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writingfromkitchenator · 4 years

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Bilbo ~ Humility

1,000 Followers Challenge!

Bonus fic

Sequel to Xenophobia

Words: 1,439

Warnings: Fear/nervousness of another race, anxiety, passing out, fluff

It seemed far too soon that your home was full of dwarves, and even though they were laughing and had all greeted you politely, it didn’t stop the nerves in your stomach turning it over and over again.

You couldn’t help but think that thirteen dwarves were just too many for you straight away.

Bilbo was never far away, much to your relief, often just ensuring that you were okay, even as you kept yourself busy in the kitchen, finalising everything as they all ordered the dining room and got themselves settled after a long journey here.

“Did you need a hand with anything my lady?”

You jumped at the voice, almost dropping the pot you were holding, but Bofur just gave you a friendly smile, waiting for your answer.

You were ashamed to hear your voice shake a little. “Um…you can start taking dishes out if you like?”

Bofur nods and starts to carry dishes out, Dori and Ori soon joining him. On the quiet, they raised concern with Bilbo as you seemed to jump each time they entered the room. Bilbo reassured them that everything was fine, but was quick to return to your side when they went back to the dining room.

“Are you alright?” He asked quietly, his arm wrapping around your waist, making you tense for a moment.

You sigh, letting yourself relax in his arms and nod. “Yes, of course.”

Bilbo frowns worriedly, seeing the nervousness in your eye. “Y/N…”

“This is…just a lot Bilbo, but I’ll be okay, these are your friends.” You give him a reassuring smile. “Come on, I’ve got two more dishes to finish and then I’ll be in to join you all.”

He kisses your temple lightly. “No one is taking me anywhere, if that is what you are worried about, just as you aren’t going to be asked to go anywhere.”

You kiss his cheek reassuringly and then chase him from the kitchen, the nerves in your stomach having eased a little at his words. You know that he had mentioned it earlier, but it seemed that, until now, it had still been niggling away at you.

Finally letting out a steadying breath, you gather the remaining dishes and move into the dining room to join them.

Dinner started a little on edge, occasionally flinching a little at some of the dwarves manners, but it seemed that they realised when they saw and there was more than once that they apologised, which only made you realise what you were doing and apologise back.

Bilbo only chuckled each time it happened.

Soon though, you were listening to the tales they told in rapt fascination, not believing some of the things they were saying to what was happening in the borders beyond the Shire. Bilbo seemed to know just the questions to ask, which was of some relief because you had a few, but you weren’t sure how to really ask them without sounding too naive.

Then, talk turned to darker things and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat before excusing yourself, moving to the kitchen to start cleaning up, despite assurances that you would have help, but you shook your head and told them to enjoy their time together, it wasn’t the first time that you’d have to clean up after a large group gathering.

Unfortunately the kitchen wasn’t as far enough away from the conversation as you hoped, their voice carrying down the hall, still talking of what was possibly coming, about how orcs and goblins were more active, and rumours of darkness growing in Mordor.

It wasn’t until you dropped a plate on the floor that you realised that your hands were shaking, silence greeting you from the other room as you took a deep breath, quickly crouching down to gather the pieces.

Bilbo was there a moment later. “Are you alright?”

You nod. “Yes, it just slipped from my hand, that’s all.”

He helped you clean up the rest of the plate from the floor, his hand resting on yours and you give him smile. “Sometimes it’s better to know these things Y/N, they might just affect us one day.”

“I know,” You said quietly. “But knowing is also just…slightly terrifying.”

Bilbo smiles and nods. “It is, I always thought I lived through more in that year than I thought I would survive, but I’m still here, aren’t I? Just because bad things happen and are happening, doesn’t mean that we need to live in fear of them all the time, if we did that, it wouldn’t be much of a life now, would it?”

You give him a small laugh and shake your head. “No, no it wouldn’t.”

“A prime example is that lot in there, right?” Bilbo chuckles. “You were starting to actually relax with them.”

Your chuckle was genuine this time and you give him a small nudge before he kisses you softly and leaves you be again.

You eventually give up on cleaning, deciding it can wait till the morning, and instead start making a large batch of tea, bringing in several trays to the room, all the dwarves seeming grateful for the hot drink and small cakes that came along with it.

It was as you were coming back again that a comment got your attention.

“So when are you coming to visit Erebor again Bilbo? Y/N is very welcome to come along too.”

You froze in the hall, everything coming rushing back as fear gripped you and made your heart sound so loudly in your ears.

Bilbo gives a small chuckle. “I don’t think Y/N is quiet ready for such an adventure quiet yet Bofur, she is much more comfortable here.”

Your heart ached a little for Bilbo, knowing that a part of him wanted to go back out there, despite his love for comforts at home, and the thought of holding him back from that…

“It’d be good for her,” Bofur said rather cheerfully, followed by several agreements from some of the other dwarves. “She might even find it enjoyable seeing all sorts of new things.”

“Need I remind you that you had enough trouble getting me out my door,” Bilbo said, amused. “If it wasn’t for a certain wizard, then I probably wouldn’t have.”

“I’m sure Gandalf would love to upset another hobbit’s life,” Balin laughed. “He seemed rather keen the last time.”

“Amused, you mean,” Bilbo said. “As much as he meant well.”

“You could come back with us,” Thorin said. “The two of you would be well protected.”

“While tempting,” Bilbo chuckled again, even as your heart leapt into your throat. “That would not be a decision I could make on my own, Y/N needs to be in here too.”

“Oh, she’d have nothing to worry about,” Bofur said happily. “Certainly not trolls, or goblins or orcs, although the sightings are increasing again, so maybe just a small worry, but certainly no fire breathing dragons anymore, that was nice and sorted for us, so really it’s just-”

There was a thud and Bilbo was quickly on his feet to look around the corner, sighing as he sees you passed out on the floor.

“Well, that’s sudden.” Bofur said, the first in the doorway quickly followed by the rest of the dwarves wondering what had happened.

Bilbo shakes his head and hurries over to you. “Seems you have a knack for this Bofur, you might just have to stay away from the rest of Shire.”

This earns a round of laughs from the dwarves, but they all help Bilbo move you out of the way and try and wake you up again, quickly promising Bilbo not to bring up travels again, at least not for the moment, and disappeared to go and handle any cleaning left in the kitchen as an apology.

Once you did wake up and Bilbo had you settled, you decided that while you still weren’t overly sure of the dwarves, there sense of humour a little odd, but they certainly weren’t bad, not as bad as what you’d been warned of growing up, and that started just a small thought in the back of your mind, a worryingly tempting thought, of just how many things you’d been told were wrong and that maybe leaving home wasn’t as scary as it should have been.

You watched Bilbo with the dwarves of Erebor, sipping at the hot tea in your hands, and decided that, for the moment, it was a thought for another day, tomorrow at least, and for now you would just learn all that you could about the friends that Bilbo kept.

#the hobbit #bilbo #bilbo x reader #short #drabbles #1000 followers challenge

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ladyideal · 4 years

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Hope

Pairing: Daddy!Eomer x reader

Word Count: 1652

Warnings: mention of small injury, fluff

Summary: Requested by @asraime. just Eomer and his daughter spending time together and getting into slight mischief.

A/N: Okay, I know I lied that Bones will be up today, but I wanted to write for another Karl Urban character. he does them all sooo well, and Eomer is one of my favorites from him.

If anyone could call Eomer, they would realize he had many titles. He was a nephew, a cousin, a lord of the mark, the third marshal, a king, a husband, and lastly, a father. He was a father to not just one, but two.

A son.

And a daughter to spoil.

Life as a princess of Rohan was fun, bright, but absolutely still recovering from the war. There was still lingering evidence of families struggling to keep themselves afloat. It had only made both your parents, especially your father, busier than normal.

This time, he had friends, not enemies.

Peace, not war.

So it only came as a shock, when your brother, Elfwine, confided to you in secret, that he was not interested in the throne. Swords and shields, bows and arrows, were the way of the land, and that's how he would rather rule, instead of on a throne.

You swore you would never tell.

Eventually, your brother announced his thoughts a few weeks later, over dinner, leading to a many very heated arguments that had you eventually excused yourself from. Sure, you had gone with your father whenever he took diplomatic trips, but it was never in your future to be the crowned heir. You were just curious of Gondor, and the hobbits at the Shire.

Till now.

Another year went by before Eomer agreed to the changes. His firstborn abdicated, and would take on the title of the next Marshal, while the younger of his kids would become the next ruling Queen.

Which meant only one thing: More work and lessons.

You were expected to attend meetings, attend diplomatic parties, attend the trips to various different parts of Rohan as the country returned to its former glory after the costly war. For the most part, you shouldered the weight of it all with a brave smile to the public, showing no evidence of the late night anxiety when you would cling to Eomer in shoulder wrecking sobs.

It was too much and not enough at times. There were times during the harder weeks that you wanted to ride your horse, Astra, out of Rohan and never look back. Yet there were times, all you wanted to do was to take on more projects, and exhaust yourself in the name of having your people live a better life.

You had tried it once. After a frustrating morning with the financial adviser, you had taken your horse out for a ride into the countryside, and away from all the commotion. There, you spent the rest of the day, on your own and with your thoughts. It was evening before you decided that it was time to head home.

It wasn't your mother's furious tone, nor the disappointment in her words as she berated you for being so reckless, that swayed you to be more careful in the future. What did convince you was the brief look of fear within Eomer's eyes you'd seen when you returned, and was your first time that you'd ever seen such a response from your Father.

It broke your heart into pieces when he pulled you into his arms, crying into your shoulder that he was sorry about putting everything onto your shoulder all at once. It should've been you that apologized, not him. You realized then, that it wasn't because you were crown or his heir, you were family and he'd lost many during his early years.

A knock came at your door.

You looked up from your notes, noticing that the sun was dipping below the horizon, sparkling the sky above with a prism of a breathtaking rainbow.

The door opened, revealing Eomer looking concerned for you.

"Hi dad," You greeted, brightening up as he crossed the threshold into your room. His eyes studied your barely concealed black circles, and an everlasting look of exhaustion that never seemed to fade away.

"Y/N," Eomer greeted, gently squeezing you in a brief hug. "Why don't we take our dinner out to our spot? The sunset is beautiful today."

Not wanting to let the chance fly by, you immediately agreed. Before long, your father was on Firefoot, and you on Astra with a picnic basket in hand. A couple guards came along, but fell behind in an effort to keep privacy between father and daughter.

It was supposedly a spot he'd found back when he was just the nephew to the late King Theoden, and a newly Third Marshal of the Rohirrim. His wife knew of the spot, but pretended to play ignorance on not knowing where the place was.

"Were you ever ready to become King?" You asked after settling down against a lone tree upon the hill. It overlooked Edoras, and the multitude of huts surrounding the hill fort that served as the center of power for Rohan. The view was breathtaking, and wonderfully scenic, and absolutely your spot to spend precious time with your dad.

"No. Uncle Theoden had Theodred to be first in line," Your dad spoke, taking out the items within the basket. "He was killed at the Fords of Isen though. Uncle never got to speak with his son before Theodred passed."

It was barely even considered history, given what had happened wasn't so long with the war of the ring. A good majority of the people had gone through the horrors of war, of blood, and of death. All capable men were to take up arms.

It was a grisly war, one that was still fully engraved in your father's mind for the rest of his life. For many people throughout the Middle Earth, the same sentiments could be felt throughout the land.

"Do you think it'll happen again?" You asked, starting on your light dinner. "Y'know the whole ring and everything?"

Eomer barked out a laugh. "We'll be ready if something like this happens again," He spoke, gazing down at the capital of Rohan. "Your old man's not ready to lay down his sword just yet. Even if something happens after my time has gone, I hope you and your brother will remember that, in times of need, you have friends to rely on in Gondor, at the Shire, and across Middle Earth. No matter what happens, hope is never lost."

"You think so?"

"I know so," He reached forward to gently squeeze the dimples that you had inherited from him.

"Dad!" You complained half heartedly, squealing out of his grasp. With a slight grin, he returned to the food in front.

"Did you sprain your wrist again?" He asked, after a moment of content silence. "How?"

You nodded slowly. "Fell off. Again."

Your father let out a labored sigh. "Don't let your mother hear of this later. We can stop by the healers, and get that wrapped up before it gets worse," he grumbled into his food. "Or I'll never hear the end from her."

You laughed, but sobered up immediately at his pointed glare. "Mom's going to find out sooner or later."

Eomer grumbled wordlessly, but continued eating what's left of the small dinner. As the sun went down below the horizon, your horses were untethered for the short ride back home.

"Can I tell you something dad?" You asked, hauling yourself back onto the saddle with practiced ease.

"Of course, my love. You can tell me anything," Your dad pulled Firefoot close to yours, eyeing you and raising his eyebrow in question. It wasn't until you were halfway back home till you spoke up again.

"What if I do something wrong? Or even say something wrong?" You asked, chewing on your bottom lip anxiously. "I'm afraid of not getting things right."

"Y/N, listen to me," He spoke. "You might not get everything right, but what you stand up for, and what your intentions are, are worth much more than words alone. We are in the service of the Rohirrim, not them to us. It is because of them that we are here today."

"Were you scared when you became King?"

"Terrified," Your dad spoke, looking forward as the stables grew nearer. "I did what I thought was right, and listened to the people."

You lapsed into silence for the rest of the trip home, only grumbling in pain when you couldn't swing yourself down your horse and needed help. Once Eomer settled you down on your feet, he took your non injured hand in his.

"Let's get that wrapped up, shall we?"

After having the wrist prodded, checked, and wrapped, you departed from the healers with your father in tow with a sheepish grin.

"Do you think Mother will-?" You stopped short as you caught a familiar figure standing in front of the hallway towards your room. From behind, you heard your father audibly groan.

"So this is where my daughter and husband have disappeared to for the last few hours," Your mother spoke disapprovingly, arms still crossed against her chest with a rather upset look.

"Hi mom," You greeted quietly, slightly shrinking under her glare. If you didn't stop her at this pass, she would never be stopped.

"Why are you hiding your wrist, Y/N?" Her eyes narrowed at your half hiddened wrist. "Did you fall off your horse again? For Valar's sake, Eomer, when will you stop bringing her outside of safety and hurting our child? And when will you be more careful, Y/N? This isn't the first time anymore!"

"Mooooom," you whined.

"And where do you think you're sneaking off to, Eomer?" She snapped.

"My love, I've still-."

But even he as king, couldn't avoid the wrath of his wife and queen.

"Oh no you don't. You got her into this mess, now you're getting her out."

You and your father groaned, but with a nod, escorted you back to your room. Thankfully, you had a loving father and King ready to help you every step of the way.

Permanent Tags: @mournthewicked @asraime @mournthewicked (Taglist is open!)

#eomer!!!!!#so cute #love him #eomer x reader #lotr #tolkien #reader insert #deb writes

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blankdblank · 4 years

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Next Caller Pt 28

“Come in!” Belly called out through the door making Thorin look from the sports car out front of your place. Cautiously he turned the doorknob and eased the door open bringing the Raven dangling from the arch across from the door with a grin on his face to his attention. “Contracts are being signed, come in.”

Thorin nodded and stepped through the door he eased shut behind himself watching Roac fly off after Belly leaving him confused a moment alone in the entrance hall.

Moving farther in the house he made for the kitchen assuming that if you were signing contracts that you would be in the dining room. In cheerful Hobbitish he could hear a pair of voices chatting with you and once in the kitchen he smirked seeing you cross legged on your bench at the table beside Ecthellion hearing one of the men over the video chat saying, “We are so thrilled to have finally gotten ahold of you. This show has just taken off like wildfire since The Shire caught onto it.”

His partner said, “Yes, and no matter what the issues with it being limited to solely Hobbit frequencies in television we assure you that on our streaming platform anyone with a membership could get to see just how amazing your show is.”

“Thank you,” you replied in Hobbitish, “It’s been incredible seeing how well the show has just taken off. We’ve even gotten offers to extend merch for it as well which my co-owner has been thinking on herself.”

Looking down again when Ecthellion brought out the last packet of contracts pre signed by them you signed your name and caught their spreading grins through the screen. Thank you’s were traded with well wishes and Ecthellion said, “I am on my way to your office with your copy of the paperwork right now gentlemen.” Signing off before shutting down the laptop he added to his bag and stole a hug from you kissing your forehead, “Sorry Dear, they sprung it on me two hours ago after they had found out about the culling that freed up objections. Want a bump to their spring lineup.”

Shaking your head you said, “No problem, I was awake. Drive safe.”

He chuckled and stood lifting his bag saying, “Enjoy your snuggling.”

Making you roll your eyes and shift on your seat to grin at Thorin, who said, “Hobbits are picking up the show?”

“My old tv show. All three seasons, gonna make a big thing of the voice actor from the Bunny Show voicing and animating it. Celebrian is pretty thrilled about it.”

Moving to the table he sat down asking, “Which streaming platform?”

“Bombedil.” Parting his lips making you giggle, “I know, it’s so crazy they bought stream time for two years! So huge!”

“That is huge, can I ask for how much?”

“2 million, but split between the both of us owners and paid out over two years it’s much more sensible than it sounds.”

“I’m so proud of you that is incredible.” He said laying his hand on yours resting on your knee smiling deeper at the blushing creeping grin his words triggered from you.

“Well, it’s only the beginning it seems for the show, it seems the Buckelberry Awards have put me in the pool for the Old Timer Award, for old shows that make a comeback. Animation and vocals.”

“Old Timer?” He chuckled out.

With a giggle you replied, “More than a century old.”

“If you win,”

“I most likely won’t, I hear it’s a rough competition most years.”

“Oh-,”

You pointed at him and said, “I don’t need awards. I’ve won two costume ribbons and I am good for life with that.” Making him chuckle again, “Sleep well?” You asked breaking the conversation to a different topic.

He didn’t end up staying long once Frerin called him to join in on his own stop to see Gloin. Where the first was the next day their lease would be up in two months and forcing his brother and Nephews together in one time for actual house hunting and he knew right where to start. From the list of Dwobbit dwellings that he and Gloin had been emailing about he spent the past couple weeks digging through. Since first seeing your home that Gloin had helped you into the endless traveling and hotels bringing him back to another parking garage and lift up to his assigned rooms that deep ache for something solid to return home to.

A spacious cave home in the larger portion of your own suburb. It needed some serious love and on his days off between his races he would head the relative crews to adjust it to everyone’s styles. Mainly shelving and other built ins were the most of the structural adjustments and the boys loved all the space they would have in the new place that their uncle hoped to design with ample space for guests. It would be slow even with his money to design the place and to their surprise Gloin already had the papers drawn up in Frerin’s name alone, already stealthily planning on the trio eventually moving out granting him more space to decorate. Thorin would end up with the second Master bedroom even though he seemed reluctant to plan on decorating the dwelling to his taste at all, somehow feeling like a sham compared to the thought of helping you fix up your home.

While he was off helping his brother settle his roots and head home again to start designing you were off on an adventure of your own. Dusting off your copy of your show you settled back to relearn after not having seen it in centuries since it was shut down in your refusal to pay your father’s clan your earnings. Disk by disk it all came back and calling it a night at a decent time you went to bed to be up and cheerful enough to get through the next show that could lull you to sleep if you didn’t with how slow paced the first part would slow to until the heroine would be found on the edge of impossible.

“17k,” you muttered after having confirmed that your first check had been direct deposited into your account at 4 in the morning. Leaving 18k you slid your checkbook closer to you and across your latest in the Alice in Wonderland checkbook with the walrus and the carpenter on it you wrote out the check to repay Glori for his fronting you the gold to pay off your scooter.

Once again checking your email you smirked seeing the confirmation of the bunk bed crew coming to install your beds in your sisters’ room on Friday. Opening the saved mattress company website you went ahead and purchased the four saved mattresses for the bunk beds to your account in full that would show up on Thursday. Next the sea foam cushioned headboard and platform bed frame for your mother and Cirdan’s bed along with the four platform bed frames with cushioned headboards for the blue and orange bedroom were ordered.

Durin, for the first three hours the Durins listened to their ancestor’s forces grouping up with Wolsey and his forces shifting gears. Threat was aimed at Osgiliath and telling of an Ent uprising in Isengard had grated him possession of Holm. Though the admission of that had the cackling villain in his cage saying they would never find their precious Bunny. Their dearest friend who was assumed to have been lost in the waters flooding Isengard.

A switch however had it back to Bunny when it seemed the mood had sunk to the lowest for the avenging heroes. On the edge of a white city she awoke after being left by the Ent who had spent the past ten minutes singing a song. The song offering a reluctant state of calm to the listeners before a low gravely offering of long sleep from the protective Ent laying the damsel down in the tall grass. Eyes shooting open to the vibrations of distant marching through the earth were followed by the sound of a distant cannon however had her rolling over into all fours to start sprinting for the nearest shelter. Osgiliath. More and more moods sank while between the scrambling soldiers and beginnings of attacks from the dark forces encroaching they listened to the odd gathering of scraps and random objects.

Loud explosions edited to muffle to mimic ringing in Bunny’s ears with overlaid muffled orders and shouts played in the background while you kept narrating from the unknown third person narrator yet to be introduced. A scattering canon was fashioned and atop one of the highest towers still standing Bunny fired off in various directions giant balls of energy that once hitting he earth expanded two feet then snapped back in tighter sucking those within fifty feet of it, the closest being vaporized before the ball would explode into sporadic streaks of energy vaporizing others. Around the city the forces dwindled with the forces inside rallying to destroy those within the city walls thankful for their unknown protector. When the hull of the cannon snapped at its use being extended as long as possible it crumbled and wielding the largest piece of the stand she could muster to hold Bunny descended to try and aid those within the walls.

Swords clashed and arrows flew between explosions taking out walls more than once causing Bunny to stumble. “And that’s when she saw it, the foot of a small child cowering while the galloping brute with a mace overhead imbedded with nails swung carelessly into anyone and everything within his reach. Contorted and bred on malice and contempt for everything fair, everything he once was and had been torn from him, the beast rampaged tirelessly against the arrows lodged in his legs in failed tries to stop him. That was when she rose from the latest blast coating with her from debris off the last tower collapsing. Hair strewn about her lodging between tiny rocks and splinters of crushed timber beams and arches strewn about the courtyard in which she had fallen.

Between her now ash colored curls her eyes landed on the approaching fiend and clenching her fist around the hastily made handle of the support turned bludgeoning tool up she shot. Right in the fall of his mace the tiny terror clashed her tool knocking the deadly mace right in the proper spot to send it soaring from his hand. Victory however was not at hand just yet as in the force to swing the tool that hard her body had twisted out of position to block his next blow from his foot in a one legged re-gathering of his balance. Bouncing and tumbling across the rubble coated ground she came to a stop and in a trembling rise to all fours she groaned her way upwards in the beasts step past my hiding place.”

Gasps rippled through the masses listening hearing now at least a hint who the narrator was.

Again and again she was thrown and beaten down only to rise again making the narrator coil up more until on her back she laid coughing for air bloody and broken after managing to be thrown closer to a small crossbow. Loosely it was lodged under a beam allowing her to shoot the beast between the eyes in his leer over her ready to stomp the life out of her.

“In the loud crashing of their brutal battle soldiers had gathered to bring aid and in the rising cloud of dust over I raced to kneel beside her seeing again those same fearless glowing eyes brimming with kindness settle on my feeble self. Under the sight of flying shark crafts high above those same eyes closed in the streak of a dirt cleansing tear leaving a single hint of there being a person under all that blood and debris.”

The Captain of the Citadel approached with his soldiers and asked him what he’s doing here the boy stated he was running for the passages below the city as his father had ordered the unconscious woman saved his life from the beast

Atop two braced shields between the group of soldiers Bunny is carried to the Healers where the boy remains by her side while the second wave of forces attack with aid from Durin and Wolseys’ forces.

The King comes himself to inspect the woman the narrator is revealed as the Crown Prince, easing the chain around her neck up he lifts the pendant with a rabbit footprint set into a polished sphere of emerald.

Wolsey came to speak to the King after having come from the battle and spots Bunny. His saying her name is the last thing heard before the narrator saying, “I had no clue just how profound an effect that woman would have on my life. And in all these years there wasn’t a day where I didn’t think of my savior and how for decades I would not realize just how she had stolen my heart. But I wasn’t the only one to openly admit to her innocent thievery.”

