#and wait for thorin from the hobbit to pull up to attempt to kill them. bedelia is in paranoia hell waiting for them to come back mhm!

[nyxi-pixie]

anyway i know everyone loves the 'they actually survived the fall and went off to kill people together' thing includingggg the damn producer but i do think that cheapens things a bit and im glad the story ends when it does hashtag i never wanted a season 4

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Treat! With Bagginshield please

But of course! 😁

Thorin eased himself onto one of the taller boulders with a grunt. While he was thankful Azog and his mutt had broken anything, he could do without the acute pain every time he attempted to sit. Striking a match, he didn’t even care that it was only midafternoon and much earlier than he would usually allow himself a smoke. Once he was satisfied that he wasn’t about to hurt himself, Dwalin, Thorin’s self-proclaimed shadow, gave him a nod before deciding to wash-up in the mountain stream. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Honestly, it’s not like this was the worst injury he had ever received, though he would begrudgingly admit it could have had a rather sudden and grim ending if not for…

His eyes drifted to the hobbit who was rinsing off his shining little blade. Thorin took note of the look of awe and fascination as he pretended to lazily fend off enemies. Water droplets cascading off the surface, gleaming in the midday sun. The effect made Bilbo seem…other-worldly, enchanting even. Thorin sucked in another lungful of smoke, releasing it as he carefully pulled himself back to his feet and stowed away the pipe.

“Master Baggins!”

His tone immediately had the hobbit jumping up, eyes wide, and nose twitching. Earlier in the quest, it had made something clench inside Thorin. Something he interrupted as annoyance, but in light of recent events, Thorin could almost admit it for what it was. Adorable. 

“I highly doubt you’ll be killing many orcs swinging your blade around like that.”

“Seemed to work last night.” Bilbo immediately bit back.

It was such a reflex retort that they were both left stunned. Thorin hadn’t heard Bilbo ever talk back to him before. Rather than looking apologetic though, the hobbit merely tilted his head as if waiting for what the dwarf would do next.

“And for that I am most grateful.” Thorin bowed his head. “But I would much prefer that when you use this blade to save a life, it is not at the expense of your own.”

Bilbo hummed in response, but his eyes were shining brightly. Thorin had to wonder why he had never tried to engage the hobbit like this before, if that was the reaction he was rewarded with. 

“I can see the merit of such a lesson, but are you the best one to teach it to me?”

“I am a well-established warrior.” Thorin bristled.

“You’re injured.” Bilbo pointed out, unimpressed.

“Even injured, I dare say I can teach you a thing or two.” Thorin smirked.

“Is that so?” The hobbit raised a brow.

“I’ll prove it. I won’t even draw my blade.”

To anyone else, that would be an insult. To toy with them so, but Thorin just felt a puff of pride and thrill of the challenge when Bilbo’s brows pulled together in thought. 

“Well that seems to be a terrible suggestion. You unarmed and me with my blade? What if you get hurt? More so than you already are?”

“Master Baggins, if you can so much as land a hit, I’ll drop the matter completely.”

It was certainly cocky, but Thorin really wanted to show the hobbit how ineffective his methods were. He had enough mobility to dodge his swipes if it looked anything like it did a second ago. Even Dwalin had said Bilbo’s swordsmanship made him want to cry. Bilbo was staring down at his blade, turning it this way and that as if thinking over Thorin’s offer, when the sun caught the shining surface. The dwarf turned his head away, flinching away from the harsh light when he felt something hook behind his ankle. He fell hard on the ground, looking up with a gasp only to see Bilbo towering over him with a smug smirk.

The other dwarves immediately came running over to check on him, as he tried to get back in a sitting position staring at the hobbit in awe and disbelief.

“Well, I suppose I can handle myself then. Thank you for the lesson, Thorin.”

He watched the hobbit walk away, letting Dwalin pull him back to his feet amidst the Company’s attempt at subduing their laughter. However, Thorin wasn’t even mad. Not truly. He was far too preoccupied by how totally and assuredly he had misjudged the hobbit. Enchanting, indeed. 

