to pretend that there wasn’t a celebration happening just outside her chamber door. But to do so…

It wasn’t only the King with responsibilities.

“I’ll return,” Lhinniel said, straightening up and smoothing her hands across her emerald green Dol Amrothian silk. “Although…”

Éomer’s head cocked, waiting for whatever it was she had to say.

“The gift of lumber was sent on my insistence.”

It was rather satisfying to watch the surprise dawn on his features, the slow rise of his brows, the parting of his lips, and then a chastised smile.

“Then perhaps, Lady Lhinniel,” he said slowly, and extended a hand to her, “from now on it should be you I negotiate with.”

Despite the trepidation of returning to the Hall, despite the reluctance to be subjected to her father’s thinly veiled hints and nudges, despite the loudness, the busy atmosphere, the noise, the sounds, the smells…

Despite all of that, Lhinniel laughed, and set her hand in Éomer’s.

#one shot requests #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #fotfics #Éomer fic #moth fic

13 notes · View notes

i-did-not-mean-to · 1 year ago

Text

MAY-U - Glorfindel x Erestor

This story has been written for @sortumavaara and is accompanied by chibis made by this amazing artist!

Chibi commissions are open!

Characters: Glorfindel x Erestor

Prompts:Neighbours - Locksmith - If you ask me to beg, I'll beg

Words: 2 110

Warnings: a kiss (and potentially criminal activity)

Glorfindel squinted at the door accusingly.

The very next day, he vowed, he’d finally buy a doorstopper to keep those pesky drafts from accidentally locking him out of his flat when all he’d wanted to do was retrieve his mail.

Of course, it might have been a supremely silly idea to do so in the middle of the night, but—being a busy professional—he tended to these domestic chores whenever the thought struck him.

Unfortunately, even the best, most earnest resolutions in the world wouldn’t unlock his undeniably firmly closed front door now.

He considered calling Elrond, but he suspected that he’d gone through all of the seven spare keys his friend had been squirrelling away for emergencies: one, he’d lost at the mall, the other had fallen down an open manhole, two of them were surely somewhere inside his inaccessible apartment, and he couldn’t remember what happened to the others for the life of him.

Maybe, he mused, one was still in the old, battered car he owned but never drove. That sudden burst of inspiration did not help him much either, as the key to that accursed vehicle was in his bathroom drawer, inside his flat.

Fishing his old, battered flip phone, the little battery in the top right corner flickering alarmingly, out of his pocket, he reviewed his options with as much level-headed rationality as he could muster.

He didn’t doubt for a moment that his friends, annoyed and incredulous as they would undoubtedly be, would offer him food and shelter in his hour of need, but the thought of their faces and sympathetic cooing made his blood run cold.

Blowing a stray strand of golden hair out of his face, Glorfindel sagged against the closed door in dismay.

How did this always happen to him?

He was an accomplished ophthalmologist—respected and cherished by his colleagues and patients alike—and yet, he seemed utterly unable to manage something as fundamental as not leaving his flat without a key.

“Hello there, do you need help?”

Glorfindel shot up, banging his head against the doorknob and yelping loudly.

He’d never heard his mysterious neighbour, occupying the flat at the end of the landing, speak this many words in a row. And they were addressed to him!

“I’ve locked myself out,” he confessed in a tiny voice.

“Again?”

Grimacing, Glorfindel brought his hands to his face to hide from the disapproving gaze of the handsome stranger. If even his neighbour, who’d never granted him more than a sharp nod in passing, had caught on to his shortcomings, what were people in general thinking and saying about him behind his broad, muscular back?

“I could help you with that,” the other went on, callously disregarding Glorfindel’s existential crisis in his unshakeable pragmatism. “But you’d have to pay me the common rate for an emergency locksmith.”

That made Glorfindel look up once more; he’d always been so distracted by the darkly magnetic aura of the furtive, slender man with the impressive glower that he’d never stopped to notice that his clothes, while well-tailored, seemed rather threadbare and had been mended with meticulous skill.

The complex they inhabited was far from cheap to live in, and an ungracious but pervasive thought arose in Glorfindel’s befuddled mind: How could this man afford to pay his rent?