“I thought you were almost gonna kill Bunny off!” Giggling in the hall you shifted the strap of your bag on your shoulder watching the next group get ready to start their own shift. “The Prince then? Bunny ends up with him?” Again you giggled and she huffed, “I hate this wait it out thing. This could be considered torture you know? The guys expect me to know something since I work on the show you know.”

“All the more reason to keep you in the dark.” Making her huff while you pulled out your phone after wondering about your first drive to the shop.

Peering over your shoulder she saw your thumb hovering over the open text chat for Thorin making her smirk, first at the name but then at the picture of the pair of you making faces in your trip. “Texting your snuggle buddy?”

“Wondering where I’m gonna park. Not sure if I can-,”

Reaching over in the absent tilt of your hand when you turned your head to wave at the man wishing you good morning on his way into his office she typed hastily, ‘Hey, Handsome, on my way. Where do you want me?’

“Hey-!” Turning your head you eyed the message then narrowed your eyes in a glance up at her while she gave a giggle and turned for the lift. “That-,”

Following after her you hugged and she said, “Oh like you haven’t teased worse.”

“Still-,”

“Where do you want me?”

Thorin mumbled and Dwalin grumbled back, “Bout a foot to your right would suffice, you’re cramping my caboose.” He said in an awkward twist around his frozen cousin who snapped out of his current grind mindset to answer your personal ring tone.

Thorin inched over and said, “Jaqi sent me that.” Dwalin chuckled in eyeing the message and turned back to finish his order with the mint drizzle he had grabbed. “That’s not helping.”

Balin behind him claimed his phone and typed back, ‘Park in my lot anytime, my Mafioso.’ A smile puffed his cheeks up when Thorin turned to look at him from Dwalin taking his phone back, “Just telling her she’s welcome to our lot. Clearly she’s asking about her scooter.” He said walking away sneaking a wink to his deeply smirking brother on to starting another order after passing the last over.

Thorin looked at the message, “Park in my lot anytime?! Do you know what that sounds like?!”

Dwalin chuckled patting him on the back rumbling lowly, “Like a fine response to ‘Where do you want me?’ Tit for tat.”

Thorin, “Ti-, don’t even get me started on that.” Looking to Balin he asked, “My Mafioso?! Mine?!”

At the counter a woman sighed making Thorin’s face drop and he pocketed his phone when she said, “The torment. Bare your soul. Just tell your lover how you feel, your family will have to understand. You can’t stop love.” She said lifting her mug she carried to her seat of still swooning friends wondering about Bunny’s love life from the ending of the show.

Thorin looked at Dwalin as he said, “Bare your soul.”

Thorin grumbled back, “How did my life become a soap opera for the world to pine over?”

Dwalin chuckled saying, “Two words,” Thorin nodded and Dwalin continued, “Surprise me.” Chuckling at Thorin’s turn to focus on his drink again with his mind wandering back to that first trip of yours into their little shop by chance when he couldn’t take his eyes off you or resist going up to talk to you again.

“Vana help me,” You said smoothing your hand through your bangs hanging into your face to brush them behind your ear again.

Mal leaned in and squeaked at the reply, “Park in his lot anytime!” Bumping her arm into yours earning an eye roll from you, “His Mafioso, he said his.” She pointed at your necklace again, “Told you. Your babies are having babies and now he’s getting all domestic on you pining helplessly. Couldn’t stop staring the other night by the way, like every other time I’ve seen him near you. He’s hooked, you little opiate you.”

Shaking your head you giggled saying, “I’m drugs now, thank you.”

She giggled again saying as she adjusted BamBam’s carrier bag in her arms while he napped, “It’s true, for him,” leaning in she added in a whisper, “His little green fairy.”

Shaking your head again you giggled out, “That’s absinthe.”

“Still illegal,” she said stepping to the opening doors of the lift letting you out into the garage to lead the way to your scooter section she strapped the bag into the basket mounted where her back half of her seat used to sit secured to the backrest to keep BamBam and other animals she transported safely on the pastel pink scooter.

“Have fun Mal.” You said and she smirked adding her own helmet straddling her idling scooter.

With a finger wave she said, “Enjoy your stop with your Mug Dealer.” Then took off leaving you shaking your head and exhaling deeply before brushing your hair back to add your own helmet. A turn of the key later and you raised the kickstands with a press of the right pedal and you were off to see where you could park to be out of the way for the workers in the shop. Trying your hardest not to imagine Thorin rumbling those words to you in a very different context than over a arming spot threatening to make you blush the closer you got.

Around the shop you drove and the trio’s eyes followed you until you vanished from sight, the action signaling the woman at the table to tap her friends’ arms casting them to silence.

Trotting on toe top in your usual bubbly way around the shop you wove between those passing on the streets and those exiting the shop ready to see their friends or return to work from their breaks to conference about the show. Though once you got up to the counter Thorin blurted out, “I’ve been framed.”

With a brow ticked up you fired back quite innocently though no less temptingly for the already flustered Dwarf. “Do you need a lawyer I know a few?”

“No, I was planning on handling this out of court.”

At your lips puckering before your voice sounded his brows twitched upwards, “Ooh is that the oiled up shirtless duel out of court settling or an under the table money trading type of deal?”

Thorin letting out a growling grumble through his instant deep blush spreading across his cheeks and turned away muttering to himself as if in an order, “Tea.”

In a giggle curious for what you said but also in amusement of his reaction you looked to the chuckling brothers with bill in hand that Dwalin accepted as you asked, “I missed something?”

Dwalin shook his head, “Nope, you certainly did not miss.” Narrowing your eyes a moment you looked him over then shook your head at his deepening smirk and turned for your usual seat.

Balin however lingered by Thorin’s side and muttered, “Alright, tit for tat remember that. Tillie just got in you go relax.”

Heaving a deep breath his chest sank then rose in a mustering of courage after having spotted the table of women already whispering about the pair of you with chins in their palms. Cradling your mug he walked to your table and said as he set it down. “Alright, I’ve got a tat for you.”

With brows raised in a glance up from your journal you were sketching in that you closed around your pen, smirking in asking, “A tat for me? Like a tattoo?”

“What? No, for your t-,” shaking his head your eyes narrowed curiously as he blurted out, “I am not bringing up your-,” his outstretched fingers motioning in a circle half heartedly gesturing to your chest. Deeply he exhaled curling his fingers on the hand he set on the table while you leaned forward only nearly drawing his eyes to your chest again at the table pressing your cleavage up more into his view over the criss-crossing tank top under your open flannel. “We should go to the zoo.”

“Now?”

“No, Wednesday. I’ll have to find some kids.” Again you giggled and he said, “And their parents, from my clan...Dwalin is going!” He added loudly glaring at his cousin.

Dwalin nodded, “Where?”

“The zoo!”

Dwalin’s eyes narrowed and Balin said, “Ooh, Billi has been asking to go again, we’re going too, on-,”

Thorin, “Wednesday!”

Balin nodded, “Yes! Can’t wait to see you there as well.”

With cup in hand Dwalin approached bringing Thorin his distraction brew in excuse to get closer only to see him blush as you took a picture of your mug asking, “So, Wednesday’s when we’re going to talk about my breasts again?” Smiling widely you watched Thorin inhale and lay his hand over the mug Dwalin set down to slide it closer to him. Lifting your mug you added, “As long as I get some dik-dik pics I’ll be ecstatic.”

Snorting deeply Dwalin turned seeing Thorin’s eyes snap wider as you took a sip of your tea, laughing loudly Dwalin staggered his way back to the office with Balin curiously after him to ask what was so funny.

In a broken croak of a whisper he asked, “A what?”

Smirking in lowering your mug you pulled up a picture of a dik-dik on your phone you handed to him causing his eyes to close and him to heave a deep exhale in the smoothing of his free hand over his face that came to a halt propping up his chin in passing back your phone. “That’s-,”

“Adorable, and I haven’t seen one in person. Well worth the stop.”

Keeping the topic off your stunning body he asked, “What are your plans today?”

“Buy my paint, then paint. You’re jealous, I know.”

“If you need a trunk I can go with you.”

Dwalin came over and seeing your mugs were nearly empty he proceeded to chat with the pair of you until they were and then ushered you both out the back to the parking lot.

On your scooter you settled and watched him pull out leading the way to the shop you had mentioned wanting to go to. Following behind it didn’t take long to get there and after your minute wait for him to walk from his parking spot to the bike section you waited by one of the dividing painted posts then walked in at his side. Calm chatting about the house picked up easing Thorin’s nerves about what you could talk about without being seen blushing madly through the hardware store.

Ample cans of paint later and a couple spray cans complete with masks, gloves and goggles for those metal pieces you stopped at the curtain rod section. With tons to choose from you lingered there a bit listing possible choices before you purchased the ones you wanted along with rings to add to the fabric for the curtails you were buying the next day.

Home again you went and stopping in the driveway you pulled into the empty section of the garage and pivoted the scooter around to face outward while he parked in the drive and got out with trunk open to start unloading. Paint was stacked on the workbench next to the new brushes and rods were left along the wall. Though for a moment in tying back your hair you froze seeing Thorin easing out of his sweater leaving him in his tank top, tossing that in the driver’s seat of his car he came back to join you in seeing what there was to be done. Each row was divided by what colors were needed and right away you got to work on the job at hand. Though between pieces his gaze couldn’t help but sneak to you and his phone would come out and steal pictures of you at work. A stretched out tongue in an awkward face for his last picture had him laughing at your having noticed him.

Closer and closer he inched taking notice you had joined in on the picture taking resulting in you both having a picture of the other stealing another picture creating a partial stand off and pause on painting for giggles. An echo however turned your head hearing a group of teens bickering their way to your mailbox. “I swear it is!”

“No it couldn’t be!”

“No one famous lives out here!”

Turning as well Thorin watched with you as the boy held up his phone saying, “See! The runes match! I told you it had to be her! Says right here animator and voice actor, she works on the Bunny show!”

“Oh this can only end well.” You muttered and Thorin came closer in their rush off after looking to your house. The smallest in the group returning your wave before joining his friends on their hurry home shouting about they were going to watch it right away. “Isn’t the show a bit mature for their age?”

Lowly with brows furrowed he hummed out, “Um, most of it should be fine. That pirate episode, yes, that one yes. Only got through the first season so far.”

In a giggle you replied, “Then no doubt season three might leave some scars. Serious angst and drama.” Making him chuckle to himself and join you in getting back to work to finish it all through the continued whispers of those passing by also commenting on the runes on your box also having taken notice of the latest show being advertised on Bombadil for streaming.

A break for lunch you made was followed by Thorin’s aiding you through the house to carry each piece to where you wanted it. Each piece being crossed off the list only made his smirk deepen and his pride swell seeing how much more together the house was coming. Nodding he said on his way to his car as you walked him out, “It’s looking spectacular. Now all you need-,”

“Thursday the mattresses for the bunk beds arrive and Friday the crew will be here to install them along with another to assemble the bed frames for Naneth’s and the blue/orange guest room.”

“Wow,” though his brows sank a moment and he asked, “Two teams? With just you here?”

“They’re very reputable companies.”

“No I don’t doubt that, it’s another old Dwarf tradition, if you don’t mind we’ll drop by, keep you company. You should always have an ally when builders come.”

“Fine, thank you again, now go get some sleep.”

Making him chuckle and climb into his car, “Same to you. Night. See you first thing.”

Pt 29

#Thorin x Reader OC #Hobbit #lotr

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

Text

Across The Snowy Places (4 /5)

And finally it’s time for Thanksgiving dinner!

SUMMARY: Desperate to avoid another disastrous setup, Emma Swan tells her sister-in-law Mary Margaret she doesn’t need a date for Thanksgiving dinner… because she’s dating her neighbour, Killian Jones. The neighbour she tries to avoid but can’t seem to get out of her head.

Killian has been captivated by Emma from the moment they met, and he’s thrilled at this opportunity to get closer to her. But when they are trapped in a freak snowstorm in a room with only one bed, can he finally take the chance he’s been longing for, or will his actions drive Emma away forever?

In other words: TROPES GALORE

On AO3 | Tumblr Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3

For @thisonesatellite who is a genius with names and everything else despite being tired and frazzled.

@kmomof4 @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @darkcolinodonorgasm @snowbellewells @stahlop @mariakov81 @courtorderedcake @jonirobinson64 @tiganasummertree @ohmightydevviepuu @shardminds @jennjenn615 @superchocovian

CHAPTER FOUR: FRIDAY

When Emma comes slowly awake the next morning she’s warmer and more comfortable than she can ever remember being. She feels consciousness encroaching, urging her out of her cocoon, but she keeps her eyes firmly shut, resisting it. Though her mind is still hazy and unfocused she’s certain she doesn’t want to leave this cosy, comfy state she’s in, not yet. Not when walking would mean facing the day, a day in which she’s going to have to get back in her tiny car and drive on snowy roads with Killian, and … Killian!

Her eyes fly open and she’s suddenly very conscious of the reason she’s so warm. She’s positively wrapped around him, they’re wrapped around each other, legs entwined, with one of her arms tucked against her side and the other on Killian’s stomach, beneath his shirt. His hand is also on her bare skin, curled around the small of her back while the other is tangled in the ends of her hair. Her head is nestled on his chest while his cheek rests against her forehead.

Emma freezes, unsure of what to do. If she tries to untangle herself she might wake him but if she doesn’t… well, he’ll have to wake up eventually.

As if on cue his eyes flutter open and she’s momentarily caught up in the hazy, sleepy blue of them. He smiles.

“Morning, love,” he says, in a voice rough with sleep. He’s still not fully awake, she realises, soon he’ll remember what happened yesterday and why they’re in bed together, and then they’ll both pull apart and this lovely moment will be lost. And she’s not ready for that to happen yet.

Before she can think better of it she tilts her head up and lets her lips brush his. She keeps her eyes open, watching his as they widen in surprise then darken with unmistakable desire. She kisses him harder, parting her lips slightly and he makes a growling noise deep in his throat and sinks his hand into her hair, pulling her tightly to him and deepening the kiss.

He’s an incredible kisser, thinks Emma wildly as his tongue strokes hers. Soft but firm and just wet enough... and then he rolls her onto her back and she can’t think at all. His hand slides beneath her shirt to cup her bare breast and she moans, letting her legs fall apart as he nestles between them. She can feel his cock thick and hard against her, rubbing her through the thin barrier of their underwear and she clutches at him, desperate to feel him even closer, to have his skin against hers. She tugs his shirt off and he does the same to hers, tossing it away and staring at her with heat in his eyes before diving back down to suck a nipple into his mouth. She grips his hair and digs her fingernails into his shoulder, wrapping her legs around him and grinding against his erection.

He pulls his lips from her breast and takes her mouth again, deeper this time, hotter and wetter and everything more and it’s still not enough. Emma tugs his hair until he breaks the kiss. “Please,” she gasps. “Please.”

“Anything,” he replies. “Anything you want, love.”

“Want you.”

“Oh, God,” he moans. “Emma.”

“Please, Killian.”

He kisses her again as his hand slides down her body and beneath her sodden panties. She’s never been so wet and ready in her life, and the first brush of his fingers against her clit she nearly comes.

He’s not in much better shape, his eyes glassy and his breathing shallow as he strokes her. “Feels so good,” he murmurs. “Fuck... wanted this so long.”

“Me too,” she gasps, and his eyes fly to meet hers, his thumb pressing against her clit and his fingers inside her and then the morning air is rent by the ring of a telephone.

Emma wants to scream in frustration. She wants to scream in ecstasy, but she can see the haze begin to clear from Killian’s eyes as the shrill noise penetrates the sleep and the lust and he remembers where they are and why they’re here and panic settles on his features.

He pulls his hand from between her legs and she whimpers in protest, but he’s too busy apologising to hear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, scrambling from the bed. “I didn’t mean—I must have—bloody hell, I’m so sorry, Swan.”

The phone begins to ring again and Emma snatches it from the bedside table.

“What?” she snarls.

“Emma?” Mary Margaret’s voice is far too cheery for so early in the morning, and tinged with surprise. “Is everything okay?”

Emma squeezes her thighs together, feeling the empty ache between them, the still-tingling memory of Killian’s fingers stroking her and the wet squelch that’s embarrassing now that she’s alone in the cooling bed. She looks for Killian but he’s gone, the bathroom door shut tightly. She sighs.

“Yeah, Mary Margaret, I’m okay. It’s just early.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, I just wanted to let you know that the snow’s stopped and the news says the roads are clear, so you shouldn’t have any problem getting here.”

“Okay. Just let me get a shower and some coffee and we’ll be on the road.”

Killian slams his hands down on either side of the bathroom sink and barely restrains himself from punching the mirror.

What the hell were you thinking? he berates himself. You call that taking it slow?

His hand shakes as he runs it through his hair, his blood still pounding, cock still hard and aching like a son of a bitch. He can smell Emma on his fingers and he groans, clenching his jaw as he turns on the small shower. He steps inside and leans against the wall, letting the spray wash over him and fighting for calm.

What’s done is done, and he can’t change it. All he can do is beg her forgiveness and hope he hasn’t ruined everything.

Killian emerges from the bathroom ten minutes later, his hair damp from his shower and dressed in his clothes from yesterday. His face is blank and his eyes unreadable.

“Swan,” he begins, “I’m—”

“It’s okay,” she interrupts, making a small, sharp motion with her hand. “Forget it.”

“But—”

“I said forget it, Killian! It never happened.” She risks a glance at him and could swear she sees hurt on his face, and a hint of relief. She looks away again. “I’m just going to shower and get dressed and then we should get going.” A thought strikes her. “If you’re still okay to go?” she asks.

He hesitates for a moment, then nods. “I still want to go,” he replies. He sounds determined.

“Okay, we’ll leave in half an hour.” She takes a deep breath, releases it slowly. “Would you mind seeing if Granny has any coffee?” she asks.

He offers her a small smile. “Of course, love.”

She returns it, and feels like they’ve found their tentative balance again.

When Emma comes out of the bathroom washed and dressed, Killian is waiting for her, holding a steaming mug. She accepts it gratefully, inhaling the welcome aroma before taking a sip.

“Granny didn’t have any cinnamon syrup,” Killian says. “But she sent you this.” He offers her a plate containing a large, sticky cinnamon roll. “She says she hopes that will make up for it.”

Emma smiles. “It definitely does.”

The day is bright and sunny and the roads are clear, and they make good time to Mary Margaret and David’s. Emma’s quiet in the car at first but Killian, encouraged by her seeming willingness to put the morning’s events behind them, draws her out with some gentle teasing and fun facts about snowstorms that soon has her laughing, and almost before they know it Emma’s bug is pulling into the driveway of Ruth’s house, now David’s.

They get out of the car and she shoots him a nervous look. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asks. “There are a lot of them. Just act natural. But also like my boyfriend! I mean—”

Killian chuckles and puts his arm around her shoulders. “Relax, love,” he whispers in her ear, his breath ruffling the fine hairs at her temple. “I told you, acting like your boyfriend poses no difficulty for me.”

He presses a soft kiss to her temple that sets her heart racing and she’s just about to remind him that the show hasn’t started yet when she notices Mary Margaret and David standing on the porch, she grinning from ear to ear and he with his arms crossed and wearing his protective big brother scowl.

“You must be Mary Margaret,” says Killian with a charming smile, keeping his arm around Emma as he takes Mary Margaret’s hand and gives the back of it a light kiss. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

“Oh,” says Mary Margaret. “Oh my.”

David’s scowl deepens. Killian turns to him and Emma swears she catches a glint in his eye. “And David,” he says, offering his hand to the other man. David glares at it for a moment then takes it and gives it a brief shake. Emma can tell from Killian’s amused expression and slight wince that David squeezed his hand hard.

“Please come in,” says Mary Margaret. “You must have made good time, the only other people here yet are Robin and Regina.”

Killian’s arm tightens around Emma’s shoulders and they exchange a glance. “It looks like we arrived just in time,” he says. Mary Margaret gives him a searching look, then smiles. “You did,” she says. “Emma, could you come and help me out in the kitchen? Killian, you can go with David and he’ll get you something to drink.”

“Do you like football?” David asks as he and Killian head for the den.

“I do,” Killian replies. “Real football.”

“Uh oh,” mutters Emma, but there’s nothing she can do as Mary Margaret is already pulling her towards the kitchen.

“Emma Swan,” says Mary Margaret as the kitchen door slams behind them. She turns on Emma, one fist planted firmly on her hip, “Who is that man?”

“What do you mean? That’s Killian, my—the guy I’m seeing.”

“Your boyfriend.”

Emma shrugs, firmly ignoring the now-familiar belly flutter. “Yeah I guess, if you want to label it,” she mutters.

“And how is it that I’m only just hearing about him?” inquires Mary Margaret.

“Well, like I said we haven’t been together long—”

“Long enough for you to tell him ‘all about’ me and apparently about Regina too!”

“Well, yeah, he wanted to know about who would be here today.” Mary Margaret's stern stare remains unwavering and Emma struggles not to shuffle her feet. She feels genuinely confused and if she’s honest a bit annoyed. There’s no way Mary Margaret could have figured out they were faking it already, she thinks. Is there?

“What’s the big deal?” she demands. “So I told Killian some things about you and Regina, so what?”

“The big deal,” says Mary Margaret, “is that I’m pretty sure you’ve never told any other guy that much about your family. Or anything about us at all.” Her face breaks into an enormous smile. “Killian must be really special,” she says softly, cupping Emma’s cheek in her hand then pulling her into an enormous hug. “I’m so pleased for you, sweetie,” she says. “And proud.”

Emma winces. “Don’t get too excited yet, Mary Margaret, it’s still really early—”

“I know, but I have a sense about these things,” says Mart Margaret, releasing Emma and tapping her finger against the side of her nose.

“But—”

“I won’t say any more.” Mary Margaret mimes locking her lips and throwing away the key. She’s spent too long in the company fourth graders, thinks Emma crossly. “Now, let’s get started on the cooking. I’m glad you’re here early, there’s loads to do. Oh and don’t worry, I’ve made David promise not to murder Killian, no matter what he says about football.”

Killian is a huge hit at Thanksgiving dinner, so much that Emma is almost annoyed. Even David softens enough to pick up the bait Killian keeps tossing out about which type of football is better, leading to an argument it’s clear both of them greatly enjoy.

He’s also a fantastic actor, at least in the role of ‘Emma’s boyfriend.’ He never misses an opportunity to touch her, hold her hand or drape his arm around her shoulders, stroke her arm or kiss her hair. Emma watches in growing horror as one by one her friends and family fall victim to his charms. Even Graham likes him. Even Regina.

“I have to say, Emma, I never thought you’d manage it,” she says, coming up behind where Emma is standing at the front window watching the fresh snow swirl in the wind.

“Manage what?”

“To find a man who could put up with you,” Regina sneers.

“Well if you can do it anyone can,” Emma shoots back. Regina’s mouth quirks and she taps her wine glass against Emma’s.

“Touché,” she says, and they both drink.

“In all seriousness, though,” Regina continues after a moment’s silence. “Killian’s one to hold on to. Robin loves him already and he’s an excellent judge of character. Don’t fuck things up with him.”

“I’ll try not to,” says Emma weakly.

“Good.” Regina gives her a small smile then turns to go. Emma returns her attention to the snow, losing herself in her thoughts until she senses another presence by her side. It’s Graham, sipping from a bottle of beer.

“So,” he says. “Killian. Is it serious?”

Emma shrugs. “It’s still really new...” she trails off, hoping Graham won’t press for details.

“I get it.” He frowns. “Listen, Emma, I want you to know... I’ve always thought of you as the one that got away.”

“You have?”

“Yeah. I still wish sometimes that things could have worked out with us. Not that I expect anything by telling you this,” he adds hastily. “I know you’re not interested, and that’s okay. I just wanted to say that if it couldn’t be me I’m glad you found someone who cares about you as much as Killian does. You deserve that.”

“Graham...” Emma doesn’t know what to say.

“Let him make you happy, Emma.” Graham gives her a crooked grin and then Mary Margaret calls them all to dinner.