Trick or treat my inbox.

[berjhawn]

Angel On Fire - Chapter 21 - Fire & Lightning

Warnings: fluff ; fighting ; mentions of death ; ETC

Pairings: Bucky Barnes X Reader ; Thorin Oakenshield X Reader ; Bucky X Reader X Thorin ; Marvel X Reader X Hobbit

Master-List

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

Going Back a Bit

Thor and Loki follow closely behind Legolas and Tauriel as they make their way into Laketown. Thor and Loki had seen places like this before during their old warrior days. It didn’t make seeing it any easier though. People suffering always made Thor’s stomach sour. If he could help them, he would, but his priority was his sister.

“Where do we go now?” Loki asks as he pulls his cloak over his head to hide himself from the people of Laketown.

As if to answer his question a loud scream echoes out across the night air pulling their attention. They instantly rush toward where the scream had originated and find a house being overrun with Orcs. Loki readies his daggers as Thor unsheathes his sword. Another Orc leaps to the balcony in front of the house, but suddenly, Tauriel appears and stabs it in the throat with her knife. She pulls out her other knife as well and begins killing the Orcs in the house.

Legolas jumps in through one of the holes in the roof. He too begins killing Orcs. An Orc approaches a wounded Dwarf and grabs him by the wounded leg. As the dark-haired dwarf screams in pain, Loki throws his knife, and it plunges into the Orc’s throat. Legolas and Tauriel slay Orcs left and right. Thor joins moments later his body emanating lightning as he sends Orcs flying left and right.

“Get down!” A blonde dwarf cries out as he pulls a boy out of the way of danger.

Tauriel kills the Orc, then turns to kill another one. The dark-haired dwarf from before stabs the Orc as well with the knife Tauriel had thrown earlier, and they together kill the Orc. But then, he falls over onto the floor, howling in pain, and Tauriel looks at him in worry.

An Orc, flees from the house and jumps over the balcony, landing in a boat in the water below. Thor follows him rage filling his body. The Orc yells to a bigger one and Thor knows instantly from the novel who it is. Bolg, the one who kills Kili and attempts to murder both Tauriel and Legolas.

“Ekinskeld. Obguranid!” (Oakenshield has gone!)The Orc calls out as he nears. “Tûg atal bakh maktu argu!” (But there are more outsiders.)

“Gur! Arangim!” (Fall back! Regroup at the bridge!) Bolg orders and the remaining Orcs join him.

In the house, Legolas stabs an Orc and trips it, and it falls backward over the balcony railing and lands in the boat below. The boat acts like a seesaw and sends Bolg’s lieutenant orc, who had jumped into the boat earlier, flying up into the air, where Legolas slices off its head with his knives. As the orc’s body falls into the water below, its head still looks at Legolas. Legolas releases the head, and it falls.

Legolas looks and sees the remaining Orcs running through Laketown after Bolg. Loki reaches out and stops Thor from following them making Thor turn back into the house to search for his sister. In the house, the human boy speaks to Tauriel amazedly.

“You killed them all.” The boy calls out clearly impressed.

“There are others. Tauriel, come.” Legolas calls to Tauriel as Thor looks around the room but only sees three dwarves. Legolas strides toward the door.

Tauriel, who had been looking after the dark-haired dwarf, looks up.

“She’s not here.” Loki says annoyed and Thor feels his patience start to wear thin. “(Name’s) Already gone.”

“We’re losing him!” A dwarf calls out pulling Thor and Loki’s attention.

Tauriel, looking shocked, looks at the injured dwarf, then at Legolas, who is waiting at the door.

“Tauriel.” Legolas looks at her for a moment and then walks out the door.