As far as he could tell, the mysterious siren with whom he shared a floor and the occasional lift ride went out at all hours of the night, often only returning after morning light when Glorfindel, rising from another night of bleak insomnia, got ready to go to work himself.

“Are you a locksmith?” he asked suspiciously.

“Something of the sort,” the smirking man gave back with a nervous shrug. “I can open your door, right now, isn’t that what matters?”

Glorfindel hesitated for a moment. “What’s your name?”

“Erestor, but don’t worry, there won’t be an official bill.”

The unshakeable sensation of doing something wicked and reprehensible overcame Glorfindel, but he nodded solemnly. “Very well, Erestor. I shall pay you…and I’d like to invite you to stay over for dinner sometime. As a reparation for the time you’ll lose getting me out of this mess?”

Cocking one eyebrow, Erestor moved down the hallway to retrieve his tools from his own flat. “This won’t take all evening,” he said calmly.

“Maybe…it could?” Glorfindel heard himself say in a voice that sounded considerably more suave and confident than he felt.

As soon as he was alone in the hallway again, Glorfindel pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation; his glasses were in the flat and his head had started pounding with a tension headache five minutes ago.

He truly hoped that Erestor would make good on his promise to overcome the treacherous lock quickly.

"You have to move away from the door," a soft, mocking voice resounded.

Glorfindel’s head snapped up, and when he beheld Erestor once more, his tongue went numb in his mouth—he’d tied up his glossy, dark hair neatly and squatted down before the lock, squinting at it in concentration.

The alluring shape of his behind and the elegant curve of his spine didn’t go unnoticed, and Glorfindel desperately tried to redirect his wandering thoughts to something less incriminating.

“Listen, I’m an ophthalmologist—if I can offer my professional services to you one of these days…”

Looking up from his work, his hands enviably steady, Erestor merely cocked one eyebrow. “My eyes are fine, thank you. There just seems to be a considerable amount of lint and other debris wedged into this lock. Do you ever check your key before ramming it into the keyhole?”

Shamefacedly, Glorfindel had to admit that he did indeed not do such a simple inspection.

“I see,” Erestor mumbled distractedly. “No problem!”

His slender wrists were moving delicately until Glorfindel heard the telltale click echoing through the deserted hallway, and his heart sank.

“There we are,” Erestor declared, provocatively pushing open the door and stepping back.

“Do you…want to come in?” Glorfindel asked, all but stumbling over his words.

To his surprise, Erestor seemed to consider his invitation for a few seconds before shaking his head in what looked strangely akin to dismay and regret. “I must be somewhere else. Another time, maybe!”

Softening that ambiguous rejection of Glorfindel’s clumsy advances with a radiant smile, he strode towards the stairwell, tucking his tools surreptitiously under his arm.

Glorfindel threw his suitcase on the bed—he’d only just come home from a symposium about new laser technologies, and he already yearned to be anywhere other than his deserted, slightly disorganised flat.

For three days, he’d been bathed in the company of his peers. At that moment, he’d found them rather dull and boorish, but he now regretted every ungenerous thought bitterly as the gaping emptiness of his own home seemed to expand like a black hole, ready to suck every last drop of light and happiness out of his soul.

Just as he was about to do something laughably dramatic, though, he heard the loose board outside his front door creak treacherously.

Rushing to the spyhole, he was taken over by a recklessly idiotic idea—so much for having overcome that first impulse of madness!

Before he could give himself a moment to think things over, he strode out the door and looked around as if searching for something, pointedly feigning not to notice Erestor standing just outside his own flat.

“I was sure I’ve left it somewhere around here,” Glorfindel mumbled, his eyes glued to the worn carpet, and suppressed a grin as he heard his door clunk shut. “Oh misery!” he exclaimed. “Locked out again! And it’s the middle of the night!”

“I wouldn’t have thought that eye doctors have to work this late,” Erestor commented dryly, gesturing at the long, white coat Glorfindel was wearing and his uncharacteristically neat, smooth hairdo.

“I’ve only just come home from a medical convention,” Glorfindel explained defensively, as he didn’t want the other to get exactly the right impression of what was happening here.