The meal is gorgeous, juicy turkey and rich stuffing with gravy and potatoes and cranberry sauce, green beans and sweet potatoes all made from scratch by Mary Margaret, with Emma’s help. They eat until they can’t manage another bite, then stagger to sofas and armchairs to rest and digest until it’s time for pie.

Emma finds herself on the sofa next to Ruby, who is here not with Dorothy but with her new girlfriend, a beautiful but intimidating woman named Mulan.

“Yeah, Dorothy went back to Kansas,” says Ruby. “She was never really happy here. One of those people who just prefers home.”

“Don't we all prefer home?” replies Emma, thinking of Ruth.

“Sure, but some of us make a home wherever we go, and others need home to be a specific place,” Ruby points out. “Dorothy was one of the second kind.”

“Mmmm, you may be right.”

“So what did you and Killian do yesterday?” Ruby asks. “Mulan’s cousin has a Chinese restaurant that was open even in the snow on a holiday so we were able to get something to eat. Good thing too, because we had nothing in the fridge. How’d you manage?”

“Oh, we ended up staying at an inn off the highway,” says Emma.

“Really? What inn was it?”

“I can’t remember the name, Red Wolf something I think?”

“Ah, Granny’s place! I thought it might be.”

“Yeah, she was called Granny.”

“No, I mean that’s my actual grandmother. Oh, that’s funny! I wonder if you saw the couple she was telling me about this morning.”

“What couple?”

“Oh apparently there were these two people who came in to get out of the snow. She said she’d never seen anyone so into each other as they were but then when they decided to stay overnight the guy asked for two rooms. So even though Granny still has two rooms available she tells the guy there’s only one and puts them in the one with the heater that only sometimes works. She said she figured they could use a little push, and...” she trails off as she catches sight of Emma’s face. “Whoa,” she says. “Hold up. That was you and Killian? You’re the cold room couple?”

“Apparently,” says Emma through clenched teeth.

“But why would you want two rooms?” Ruby looks genuinely baffled, then comprehension slowly begins to dawn. “Unless…” She sits up straight, eyes glinting. “Emma Swan there’s a story here and you are going to tell me what it is. Is Killian not really your boyfriend?”

“Keep your voice down!” Emma hisses, sitting up herself and leaning close to Ruby. “If I tell you you have to swear you won’t say anything to Mary Margaret.”

“I won’t.”

“Swear it Ruby! I know what you two are like, you tell each other everything. But this is my secret, and I need it kept.”

Ruby gives her a solemn nod. “I swear on Mulan’s sword,” she says.

“That’s— wait, Mulan has a sword?”

“Yeah, she fights with it and everything. Polishes it every night. Sometimes I think she loves that thing more than she loves me.” She frowns at Mulan, who is chatting with Robin and Killian on the other side of the room. “So is that a good enough swear for you?”

“I guess,” says Emma.

Ruby nods eagerly. “All right, then dish. What’s the deal with you and the hottie professor?”

“There’s no deal, he’s just my neighbour.”

“Oh come on,” Ruby scoffs. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously! Mary Margaret was threatening to set me up again and you remember what happened the last time she did that.”

“Ugh, yeah. Monkey-boy.” Ruby shudders.

“Exactly. So the only way I could think of to stop her was to tell her I was already seeing someone. Then she asked me the guy’s name and the only one I could think of was Killian’s.”

“The only one, huh?” Ruby’s voice is deadpan but her eyes are twinkling.

“I was in a pinch!” Emma protests. “So then she insisted that I bring him to Thanksgiving and fortunately he agreed to play along.”

“Oh yeah, very fortunate.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come on, Emma, fortune had nothing to do with it. That man is very obviously crazy about you, he must have jumped at the chance.”

“He’s not crazy about me,” says Emma quietly, trying not to think about the way Killian fled from her that morning, the horrified panic in his eyes when he realised what they’d been doing. “It’s just for show.”

“Was it for show in the lobby of Granny’s inn?” asks Ruby. “Because she told me she’s never seen anyone so fascinated by another person as the two of you are with each other. And she knows what she’s talking about. It’s because of her that I found Mulan.”

“No offence, Ruby, but you go through girlfriends, and boyfriends, like most people go through socks. How long have you and Mulan been together, exactly?”

“Mulan is The One,” says Ruby solemnly. “Capital letters. And I know this precisely because I’ve been through so many Not The Ones. You, Emma, barely ever date so when your The One comes along you don’t have the sense to see it. But I do, and Granny does, and both of us are telling you that Killian is The One for you. And you for him.”

Emma shakes her head but she can’t think of anything to say. All she can think is that she can’t stand for another person to be happy for her, or tell her sincerely how much they like Killian and how good the two of them are together. She’s had enough.

She excuses herself and flees upstairs, away from everyone, into the comforting surroundings of her old bedroom. It’s a long time since she’s been here; she prefers not to stay the night ever since Ruth passed and Mary Margaret and David moved into the house. The house is their home now, and she can’t help feeling like a bit of an interloper.

She paces around the room, restless and antsy, unable to get her friends’ words out of her head. Mary Margaret was one thing, but for Regina, Graham, and Ruby all to think that Killian was right for her, that was something else. If only one of them said something, even two, she could chalk it up to Killian’s convincing performance. But all three…

She sinks down onto the bed and lets her head fall into her hands, squirming when she feels an odd lump under the mattress, poking her backside. And then she remembers. She reaches under the mattress and pulls out a small, leather bound book. Her old journal from high school. She’d forgotten it was there.

A smile breaks across her face as she flips through the pages. There’s so much in this little book she hasn’t thought about in forever. Ruth bought her journal soon after she moved in with them and encouraged her to write in it daily to help her make sense of all the difficult and confusing things she was feeling. Emma was skeptical at first but Ruth persisted, and eventually she came to realise that writing out her feelings actually did help. She wrote about the adoption and learning to be part of a family, about being new in school and struggling to make friends. About Graham, and how she tried so hard to want him and felt guilty when she didn’t. How she wondered if there was something wrong with her that made her unable to open herself up. Unable to love. She swallows past the lump in her throat and turns another page. A folded piece of paper falls out of the journal and onto the floor. Emma picks it up and gasps in recognition.

Gently she unfolds it. It’s a page torn from a magazine, she can’t even remember which one now. It was in the social worker’s office, the last social worker she saw before the adoption was finalised. She smooths out the page and begins to read the familiar words.

It’s a poem by someone called J.L. Hook and as she reads it Emma finds it speaks to her as much now at nearly thirty as it did when she was nearly fifteen. It’s a poem about loss, about sadness, but most of all about hope. The loss of parents, the sadness of being left alone. The hope of finding a new family. Or that was young Emma’s interpretation at least. She blinks against the tears that well up in her eyes, but they roll down her cheeks regardless.

“Swan?” She looks up to see Killian standing in the doorway. “Is everything all right, love?” he asks gently. “Why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing,” she says, wiping at her cheeks. “Just an old thing I found.”

“What old thing?” Killian asks, and when she gestures to the paper in her lap he holds out his hand. “May I?”

She’s not sure she’s ready to share something so very personal with him, yet she finds herself nodding and handing him the poem. “It’s just something I tore from a magazine ages ago,” she says. “It just, I don’t know, resonated with me.”

Killian smiles and starts to read. He can’t be more than a line or two in when the smile slips from his face and is replaced by an expression of shock and, oddly, embarrassment.

“This resonated with you?” he says. His voice is gruff.

“Yeah. I don’t know anything about the guy who wrote it, but whoever he is, he gets me. Teenage me, at least.”

Killian clears his throat. His cheeks and ears are bright pink.

Emma frowns. “What’s with you?” she asks, and then he rubs at that spot behind his ear and the penny drops. Killian’s a writer. Of poetry. Published under a different name. She gasps. “It’s you, isn’t it?” she cries. “You wrote this.”

Killian swallows hard and gives a small nod. “Aye.”

“But—” She shakes her head, trying to think. “That was fifteen years ago, you must have been just a kid!”

“I was seventeen. It was just after Liam was killed. I was devastated, obviously, he was the only family I had left and we had always been so close. I was alone, completely alone in the world and I just felt so lost. It was a court-appointed grief counsellor, actually, who suggested I try writing my feelings, and, well, this is the result.” He shrugs.

Emma stands and places her hand on his, over his fingers clenched so tightly on the page. “It’s a beautiful result,” she says softly. “It helped me so much.”

“It did?” he whispers.

“Yeah. I must have read it a hundred times. More. Every time I felt hopeless or alone I read it, and it comforted me. I thought, at least there’s someone who understands how I’m feeling, even if I don’t know who they are.” Gently she eases the page from his grip and lets it fall onto the bed then takes his hand again, linking their fingers and brushing her thumb across the back of his. She looks up to find him watching her with so many emotions in his eyes, and his hand trembles as he reaches up to brush the hair back from her face, his fingers curling around the back of her head as she steps closer. He leans in and she tilts her head up and—

“Hey you two, make out on your own time,” says David’s voice from the doorway, amused and ever so slightly menacing, sending them leaping apart. “Mary Margaret’s about to serve the pie.”

As they follow David downstairs the tension between them is so thick Emma swears she could touch it, and when they arrive in the dining room and no one seems to notice it she’s actually surprised. Robin hails Killian and David goes to help dish out pie, and amidst the noise and confusion Emma slips away into the kitchen where she knows Mary Margaret keeps a bottle of whisky. Her thoughts are a jumbled mess, she’s buzzing with nerves and energy and frustrated arousal, and she’s so not hungry for pie. What she wants is a drink.

Killian finds her an hour later sitting at the kitchen table staring intently into the bottom of a lowball glass. He frowns. “Are you okay, love?”

“Fine,” she slurs. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’ I be fine?”

“You’re not fine,” he retorts, “you appear in fact to be very drunk. How many drinks have you had?”

“I was just goin’ to have one,” she replies, her forehead wrinkling. “But then I had another and it tasted so good I had a third. And tha’ was two drinks ago.” She giggles.

Killian’s frown deepens. It’s getting late and the other guests are preparing to leave, but Emma’s in no fit state to drive. “Stay here, love,” he tells her, gently removing the glass from her hand and replacing the cap on the whisky bottle. “I’ll get Mary Margaret.”

“She’s drunk?” Mary Margaret stares at him when he pulls her aside and apprises her of the situation. “How?”

“Well, intoxication normally results from drinking a large quantity of alcohol,” Killian replies. “Which she appears to have done.”

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes at his snark. “But why?” she persists. “What hap—”

“Apologies, Mary Margaret, but the wherefores and whys aren’t really important now,” Killian interrupts. “The question is how the devil are we going to get home?”

“Can you drive?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve had a bit to drink myself and I haven’t driven much in the States, so I’m not sure attempting it in that yellow death trap on icy roads at night is the best idea.”

“No, good point,” Mary Margaret agrees. “I mean, you’re welcome to stay the night here. Emma’s old room is free.”

Killian sighs. Another night away from home with no proper pajamas or change of clothes is not really what he wants, but it appears to be the best solution. And at least there’s a comfortable looking armchair in Emma’s room, and a functioning radiator.

“Thank you, Mary Margaret, we’d appreciate that,” he says, and returns to the kitchen to retrieve Emma.

She’s got her head resting on her arms when he arrives and at first he thinks she’s asleep, but when he lays his hand on her shoulder she looks up and gives him a dazzling, very drunken smile.

“Come on, then, Swan, come with me,” he says, holding out his hand to help her up.

“Wha? Where we goin’?” She bats his hand away and stands up, then immediately sways on her feet. He catches her before she can fall.

“We’re going upstairs,” he informs her.

“Whafor?”

“Neither of us is in any state to drive home, so we’re spending the night here. Mary Margaret says we can have your old room.”

“You din’ ask for two rooms, then?”

“Of course not.”

“Wouldn’ get them anyway,” she mutters, leaning heavily against Killian’s side as they go up the stairs. His arm is tight around her waist and before they’ve made it halfway up she’s forgotten where they’re going or why, or anything except how good he feels and how much she wants to touch him. She lays her head on his shoulder and his hand curls around her hip, and when the door closes behind them she tucks her face against his neck and wraps her arms around him.

“Emma,” he says, “what are you doing?”

“Snuggling,” she replies, the words muffled against his skin. “I like snuggling with you.”

“Love—”

“You’re so warm,” she continues, clinging to him, resisting his feeble attempts to detach her. “And you smell nice. And you kiss nice. You’re just nice. I didn’ expect you to be nice. I’ve said nice too much. Nice nice nice.”

“Aye, the exact adjective every man longs to hear,” he quips. “Emma, please, you need to go to bed.”

“With you,” she insists. “Snuggling.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I can sleep in the chair—”

“No. Bed.”

“Emma.”

“Killian,” she says with mock severity, scrunching up her face and glaring at him. He chuckles then groans as she wraps herself around him again. She’s adorable when she’s drunk, and far too affectionate for his peace of mind. He feels strung on a hair-trigger, wound so tightly from their clinch this morning, from their near-kiss just hours ago, that his self-control is at its breaking point. He thinks about the feel of her mouth on his, how soft and wet she was beneath his fingers, and that tenuous thread of control begins to unravel.

Firmly, almost forcefully, he pulls her off of him and guides her to the bed, where Mary Margaret has thoughtfully laid out some pajamas for both of them. He helps Emma take off her boots and with shaking fingers undoes the button and zip on her jeans, then leaves her to get undressed and put Mary Margaret’s pajamas on while he slips into the bathroom to put on David’s.

When he returns Emma is dressed in the flannel pants and tank top, perched on the edge of the bed. She stands when he enters, too quickly, and sways on her feet. He darts forward to catch her and she falls onto his chest, grabbing his shoulders to steady herself. His breath stops as her breasts press against his chest, her nipples so hard he can feel them through the fabric of both their shirts. He looks down to find her staring at his mouth, her lips slightly parted. As he watches the tip of her tongue slides slowly along the lower one and the thread snaps.

His arm comes around her waist, pulling her flush against him as he takes her lips in a frantic kiss. She moans and leans into it, wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers sinking into his hair as she kisses him back, deep and desperate. She feels so damned good, so soft and warm and achingly sensual, and just everything he’s ever wanted in a woman, and he craves her with an intensity he’s never known before. He wants to worship her, to strip her bare and kiss every inch of her, then sink deep into her softness and make her scream in ecstasy. He’s never wanted anything more.

But he can taste the whisky on her tongue and feel the lack of control in her movements, and a tiny voice in his head is screaming not like this. Not while she’s too drunk to make good decisions, not while he’s so sexually frustrated he can’t think straight. Not like this.

Killian reaches deep into himself and grasps the frayed edges of that thread of control, yanks them together and ties a tight knot. He breaks the kiss, lets his forehead rest against Emma’s for the briefest moment, then pulls her arms from around his neck and steps back.

She blinks at him, confused. “Killian?” she says, in a breathy, needy voice that nearly breaks him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just late, and we need our sleep.”

“Sleep with me,” she says with a coy smile, hooking her fingers through the neckline of his t-shirt and trying to tug him closer.

He catches her hand and squeezes it gently before releasing it. “I’ll sleep in the chair.”

“No.” She grabs his hand back. “With me. Please, Killian.”

“Emma…”

“Please.”

Her eyes are soft and wanting, and Killian lacks the strength to resist their entreaty. He’s so bloody tired of fighting his feelings for this woman. He swallows, closes his eyes and breathes deeply. “All right.”

He lets her lead him by the hand to the bed and slides beneath the blankets with her, tucking her back against his front and holding her securely with his arm around her waist. She hums at the feel of his erection against her ass, wriggling into it until he stills her movements with his hand on her hip.

“Ignore it,” he says. “Just go to sleep.”

He strokes her hip soothingly, rhythmically, until her breathing evens out and deepens and he can tell she’s asleep.

It’s a long time before he joins her.

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan #thanksgiving fic #ust #like so much of it #frustration #confusion #well-meaning family #sharing a bed #again #but still not like that #sorry not sorry #across the snowy places #profdanglaisstuff

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sweetteaanddragons · 5 years

Text

How to Make Friends and Influence Hobbits (Part 3)

It’s my birthday! To celebrate, I’m posting another segment from the story I published a few months ago, in which Feanor uses a tea cozy of doom and ends up in the Shire.

. . .

“So,” Belladonna said cheerfully as she finished pouring the tea. “Where do we start?”

Her collection of maps was spread over the kitchen table, with particular emphasis to those that showed the coast, as that was their best guess for where Feanor’s son was.

“I do not know,” Feanor confessed. He didn’t sound like he said those words often. “I’ve never even laid eyes on this coast.”

“I am not even truly convinced that he walks these shores,” Gandalf said doubtfully. “To speak truth, until you arrived and said otherwise, I assumed that he had long ago gone to Mandos’s Halls.”

“No,” Feanor said grimly. “He was spared that, at least.”

Gandalf’s eyebrows came together rather alarmingly in a manner that normally preceded a rebuke, which Belladonna rather doubted their other guest would take kindly. She intervened hastily. “Bungo? What do you think?”

“Oh, dear,” he said helplessly. “Well, I’m rather out of my depth here, you know, but this is rather a search party, as you said, and I can’t help thinking that when your young cousin went missing, we ended up finding her when her friend - Daisy, was it? - when her friend mentioned how much she’d wanted to climb that old tree down by the bridge, and sure enough, there she was at the very top. I don’t suppose there’s anyone else we could ask?”

“There are few indeed who look kindly on my house now. I doubt he has any he feels he may confide in on these shores,” Feanor said heavily.

“There may yet be one,” Gandalf said slowly. “I know Elrond searched for him for many years. He might, at the very least, have some information on where we need not bother to look.”

“Elrond?” Feanor looked startled.

“I suppose he was rather after your time. Idril’s grandson might be a more useful description - “

“I know perfectly well who he is, thank you,” Feanor interrupted. “Mandos liked to keep me updated on the damage brought about by my Oath. Fingon spoke better of the incident, but I was unsure how much of that was his rather singular optimism.”

Gandalf’s mouth twitched. “In this case, at least, I believe it was not misplaced. Elrond is also rather singular, in his case for his attachment to your eldest sons. I suspect he will be willing to help us, or at least to make the attempt.”

“It’s settled then,” Belladonna said brightly. “Elrond’s it is! Every quest ought to begin at Rivendell, I think, it’s such a nice destination, so that’s all right and proper. And you’ll finally get to meet him, Bungo!”

Bungo nodded firmly. “I’d best get started on the provisions, then. We won’t want to get hungry on our way.”

Gandalf shook his head fondly. “Hobbits.”

His eyes sharpened slightly when Feanor volunteered to help pack said provisions, though Belladonna couldn’t imagine why. Feanor had never been anything but a courteous houseguest, and she didn’t know why anyone wouldn’t want to help pack the provisions, anyway. It was the best way to get a say in what got packed.

It was a good thing Feanor volunteered too, or else she might have forgotten to return his tea cozy, and it was such a lovely thing that it would have been a terrible shame.

. . .

The Last Homely House was always open to any friendly visitors, but Elrond had to admit that he hadn’t been anticipating these.

He’d led them in to a private room near the center of the house where they were unlikely to be disturbed and where his guests could recover from their travels in comfort. It seemed the best thing to do, given that he could only guess what catastrophic events could have led to this unexpected party forming.

He hadn’t been precisely expecting Mithrandir, but given the Grey Pilgrim’s wandering ways, he never precisely expected him, which he meant he always expected him in a more general way. The two hobbits, while certainly not anticipated, were not outside the realm of possibility; he had met Mistress Belladonna before, and while she had expressed her intention to leave her adventuring ways behind when she last left Rivendell, she would not be the first to leave that intention behind. Master Bungo’s addition to her adventures was sensible when viewed in a certain light, and Elrond was delighted to meet him.

It was the inclusion of Feanor in the party that made Elrond wonder if Dagor Dagorath was upon them rather earlier than expected.

The light of the Trees blazed from the ancient elf’s eyes more strongly than Elrond had ever seen. Power and heat radiated off him, and while he had so far been nothing but courteous, there was a tension between him and Mithrandir that suggested his time amongst the dead had not softened him toward the Valar and their servants. If the Valar had released him anyway . . .

Elrond exercised patience with more difficulty than he’d had for years as he let his guests get settled into their chairs and partake of refreshments before finally turning to Gandalf and asking, “Is the end of days upon us then?”

Bungo choked on his cake and had to be vigorously pounded on his back by Belladonna. “End of days? I thought we were a search party!”

“Has my presence becomes such an ill omen as all that?” Feanor asked with dark humor sparking in his eyes.

Mithrandir sighed. “It has been suggested by some that you would be released to fight in the final battle.”

“Really? Well, I wish someone had told me about it. I could have been preparing . . . Regardless, I have not been released, so you need not fear that battle just yet.”

“I found him in the woods,” Belladonna piped up, with one last concerned look at Bungo. “And then I took him home, of course, because he was dreadfully lost, and luckily Bungo didn’t mind, so he stayed with us for a bit until Gandalf showed up and said he’d escaped from somewhere, though I still don’t quite understand all of that bit.”

Feanor had escaped from the Halls of Mandos. Of course he had.

“The Valar had nothing to do with it,” Mithrandir confirmed, his voice growing dry. “The exact sequence of events is as of yet unknown to me, but I do know that the Valar are for once as confounded as the rest of us.”

“I weep for them,” Feanor said with even greater dryness. “Though if they paid even a modicum of attention to what their prisoners were getting up to, they would know perfectly well what I was up to - and I wouldn’t have had to be getting up to it, as they would not have left my sons to go slowly mad in solitary confinement.”

Maedhros. He had not been well even when Elrond had last seen him. If things were truly so bad -

Mithrandir sighed. “The ways of the Valar are not always easily understood - “

Feanor’s eyes gained extra heat. Elrond began to grow concerned at just how far this would escalate.

Belladonna coughed a little pointedly. Elrond stepped gratefully into the momentary chagrined pause. “And how may I help?” He turned to Feanor. “If you need a place to stay as you become accustomed to the world as it is now, you are of course welcome here. Imladris is open to all.” It would cause some difficulty, no doubt, but Elrond had never turned someone who had no ill intent away before, and he didn’t mean to start now.

Feanor actually looked a little rueful.. “I would ask your forgiveness for earlier. I did not come here to start an argument but to ask a favor, though a different one than you have offered, and I fear I’ve made a terrible start to it.”

“A favor?” Several possibilities warred in his mind.

“I was given to understand that you once searched for the whereabouts for my son. If you can give me any information as to his whereabouts, I would be more grateful than I can express.”

Maglor. Centuries of panic at being asked on that topic froze his mind temporarily before sense returned. He had known this was a possibility, and while Mithrandir’s presence made him reluctant to speak of it, if even Feanor considered it safe to do so, surely it was. Still - “It has been many years since I searched these shores for him,” he said carefully. “Events eventually forced me to cease. Still, if there is any aid I can give, I shall do my best. Your interest in this is, of course, entirely understandable, but may I ask how your companions became involved in this search?”

“He was our guest,” Belladonna said cheerily. “Of course we had to help.”

“Only right,” Bungo agreed with a nod.

Mithrandir sighed. “And I came along to make sure this quest ended rather more peacefully than the last one.”

“Ah.” Elrond’s mind raced. There was only one thing to do, of course, but after so long, it went against all his instincts. And how would Mithrandir react . . . ?

Hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway outside the door, and Elrond tensed. It was either someone with more strange news, which he was not at all sure he could cope with today, or it was -

“Ada?”

The beautiful voice, high with incredulity, came from the arch of the door. The choice had been taken out of his hands.

Maglor stood in the entryway, eyes locked on the blazing figure in the middle of their party, mingled terror and hope upon his face.

“I thought - I was sure I felt your mind, but how - “ the bard said, his voice for once failing him.

Feanor just shook his head, his own eyes suspiciously full.

“Many long years since you searched for him on these shores,” Mithrandir said witheringly. “Events forced you too cease.”

Elrond gave in with grace. “Many centuries,” he said serenely. “These days I generally search for him in the gardens or the Hall of Fire. And the event of finding him did rather force me to cease or else act rather pointlessly.”

Mirthrandir’s expression suggested Elrond would be hearing about this at length later, but Elrond was far more concerned with the other scene progressing at the moment.

“I’m here,” Feanor said hoarsely as he rose from his chair. “I’m here, Makalaure. I came back for you.”

“But you can’t have,” Maglor breathed. “You can’t - you can’t be real - “ He looked appealingly to Elrond.

“He’s here,” Elrond assured him. “This is real.”

Maglor’s next breath came out as a sob. “I’m sorry,” he said pleadingly. “So sorry, Ada. I failed you.”

“No,” Feanor said firmly, stepping forward, but Maglor seemed not to hear. He was scrambling at the pouch at his waist that until now he’d always kept closed.

“I couldn’t fulfill your Oath, but I could - I managed this much at least, Ada - “

The light that spilled from the pouch was blinding.

“He kept it?” the wizard said in stunned amazement.

Belladonna craned her neck. “What’s it?”

“It’s pretty whatever it is,” Bungo said politely, and Elrond nearly choked.

He had known Maglor had kept it, safely insulated so that it would not burn. Its burn was not so keen now as it once was, though Maglor and Elrond’s views rather differed on what that meant.

Maglor reached in now barehanded and offered it to his father, ignoring whatever pain that remained. Elrond was unable to restrain a cry. The pain might have lessened, but he knew it still remained. He could see it in how the gem trembled in Maglor’s hand.

Feanor took it, and Elrond could have cursed him, but all that ill will was abruptly tossed away.

Rather literally. Feanor took the gem, but then flung it to the ground without even looking at it, instead embracing his son.

“You’re here,” he said. “I found you. That’s treasure enough.”

#feanor #belladonna took #gandalf #bungo baggins #elrond #silmarillion #fic #tolkien #tea cozy of doom

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kmomof4 · 5 years

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Time and Again Ch5

Ok, so I had a whole post all ready to go with such a spectacular cliffhanger, that I know y’all were SOOOOO looking forward to! But my EVIL beta @hollyethecurious wouldn’t let me do it! So you can blame or thank her for making me have mercy on all of you. I choose to blame her... but I still want to share the post I had planned, because I thought it was really great and it was such a shame that only Hollye and I saw it... so here it is.

Bwahahahahaha!!! You think the last cliffhanger was bad?

Ok, HOW is there not a gif of Samuel L Jackson saying “Hold on to your butts?”

So just imagine a gif of Samuel L Jackson in Jurassic Park saying “Hold on to your butts” right here...

Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this new chapter! And before you yell too hard at me, ch6 sneak peek will be up Saturday morning with the full chapter Sunday.

That was the original post I had planned, I hope it gave you a good laugh. So without further ado, here’s ch5! I hope you enjoy!

Ao3 link

All the love and thanks to my besties and beta @hollyethecurious and #1 encourager @winterbaby89! I love you ladies more than I can say! Thank you for everything! *Mwah*

Also lots of love to the CSSNS discord ladies for all their encouragement, patience, and advice while I worked on this.

Tagging my peeps: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

A/N Thanks to @totheendoftheworldortime for the use of her original line from Unlocked.

Emma sat on the knoll outside her apartment watching children play on the playground below. Watching them was a very effective tactic in keeping her circling thoughts from overwhelming her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tall, raven haired man stroll toward her. She pointedly ignored him as he settled himself down next to her.

“I rescheduled the meeting with Miss Lily,” he answered her unasked question.

She nodded, still refusing to look at him. “Good.” Then, indicating to the children playing below, she said, “You see that little girl down there? The one with the red hair?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“She reminds me of a girl that I knew when I was a teenager. Her name was Kelly. She was older than me and a real snippy, jealous bitch. I can see that now, as an adult. When I came into the home, all I saw was a bully who took every opportunity to put me down and try to make me feel like Ingrid, our foster mother, could never love me. Didn’t work.” She shrugged before continuing. “Ingrid eventually adopted me and sent her and all the others away.”

He cocked his head to the side. “So I was right on the beanstalk, wasn’t I? You have been left alone.”

She rounded on him then, her anger flushing her cheeks. “Don’t you even say that! You have no right!” She turned back toward the children, angrily swiping at the stray tear on her cheek.

His voice was more gentle than she’d ever heard it before… awake, that is. “We’re going to have to talk about this. Eventually. You know?”

“No, we don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “We do not have to talk about this at all. In fact, this is THE last thing that I’d ever want to talk about.” She was more comfortable giving him some details about her less than ideal upbringing than she was talking about this.

Emma Swan was a master at denial. She had a degree and everything.

“You’re my boss,” she exclaimed, waving her hands around aimlessly. “Not some dashing, romantic hero that my dreams keep painting you as.”

“Our dreams, Swan,” he interjected, softly.

“No,” she replied, shaking her head furiously. “No, I refuse to believe that. Dreams are the most secret, most sacred… Dreams are the window to the soul.” She closed her eyes, shaking her head again. “I read that somewhere. But it’s true,” she continued, opening her eyes and turning to him. “Dreams are the window to the soul and no one… NO ONE… has the right to enter another person’s soul.” The tears she was so desperately trying to hold back escaped and tracked down her face as she turned back toward the children.

“I’m sorry, Swan,” he apologized. He reached out to wipe away her tears, but then hesitated before touching her. “You’re right,” he agreed, “no one has the right to enter someone else’s soul. But this wasn’t my fault. This was not something that I did. And, you may not have considered this,” his voice got unbelievably more gentle, “but, if we did share dreams, and based on your reaction, I’d say we did. Although we should at some point compare notes, see how much lines up. Anyway, if we did share dreams, then not only did I enter yours, but you entered mine.”

She hadn’t thought of that. Oh shit. She turned surprised eyes on him. Ducking his head, he scratched behind his ear. Her mouth dropped open when she recognized the gesture from the third dream, just after he had given her the flower. “You did that,” she exclaimed, pointing at him, eyes wide. “You did that in the dream. In the meadow.”

His hand fell while his cheeks and the tips of his ears flushed. “Well, that’s two things that line up,” he mumbled, visibly uncomfortable. He turned back to her. “Listen Swan, whatever happened, I think it’s safe to say we’re dealing with three dreams?” She nodded. “The beanstalk, Port Royale, and Camelot.”

Emma turned away, embarrassed. She knew what she experienced in the dreams, and was having trouble reconciling the fact that Killian had experienced the same things, too. She looked up to see him staring down at her hip.

“Do you have…” he began, with unabashed curiosity.

“Yes,” she exclaimed, indignant, her hand hovering over where her swan birthmark was. “Yes, I do. And I’ll thank you to not bring it up again! I resent this, Mr. Jones. I resent this very much.”

“I’m sorry, Swan,” he apologized again. “I truly am. I won’t bring it up again. But I think that the only way we’re going to solve this… thing…” he gestured between them, “between us, is for us to… uh, to…”

“You think we should have sex, don’t you?” she interjected, angrily.

“What? No!” he exclaimed, surprised. “Well,” his countenance fell into sheepishness, “maybe. But not… I mean...” he finished, indignation again coloring his tone. “These dreams put us in increasingly… ah… intimate situations.” His cheeks and ears were flushing again as he scratched furiously behind it. “I can’t help but think that maybe the universe is trying to tell us something?” His tone and shoulders rose at the end, making it more of a question than a statement.

“Oh, you have to be kidding me,” she blurted out, “Soulmates? Not you, too!”

“What do you mean, ‘you too?’” The confusion on his face almost made her laugh.

“At lunch the other day, Down the Street Cafe.” She waved her hand around impatiently. “Soulmates was our topic of conversation. You’re not telling me you believe in them too, are you?” she asked, condescension dripping from her tone.

“What I believe about soulmates is neither here nor there,” he asserted. “What I’m trying to say is that given the nature of the dreams, maybe there is something to them. I think we should go away together. For a few days, at least. I have a place, well, Granny has a place, an island off South Padre, that I go to to unwind, relax. We could go there. Give you a chance to see me as a man. Not as your boss. If the other happens, well then, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Nope,” she argued, shaking her head vehemently. “Not interested. The dreams all happened when I worked late at home. Now that the campaign is over, late nights are over, too. There won’t be anymore dreams. So, there’s no reason for me to ‘see you as a man.’” She put air quotes around his earlier words. “Hopefully, I’ll be getting that promotion and moving to LA in a few months, so that’s even more of a reason to not ‘see you as a man.’” She was so caught up in her tirade, that she completely missed how his face fell at her words. “So, just leave me alone, and stay the hell out of my dreams!” She got up, and stormed back down toward her apartment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma Swan hurriedly returned to her home from the marketplace. She had left her temporary guest sitting outside her little cottage, and something that she had seen in the village had her heart beating rapidly in alarm against her ribcage.

She had found him on the shore, unconscious, nearly a month ago, on her early morning constitutional. The violent storm from the day and night before had finally blown itself out a couple of hours before dawn and had left the air crisp and cool. Since the storm had kept her indoors the day before, she looked forward to watching the sun rise from her usual place along the shoreline. She found that starting her day in this way put her in a good state of mind to get through the day as the village healer.

Before she got to her spot however, she came across a gravely wounded man. He had a huge gash along his torso, starting at his left collarbone and not ending until it nearly reached his right hip. Whatever had caused it, had nearly cut him in half. She was amazed that he still breathed. Once she got him to her cottage and could have a closer look at his injury, she realized he hadn’t been in the water long as the wound still seeped blood and the tissues around the gash were horribly swollen and an angry red, signifying infection had set in.

Over the course of the next week and a half, after sewing him up, she had treated him with poultices and cool sponge baths to bring his temperature down as the infection raged through his weakened body. She could only hope that the poultices and the infection fighting herbs she had to force him to swallow during very brief moments of consciousness would do their job and save his life.

She remembered her stunned awe when, almost two weeks ago now, she had awakened after a full nights sleep to find that his fever had finally broken and he was sleeping peacefully beside her.

He hadn’t opened his eyes until the next day, and when he did, she had to shake herself to keep from getting lost in their cerulean depths. She had answered his questions and asked a few of her own as she continued her ministrations over his injury in the following days. He still spent most of his time sleeping, so they didn’t have much opportunity to speak to one another.

Once his sleeping patterns evened out to a more predictable cycle, she started helping him out of bed for brief minutes each day before his exhaustion and weakness would overtake him and he’d have to be led back to the bed. After a few days of this, with each day his time outside the bed lengthening, his sass started to show with his mild complaining about being confined to the bed, not in the good way, he remarked, eyebrows waggling. She had finally promised him that she would let him get out of the bed today and stay that way for awhile after their noonday meal. She didn’t want to overtax his weakened body and cause a setback in his recovery.

After their simple meal, she had helped him out of bed and out of doors. Being out in the fresh air and sun seemed to make him lighter somehow. He had turned his face to the sun with his eyes shut and just basked in the midday warmth. When she told him that she needed to go to the market and he should come back inside while she was gone, he begged her to let him continue staying right where he was. He would be fine until she returned, he protested. She’d only be gone for about an hour and so she had reluctantly agreed.

Now she was berating her stupidity as she nearly ran once she was beyond the sight of the village. She arrived at the cottage nearly breathless to find Killian right where she had left him on the crude wooden bench right outside her door.

“What’s your hurry, lass?” he asked as she rushed over to him.

Struggling to catch her breath, she dropped her basket to the ground to help him inside, even though he didn’t really need it. “We have to get you inside,” she gasped, wrapping her arm around his middle. “Did anyone see you?”

“No,” he replied, puzzled, getting to his feet. “I didn’t see anyone. Why?”

“There’s a wanted poster in the village with your picture on it. Fifty gold pieces for information leading to your capture. You’re wanted for piracy,” she informed him.

His countenance darkened as he allowed her to lead him back inside. “Aye,” he agreed, darkly. “His Majesty,” he spat out, “sent me and my crew on an unholy mission. I was captain of his flagship. I would have no part of it, and so, my crew and I stole his ship and have been doing what we could to destroy his navy one ship at a time.” His gaze bore into hers as he settled himself at the table.

“What was the mission,” she whispered, sitting across from him.

He bowed his head, refusing to meet her gaze. “I was ordered to a small, unnamed hamlet right on the borders of the kingdom. We were to arrive under cover of night, barricade every structure in the town, so that no one could escape, and then burn it to the ground. He said it would serve as a warning to those villages that resisted his rule.” Her gasp of dismay made his cheeks flush. “When I returned to the ship, I informed the crew what we were ordered to do, and immediately proclaimed us pirates, dedicated to the overthrow of this wicked tyrant.” His eyes had finally risen to hers with a burning flame behind them. “I’m proud to say, first, that my entire crew followed me and second, that in only two weeks time, we had sunk 8 of his ships. Then we were caught in that hurricane and I was thrown overboard. You know the rest.”

“Indeed, I do,” she replied. “I can’t believe it,” she murmured, “I mean, I can,” she said shrugging, “but I can’t BELIEVE it!” She shook her head, before standing up and making her way to the cooking area to begin preparing their dinner. “I have no love for King George, believe me. His taxes are oppressive and his cruelty is known in every corner of the kingdom. But this! This is beyond anything I’ve ever heard of!” She turned her eyes toward him with a burning flame of her own behind them. “I’ll help you,” she declared. “Do you need a healer on board your ship?”

He smirked and raised an eyebrow at her. “Why lass, are you saying that you want to stay with me? Hmmm?” She blushed and turned her attention back to the food she was preparing.

“Oh, um,” she stammered. “I was just offering my services… if you needed them… on your ship.”

He came up behind her until she could feel the heat from his body. “We’d have to find my ship first, darling.”

She spun around facing him, her eyes widening at his close proximity. “Oh no you don’t,” she countered him. “Don’t think I don’t know what those charms are around your neck. I noticed them when I got your shirt off when I first found you…” she trailed away, blushing again, as he looked at her with a knowing grin. “I know magic when I see it. I had to use a potion in the poultices to help with your healing. That gash should have killed you. Anyway, one of them is a charm against drowning and the other you can talk to another person who has a matching shell. I know that you’ve been communicating with your ship since you woke up.”

“Clever girl,” he replied, smirking at her. “You’re right. I have been communicating with my first mate. They were carried to the other side of the realm by the hurricane and are making their way back to get me. They should be here in the next few days. Perhaps as early as tomorrow.”

“Then take me with you,” she pleaded, looking into his eyes. “I can’t continue to live here under his rule. Not after this. Not when I can help you.” She looked down, blushing. “Not when I can stay with you.” She looked back up into his eyes then with all the longing and desire that she had felt for him since she found him, and that had only deepened since he awoke.

“Emma”, he choked out, as he met her gaze. “Are you sure? The life of a pirate isn’t an easy one. But I will take you with me, if you’re sure that’s what you want.” He raised his hand to cup her cheek, the tenderness in the gesture surprising her. Perhaps the desire she felt wasn’t unreciprocated.

“Yes, Killian,” she breathed, “I’m sure.” She saw in his eyes the moment his control snapped. His lips crashed into hers as he gathered her even closer into his arms. She rose onto her toes to meet him, winding her hands in his black hair, before clutching his shoulders as his lips left hers and peppered kisses along her jawline and then her neck.

“Then yes, darling,” he murmured into her skin. “I’ll take you with me.” He claimed her lips again as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed they’d been sharing now for four weeks.

“Do you have any idea,” he continued, “how long I’ve wanted this? Or how maddening it was to wake every morning with you beside me and not being able to touch you? Only force of will kept me from taking you into my arms while I awaited your answer just now.”

“Well,” she gasped in between kisses, “you weren’t exactly able to do anything about that until just these last few days, plus I wanted to be close in case you needed me, and I didn’t fancy sleeping on the floor.”

“That’s true,” he replied, claiming her lips again as he lowered her to the mattress. Releasing her lips when he dropped her, he climbed up and hovered over her, desire darkening his blue eyes. “Never doubt that I need you,” he whispered, before lowering himself down on top of her and kissing her deeply again. She melted under his ministrations when his tongue sought entrance and she eagerly granted it.

They undressed each other slowly, wanting the encounter to last. With every piece of skin exposed, with every gasp, with every murmur, every kiss and touch they fell more into each other until everything in their hearts and minds were consumed in the fire and passion they had for each other.

Much later, when they lay together sweaty and sated, Emma traced nonsensical patterns into his chest. “We never ate dinner,” she declared.

He chuckled before laying a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Aye, lass,” he agreed, “but you don’t see me complaining.”

She raised herself enough to settle her chin on his chest. “Oh, I’m not complaining either,” she smirked. “But I do think we should eat something. Keep up your strength.” She patted his chest with a wink.

“Why Swan, were you planning on tiring me out this evening?” he asked, cheekily.

“Maybe,” she drawled, pressing a kiss into his sternum. She rose from the bed and pulled on her shift, so that she could get them something to eat. As she did, she cataloged the herbs, roots, and equipment she would need to take with her when they left, as soon as the Jolly arrived.

“I should make preparations for leaving,” she said, returning to the bed after putting a hearty stew over the fire to simmer for a bit. “I can get things together while we wait for the food and by the time it’s ready, I should be too.”

“Whatever you need to do, darling.” He pulled her back down to the bed, kissing her tenderly.

“Mmmm,” she murmured against his lips. “I won’t get anything done, if you don’t stop that.”

He chuckled. “That’s true.” She could feel his smile against her lips. “Maybe I want to ravish you first, then I can help you in your preparations.” He pulled her over on top of him and pressed his hips into hers so she could feel what she did to him. “Having twice the hands, can only make the work go faster,” he murmured, pressing sweet kisses into her neck, before working his way down to nip at her collarbone.

“Ah yes,” she agreed, “having another set of hands will certainly make the work go faster.” She gasped as he lowered her shift to expose her breasts and dove in. After that, there were only gasps and moans of pleasure as they discovered even more of the secret places that left them panting and begging for more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Captain. Come in, Captain.” The voice through the shell sounded tiny and far away.

“That’s Smee,” Killian moaned as he reached over Emma to grasp the shell necklace that had been discarded sometime the evening before.

“I’m here, Smee.” Killian spoke into the shell.

“Sir, at dawn three man of war’s flying George’s colors were spotted off the port side. We’ve tried to evade them, but they’ve caught up and are preparing to board. They haven’t tried to engage.” Killian looked at Emma, her eyes wide.

“They must be trying to capture…” she whispered.

“Aye,” he replied, solemnly. “The Jolly was his flagship. He’s probably hesitant to sink it. And if he does, and I were on board, then he couldn’t make a spectacle out of me. And if I know him, that’s exactly what he’ll want to do.” Turning back to the shell, Killian gave his orders. “Do not engage, Mr. Smee. When they board, do not engage. They’re trying to capture me and get the Jolly back. I won’t have you and the crew putting yourselves in that kind of futile danger.”

“Y- yes, sir,” his first mate stuttered.

“I’m sure we’ll be hearing what His Majesty plans for you before long, and I’ll make plans accordingly.” He paused, considering the implications. “Godspeed, Mr. Smee.” Killian turned tormented eyes upon Emma. “He’ll plan to hang them all.” Emma nodded. “I can’t allow that.” Emma nodded again. “As their captain, it’s my job to protect them.” He pulled her to him, so she couldn’t see his eyes, stroking her hair. “I’ll either have to successfully break into wherever he’ll be holding them or surrender myself in their place. There’s a decent chance that he’ll agree to that. There’s not a more vindictive bastard in the entire realm, and the chance to publicly humiliate and kill me after I stole his ship and made a fool out of him may be too much for him to resist.”

“Killian, isn’t there another way?” she pleaded, lifting her eyes back to his.

“If you have another idea, darling, I’m all ears,” he mused. “I should send word to the castle immediately, so it arrives before word of their captures does. Offering myself for them.”

“But he won’t let them go,” she protested, raising herself to her elbow so she could look down at him. “He’ll trick you somehow and hold on to them, then hang you all.”

His blue eyes were contemplative as he met her fearful gaze. “I’ll have to refuse to surrender myself until they are safely away then. I’ll have to see them safe with my own eyes before I’ll turn myself in.” His countenance hardened then with his next words. “You’ll have to go with them, love.” She started to shake her head when she realized what he was saying. “Don’t you shake your head at me. You’ll hang too for hiding me. And I won’t have that.” He pulled her back down to him until her head rested on his bare shoulder.

“I can’t lose you, Killian,” she murmured into his skin, before placing a chaste kiss into his collar. “I’d rather die than lose you.”

“No, love,” he whispered before kissing her forehead. “You have to go on and live. Stay with my crew. They’ll keep you safe, and you can play your part in bringing George down. Smee knows about you, so there’ll be no issues when you arrive at the ship.”

Tears filled her eyes as she moved up towards him, gently capturing his lips with her own. The kiss was languid, unhurried, tenderly exploring one another. Emma’s hand found its way into his hair and tugged him even closer, as if she was trying to occupy the same space or consume him completely. The other traced his ribs leaving fire in its wake before it traveled lower and grasped where he was hard and aching for her. He thrust into her palm seeking that friction that would lead to unadulterated bliss.

“Oh, Emma,” he groaned, releasing her mouth. His eyes momentarily rolled back in his head under her exquisite torture before he came back to himself and flipped them on the bed. Killian stared into her half shuttered emerald eyes, trying to read what he found there. His hand tenderly cupped her jaw before trailing away down her neck until he reached her breast. She writhed under him as he teased and kneaded her ample breasts before sucking a turgid nipple into his mouth, never halting his explorations.

“Ahh, Killian,” she cried out under his ministrations. Killian flicked her nipple with his tongue and was rewarded with a gasp of pleasure. He smiled against her skin before he proceeded to suck a mark into her breast. Her breathless moans wound the tension inside him tighter and tighter until he worried that he’d explode before he could bury himself within her heat. His hand continued its way to her core where he found her wet and wanting.

“Oh, yes, my darling, always so wet for me,” he praised..

“Yes!” she cried out. His long fingers curled up inside her, searching for the spot that made her see stars. “Yes, for you! Only for you!”

“Gods, Emma,” he moaned, as she started to ride his fingers. “I need you now. Need to be inside you. Please,” he begged.

Emma stilled and captured his gaze with her own. “Yes, Killian.” She lined him up at her entrance where he took her in one long smooth stroke.

Twin groans of ecstasy reverberated around the small cottage as he sheathed himself in her warmth. He crashed his lips against hers as his heart beat a singular rhythm. Em-ma, Em-ma, Em-ma. He held himself still for a moment, savoring the feeling of home he always felt when he was inside her. For a captain, home was his ship. But being with her these last few weeks, even if he was only conscious for the last two, a wholly unfamiliar feeling had risen up. He couldn’t deny Emma’s beauty or her expertise and care for him when he was nothing but a stranger to her. But these past few days, as she continued to care for him, he knew that he couldn’t leave her behind.

Once the Jolly arrived, he had planned on doing whatever was necessary to convince her to come with him. But then, she had her own revelations about her feelings for him, sending him reeling. His strong, fierce, beautiful Swan cared for him. She had captured him, heart, body, and soul and he would not take a single moment left to them for granted. She was his home and he loved her with an overwhelming passion. He wouldn’t have his love blaming herself or regretting anything that had happened between them when he was gone.

He began to pump a steady rhythm into her, determined to show her what he couldn’t now and probably wouldn’t ever speak of. Their rapture built slowly until at last, he raised her leg to rest on his hip and his thrusts grew more frantic. The change in angle was exactly what she needed for her walls to begin quivering along his length. With a cry of his name and her fingernails digging into his shoulders, her walls clamped down on him dragging him over the edge with her. Killian pressed his lips against her forehead, eyelids, and nose before caressing her own as they drifted back to earth. A whimper reached his ear as he rolled off of her, not wanting to crush her. He drew her back into his arms and stroked her bare back as she nestled her head into the spot where his neck met his shoulder.

“Okay, I’ll go with them,” she promised, placing a gentle kiss to where his pulse was still beating rapidly. He drew her even more tightly into his arms before dropping a kiss on her forehead.

“Come,” he said, rising from the bed, “I have to send word to the castle. How many days journey is it from here?”

“As the crow flies, about half a day,” she replied. “In actuality, about two days journey by horse. I would imagine that your crew would be held here in the village gaol, and that George would travel here for their hanging. It would be much easier for him to come here rather than his guards to take them to the castle. There are too many chances for an ambush and possible escape between here and there.”

“Then I should send word now, before his men have a chance to notify him of their success.” He pulled on his clothes and turned to her again. “Do you have paper, and a quill and ink?” he asked, “Or do I need to go into town to procure them?”