“And, instead of going to bed and resting, you came out here to search for…” Erestor cocked his head quizzically as if it was entirely normal to have vaguely flirty conversations with one’s neighbours in the middle of the night.

“My bag,” Glorfindel replied, trying his best to look appropriately crestfallen. “My medical bag! It was full of goodies too!”

“As I surmise that you’ve been inside your flat already, I dare say that you’ve retrieved your key from said bag and consequently took it in. Do you need help looking for it?” It was evident in Erestor’s tone that he hadn’t in the least bought Glorfindel’s little subterfuge. “I could unlock your door again, and tonight, I have no other plans, so I’d gladly take you up on that late-night snack if you’re not too tired.”

Startled, Glorfindel stared at the apparition in worn grey overalls—had he ever found sturdy work garb to be this attractive before?—partially obscuring a clean, orange button-down until he was sure that his eyes were positively bulging out of his skull.

“Or did you change your mind in the meantime?”

At once, Glorfindel shook his head vehemently, carelessly unravelling his uncharacteristically tidy bun. “By all means, unlock my door and come in!”

All fatigue seemed to have drained out of his system, and he was shifting from one foot to the other impatiently, overjoyed at the prospect of observing those nimble fingers at work again.

Erestor smiled, tapping his skilful fingers against his toolbox playfully, and waited patiently.

“If you want me to beg, I’ll beg,” Glorfindel murmured, suddenly struck with how profoundly unreasonable his whole ploy had been. “I just want to get back into my flat…now more than ever!”

With a breathy peal of laughter, the unorthodox locksmith bent to his task, humming happily under his breath at the sight of the flustered doctor hovering above him.

As soon as the door swung open with a protesting groan, Erestor burst into laughter. “Your pesky bag seems to have hidden in plain sight! It’s right there, in the middle of the foyer, glaring at us!”

Ducking his head in shame at being found out, Glorfindel slunk in and threw an exasperated look into his clean but empty kitchen—he’d not been home, and he knew his fridge to be woefully empty.

“Can I maybe tempt you with delivery food? I’m afraid I don’t have anything edible in the house,” he confessed, avoiding Erestor’s amused gaze.

“Aren’t you a doctor?”

“I’m an eye doctor,” Glorfindel laughed. “And pizza is food for the soul!”

That was a statement with which even Erestor, contrary by nature, couldn’t disagree, so he followed his distracted host into a slightly cluttered living room where he simply halted.

“You may sit,” Glorfindel invited, hoping that he could at least unearth something to drink from the depths of his refrigerator.

“I’m dirty,” Erestor replied.

“Take the overalls off!” Moving towards the kitchen slowly while also refusing to take his eyes off his guest in case he took him by his word, Glorfindel wracked his brain for something smart and charming to say. “Do you also come from work?”

“Something of that kind, yes,” Erestor grinned. The sound of the fastenings of his protective garment coming undone echoed through the tense silence between them, and Glorfindel swallowed thickly.

The need for a beverage was both eclipsed and exacerbated by the revelation of Erestor’s maddeningly form-fitting trousers and impossibly unwrinkled shirt, leaving Glorfindel hovering on the threshold of the kitchen indecisively.

“Are these yours?” Erestor asked with a hint of sharp interest in his voice as he held up a pair of lightweight glasses that had been threatening to slip off the coffee table.

“Hmmm,” humming his embarrassed assent, Glorfindel decided that the refreshments could wait a little longer.

“Very sexy! Put them on for me,” Erestor demanded, getting to his feet and padding over like a sleek predator on the prowl. “I do want you to have all your senses about you when I name my price for my second rescue mission!”

“I thought I’d pay for dinner,” Glorfindel said somewhat sheepishly as he took his glasses and slid them onto his face; Erestor’s impish expression—his twinkling eyes and the tiny wrinkles around his smirking mouth—came into sudden focus.

Before he could dispel the suffocating mist of confusion and desire pervading the room, Glorfindel felt a strong, slightly calloused hand wrap around the back of his neck, and then, warm, soft lips brushed across his own.

“That too,” Erestor smiled. “Later. Much later!”

↬ Masterlist

Thank you so much for joining me on this new adventure.

@fellowshipofthefics here's the last one for May!

Lots of love from me!

32 notes · View notes