“Are you kidding?” she asked, incredulously, “With your face on the wanted poster?” She shook her head. “I have some here. You write your message, I’ll take it into town. It should be there in two days time, before he receives tidings from his men.” His face was tender as he drew her into his arms.

“Then we have at least two more days together. I suggest we make the most of them,” he breathed before kissing her breathless again. “But first, my message.”

He settled himself at the table and began to write.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was an air of celebration in the square of the village. Public hangings were always looked forward to as a distraction from the mundaneness of everyday life. And the hanging of pirates was even more eagerly anticipated because of the notoriety of the prisoners. This hanging promised to be entertaining. An entire crew that had deserted from his majesty’s navy would meet the noose. They had also been responsible for the sinking of ships that carried food and other goods that the villagers depended on.

The crowds had started to gather just after dawn, with the hangings to commence at noon. Killian and Emma had absconded away from her cottage not long after to where the Jolly was still docked a week after George’s men had arrived with their prize. George planned on boarding the ship, reclaiming it as his own, and returning to his castle after the hangings were over. Killian had planned on hiding Emma near the ship so that when his crew was released, she would join them on the Jolly and be safe. What he didn’t realize, of course, was that Emma had no plans whatsoever to leave Killian to his fate. She planned on dying beside him, knowing that once she revealed herself at the hanging, she would be arrested and hung as an accessory. But she wouldn’t let him know that until the last possible moment.

She stood at the back of the village square hidden in the shadows where she could see all the proceedings. King George sat on his makeshift throne on the dias to the left of the scaffolding meant for the pirates. As the pirates were led out from the gaol, a hush descended on the crowd. Until a brave soul spit at the pirate at the head of the line. Then the quiet tension was broken as the gathered crowd began to yell, scream, throw things, and jeer derisively at the prisoners. George had a smug smile on his face as the pirates were reviled and beaten by the half crazed assembly. Suddenly a shot rang out and the fabric making up the back of the dias blew back where the bullet penetrated only inches from where King George sat. His smile disappeared as a shout rang out over the alarm of the crowd.

“Hear me, subjects of King George.” Killian cried out over the gathering. “I am Captain Killian Jones of the Jolly Roger, and I am here today to surrender myself to your king in exchange for the lives of my men. When I was notified of their capture, I sent a message to the king laying out the terms of my surrender. As captain of these men, it is my duty to see to their safety and well being. When your king received my missive, he rejected my offer. Apparently it’s better to kill many then to capture and kill the one that is truly wanted.

I am responsible for the taking of the king’s flagship. I am responsible for the sinking of eight of his ships in single combat. I am the one that he wants. But in true cowardly fashion, he has to make a statement. A statement that, he hopes, will be received with fear and trembling in his subjects. Now I ask you. Is that how a king should rule? Through fear and intimidation? I think not. But that is exactly what he does.

I stole his ship and plotted my course of securing his downfall because of the mission he sent me and my men on. To a village, a fortnight’s journey from here by sea, on the outskirts of his kingdom. To barricade every building within the walls of the village and burn the village to the ground, killing all the residents within. The aged, women, children. I could have no part in the deliberate murder of innocents. For that, yes, I am guilty and I will pay the price. But you will release my men, your majesty. Then, and only then will I lower my weapon and place myself in your hands. I give you my word. And my word can be trusted. Because I am a man of honor. Otherwise, I will shoot and kill you where you sit. That earlier shot was a warning. This pistol is aimed right between your eyes, and I will not miss.”

King George’s face was nearly purple with fury, but after a tense and silent standoff with the pirate captain, he finally nodded at the executioner and ordered him to release the prisoners. Eyes never wavering from his former sovereign, Killian called to his men. “Make haste for the Jolly Roger, Mr. Smee. You know what to do.”

“Aye, aye Captain,” the rotund man shouted back.

Once the pirates had left the square heading in the direction of the docks, Killian lowered his weapon. The smirk was back on King George’s face as his guards rushed the captain and dragged him to the scaffolding.

“You were right, you know, Captain,” the king sneered. “I did want you. But with you now out of the way, it’ll be nothing to capture my ship back and all of your men will still hang.”

“Do you hear that?” Killian shouted again at the crowd. “King George will stop at nothing to squash every last voice that rises in opposition to his rule. Remember that, I charge you all,” he proclaimed, his restrained hands pointing at the crowd.

Emma could wait no longer as the noose was fitted over Killian’s head and tightened. She pushed forward shouting his name. “Killian!” The crowd parted before her so that she ran unimpeded to the very foot of the scaffold. “I love you!”

He looked down at her, love shining in his blue eyes. “I love you, too.”

King George gave the signal and the trap door was released.

The sickening crack jerked Emma upright in her bed, tears streaming down her face.

Trying desperately to catch her breath, she nearly knocked her phone to the floor instead of picking it up in her trembling hands. Barely able to see through her tears, she found him in her contacts and pressed call.

“Yes,” he answered curtly, after the first ring.

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything other than gasp out her sobs of relief at hearing his voice.

“Emma?” he asked, concern coloring his voice.

She nodded, still not able to speak, not realizing that he couldn’t see her.

“I’m okay, darling,” he cooed, “I promise you, I’m alright.”

She nodded again, still trying to bring her sobs and breathing under control, and ended the call.

Untold minutes later, while still trying to shake herself from the clutches of the dream, she heard a knock at the door. Opening it she found her boss standing on the threshold looking quite the worse for wear, still in his pajamas, with his hair sticking up in all directions. Seeing him there, all the emotions that she was trying desperately to hold back came roaring into the space between them as she fell into his arms. Her sobs, that she had nearly gotten under control, now echoing in her ears. She was barely aware as he lifted her into his arms, bridal style, and carried her into her apartment, using his foot to shut the door behind them.

He whispered endearments and comfort into her hair as he sat down on the sofa, still holding her close. As her sobs finally started to taper off into gasps and hiccups, Killian nuzzled his nose against hers. “If I pull some strings, we can leave today,” he murmured into her skin. She had not the strength to resist him and nodded into his chest.

This last dream was the final straw. She wasn’t sure she could survive another one. She’d do anything to get them to stop. The dream had exposed the deepest part of her heart and mind, leaving her no place to hide now. She wasn’t just attracted to Killian, she loved him. And she probably had since she first came to work at Jones Brothers.

“I don’t understand,” she confessed, “I don’t know what happened. I didn’t even turn on the TV tonight.”

“No…” he trailed away, “but I did.”

She raised incredulous and accusatory eyes toward him. “You did this… intentionally?”

“What? No!” he exclaimed, clearly horrified. “I would never willingly seek this. I wouldn’t put you through an experience like this.”

“No, of course not,” she agreed, looking back down. “It must have been horrible for you, too.”

“I mean, maybe unconsciously,” he conceded. “I couldn’t sleep. I don’t even remember what was on. Sometimes I just like to have another voice in the house.”

“Me too,” she agreed. “It’s exactly why I turned on Netflix on the nights I was working late at home. It keeps things from getting too quiet when you have nothing but work or your thoughts to keep you company. And those nights, those episodes of Black Sails, showed up in our dreams.”

Suddenly very aware of how close he was holding her, and his continued caresses down her arm and back, she startled back and got up from her spot on his lap. “I’ll, uh…” she trailed away. “I’ll pack and be ready to leave…” She looked everywhere but at him. “Uhhh, how long will we be gone?”

“Let’s plan to come home Sunday,” he decided. “If that’s okay with you? I’ll go home and pack, and make some phone calls, then I’ll be back to pick you up. Probably about nine?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she agreed. She walked over to the door and opened it for him as he rose to take his leave.

“I’ll see you then,” he whispered. She looked up at him then and was startled by what she found swimming in his blue eyes. Trust, devotion, love. All the things that would normally have her running as fast and as far in the other direction as she possibly could. But for some reason, the thought of doing that with him, simply made her heart ache. Shutting the door behind him, she leaned back against it. What have I gotten myself into now?

Thanks for reading and sharing.

#time and again #krystal writes #art by krystal #ch5 #cs fanfiction #cs fanfic

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thorin-is-a-cuddler · 6 years

Text

At last

A/N: I don’t even know what this is. I just had to write it. It’s like an alternative end to LOTR. Warnings for: major character death, sadness, bagginshield, a lot of bagginshield, bagginshield was my reason for writing this, sad!Frodo

Bilbo was growing old.

His hair was now almost as white as Gandalf’s and his face was getting wrinkly. Frodo’s heart dropped from time to time, when his uncle was napping in his armchair and his breathing came to a short halt.

Yes, there was no denying it. The old hobbit wasn’t going to grow that much older and the fact filled Frodo with much sorrow.

Bilbo seemed to grow nostalgic in that time. More often than in the years before did he speak about Thorin Oakenshield and their adventurous quest to the Lonely Mountain.

Frodo had often wondered what exactly his uncle had felt for the deceased dwarfen king. The overly fond smile that had often graced his lips during his stories had always seemed meaningful to Frodo, even as a young hobbit.

But now, there was no doubting it anymore.

Bilbo talked of Thorin almost every day. His kindness, his stubbornness, his dwarfish pride and his friendship. He told Frodo twice how Thorin had given the Mithril armor to him, how he had been sick to the head at that time and how still, he had given to him the most valuable piece in all of Erebor.

He repeatedly told his nephew how handsome the dwarf had been. “With his long dark hair and his beard and his broad, broad shoulders, Frodo, he seemed like nothing could ever take him down...”

More than before, Bilbo was capable to smile when he talked about Thorin. He seemed to enjoy it, to celebrate it. It was, as if his age had taken all sorrow from him. As if he could already see Thorin waving at him from the other side. As if he didn’t fear or suppress his feelings anymore. Because his life had been lived.

One time, Frodo sat by the fire with his uncle. It had been a quiet day and it was looking to be a quiet evening. A question had been burning in Frodo’s head for the last few days and it seemed like just the right time to ask Bilbo about it. He had been very quiet all day, hadn’t even talked about his favorite dwarf yet. He just sat there, in his armchair and smiled contently.

“Bilbo?” Frodo turned to him, hesitating.

“Yes, my dear boy?” Bilbo answered in his deep voice and his eyes seemed to smile at Frodo as brightly as his entire face.

“I have been wondering...”

“About what?”

“I cannot tell if the question is too intimate...”

“Frodo, there is nothing I hide from you.”

“Well... I have been wondering if you have ever been in love...?”

Bilbo stayed quiet for a long time. He looked in the fire and his eyes seemed to shine brighter with emotion.

“Love.” He said quietly, before he smiled fondly, his eyes closed. “A terribly difficult emotion. One that should not be jested with. To be in love. That can be the best and the worst feeling in the world - sometimes simultaneously. But it is what all of us, old or young, tall or short, pretty or not so much... it is what all of us need and want the most in our lives.”

Frodo stared at Bilbo in the following pause, holding his breath, waiting for the next words.

Bilbo tilted his head slightly and gave a short laugh. “Beren and Luthien.” He muttered to himself and shook his head as if he had only now understood a joke. “Like Beren and Luthien.” Then he started to chant under his breath, barely audible for his nephew.

“Tinuviel was dancing there To music of a pipe unseen, And light of stars was in her hair, And in her raiment glimmering. “

There he stopped, tears glistening in his eyes. But it seemed that they were happy tears. Deeply felt emotions were visible on Bilbo’s face. He seemed to have forgotten about Frodo’s presence just then. But he looked up quite suddenly and smiled at his nephew as a tear streamed from his eye.

“You know, my dear boy, you look like him. With the dark hair and the bright blue eyes. Sometimes when I looked at you in your childhood, I was wondering. I was always wondering if the line of Durin had mixed with mine, somehow. If there was after all a part of Thorin that I had taken back here with me. If somehow it had bloomed through you.”

Frodo was speechless. He felt a lump in his throat and tried to swallow it, but it didn’t work.

“Oh Frodo,” Bilbo continued with a smile, “You would have loved him. And he would have loved you.”

The old hobbit seemed to be exhausted from the emotional thoughts and struggled to stay awake. He laughed quietly as his head slowly sank to the side. Before he fell asleep, Frodo got up from his seat to cover his uncle with a blanket. He was breathing shakily and tried to keep his tears inside. Bilbo’s life long love was too much for the young Hobbit to even grasp with his mind. He just wanted him to be happy.

“Amrâlimê...” Frodo heard his uncle whisper, as he fell asleep. “Amrâlimê.”

When Bilbo died, Gandalf was there.

It was as if the wizard had known what was to come. He reached the shire a week before and stayed with Bilbo and Frodo for the time that remained.

The sight of the wizard at the gate hadn’t filled Frodo with the usual happiness. Now it only made him shiver. They hugged quietly and Frodo saw the sadness that hovered above Gandalf’s bushy brows. He tried to remain calm.

Bilbo, on the other hand, greeted his old friend with so much grateful surprise that a small smile slipped onto the younger Hobbit’s face. His uncle was laughing and smiling and repeatedly mentioned Gandalf’s name as if he just couldn’t belive he was truly there. The visit awakened his spirits - he even got up from his chair to make tea.

On the first day Frodo, Bilbo and Gandalf spent hours talking. About the two Hobbits’ dangerous quests - one of them being not so far in the past -, about old friends and new ones and, eventually, about what was to come...

“Soon, Gandalf. I can feel it. And so can you, I know it. Oh, Frodo, there is no need to look so sad. I have walked on this ground for many, many years. I have left my footprints. I know that I have to follow him now. He stands at the end of my bed at night and is packing my things...” Bilbo sighed tiredly at that, a soft smile on his lips. He folded his hands over his belly and closed his eyes. “Just a little nap, my friends, just for a few minutes...”

Bilbo’s quiet snoring could be heard soon after and Gandalf took that as his cue to turn to Frodo. His grey eyes were scanning the young Hobbit for any signs of misunderstanding.

“You know, who he’s talking about, Frodo, do you not?” Gandalf leaned back and started to fill his long pipe with a nice smelling weed.

Frodo dropped his chin a little and nodded. “I do...”

They remained silent until Gandalf started to puff the first rings out of the window. It was a calm afternoon. The sun was shining gently and a soft breeze made the grass whisper.

“Gandalf,” Frodo said after a while, following the path of the smoke rings out of the window, “what did Bilbo mean by seeing him at the end of his bed at night?”

Gandalf tilted his head and put his pipe down. He looked at Frodo with a smile. “I must admit... I have never heard a song, tale or myth about a dwarf and a hobbit reuniting when all is said and done... but a legendary dwarf king and a legendary Hobbit adventurer who were not granted a life together here... they might just meet again.”

Frodo’s eyes grew big and round at that. Hearing Gandalf say what he had thought and known in silence allowed him to be openly sad for once. In a quiet voice, he started to sob, his hands muffling his sounds. Gandalf made his way to Frodo silently and put his tall arm around his small shape. “There, there, my friend. Bilbo is very happy as it is now. No need to cry. You must understand that he had a tough time after his return to Baggend. That he had actually seen himself by Thorin’s side in Erebor. But it didn’t go that way for him. So he returned. And do you know what kept him going? Do you know what filled his life with love again, despite his loss?”

Frodo looked up with red-rimmed eyes and blinked cluelessly.

Gandalf laughed softly and clapped Frodo’s back in a friendly manner. “It was you, my friend. You gave his life a light.”

Frodo had to sniff again at this and remained in Gandalf’s embrace as it was until he couldn’t cry anymore. Then they cleaned the kitchen and Gandalf told Frodo afterwards to go and enjoy the outsides. He was to remain with Bilbo and have an eye on him.

Frodo did as he was told with a heavy heart. He knew he had to get his mind off all the sadness for once, and he thought it best to search distraction in the woods. Afterwards he paid a visit to Sam and the huge amount of little hobbits that were running about Sam’s garden and house managed to lighten his mood for a few hours.

Nevertheless he talked to Sam about Bilbo’s hallucinations and stories and they made his good friend turn quiet and thoughtful.

“Just imagine,” He suddenly spoke up and looked at Frodo with sparkling eyes, “If they had returned to the shire together... they would have set off a scandal in Bag End.”

They chuckled at the thought.

“I believe,” Frodo answered with a smirk, “that would have been just to Bilbo’s liking.”

In the following night, Frodo awoke to a sound.

He was sleeping on his uncle’s sofa, prefering to be around the old Hobbit, just in case he needed him. Gandalf wasn’t there. He had the armchair to settle in, but that night, it seemed, he couldn’t find enough peace for a slumber. Frodo imagined him to walk the fields and dwell in memories of the old days.

He was therefore alone with Bilbo and the thought didn’t calm him, when he heard a quiet whimper.

With a thundering heart, he slipped out from underneath his blanket and lit a candle. Shivering, he lumbered out of the living-room to check on his uncle in his bed.

Bilbo lay there peacefully, but his hand was held out. The sight gave Frodo a little shock. He turned his candle to the end of Bilbo’s bed, half-expecting to find a dwarf ghost hovering there, but he saw nothing.

That didn’t change the fact that Bilbo seemed to acknolwedge a presence. With his hand held out he whispered “Thorin” in his sleep. Again and again, a smile forming on his lips.

Frodo looked at his uncle for a while, saw him laugh almost childishly and heard him mumble soft words. “Soon”, “Be patient”. What struck Frodo the most was Bilbo’s longer sentence, spoken in a hoarse voice. “When I will be young and beautiful again, amrâlimê, then I wil go with you...”

With a sigh the short monologue ended and Bilbo’s hand dropped. Still he chuckled one more time, before his breath went even again.

Frodo still saw no one at the end of Bilbo’s bed, but he still nodded in the direction and took a deep breath. “I had him for so long,” Frodo whispered and bowed to the shadows, “Soon, he will let you lead him to your kingdom.”

Frodo shook his head about himself and returned to his sleeping place on the sofa. When he pulled the blanket over his body he felt a short tickle at his cheek. He froze and carefully touched the tingling skin. It had felt like a kiss from a person with a long beard.

His heart beat faster in his chest and he felt tense and scared. But a laugh eventually burst out of him and he settled down. He felt a bit like he was losing his mind. But while a part of him blamed his sleeplessness, another part wanted to believe... He raised his hand and whispered. “Take good care of him.” Then he fell asleep again, faster than he had thought he could.

The last days passed in the blink of an eye.

Frodo listened to the same stories over and over again, drank tea with his uncle and left for a few hours when Gandalf and Bilbo seemed to need some time alone to smoke and talk about more serious things.

Then one day, he woke up and wanted to prepare breakfast, when he realized just how infinitely quiet it was in the house.

The realization hit him so hard that he dropped his plate. It shattered on the floor, the sound bursting.

With a hurry Frodo ran to the bed of his uncle and sank down next to it. He heard no breathing, no snoring, no mumbling. He saw no fluttering of eyes, no twitch of he mouth, no bunny like scrunch of the nose.

With tears in his eyes, Frodo grabbed for his uncle’s hand and held the cold, cold skin close to his cheek. Loud sobs shook his little form and he could barely speak as his voice was overtaken by the need to make his sorrow known. But still, he tried. “Now you have been taken. Now you are in a kingdom worth your soul. Now you are again young and beautiful.”

Frodo heard steps behind him and soon felt a warm, heavy hand being placed on his shoulder. A wind seemed to blow through the house, ruffling Frodo’s hair and Gandalf’s beard. It filled them both with courage. To Frodo it felt like the last blow of a mighty storm, before it leaves the land and wanders on.

Through his tears, a quivery smile made it on his lips.

Gandalf’s deep voice reached his ears, when he started to chant, quietly the last lines of the Song of Beren and Luthien. As if he knew that Bilbo had already sung lines from that song a few days ago.

“The Sundering Seas between them lay, And yet at last they met once more, And long ago they passed away In the forest singing sorrowless.”

And Frodo knew that Bilbo hadn’t left alone.

Source of the song text: https://www.golyr.de/j-r-r-tolkien/songtext-song-of-beren-and-luthien-123772.html

#bagginshield #thilbo #lotr #the hobbit #bilbo dies #thorin x bilbo #reunited in death #thorin waiting for bilbo in his after-life kingdom #frodo mourns #sad!frodo #gandalf #gandalf ships it #beren and luthien #sam is there too #and cheers frodo up a little #one shot #mini fic #major character death

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yourfriendlyneiborhoodneerdowell · 6 years

Text

Waxing Poetic

Ship: Samwise Gamgee x Frodo Baggins

Rating: G

Tags: tooth rotting fluff, sam wants kids, Frodo talks in his sleep, post-quest fix it fic, slight pining.

Description: Sam wonders why he doesn’t feel right having a traditional family.

It was a bright, sunny day in the shire. Spring had brought the flowers to bloom and the grass to feel cool and sweet beneath the feet of the hobbits who inhabited the little land.

Beneath an old oak looking over the rolling hills surrounding bag end lay a peculiar hobbit.

Not of the sort of cheerful folk who walked pushing their barrows to and fro from the market to their cozy smials, but one with a creased brow from countless days of worry and a tired, almost upset look in his pale eyes.

For indeed Frodo Baggins had seen more of the outside than the average hobbit had the mind to. Scars from a chain weighted with an unfathomable burden lay on his breast. A cold wound like a freezing burn still ached on his shoulder.

His small body was worn, for all the healing that had been done simply could not erase the brokenness his journey had caused.

“Ah, here we are Mr. Frodo. I've made summat special this morn for tea. Chamomile and honey, some apple butter gifted last fall by the Took family.” The other hobbit bent to join him on the grass with a sheepish smile, “ And I tried my hand at making some of Mr. Bilbo’s cinnamon scones, hopefully they turned out as good as I'd hoped.”

Frodo rose slightly to grab one of the lovingly prepared, if not misshapen pastries.

“Dear Sam I have told you time and again to address me as Frodo. Nor mister or master, you are no longer a servant. However I thank you kindly for thinking of me, you needn't have gotten up so early and tended to tea. Honestly, you think of everyone but yourself and you know just as well as I that we are both in need of rest.”

He was right, despite the weight he had gained back and the cheery smile which had greeted him. Behind it all there was a definite exhaustion surrounding his friend.

Trusted, faithful Samwise, Frodo thought to himself. If ever he were to settle at bag end with another they would have to be comparable to his dear friend. Not that he ever intended to. For no lass in the shire could bring warmth into his often hollow chest, sense his unpredictable and often times un-gentlehobbitly like mood, and ask nothing in return quite like the gardener of bag end.

As he enjoyed the pleasantries of Sam’s company and the sweet, rejuvenating food the two recollected fond memories as if they were dreams only faintly remembered after deep sleep.

Bilbo’s 111th birthday party, marvelous fireworks and all. The peaceful summers which came after in which Frodo had taken up as the young master of the smial, carefully watching Sam out in the garden. Of the times he had brought out some ancient Sindarin book through which they could puzzle out meaning with their combined knowledge of the elvish language.

It was not long before Frodo realized he had kept on in his dreamlike state and gone back to thinking about Sam. It seemed these days that every pondered road in his mind eventually brought him back to his friend.

Not sure of the meaning he shook himself to reality.

A fondness was what it was, he was simply fond of Sam.

How could he not be? They shared an undeniable bond. Sam had gone without during their days of hunger, braved roiling waters, and even carried him when the weight of the cursed object was to much to bear. In all respects he was loved as family, loved closer than a friend. There was no word which came to mind to describe the feeling woven so deeply in Frodo’s heart for his gardener so fondness it was.

“Sam,” he asked, butterflies starting to form in his stomach. “I was wondering...what will you do now, I mean now that our journey is over?”

Sam took a thoughtful sip of his tea and looked into the distance as if studying something far away.

“I suppose I’ll be tending to the garden as I always have, no reason to let such a splendid thing go to waste.”

Frodo cracked a smile and laughed.

“Of course you will. But beyond the smial? What will you do with yourself Samwise? You’ve a long life ahead and surely you must fill it with more than gardening. What about..” Frodo’s throat suddenly tightened without he himself quite knowing why,

“About Rosie Cotton, you once told me that you dreamed of settling with her?”

Sam piled the tea tray with the leftovers, cheeks turning unmistakably pink as he did so.

“Aye, I did. Or at least I thought so. We’ve been so free with our time lately I’ve been doing a lot o thinkin’. Too much I reckon. The more I think about Rosie, the less I’m thinkin’ about her. Which don’t quite make sense I suppose.”

“No I don’t suppose it does.” Concern filled Frodo, he wished dearly for his friend to be happy after all they had gone through and the thought that Sam was conflicted reminded him of poor Bilbo. He wished very much that Sam wouldn’t find his heart elsewhere and live properly happy in the shire.

“What about your thoughts is troubling you, if I may ask?”

Sam’s eyes shut and he leaned back into the grass as if reaching deep inside himself for an answer that might sound more clear.

“Well Mr. Fr-erm I mean Frodo. It seems fine to think about at first. A house full of bustling babes and a caring, fine lady like Ms. Cotton.”

Sam paused again to think, “However, sometimes I wonder… is it really her that I’m looking for? Begging your pardon if it sounds selfish sir, but I think perhaps it might just be the family I’m missin’. Almost like I can’t wait to have a family of me own. No mistake I’d choose Rosie over any lass in the shire, but I wouldn’t if I could make my own little hobbits without her or any other so to speak.”

Unable to contain himself any longer Frodo tore a handful of grass from his side and watched as it fell gently on his friend’s head, then burst into an unrestrained fit of giggling. He watched as said friend went from pink to a darker shade of red.

“You silly hobbit!” He exclaimed, “You want to be a pa! Without a lass? You sound like Bilbo dear Samwise! I’m sorry I shouldn’t poke fun, but do you intend to be married?”

“Of course married!” Sam huffed indignantly, “Just not to any lass in the shire! I mean if I had to pick I would pick Rosie,”

“Then perhaps another lass?” Frodo’s teasing was starting to become insufferable. “Tell me sam, would you have an elf? Perhaps a fair woman of Gondor? Even a dwarf?”

Frodo immediately regretted such a bold jab when he saw the gardener frown and cast his eyes to the ground, clearly deeply upset.

“No,” he half whined, half whispered. “A hobbit.”

“A hobbit, but just not anyone from the shire. Everyone knows everyone else around here, but truthfully I can’t see meself’ settling with anyone here, if you catch my meaning.”

Frodo, looking puzzled, clasped his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“I can’t say that I do, but we will think on it together.” He paused, “So you want a family, and a hobbit lass to settle down with, but no one in the shire strikes your fancy?… Samwise you are a riddle of a lad.”

A soft wind began rustling the leaves on the tree above the two, sweet scents from the garden began to waft in their direction and birdsong had ceased. Frodo yawned unnecessarily loudly and rolled to his belly. He hardly felt the tickle of the turf on his cheeks as began to feel himself doze a little in the pleasant damp of the lawn.

In fact he was on the edge of sleep when thought he felt strong hands around the crook of his legs and back. He settled into the floating feeling, It must be the wind that made him feel as if he was suspended above the ground.

In the briefest moment he thought he caught the sight of golden curls bouncing above him. Someone was looking down at him with tender eyes and soft smile about their lips.

He was sure now that he had fallen asleep, for he recognized the face as his beloved gardener. His hands felt light, drawn toward the figure above. He reached out and cupped sam’s cheek. It felt rough from spending time in the blazing sun.

Sam leaned into the touch and his eyelids fluttered. At this point there was no doubt in Frodo’s mind that he was deeply asleep.

Rationally it was not the wisest of ideas however easy it would be to brush off his talk as rambling. Without the common sense of an alert mind he dared now to call out to his friend.

“Beautiful Samwise who is always at my side when I need him. How I adore you so. How I wish you knew…” He was sad to remember that only in dreams could he express the unexplainable feelings in his small chest to Sam. However it was such a welcome outlet that he continued.

“ Bright as the summer sun, and sweet like the first harvest of fall apples. Strong and diligent in duty. Enviously handsome. My heart beats only for you…”

***

Frodo awoke to a savory smell. He was a little perturbed to find fresh linen about him and a plush pillow underneath his head. Perhaps Sam had carried him to his room after all? He dearly wished not. Although it was not a habit of his to speak whilst sleeping the thought that occurred to him made his body feel frozen and prickly.

Of course it had to be a flight of fancy. Even as a child he had been a quiet sleeper. It was not possible in any conceivable way that any of his thoughts had become audible. This soothed him in the slightest, allowing Frodo to slip from the bed out of his nightshirt and into proper clothes. That was probably Sam’s doing too…

At last he conceded that the only way to be sure of what had actually happened was to go about the rest of the day in his normal fashion and watch for anything peculiar.

And peculiar his day was going to be for as soon as he stepped into the kitchen to see the short figure in dusty brown overalls he heard a distinct clatter as if a cooking utensil had been dropped.

The other hobbit continued to chop the carrots on the counter, his movements getting quicker with each step Frodo took into the room.

“So you’re finally awake then?” A pause like the quiet after a thunderclap echoing behind the words. Frodo already knew what Sam was going to say before he spoke.

“ I never knowed you talked in your sleep sir.” The voice tried to sound casual but the crack in the middle gave away his nervousness.

My god, Frodo thought. He’s heard, he’s heard everything and now he thinks I’m repulsive. He won’t come back after finishing his cooking, tomorrow his father will be up here to inform me that his family no longer wants to have anything to do with the Bagginses. I am a fool, a disgusting fool who should not even dream of being closer to Sam.

Frodo’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t even answer, his throat swelled and he fought viciously to keep tears from his eyes. He wheezed the only reply that would come out of him.

“You’ve done enough today, perhaps you should go home Sam.” Yes, home and as far away as possible from me.

The chopping stopped and Sam turned, body facing Frodo but looking away as if something down the hall was interesting him greatly. The other hobbit wanted to roll into a ball underneath his bedsheets, why had he left his room at all?

A sniffling sound caught his attention. Sam’s eyes hid behind his hair but by the tears dripping down his face Frodo could tell he was Very upset. No longer able to hold in his own feelings the other began sobbing into his hands.

Nothing would be the same again, now that Sam knew.

He waited for the words to come. Vile, horrendous, repulsive. Those were what he felt in his heart.

The sniffing got closer but Frodo couldn’t force himself to take his palms from his eyes. Was Sam so truly upset that he should think of something like hitting him? No, Sam was too kind, too gentle to harm any form of life.

Instead of a smack Frodo felt his right hand gently pulled away by warm, calloused fingers. He could see his friend frighteningly clear now. His hazel eyes deep with overwhelming thought and tears still falling down his flushed cheeks.

“Begging your pardon…” Sam hiccuped, “ Mister Frodo...Blast it! Frodo, would you mind if we had lunch in the living room today?”

He simply nodded in reply fearing the shameful whimpering that may have escaped instead.

At this Sam visibly relaxed, eyes brightening a little. He wiped his eyes and nose across his sleeve. Hurriedly he set about piling together the tray of cold meats, vegetable soup, cheese, crackers and tart jam that was intended to be their lunch. Sam was in and out of the room like a bee at work in a patch of wildflowers. Soon enough Frodo could hear fire crackling in the hearth and the clink of Bilbo’s silver mugs as each was filled with light ale.

Nervously the young master made his way to the next room and then threw himself down on the plush armchair where he often sat to read. This time he quite wished that he could see nothing entirely so he buried himself among the pillows and the old throw blanket on which he was sitting.

Sam came back to quite the sight. Two pale blue eyes, puffy and red about their edges, peeking from beneath a mountain of fabric. Sam didn’t look much better but he had refused to hide like a swatted pup. Seeing his master so afraid hurt indefinitely more than whatever had brought him to tears and he was desperate to clear the look of fear from his eyes.

“It’s ok.” Sam said gently, “ You ain’t hurt no one and I ain’t mad.”

A nose appeared from under the bundle, followed by the rest of Frodo’s head.

“How much have you heard?” His voice trembled audibly.

“Now hold your horses, I asked you if you would eat with me so you could hear me out and help me. What I have or haven’t heard isn’t the topic of conversation. If we started there I fear I should become biased when trying to tell you this darned tangled thought.”

Sam sat near the fire and exhaled to expel hesitation from himself. After offering Frodo food from the tray and making sure he was sipping at least enough of the ale to feel less trapped like a hunted rabbit he judged that it was a good time to restart.

“I’ve had more time to think since this morning, about having a family. I’ve however not been thinking about any sleepy ramblings you’ve been doing.” Sam looked a bit sleepy himself as he lapsed into memory.

“I never noticed the surroundings when thinking about the family I wish for. I’d only thought to notice how happy I was imagining telling your stories to a little hobbit lass sitting on my knee or playing near the garden.

I tried very hard to see what else lie in my daydream. Where I was, who was with me. It weren’t no use. Then I’d noticed you fell asleep sir and well I couldn’t just leave you to lie outside. Seeing you so relaxed put my heart at ease and I was smiling like some dopey tween asked to their first dance. It made me think how glad I was that you’re healing. Maybe you aren’t healed completely, but every little bit feels like a victory for me. Then you looked up.”

Frodo, lightened by the alcohol and the pleased tone of his friend’s voice but not enough so to shed the old blanket, rose and sat next to him inquisitively. Sam let him get settled so as not to rush anything important he needed to say.

“I looked up and?” Frodo’s sniffled.

“And, I knew the answer to my problem. It was like someone had taken my noggin and set it so I was seeing straight again. You looked up and I felt my daydream flash through my mind crystal clear. Me and the young one at bag end. Digging in the garden, rolling down the hill, racing to the door for elevensies. Cold winters sipping cider by the fire, just me and my beautiful family.

Celebrating Yule, watching the summer fireflies together while the babe was tucked up in bed.

Always I would look up to Bag End and sitting on the bench beneath the trees smiling bright as I ever seen one smile, there was you.”

He smiled bashfully, wringing his hands and looking away. Sam knew in his heart why he fancied no lass in the Shire, he knew and as was his nature he’d been honest as best as words could convey. Even if Frodo felt nothing more than a familial bond with him it was enough. Love for the sake of love filled his heart in a way that he should be content no matter the outcome. He had said his piece and was no longer afraid.

Frodo was caught unawares and tongue tied in the worst possible moment. Sam had heard him and refused to take his sleepy ramblings as a confession. He had waited patiently until Frodo could truly confirm the words he spoke. Understanding clocked him over the head like a brick. Sam hadn’t been crying over what he said, he’d been crying about finally resolving a question that had been eating away at him for longer than he had guessed. The great weight lifted off of his shoulders was such a relief that even stout hearted Samwise wept with relief. Still, he didn’t want to assume wrongly, even if he had guessed right. The only way to know was to ask.

“Sam, why were you crying in the kitchen earlier? I was afraid I upset you terribly by some things I might have said. But you found a reason to stay, which didn’t make sense to me at the time.”

“Why never,” a boldness came about the gardener, whether to comfort his friend or express his feelings was beyond Frodo’s guess.

Sam reached out and clasped his hand gently, the sudden contact almost made the young master pull away but Sam’s sturdy reassuring grip calmed him.

“I thought you’d think me a delusional ninnyhammer when I told you that I had figured out what I was missing. But to understand and feel wonderful love that I had not understood before left me right confused.”

Frodo was in definite danger of falling into tears once more. His eyes stung and his heart beat wildly. He did the only thing his body would allow him to.

Throwing the blanket from himself he lept forward into Sam’s arms and buried his heat against his chest. Sam smelled like grass clippings, tulips, sunlight, and all that was beautiful in the world. He was warm and comforting and Frodo could feel the tattoo of his heart against him. Sam pulled him in close and wrapped his arms about the other hobbit.

“If I have said as I think I have, It is true. Oh Samwise, dear Sam, I mean every word with my whole heart. You are brave and faithful, kind and generous. More beautiful than the halls of Lothlorien and more precious than the mithril of the lonely mountain. Sweet as the air after spring rain. I am not simply fond of you Samwise Gamgee, I adore you with all that I am. I apologize for waxing poetic but I just cannot seem to stop myself.”

As easily as if he had done the action a thousand times over Sam lifted Frodo’s face and kissed him gently. There was no over eagerness in either hobbit. Both treated the other as if they would break at the slightest pressure. It was chaste and full of endearment more intimate than any other profession of love one could imagine. In that time they exchanged their hearts, saying all that could not be said in all the languages among middle earth.

It was Sam who finally broke the kiss.

“I’ve always loved your poetry my dear Frodo.”

#Lotr #lord of the rings #return of the king #fic #fanfiction #fanfic #samfro #Frodo x Sam #sam x frodo #frosam #fluff #samwise gamgee #frodo baggins

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dreamersscape · 6 years

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In honor of the anniversary of @sylvi10's birth, here’s a quick excerpt from the second chapter of my long ago endeavor to chronicle Allan’s parallel view of the series’ events, because if @nettlestonenell can post in 2018 happiness-through-Allan-centric-fic pursuits years in the making, so can I. (She did it better, but whatcha gonna do?)

>>>>>---------------------->

They rode deep into the forest long after there could be any question of their being followed. Eventually, Robin slowed his horse to a trot and then a halt as they came upon a secluded hollow half-surrounded by high stone faces. Will reined in as well, and they all dismounted.

Robin turned to his manservant, his eyebrows raised speculatively. “This’ll do for a camp right now, don’t you think, Much?”

Much sighed. It was full of long-suffering, as though by now he was well accustomed to making do with wherever his master saw fit to drag him. “I suppose this spot is no worse than any other place in these horrible woods. I am so tired of camping.” He cast a scowl at Robin that was perhaps intended to be withering, but only managed to look supremely annoyed.

“Good.” Robin seemed to pay no mind to Much’s grumbling. He motioned to his bow and quiver. “Let us see what we can scrape together for breakfast, then. You lads up for starting the fire and tending the horses?”

Will nodded and Allan followed suit with a shrug. As Robin and Much traipsed off into the trees, Allan silently mused on why the young noble evidently had no qualms about leaving his only remaining possessions behind with two men who had only yesterday been convicted for stealing. I’d be wise to make off with a horse now, he thought. He’d get away from this forsaken shire with its bloodthirsty sheriffs and lords that didn’t act like they should—not that he didn’t appreciate that, mind—and he’d make a killing when he sold the steed, too. The idea was tempting, wonderfully enticing, but oddly, Allan found he didn’t want to. Not yet, at least. He couldn’t have explained the inclination, except he was somewhat curious what Robin would do now that he was an outlaw.

Will already had the beginnings of a fire underway, so Allan turned to check that the horses weren’t wandering off. He let loose a long breath, comforted by the knowledge that such mundane tasks were the greatest of his concerns at present.

And then the world tilted. Struck by a nauseating wave of vertigo, Allan stumbled through the last few steps to the nearest horse and sagged heavily against its shoulder, the last of the burst of strength and energy which had carried him from Nottingham trickling out of his body. Distantly, he noted with gratitude that, other than flicking an ear in Allan’s direction, his makeshift, equine-shaped support appeared far more interested in inspecting the immediate undergrowth than the bloke invading her personal space. Allan buried his face in the animal’s coarse hair and drew in deep gulps of air. The pungent, earthy musk wafted around Allan, slowly steadying him. After several prolonged moments, his sight stopped spinning and the slight buzzing in his ears fell silent.

Back there, that had been much too close. Allan had run into his fair share of trouble in the past; getting into and squeezing out of dangerous situations was practically his occupation. Or at least it seemed to take up the greater part of his time and attention. But if all those times before had been like looking over the lip of a cliff, skirting the edge of risk and control and safety, then the crushing pressure of the noose curled around his neck had flung him headlong over the side of that precipice. Allan lifted a hand to tenderly probe at the bruised and abraded circle of skin around his neck. The pain, the bone-deep panic, the swirl of breathlessness his world had become—it was more terrifying than anything he had yet experienced. Worst of all, there was nothing he could have done to save himself. A single tremor ran through his body at the thought. If not for Robin--

Allan stiffened and leaned backed from the horse to stand straight. Pathetic, he scolded himself. It’s over, innit? And you survived, just like you always do. No use acting all delicate about it. He sneaked a glance in Will’s direction to make certain his moment of weakness had gone unnoticed. Luckily it had, as Will’s eyes were still firmly fastened on the little blaze he was meticulously nurturing. Allan rearranged his expression into the cool features of indifference and went to seat himself across the fire from the younger man. Will looked up briefly at the nearby rustle of leaves, but it was enough for Allan to observe the angry red spots that clustered around his eyes, standing out all the more against the pallor of Will’s skin. Allan found his vision drawn from them down to the inflamed ring of flesh which reflected his own imprint from the hangman’s rope, and he wondered if his face was also similarly marked. He swallowed and forced himself to look away.

A right pair we make, Allan thought. Out loud, he only said with a nod to the fire, “You’ve a deft hand with that axe.”

Will’s head stayed bowed, but Allan caught a murmured “Thanks.”

Allan squinted. Why hadn’t Will seen his humiliating display over by the horses? His gaze caught on Will’s hands momentarily, realizing that they never seemed to remain still for more than a second or two, and they shook slightly when they weren’t adding a twig to the flames or methodically shredding leaves into tiny pieces.

“Will? Will, the fire’s not gonna die if you stop lookin’ at it, you know.” Allan strove to keep his voice light.

The stick Will held snapped abruptly. His head jerked up, fixing Allan with a searching stare. “Luke and my dad—do you think they made it out of Nottingham alright?”

“Yeah,” Allan said, a little taken aback. “Yeah, I’m sure they’re fine.”

“I lost them before we got out of the courtyard, but I think they were ahead of me. They wouldn’t go back to Locksley, not now, right?” Allan wasn’t altogether sure Will was still speaking to him, but he nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging way. Will’s musings trailed off, possibly removed into his thoughts, and although his anxiety lingered in the wrinkling of his brow and the tightness around his mouth, he appeared significantly more composed. Relieved, Allan lay back on his elbows; his exhaustion had settled deep in his muscles now and it lured him towards slumber with the sweet promise of escape from reliving the near-hanging every time he looked at Will or turned his head and irritated his lacerated skin. Ought to look after Will till the others get back. It was his last thought before his eyes slipped shut.

>>>>>---------------------->

Allan awoke with a start what felt like only a few seconds later to find their other two companions had already returned. Much had made quick work of preparing a pair of rabbits for roasting, and currently he was settling them on a spit over the crackling fire. An uncomfortable twisting in his gut reminded Allan he was in just as much need of a meal as a good, long rest. The Nottingham Castle dungeons were not known for their hospitality, he had learned firsthand.

Will, having been deprived of his fire-tending duties for the time being while Much cooked, announced he was going to gather more kindling. Allan followed the younger man with his eyes as he left. He supposed keeping himself well occupied was Will’s method for easing a restive mind, but Allan wished he would calm down so they could simply forget about the aborted execution. Then again, Allan didn’t have any family members whose whereabouts he worried about. Seeing as Tom had left of his own volition, he didn’t warrant any of Allan’s concern.

Much’s voice cut into Allan’s thoughts, although he spoke to Robin. “Be honest with me. This does not bode well for my lodge, my Bonchurch.”

His lodge? If Robin’s servants have their own lodges…but, well, doesn’t really matter now, does it?

When Robin only raised his eyebrows in answer, Much looked to the heavens in defeat. “I knew it.”

“This is your lodge now, my friends. Sherwood Lodge.” Allan quipped in mild amusement.

“I’m not your friend.“ Much shot back.

Allan rolled his eyes. I wasn’t exactly declaring my deep and abiding love, was I? But before he could make his retort, Robin motioned for quiet and quickly rose to his feet, apparently listening for something only he could hear.

#happy birthday #sylvi10 #i like writing allan-in-the-aftermath-of-trauma too much #emily attempts to write things #shades of light #pursuing happiness through allan-centric fic #bbc robin hood #robin hood bbc #allan a dale

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milesofkeeffe · 7 years

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Never Been Kissed

This is my first reader-oriented fic, and it’s for @fromthedeskoftheraven. Take this as a little treat for having survived a harrowing week. I’m glad you’re back safe and sound! And thanks for all your fics.

Read this on AO3.

“You’ve never been kissed?!”

Thorin Oakenshield’s two nephews stared down at you with twin expressions of astonishment on their faces.

“No,” you repeated, pushing yourself up from the grass where you’d been lying between your longtime friends at the outskirts of the campsite. It wasn’t yet cold enough that you had to stay close to the fire at night. “Don’t say it so loud. I don’t need the entire Company knowing I’m completely pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic,” Fíli countered with shake of his head that tossed disheveled curls, their gold still bright in the twilight. “It’s just— Well, are all the dwarves in Ered Luin weak in the head?”

“You two excepted, of course,” you teased.

The crown prince’s brow wrinkled in a teasing frown. “Well, I don’t know about Kíli. Sometimes—”

“Hey!” his brother cut in. “I’m not! Besides, I bet lots of lads would’ve kissed her if they weren’t afraid of what her father’d do to them.”

“Really?” You colored in spite of yourself. It probably was true that quite a few potential suitors had been frightened away by your father Nori’s reputation as a cunning rogue who did as he wished with little regard for technicalities of the law.

Fíli nodded. “You’re a clever lass. And more than a little pretty. You know that, right?”

“Um…” You’d never considered yourself exactly bad-looking, but pretty? Well…

“Yes, very pretty,” Kíli put in. “But more importantly, about this never-been-kissed business. We can’t let you go on like this. What if you died tomorrow?”

“How?” you asked. “By falling off my pony?” The Company was barely out of the Shire, and the worst threat you had encountered so far had been a rainstorm that had thoroughly soaked your bedroll and a patch of stinging nettles that you’d accidentally blundered through in the dark. Surely the greater dangers were months away.

“Okay, well maybe not tomorrow,” Kíli conceded, waving a hand dismissively. “But eventually we could face anything. Goblins, trolls. Wargs.”

“A dragon,” Fíli added, though he didn’t sound especially concerned.

“Right, a dragon.” The dark-haired prince nodded. “My point is, we can’t let you face all of that if you’ve never, even once, been properly kissed. You might not get another chance.”

“You’re offering to kiss me,” you said slowly.

“Don’t act so astonished, and yes, I am,” Kíli returned. “Unless you’d rather kiss Fí. I don’t mind if you would.”

You glanced to Fíli. For the barest moment, he looked almost surprised. But he grinned and said, “Your pick.”

You swallowed. It wasn’t that the thought of kissing either of them was distasteful—quite the opposite, really. But it hadn’t ever quite occurred to you, and so the idea took some getting used to.

“Which of you is the better kisser?” you asked, avoiding the question that you weren’t quite sure you had an answer for.

Fíli laughed. “Durin’s beard, I don’t think anyone’s ever been in a position to judge. Have they?” He cast a sharp look at his brother.

“Nope.”

“Then how am I supposed to decide?” you moaned, embarrassed by the predicament, but not really wishing it away. You weren’t, you realized, opposed to being pursued by either one of the princes.

“I’ll tell you what,” Kíli said. “If you want, you can kiss us both. And then tell us who did better.”

“All right,” you stammered.

“You don’t have to,” Fíli put it. “It’s just for fun.”

“Shut up, you two, I will.” You laughed. “You make a very good point, about dragons and all.”

“Then who first?” Fíli asked, a teasing challenge in his eyes.

“Oh Maker!” you gasped. “Well… Kíli, you suggested this.” You turned your eyes to him.

He grinned. “So I did. I would be honored, my lady.” And he took your hand.

“Should we stand up for this?” you asked softly.

“Sitting down is fine,” he murmured. He placed your hand at the side of his neck and leaned towards you. His hair was fine and soft against your fingers, and you instinctively slid them further round the back of his head. Kíli brushed his fingertips across your cheek, then settled them under your chin and drew you towards him. Unsure of what to do, you closed your eyes.

Kíli’s lips pressed yours in a light, gentle caress, once and then again. By the third time, the tension you hadn’t even known was in your jaw dissolved and your lips parted slightly against his. He seemed to have been waiting for this, because his mouth closed on your lower lip, slowly teasing and coaxing you to allow him more.

His fingers had found the little hollow below the corner of your throat, and as he drew at the soft fringe of your beard, you heard yourself give a faint moan. You closed your fingers on the fur trim of his coat, tugged at his hair, and he took this as encouragement, pressing his tongue lightly past your lips.

At that moment, there was a rustle of grass behind you as Fíli rose suddenly. Without a word, he crashed off through the underbrush, away from you and Kíli and the rest of the camp.

You drew back from Kíli, suddenly perfectly sure who you would rather be kissing.

“Kíli, I— I’m sorry,” you gasped, and not merely because you hadn’t been breathing moments before. “I just— Dammit.” You glanced over your shoulder, but Fíli was no longer in sight.

When you looked back to Kíli, his expression was not the hurt one you had been expecting. “S’all right,” he said, and the distant firelight struck an amused twinkle from his brown eyes.

“Well, go on.” He gave you a gentle push.

Not needing to hear anything more, you scrambled up and took off in the direction Fíli had presumably gone. Dusk was falling fast, but you could still see the crisp outlines of the trees and, finally there among them Fíli’s broad silhouette.

He didn’t turn as you approached, but once you were behind him, he said, “Sorry, I just couldn’t… You didn’t do anything wrong. Kiss Kíli if you want.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you blurted. “It was stupid of me not to realize what I wanted. Who I wanted.”

He turned to stare at you. “You mean—” For the second time tonight, astonishment was written over his features.

“Yes, Fíli.” You put your hands out as you stepped towards him, and he clasped them in his strong, warm ones. “Talk of being weak in the head. How dumb can a lass be?”

“Not dumb. You’re perfect.” Fíli pushed ginger hair back from your forehead and then kissed you once, between your brows. His nose skimmed your own, and the braids on his mustache brushed your cheek, making you laugh.

“Go on; you promised to kiss me,” you whispered against his face.

He tucked his head down to set his lips fully and gently to yours, and you pressed back, certain of this kiss in a way you had not been with Kíli. That previous kiss had been an experiment, as you discovered how lips felt against lips. It had been learning a language by repeating back a phrase that was not your own. But now, with Fíli, you truly had something to say.

After a few breathless moments, Fíli stepped back, laughing. “That’s not how you kissed my brother.”

“Don’t want to kiss your brother,” you said, moving closer again and winding an arm about Fíli’s neck. He kissed you once more, his mouth slow and tender and sweet against yours. You’d never felt so warm, nestled against the soft fur of Fíli’s coat and with his strong arms around you.

As you hummed happily against him, you felt Fíli smile. “Please don’t fall off your pony tomorrow,” he said.

“But now I’ve been kissed. I’m allowed.” You pressed your fingers up the nape of his neck, earning a happy sigh from him now.

“That’s precisely why you’re not allowed,” he said. “I’d like to be able to kiss you again.”

“Then do.”

He obliged, firmly enough to leave your lips tingling. As you stood leaning together afterwards, Fíli asked, “Kí’s not upset, is he?”

You shook your head. “I think he understands.”

“Good.” Fíli straightened, drawing you up with him. “Now, let’s go back before your father starts to wonder what I’ve done with you. I don’t fancy being stabbed in my sleep.”

“You won’t get stabbed in your sleep,” you said, squeezing Fíli’s hand as you both turned back towards the campfire, now a welcome light in the gloom.

“I’m sure you’ll hear Kíli’s scream first, and that will wake you up.”

#fili #fili x reader #fili x female reader #fili x you #kili #fan fic #fanfic #my writing #fili/you #fili/reader #fili/female reader

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shockcity · 7 years

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Bagginshield #13 - getting married

Rating: T Summary: for the 30 Day OTP Challenge. Bilbo and Thorin get married! It’s awesome! And horrible! Wow! Alternate Universe - Fix It

Bilbo probably should have realized what their wedding would be like just by how Thorin had proposed to him.

“Thorin wants to know if you’ll marry him,” Kili had asked, sweating buckets for some reason (he’d run all the way from the training grounds and up to the library at record speed, Bilbo would later find out). “He might be dying so please say yes.”

“What?”

In an effort to teach Gimli how to properly swing his axe farther and faster (???), Fili had twirled around in circles as if he were doing a particularly inspired hammer throw, but before he could let go he’d of course managed to hit someone. Luckily the sharp end was pointed in the other direction so that only the back of it met Thorin’s head.

“Good thing it wasn’t double-edged, eh?” said Fili, nudging Bilbo and laughing nervously.

Bilbo, clutching Thorin’s hand and still deeply worried despite the ‘all clear’ from Oin, cast Fili such a scathing look that the dwarf stumbled over his own feet to escape the infirmary. Kili, upon seeing his brother flee, hastily followed on reflex.

“Don’t be angry with them, Bilbo,” Thorin said, squeezing his hand. “This is not the first time I’ve been hit in the head with a blunt instrument.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say?”

Dwalin came to visit Thorin eventually, seeming unconcerned and even a bit disdainful of Thorin’s injury. When they started comparing instances of head trauma and arguing about who had passed out the longest, Bilbo had rolled his eyes and retreated into the storeroom to make more of Thorin’s tincture. That’s when he overheard them.

“….reschedule, you’re in no shape for dancing. And we can send the pachyderms back, there’s a thirty day return policy….”

Bilbo did not like the sound of any of this.

“No! We’ve been planning it for months!” said Nori, and when did he get here? “I’m not stealing all that wine again.”

“Some thief you are.”

“Hey!”

“Quiet before he hears you,” Thorin interrupted them. “Tell the others that we will rendezvous at the secret room in three hours. And I suppose we must get rid of the pudding.”

“What? No!”

Having heard enough, Bilbo clinked a few vials together pointedly and turned to leave. When he reentered the room, Nori was nowhere in sight, Thorin had a stupid grin on his face, and Dwalin’s expression was deeply pained.

“What’s going on?” asked Bilbo, looking between the two of them suspiciously.

“Nothing at all,” Thorin replied, before raising his hand for Bilbo to take. “I think I might rest now, my hobbit.”

“I’ll stay with him,” grunted Dwalin. He would not meet Bilbo’s eyes.

He sighed. “Very well. I suppose I’ll come see you later.”

Bilbo grabbed a broom from the store room and trotted out and into the hallway. He zeroed in on the small wooden door above him, which covered the old laundry shoot for the infirmary. Bilbo whacked it twice with the broom handle.

“What,” said Nori, opening the little door and peering out. His eyes widened when he saw Bilbo.

“Get down from there!” Bilbo hissed. “Tell me what’s happening this instant.”

Nori ducked his head and peeked over the edge of the shoot. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t make me come up there!”

Nori’s eyes grew even wider. He said nothing for a moment, seeming to think over his options. “Alright,” he gave in, taking a fortifying breath. “Thorin wants to know if you’ll marry him.”

Bilbo only stared.

Nori grimaced. “And…he’s…very keen?”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow.

“Are you, uh, keen too?”

Bilbo said nothing.

“Ok bye.”

Nori retreated and swung the door closed. Bilbo could hear him shuffling through the vents hastily.

He was getting a massive headache, so he took out one of Thorin’s pain relievers and knocked it back. It tasted like frustration and defeat.

It only got worse, of course.

“What do you think about…weddings?” Gloin asked him tentatively, blocking the way to the kitchens.

“I think I’m hungry,” said Bilbo.

“Oh, we’ll have food, of course. A proper feast. Was that a yes?”

Balin had put an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders, his expression fatherly and affectionate. “Bilbo, I’ve been meaning to ask you about your future here with us….”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows. “Am I being promoted?”

“What? No.”

Eventually Bilbo realized that sarcasm simply did not work on dwarrow, and so he would have to be blunt with them. He got his chance when the last dwarf to confront him with this nonsense was Bofur, who was shockingly no better than the rest. In fact he was the worst, which wasn’t fair because Bilbo had trusted him more.

“….what with you two having already sealed the deal, as they say, or er, consummated your sacred vows of sorts. Loudly. Anyway, the next step is tying the knot, so to speak, settling down and all. The old ball and chain. Then maybe a few sprogs. Two or three? No one’s counting, though, Bilbo, there’s no pressure. But about saying yes to my proposal – ”

“To Thorin’s proposal, you mean?” he interrupted, rather sharply. His blood pressure had risen ever higher the longer Bofur had gone on. “Which he should be making? And not you?”

Bofur wisely backed away a bit. “….yes?”

“I don’t care if he’s hospitalized and you all feel wretched about it!” Bilbo exploded, stomping his foot for good measure. “This is Thorin’s moment! Or did he put you up to this? He should know that proposals can wait until he’s not got head trauma!”

“No, no!” he denied hastily, waving his hands. “Thorin has no idea we’ve spoken to you! We…well, we wanted to help.”

Bilbo crossed his arms, glaring. “Well, you haven’t! And he’s going to be heartbroken when he finds out you’ve all proposed to me for him. Honestly!”

“I….” Bofur looked down at the ground, a desolate expression on his face. “I hadn’t thought….”

“Which is why you’re going to go away and tell everyone to keep quiet about pestering me, and I will act surprised when he proposes in some grand and extremely humiliating manner, and you will all help him propose in that grand and humiliating manner, or I swear Bofur I will make all of your lives utterly miserable!”

Bofur gulped and nodded and turned to scurry away. Then he paused. “Was that…a yes?”

The murderous look Bilbo sent the dwarf’s way would haunt him for years to come.

In the end, the proposal went exactly how Thorin wanted it to, and if the company all glanced at Bilbo for approval during the entire production, then that was between them and the hobbit. Thorin was oblivious to Bilbo’s involvement anyway, and was instead quite pleased with himself for pulling it off.

“He was so surprised!” Thorin told Dís later. “By the birds and the giant pudding and the dancing!”

“The pachyderms especially,” added Bilbo with a smile.

Thorin grabbed up Bilbo’s hand and kissed the back of it. “It went off without a hitch, concussion notwithstanding.”

Dís looked at Bilbo a bit sympathetically. “You sure you want this one, Master Baggins?”

The hobbit smiled. “I do love your brother, I’m afraid. I’ve seen a healer about it but he says it’s incurable.”

Thorin kissed his temple. “I am very happy you’re diseased, Bilbo.”

Bilbo only sighed good-naturedly and kissed him back.

It was to be a winter wedding at Thorin’s request. Bilbo wasn’t fond of winter as a rule, but the dwarf loved it so much that Bilbo could not help but let him have it. Hobbits may have usually preferred spring and summer for handfasting, but the Shire was far away from here, and Bilbo wasn’t so loyal to hobbit-ways that he could stand to make his future husband unhappy.

In fact, he left almost all of the planning and decision making to the king, who seemed to be fixated on them having the most extravagant and memorable wedding in the history of middle earth. Bilbo was worried, but didn’t keep Thorin from realizing his dreams. Dís warned him not to be too soft when it came to Thorin’s enthusiasm, but Bilbo was bad at refusing Thorin these little things, however irritating or embarrassing they were.

Bilbo was busy enough mediating between the counsel members, anyway, who were all dwarrow of exceptional impatience and no little paranoia. They seemed to listen to Bilbo more than even the king or Balin, so both had happily stepped back and had thrown Bilbo to the wolves. This just meant that Bilbo had no time for picking wedding colors, drawing up seating charts, or stopping Thorin from hiring anymore large animals.

It wasn’t until the wedding was two months away that Bilbo was even asked his opinion.

“Is there a particular ballad you prefer? Though I’m sure I can compose one….”

“No, that’s alright,” Bilbo said quickly. “You choose, Thorin. You know what I like.”

Thorin grinned and wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s waist, tugging him against his body. “I do, don’t I?”

“I’ve just said that you do.” Bilbo reached up and brought his lips down for a kiss.

But before it could get heated Thorin abruptly pulled away. “That reminds me; once your relations arrive, is there any of them you would like to include in the ceremony?”

Bilbo’s smile vanished. “My what?”

“….we may need ushers, perhaps a few jugglers, if any of them have the talent for it….”

“Thorin, who did you invite from the Shire?” Bilbo demanded, cutting him off. He pulled away completely in order to put his hands on his hips.

“The Shire,” said Thorin with a frown.

“Yes, the Shire,” Bilbo repeated impatiently. “Who did you invite?”

“The Shire!”

“Is there an echo in – oh. You invited the Shire.”

Thorin grinned. “Yes!”

“As in everyone. In the Shire.”

“Yes!”

Bilbo blinked. “I – oh dear.”

“You look displeased.” Concerned, Thorin put a hand on his shoulder. “Should I not have invited them? I’m sorry, Bilbo, I would cancel but I’m afraid they’re already on their way. But this will cheer you, I’ve managed to attain Bard’s cooperation with crowd control in Dale. He was surprisingly helpful, in fact. He might be up to something, maybe an invasion….”

He had to know, even if he didn’t really want to know. “His cooperation for what?” Bilbo asked tiredly.

“The parade, of course.”

Of course, thought Bilbo, rubbing his temples. What have I got myself into?

“Bilbo Baggins! How dare you run off on an adventure without telling anyone! Congratulations on your engagement. You look terrible.”

Aunt Donnamira plucked at his clothes and pulled on his curls. “Too skinny!” she tutted.

“He looks like a corpse,” Aunt Rosa added. “You hear me, Bilbo? You look dead.”

Thorin was gazing at Bilbo worriedly now, so he waved his arms at his relations to get them to shut up. “I’m quite fine, thank you! Hello, Uncle Isengar. Laylia! And Prim! Oh, it’s wonderful to see you.”

“You sound like you like them better than us,” said Donnamira with narrowed eyes.

“He does like us better than you,” said Sigismund. Flambard, as usual, was hovering next to him.

“Thank you for coming!” Bilbo interrupted, his voice a bit high. “But of course you didn’t have to, it’s such a long way….”

“Do you mean we shouldn’t have come because we’re old?” Aunt Rosa immediately asked.

“Yes,” said Flambard.

Bilbo made a loud noise in the back of his throat. “OF COURSE NOT YOU’RE ALL AMAZING,” he rushed to say.

“Good, because Fort and Grim are right behind us with that Drogo fellow in tow. Maybe you can talk some sense into him. He’s been giving Prim the eye and Mirabella would never forgive me if her daughter was deflowered in the wilderness – ”

“GRACIOUS ME, YOU MUST BE TIRED AFTER YOUR JOURNEY. YOU SHOULD REST.”

“Well there’s no need to shout,” said Donnamira.

Bilbo managed to herd them toward the royal wing, but not before kicking Thorin in the shin, who had the courtesy to look ashamed. It didn’t help his temper when he caught sight of the company lurking in the hallway, all of them watching the hobbits argue with obvious glee. Nori (who was hanging upside down from the ceiling vent) even had the nerve to grin and point.

Unfortunately, when Fortinbras and Adalgrim arrived Bilbo was too distracted to pay attention, so poor Thorin was left at their mercy.

“Just what have you done to my cousin?” Fort asked, looking Thorin up and down. “Has there been any buggering?”

“Yes, buggering,” Grim emphasized.

“Thorin, don’t answer that,” Balin interrupted, thankfully.

“We’re just trying to get to the bottom…” Grim sniggered “…of all this, my good dwarf.”

“Not without his advisor present,” Balin insisted. “And if you’re not charging him with anything then I’d like to take the king elsewhere, if it’s all the same to you.”

Meanwhile, Bilbo had squirreled Drogo away from the crowd and was checking him over for injuries. “I’m alright, Bilbo,” Drogo told him. “No one has hurt me.”

“Physically, maybe. But mentally….”

Drogo smiled, though his eyes were suspiciously wet. “It’s good to see you, you know. But I’m also angry with you! You just disappeared! What if you had died?” He sniffled. “We never would have know what had happened to you – !”

Bilbo hugged his favorite little cousin close. “I’m so sorry, Drogo, I didn’t think.”

“Too right you didn’t think!” Aunt Rosa said, popping up from out of nowhere. “Head of the Baggins family and grandson of the Thain…run off to parts unknown to participate in unwed debauchery!”

“Ah ha!” shouted Fort in the distance.

“What would have happened if we needed you? What about your tenants? Your vineyards? What if we called on you to take over the Thainship!”

“I’m eleventh in line!” Bilbo protested.

“Eleven of us could have died,” Grim pointed out. “Sometimes I feel close to death already.”

“In line?” Balin interrupted them, beginning to look rather concerned. “You don’t mean that Bilbo is royalty?”

“No, of course not! Hobbits don’t have – ”

“Yes,” said Flambard.

“He’s A Very Important Person,” Sigismund revealed, before pointedly looking at Thorin. “Those are quality fields you’re plowing.”

Grim sniggered.

“Aulë,” Balin cursed breathlessly. “But this changes everything!”

Bilbo twisted his fingers together anxiously, looking from Balin to a shocked and motionless Thorin. “Nothing has to change,” he said comfortingly. “Please don’t fret! We can just have a small ceremony if you like, and there’s no need to be formal – ”

“Bigger,” Thorin muttered dazedly.

“What?”

“It needs to be bigger.”

Balin was looking a bit hysterical. “I’ll order more acrobats,” he said, and marched away quickly.

There were three things Thorin and company did not account for when they were planning the Royal Wedding. Bilbo might have told them if he was at all consulted, but since he was not, events that could have been avoided went ahead and transpired in a very efficient and pointed manner.

The first thing they ignored was something as simple and as uncontrollable as the weather, and it just so happened that on the day of their wedding, there was a snowstorm. A big one.

“Ruined! It’s all ruined!” Thorin announced, bursting into the room where Bilbo and his family were gathered. Unfortunately, this was breaking the rule of not seeing the bride before the wedding, so Thorin was immediately besieged by angry hobbits, who forcefully pushed him back out into the hall.

“Honestly!” Bilbo said, dodging Donnamira and slipping out of the room. He shut the door with a snap, and turned to the king. “Thorin, tell me what’s happened.”

“A blizzard! We can’t have a parade in a blizzard!” Thorin paced up and down. “Half of the ceremony is outdoors!”

Bilbo frowned. “We can move it inside, can’t we?” But when Thorin did not look comforted he had to step forward and embrace him. “Come now, it’s supposed to be a happy day, my dear.”

“I tried to make it so,” Thorin muttered into Bilbo’s shoulder. “And now my efforts are all for naught.”

Bilbo smiled and ran his hands through Thorin’s hair. “Of course they’re not,” he insisted. “We’ll just move the party inside, darling. I quite like the idea, anyway.”

Thorin lifted his head up and stared at the hobbit earnestly. “You do?” he said.

“I do,” Bilbo answered cheekily. Then he gave a much cheered Thorin a very sweet kiss.

Which would help when the Second Problem They Overlooked (which was actually a succession of issues that usually came up when too many people were stuck in the same place for too long a time) reared its ugly head.

“We’ve already had to cancel the circus animals and the parade,” said a frazzled Balin. “What will we do without the theatre troupe?!”

“I’m not bad at improv,” Nori volunteered.

“No,” Dori said quickly, glaring at his brother “I’m sorry Balin, but there’s nothing for it. Gripe happens.”

Bofur arrived then and announced his presence with a loud sigh. “The acrobats have got it too.”

“It’s spreading?!”

“We’ve quarantined them in the mines.”

“You what?”

“Don’t worry, we left them plenty of ale.”

But the true problem in regards to proximity that really should have never been overlooked, was the longstanding feud between the Ironfists and the Stonefoots, as well as the Firebeard habit of drinking to excess, which was exasperated by the Stiffbeard’s ever-present disdain coupled with their penchant for unwanted criticisms.

“Our rooms are very small,” a Stiffbeard declared haughtily. “One might think we’ve been given the short end of the stick.”

“I’ll give you a stick right up your arse,” said a Stonefoot.

“Only if you remove the one up yours first,” snapped an Ironfist.

“Where’s all the ale gone?” asked a Firebeard.

By then it had devolved into a brawl in the throne room, where everyone had started to gather to witness the momentous occasion of Bilbo and Thorin getting married.

…..if it happened at all, because the third problem was the worst of the bunch, as it happened right at the beginning of the ceremony.

From what Bilbo understood of dwarven culture, the wedding itself was a thing of formality and solemnness, while the reception was reserved purely for fun and revelry. Hobbit ceremonies were never formal, and many times the bride and groom were drunk before they even walked down the aisle. And that was another thing; there was no aisle to walk down, rather there was a maze.

“You and Thorin will pass through the crowd in a snake-like formation, slow and stately so that the audience can properly genuflect, and once you arrive at the throne you’ll be lighting your unity candle – ”

“Where do I come in?” Isengar interrupted Balin. “Am I on the right or the left?”

Balin frowned, looking away from his floor plan. “Pardon?”

“I’m walking Bilbo down the aisle, of course,” Isengar explained. “Filling in for his mother and father, rest their souls, and I must say I do like the idea of the genuflecting – ”

“Oi! Hold on,” Fortinbras cut in. “I’m walking Bilbo down the aisle!”

Isengar glared, putting his hands on his hips (cane and all). “Why on earth would you do that?”

“I’m the oldest cousin and Bilbo’s favorite.”

“Hey!” Sigismund protested.

“Well, why should it be any of you?” Rosa wanted to know. “I’m his aunt. I even nursed him!”

“Gross,” said Flambard.

“I may not have nursed him but I’m definitely his favorite,” Donnamira argued, pushing her way to the front of the group. “His first word was ‘I love you aunt Donna!’”

“That’s five words!”

“I’m the one who should do it!”

“Says who?”

“I helped deliver him!”

“I was there when he was conceived!”

“Gross.”

The squabbling didn’t stop until Bilbo stepped forward and proposed that they all be involved, and that no one should mention his breastfeeding or conception ever again. They begrudgingly agreed.

….and this was what lead to the third and final disaster.

Thorin and Bilbo made their slow journey to the throne, and the hobbits followed behind them like ducklings (who occasionally and purposefully stomped on each other’s feet). The groom and groom gamely ignored both the unruly group behind them and the tense atmosphere on the dwarrow side, where the Ironfists and the Stonefoots were ominously crammed together.

They made it to the stage without incident, but just as the wedding planners were about to let out a sigh of relief, an Ironfist suddenly shoved a Stonefoot out into the aisle, which tripped up Sigismund who fell into Flambard who knocked into Fortinbras who accidentally hit Bilbo and propelled him into the altar, which rattled the ceremonial candelabra enough that it toppled right on top of the curtains and caught them on fire.

There was immediate chaos.

“Someone fetch water!”

“Blow it out!”

“That made it worse!”

“What do we do?!”

“Thorin!” Bilbo shouted, pulling him away from the altar which was now engulfed in flames. He tugged Thorin toward the antechamber, looking back to make sure the company was handling the evacuation alright.

He intended to deposit Thorin somewhere safe and return to put out the fire (which seemed to be beyond the capabilities of the entire throne room) but before he could sprint off, he was held back by a hand on his wrist. Thorin stared at him sadly.

“I don’t understand…” he said. “We planned everything down to the last detail. It was supposed to be perfect.”

Bilbo looked at the king intently, out of breath but otherwise rather calm. “Wait here,” he said after a moment of silence.

He ducked out of the antechamber and ignored the bedlam for a moment. “Balin!” he called out, waving to the dwarf when he got his attention.

Balin hurried over and Bilbo dragged him into the room. “Marry us,” Bilbo whispered into his ear.

The dwarf blinked. “What?”

“Marry us right now!”

“But…but…” Balin saw that Bilbo was not joking and swallowed his protests. “But we need a witness!”

“Nori’s in the vent,” Bilbo hissed, pointing up.

“Hello,” said Nori from somewhere above them.

Bilbo lead Balin over to Thorin, who was sitting down now with his head in his hands. “Darling,” said Bilbo. ��None of that. Just repeat what Balin says.”

“What? What do you mean?”

Balin glanced at Bilbo, who nodded. “Ahem. I, Thorin, take you, Bilbo Baggins to be my lawfully wedded husband….”

Thorin, realizing what was happening, immediately brightened and repeated the vows. It was quick, painless, and Thorin had never looked happier.

And Bilbo loved him so much in that moment that he went ahead kissed him before Balin could pronounce them husband and husband. Nobody cared – it wasn’t like this was a traditional wedding anyway.

(They wisely evacuated shortly thereafter.)

Eventually the fire was put out and everyone who had run outside and into the blizzard had thankfully been retrieved. Balin announced that the wedding was over, and the party would go on as planned even though there was smoke damage and minor injuries.

Though there weren’t any acrobats, or a theatre troupe, or circus animals and a parade; though there was little to no formality, the ceremony being completely ruined, and they’d technically been hitched while in danger of burning to death – Bilbo and Thorin were married on a winter’s day with their friends and family in residence and their love for each other undefeated.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Bilbo told Thorin as they danced their first dance as king and consort.

Thorin gazed down at his husband with open affection. “Yes?” he inquired.

“Yes.” Bilbo leaned in and pressed their lips together, before smiling against Thorin’s cheek. “Because I am never getting married again.”

You Are Cordially Invited To

The Marriage of

Primula Brandybuck

and

Drogo Baggins,

On the Fifteenth of Astron, a Trewsday ~

“Oh, no.”

#30 day otp challenge #bagginshield #hobbit fic #this is mostly crack #and could probably serve as a sequel to 'on a date' if you want #hawkeye!Nori #when everything caught on fire I was so tempted to drop the 'my leg' meme but I overcame

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blankdblank · 5 years

Text

Blood and Bonds

Pt1 of combined prompts 25/26

@annwoods91, @sherala007, @lilith15000, @himoverflowers, @alishlieb, @deepestfirefun

“Please Thorin..you are my friend, my brother, my King. Please see that this is changing you. The Lass has abandoned us. Bilbo is growing ill. The men are hungry and tired, we need you.”

In a snarl Thorin opened his blackened lids revealing two differing eyes, one with a slit for an iris surrounded by a deeper glowing blue than the other glowing eye. Wing now hidden by the fur coat across the King’s back shifting and in a guttural tone he near to roared out, “Find My Stone!!”

Flinching back Dwalin watched the lips of the King darkening and protruding to a snout. It was more than a sickness it was a curse and their only hope, the Wizards they had brought with them from the Shire had abandoned them. Bowing his head in a pained groan of the King slinking back into the shadowy throne room Dwalin stepped back three paces and turned to join his kin hoping that you had not left them entirely, that you had gone for help, for supplies, anything. Anything but just having gone.

Will you hold the line?

When every one of them is giving up or giving in, tell me

In this house of mine?

Nothing ever comes without a consequence or cost, tell me

Will the stars align?

Will heaven step in? Will it save us from our sin? Will it?

'Cause this house of mine stands strong

“Bilbo?” Your hand smoothing across his forehead with a cloth as he muttered in a tongue you could not identify echoing a deeper hiss. In and out of consciousness he had slipped and again you had found his fist clenched in his pocket while he slumbered. Wrenching his hand back you muttered an immobilizing spell locking him in place unable to fight back as you folded the ring in his hand in the cloth you had wiped his face with. Lowly you muttered a deep sleeping charm and loosened the immobilizing charm.

Elrond has told you about the Ring, mainly his try to have it destroyed. All you needed was a volcano, ironically enough, normal fire or forges wouldn’t cut it. Mordor was three months away, however, Angmar just a two day trek, across equally as dangerous orc infested lands, but two days none the less with a convenient volcano smack dab in the center of it. There was magic for this. In this you could help. You had no clue how to fix Thorin, how to free him from his curse so you had to flee and try this before he would turn entirely.

That's the price you pay

Leave behind your heartache, cast away

Just another product of today

Rather be the hunter than the prey

And you're standing on the edge, face up 'cause you're a

It wasn’t hard to slip back out of the mountain and cross those plains again. Though you would have to trail the northern borders of the self King’s land. Meaning you would have to explain how you escaped and what you were doing. And surely this was far more dangerous than waking a dragon. Thousands could flood straight down to the unsuspecting Elves, meaning you had to be fast, you had to be stealthy. Two words that anyone with eyes could see you weren’t as you clambered sloppily up onto the first boulder to get up onto the rocky path outlining the massive trees.

A glance back at the hand that caught your foot that slipped off a crumbling ledge to find a familiar red headed Elleth followed by the blonde haired Prince and Lord Glorfindel behind them. Facing forward again you pulled yourself up onto the ledge you had been trying to reach and sat down asking, “What are you doing here?”

Tauriel, “Where are you going?”

“You don’t answer a question with a question, why are you following me?”

At once when he hopped up after Tauriel Legolas stayed, “You kidnapped us.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

Tauriel, “It’s the King’s pardon you should be begging..”

On your feet you hoped up, “I did not kidnap you, you lot followed me!”

Sharply you turned and Glorfindel trotted a few steps to catch your side asking, “Where are you going?”

“I did not kidnap you! I am going this way and you are going home!”

Glorfindel’s hand folded around your upper arm turning you to stop for a moment, “Where are you going? You are unarmed.”

“Says you. Angmar.”

They all asked, “Why?!”

In a huff you replied, “Bilbo and Thorin need help.”

Legolas moves closer, “They are in Angmar?”

“No.”

You said pulling your arm out of the Lord’s hold, only for the Prince to move with you making you say, “Go home!”

Hastily Legolas sloppily tied a slip of rope from his shoulder around his hands and looped the other end over your arm, “You kidnapped us.”

“You-!” In a growl between your clenched lips to keep from shouting you threw the rope back at him and stormed away, “Go home!”

Tauriel, “But we are witnesses!”

Over your shoulder you asked seeing them hurrying after you while Legolas wound his rope up again he slung over his shoulder trotting after you as well. “Witnesses to what exactly?!”

Legolas, “We would know that if you would tell us why you are heading for Angmar!”

“I said, to help Bilbo and Thorin!”

Glorfindel, “Who are not there?”

“Exactly!”

At your side Tauriel asked, “If they are not in Angmar then why travel there?”

“I have something I have to do.”

Legolas, “Yes and you have kidnapped us to aid in the matter.”

Sharply you stopped and flared up at Glorfindel, “You are older than the both of them! Make them stop saying I kidnapped them!”

Glorfindel, “Technically I was reborn 400 years ago, they both outrank me in age.”

“Well then technically…oh if I didn’t have self control I would bite you.”

A blush coated his cheeks and you inhaled as he said, “I was not aware that you shared my affections.” Turning forward you kept moving onwards and he hurried back to your side, “Kindly, forgive my ignorance. I did not believe I could have deserved your affections. Now that we have voiced our intentions I certainly will not abandon you.”

In a grumble you kept going and Tauriel asked again, “Are we retrieving something? In Angmar?”

In a huff you replied, “There is a spell I know, and it has to be done in Angmar.”

Legolas, “Ah! So what is our battle strategy? Have you uncovered a secret passage?”

“I am not entering Angmar.”

Glorfindel, “Surely we are not being ordered to go in alone for an item while you cast this spell?”

The worry in his eyes had you say, “No one is going in Angmar. Now stop asking.”

You looked forward again and Tauriel asked, “Why? Will harm befall us if we are informed of the tasks?” For a moment you inhaled sharply then reached up to grip the top of another boulder that had blocked your pitiful excuse of a path. Glorfindel beside you bent grabbing your shin to help you up over the boulder he could clearly see over and bounded over with ease to help you slide down the other side.

Legolas, “Yes, a back handed aiding spell were the captives must remain ignorant!” Like the Lord he and Tauriel both leapt over the boulder making your brows droop a moment making you shift the shoulder of your dirt splattered sweater back closer to your neck and you brushed your midnight blue curled ponytail back over your shoulder that fell back to your belt.

“No, it’s just… it sounds stupid and I would rather not have you mocking my plan.”

Glorfindel’s hand settled in yours, “We would never mock you.”

Legolas, “Yes, it is poor etiquette to mock your captor.”

You rolled your eyes, “I have to boil a rock.”

Tauriel paused with the Prince and they both asked, “Boil a rock?”

Legolas, “Is it a special rock?”

“Not, really.”

Tauriel, “Is there a specific incantation?”

“Few words here and there.”

Glorfindel, “Boil a rock, what could that do?”

“I have to boil it for five hours.”

Legolas, “Five… What does it do?”

“It wakes up volcanoes.”

Tauriel, “What is a volcano?”

At that you huffed again, “You’ll see. If you don’t get bored. Though you’ve imagined that I’ve kidnapped you no doubt out of boredom from your home. You’re bound to go racing off eventually.”

Legolas, “We would not!”

Glorfindel, “We will never abandon you.”

Natural

A beating heart of stone

You gotta be so cold

To make it in this world

Yeah, you're a natural

Living your life cutthroat

You gotta be so cold

Yeah, you're a natural

“Get that Elven filth off my land!” A loud roar followed and Dwalin’s eyes shut and he smoothed his hand over his eyes. “You demand war, we will have war!”

Behind the wall Thorin remained out of sight before racing back to his hoard leaving Dwalin to state, “Now is not exactly a good time to barter with Thorin.”

Thranduil down below stated, “I have not come to barter with Thorin. I received a letter requesting I come and I have. Now I demand to know why I have been summoned here.”

Dwalin, “wh-,”

Beside him Balin appeared, “We seem to be missing our Wizards, you have not seen them?”

“I do not have time for your wandering Wizard my son and Captain of my Guard did not return from their patrol two days past.”

Dwalin, “Perhaps they’re together! Our Wizard Lass left two days past!

Thranduil, “I highly-,” a muffled explosion in the distance followed by crying of birds taking to the air from the forest had the King’s lips parting in noticing the rising plumes of smoke billowing into the sky.

Balin, “What is it? What is happening?!”

Thranduil, “Smoke is rising over Angmar. I must find my son!” At once his Elk reared up in a turn and the mounted guards behind him followed in the race back to the forest to join in the searches now worsening at the fleeing animals scattering into their paths.

Will somebody

Let me see the light within the dark trees' shadows and

What's happenin'?

Lookin' through the glass find the wrong within the past knowin'

We are the youth

Cut until it bleeds, inside a world without the peace facing

A bit of the truth, the truth

Two days you had trekked, and finally up the final rocky barrier between you and Angmar you climbed ignoring the burn of the tiny cuts and scrapes you had earned in the trip. Atop a decent sized ledge behind a row of tall jagged rocks helping to aid in your cover you sat opening your bag a simple piece of chalk you, in a crouching turn drew a wide circle the trio stepped into as you said, “If you are staying, get in, and don’t leave or I can’t protect you.”

Curiously they eyed your bag as you put the chalk away and brought out a circular stove and a cauldron that you set on top, “Aguamente,” you muttered and the cauldron filled with water. A lean forward later and you held your hair back blowing in the sliding latch you opened lighting the upper ring growing hotter at the closing of the latch. Around you the trio settled and watched you pull out a jagged grapefruit sized chunk of obsidian in a bright blue shade. Sight of the stone made you lick your lips and force your hand lower knowing just what you were doing, into the water your hand lowered and as droplets of your blood mingled with the water it turned to a shimmering silver shade seeping to fill the cauldron when your hand rose out again.

Inhaling sharply you stated with your eyes closed, “My name is Pluto Pear.” Through the ground a sharp pulse shot out from under the cauldron stirring a loud crack from the city in the distance. Angmar mainly full of orcs and goblins also held in it a smaller citadel of people descended from the now Witch King’s glory days before is dark turn. Now turned and swayed to aiding the dark creatures they dwelled with and their masters who seemed to do as others ignorant of what the smoking mountain’s origins and powers had done. All through the citadel markers of a great eye to symbolize their having a matching smoking mountain to Mt Doom that they were chosen as a sacred place for the Dark Lord Sauron to have blessed with what they deemed as plenty. Their idiocy would be their undoing, and your emancipation.

That's the price you pay

Leave behind your heartache, cast away

Just another product of today

Rather be the hunter than the prey

And you're standing on the edge, face up 'cause you're a

That crack had done more than what the Elves had expected, the soft white plume of steam from the top of the peak now darkened and tripled filling the air above it stirring up screams in the distance. Legolas asked, “What is that smoke?”

“That is the first sign the volcano is waking.”

Glorfindel, “What is a volcano?”

In catching his gaze you said, “It’s a mountain, or what looks like a mountain, full of lava, which is essentially liquid fire, which when erupting bubbles up and pours out of the mouth of the volcano.”

Tauriel, “How is this helpful? Waking the volcano?”

“If the screams will bother you, best you head home now.”

Glorfindel’s hand folded around yours on your lap and he asked, “Why must you wake the volcano? How will this help Bilbo and Thorin?”

“Bilbo found an item that cursed him, he’s dying, if I don’t throw it in the lava he will die. Thorin has fallen to Dragon Sickness, hopefully if I am in time the destruction might save him as well.”

Out of a tall tower screeches were heard in the smoke pillowing around it and suddenly a swarm of bats making you draw out a small pot near to the size of a grape you unscrewed the lid on and tossed upwards in their flight over your head sucking them inside. At the end of the stream the open mouthed Elves watched the lid screw itself back on and its fall back into your open palm while your other hand swirled in a circle stirring the shimmering mixture at the first bubble rising to the surface only making the smoke darken and pool out more.

Legolas wet his lips seeing your tongue easing anxiously against the tip of one of your slightly pointed canine teeth and asked, “The screams, they wouldn’t trouble you?”

Shifting your gaze to meet his you said, “I know a muffling spell, so I won’t hear them.”

Glorfindel asked almost heartbroken at your glum gaze at the bubbling cauldron, “You would not warn them?”

Weakly you replied, “I can’t.”

Tightening his hold on your hand he asked, “Why?” Using is spare hand to raise your chin to look at him only to have his lips part at your teary gaze. “Tell me, please.”

“There’s a blood curse on my family,” instantly his body went rigid as did those of the other two listening in, “A woman centuries back, cursed a woman in my family that unless she did not wake a volcano by her 27th birthday she would turn into a Sphinx. If she refused the curse was passed on through her children, men and women until the next of her namesake was born and would face the same task or the curse would live on again.”

Tauriel, “Sphinx?”

“It’s a creature with the face of a woman and a lion’s body. They treasure riddles and often prey on people.”

Glorfindel asked on the verge of tears, “How old are you?”

Catching his eye again you replied, “I’ll be 25 in January.” Your tongue tapped your sharpened teeth making their lips part again, “It’s a slow change, fangs are the first sign. I have to do this, and I can’t warn them, or I’ll kill everyone I know.”

In the tear rolling down your cheek Legolas asked, “Your mother, she did not break the curse?”

“She refused to kill innocents, so did my Gran, both insisted on passing down the name.”

Legolas, “How old were you?”

“I was six, when she changed. Dad, he tried to keep them at home, Mother, Gran, Great Gran and her daughter. He got arrested, keeping Sphynx domestically is illegal, no matter the circumstances. They killed my Great Gran and Great Aunt trying to take Dad. I managed to hide the others.”

Glorfindel, “Where did you go?”

“They sent me to an uncle, who, blamed me, for ruining Dad’s life. When is wasn’t at school I was told not to leave my room, to show any sign I was still there, intruding upon his generosity.”

Tauriel, “This is to break two curses then?”

“In a matter of speaking, yes.”

Glorfindel gave your hand a gentle squeeze, “I am staying.” His eyes searching yours until you glanced away to the Prince, who said the same with Tauriel not a moment after.

Natural

A beating heart of stone

You gotta be so cold

To make it in this world

Yeah, you're a natural

Living your life cutthroat

You gotta be so cold

Yeah, you're a natural

More and more the sky darkened with the falling ash eventually muffling the cries and shrieks of the creatures below while you sat under the hovering large umbrella floating above you. With bubble charms covering your mouths and noses to help you breathe through the gaseous fumes matching those of the fox trio who had spotted your shelter and curled up with you. Five hours had eventually been called at the triple beeping timer you had set you slid back into your bag. A deep reach inside however had the trio watching you draw out a bow and quiver along with a sewing set.

Next once you had threaded a hooked needle a folded cloth was drawn out and the trio’s eyes watched you set it down and flick the cloth back. Instantly Glorfindel’s eyes snapped wider and he asked, “Where did you find that?”

“Bilbo found it. In the Goblin Tunnels.” His eyes followed you in drawing out an arrow to tie the ring to the tip of before biting the thread from the spool you tossed back into your bag. In a hop up onto your feet you readied your bow in your right hand and you said, “No laughing,” notching the arrow with your left hand you drew it back only able to see the faint glow of the streams of lava now flooded through all of Angmar through the pitch black clouds.

Up Glorfindel hopped and lined up his gaze with yours in a mild hunch and guided your bow up a bit then watched you let the arrow fly. A distant screech and with Glorfindel’s arms circling your middle he brought you down to your knees covering your back with his body beside the others covering the foxes through the shockwave the Lord had assumed to be coming after having seen Sauron fall. Pitch black smoke billowed out down the crevice you had climbed through giving a glimpse, if only for a moment of the reddish orange glowing river.

Deep inside me, I'm fading to black, I'm fading

Took an oath by the blood of my hand, won't break it

I can taste it, the end is upon us, I swear

Gonna make it

I'm gonna make it

***

Back into the mountain Dwalin strode rubbing his face with Fili and Kili inching closer to his sides partially afraid of their uncle and knowing that in his stead Dwalin would be interim King until Fili was old enough. Lowering his hands his eyes turned to the youngest of their group whose eyes flinched wider. “Ori, Pluto, she leave anything?”

“Most of her things. Looks like.”

Dwalin, “What about that carpet bag?”

Ori nodded knowing the one, “Yes, with her violin.”

Dwalin, “Good. Here’s the plan.” The men all grouped around feeling a bit more energized after having found the bag of lembas and other Elven treats you had left for them left over from Rivendell that Ori had discovered a few hours after you’d left. “Just how Pluto got rid of Smaug.”

Kili, “How will we get Thorin out of he mountain and into the river?”

Dwalin, “He’s not leaving the mountain. We tell him we found the stone in the bathhouse.” Nods ripples around and he said, “Bofur and Bifur you help Ori set up the crystals round the green pool. Bombur you and Gloin get all the rope you can muster up, worst comes to worst we’ll be needing a net to drag him in. Oin is with Bilbo so Nori and Dori, you make sure we’ve got spare clothes for Thorin when he comes to.”

Fili, “What do we do?”

Dwalin, “You And Kili are to head to the overlook.”

Kili, “But-,”

Dwalin, “If this goes south you two will be safe and we need an update on those smoke clouds. It’s half past noon and it’s pitch black out there. Keep the torches low so you won’t be spotted, in case of orcs or goblins. If you can’t see anything just wait on the stairs till we come and get you.”

Ori, “Dwalin, do you really mean to drown Thorin?”

Dwalin, “We’ll tug him up to breathe so he won’t.”

Ori, “Only-,”

Dwalin asked, “Are you part of the plan?”

Ori, “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

Nori butted in, “What a horrible way to live.”

Locking his eyes on Ori’s Dwalin replies, “Worst comes to worst and he snaps back furious it was my plan. He’ll naught blame you.” Ori nodded and he said, “Alright, let’s go.” Splitting them up while he made sure to check on Bilbo before seeing everything was in place and off to Thorin he went.

In a chuckle rubbing he back of his neck he eyed Thorin lowly humming to himself on all fours with knees as elbows bent awkwardly showing the first signs of his joints shifting in his continual shift to what seemed to be a dragon. “You’ll not believe where we found the stone.”

At that Thorin’s head turned with glowing eyes wide and pupils blown then narrowing at the torch holding Dwarf in the doorway of his apartment in front of the barren fireplace. “Where is it?” Halfway across the room he seemed to slither towering over his cousin when he finally stood eying him hungrily, “Show it to me!”

Dwalin, “I know you’d have preferred it brought up here, only we thought it might be a chuckle to see just where we spotted it by chance.” Thorin’s eyes narrowed and he added, “Just thought you could use a chuckle.”

Deep in Thorin’s throat a rumble sounded halfway between clearing it and a grumble of discontent, “That I could.”

All the way down to the bathhouse Dwalin remained silent and holding back his tears while Thorin awkwardly skunk behind him scouring each inch with his fiery gaze until onto the tile he strode further closer to the pool asking, “In the bathhouse? Why would it-,”

The drop of the torch came and Dwalin had tackled him armor, furs and all with Bofur, Gloin, Nori and Bifur all jumping in after him. Above the water Dwalin repeated the words sylible after sylible you had causing the crystals, totems and water to glow while Thorin thrashed and swung at them from below the surface. Each verse they would tug him back up allowing him to cough some air into his lungs before dunking him again continuing the struggle for several minutes until they felt a pulse through Thorin’s body under the glowing water. And in the next cough Thorin surfaced himself and clung to his weeping kin holding him tightly between them in a fierce hug.

Halfway through a cough Thorin stayed, “If I still have a tail all of you are banished.” Stirring up weak laughs while he clung to them tighter in return then helped the soaking wet King out of the water.

Halfway changed Thorin asked, “Why wasn’t it Pluto holding me under?”

Ori, “Pluto left when Bilbo got ill.”

Thorin, “Bilbo’s ill? I don’t attack him did I?”

Dwalin, “No. just woke up ill after you did.”

Thorin looked around, “Where are the boys?!”

Gloin, “I’ll fetch them.”

Thorin, “What time is it?”

Dwalin, “Near to one.”

Thorin looked up at the pitch black room around them and Balin said, “Smoke had been flowing out of Amgmar for hours now.”

Ori, “Um, where are the totems?”

Looking around the pool the men searched for them only to have Bofur ask, “Did we knock them in?”

Bombur, “No, they were in-,” in a step away from the edge of the other larger pool nearby he teetered only to be steadied by Dori and Ori in the wave of water rippling through the water, “What was that?!”

Thorin moves closer with his torch only to step back at the trio of figures under the water who vanished again in the shadows tearing strips of the algae coating the pool walls and floor free. “Pluto did give you clearance to use her totems?”

Dwalin, “She left them. We had to do something.”

Thorin muttered to himself, “Great, now we have more beasts loose in the mountain!”

Dwalin, “Well if you hadn’t gone and sprouted a snout we’d not to have freed the beasts trapped in the totems!”

Suddenly making the men all flinch Fili and Kili asked by Gloin’s side, “There’s more?!”

Dwalin huffed, “It seems Pluto’s totems have vanished, and there’s beasts in the water.”

Thorin huffed, “Where were you?”

Kili, “Dwalin said to see if the sky is clear yet.”

Fili shook his head, “It’s only grown darker, had to close the exit to keep the smoke out.”

Kili, “It’s raining ash.”

Thorin nodded looking grimly off into the distance, “We stay together, and we stay out of the water until Pluto returns. Had they been dangerous on their own I doubt she would have left them with a meddlesome group like us.”

Bombur nodded, “I’ll get you some lembas, we’ve rationed it. Miss Pluto left her supply with us, which turned out to be all we’d refused to take from Rivendell. Ample left. Get something in your belly.”

The men hurried to gather up the remaining stones with eyes fixed on the shifting shadows in the pools leaping from one to the other to clear all the algae they could cleaning them. Hurrying back up to the Royal Wing Thorin settled at Bilbo’s side stroking his palm across his forehead. “He’s so pale with his veins so dark, and yet he’s burning up..” he looked to Oin, “Pluto left when he turned like this?”

Oin nodded, “Just when his complexion faded and he began to shiver. Mumbled something about curses.”

Thorin whispered tearily, “cursed..?”

Bofur, “She found him asleep in the gold ya see. Brought him to bed, then she sent out this spell into the hoard. Maybe he found a cursed gem or something of the sort.”

Thorin, “If she left she must know what to do and how urgent it was.”

Dwalin, “We hoped that was the reason. Come with us this far to just leave.”

***

Mile after mile of Northern Greenwood was scoured without sight nor sign of the missing Prince and Captain of the Guard. Panicked animals now flooded the forest the Elves in the branches above with glowing crystals in hand had confirmed was folding together to keep the smoke from seeping too low into the levels its people were at while the ash falling stopped a few yards north of its farthest borders.

To himself the King muttered, “Where are you Little Leaf? What have you gotten Tauriel roped into.”

Up to his side another guard arrived with a note in hand, “My King, news from Rivendell, black smoke is covering it as well and Lord Glorfindel is missing for near to a fortnight now.”

Lowly the King replied in the duck of a scared fawn under his cape luring his hand down to stroke its head in a calming motion. “Perhaps he is with them…and what of this Wizard?”

“My King?”

“Did Elrond mention anything of a visiting Wizard?”

“No, my King.”

“Where could they have gone to,” he muttered to himself then called out, “Everyone inside the gates now!” Striding through them he ordered them shut keeping his hand atop the head of the fawn who scurried to head to safety at his side. A welcome distraction for his fathering side to keep from growing mad for the mystery of where his son was and why the sky was still blackening around his woods and growing thicker by the hour.

Pt 2

#31 daywritingchallengebydeepestfirefun #Dwalin #Hobbit #lotr

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