Tauriel remains standing. Legolas jumps over the balcony and onto a bridge, then begins running. Tauriel looks away and begins to head out the door to follow Legolas. Just as she reaches the door, the dwarf moans in pain, and Tauriel turns to look at him. Tauriel looks after Legolas, then at Kili again. Hearing a noise, Tauriel grabs her knives, then sees another dwarf running up with the Kingsfoil. Her eyes open in shock and she takes the leaves from his stunned grasp.

“Athelas.” Tauriel exclaims as she reverently examines it. “Athelas…”

“What are you doing…?” He asks and she smiles softly.

“I’m going to save him.” She replies moving over to where the injured dwarf was.

Thor and Loki glance at each other for a moment before they decide to wait to ask the dwarves questions. Thor thinks back to the novel and tries to remember the scene he was in. If it was when Tauriel was saving Kili, then that meant that at this moment his sister was at the mountain fighting the dragon. Worry courses through his veins as he glances over at Loki who was apparently thinking the same thing he was.

As much as he wanted to go after his sister; if they left, these people would suffer. (Name) would never want that to happen. Loki groans inwardly as he turns to Thor and says, “We have to help them, don’t we?”

“Yup.” Thor replies instantly a smirk on his lips. “She’d never forgive us if we left.”

“I’m starting to regret being a good guy.” Loki adds.

“When the dragon shows up, let me handle him.” Thor whispers eyeing his brother.

“You didn’t expect me to try my hand against him, did you? That’s not something I do. That’s your forte.” Loki jokes and Thor smirks.

“Excuse me, would you like something to drink?” A young girl asks pulling them from their conversation.

“No, thank you though.” Loki responds making one of the Dwarves turn to look at him.

“You’re (Name’s) brothers, aren’t you?” A blonde dwarf asks pulling their attention.

“We are. How did you know?” Loki asks and the dwarf smiles softly.

“She showed me a picture of you. I’m Fili, this is Oin and Bofur; the one being treated is my brother Kili.” Fili says as he motions to the rest of his company.

Loki and Thor return the smile as Thor says, “I’m Thor and this is my brother Loki. Thank you for taking care of our sister for us.”

“She’s someone I’m proud to call my friend.”

“She does have a habit of making friends no matter the circumstances.” Loki whispers under his breath making Thor elbow him in the stomach.

“I’m sure she would say the same about you.” Thor replies offering Fili his hand which the dwarf takes.

Then before anyone has a chance to say anything else the ground shakes and a loud roar can be heard throughout the skies. Loki and Thor share a look before turning to look at Tauriel who had moved to look outside.

“Guess that’s my queue.” Thor says as a smile covers his lips. “You help get them out?”

“And you kill the dragon, yeah I got the idea.” Loki adds as Tauriel walks back inside.

“We have no time. We must leave.” She announces as she grabs jackets and starts handing them out to the children.

“We’re not leaving. Not without our father.” Bain says as he moves to stand beside her.

“If you stay here, your sisters will die. Is that what your father would want?” Tauriel asks him and he shakes his head.

“Be safe.” Loki starts speaking only so Thor can hear. “You know he’s different from the dragons you’re used to.”

“I know.” Thor replies giving him a smirk as he rushes out the door into the night.

“Where’s he going?” Fili asks as she steadies his brother beside him.

“To kill a dragon of course.” Loki replies making everyone in the room stop and stare at him. “It’s not his first, won’t be his last. Come on let’s get you all to safety first.”

Loki, Tauriel, the dwarves, and Bard’s family get on a boat at the back of the house. They set off down the canal, poling the boat through the floating chunks of ice. Smaug swoops low overhead, and the townspeople scream. Smaug soars high above and away from the town, then turns and dives steeply toward the town, building up fire in his chest. As he gets over the town, he unleashes his flames, and he breathes his fire in a line all the way across the town. People scream and fall and die in the inferno.

“Anytime now brother.”

Thor jumps up onto a nearby roof and giving a smirk unsheathes his sword. Lightning emanates from his entire body as he jumps up into the air and launches himself at Smaug. A loud clap of thunder echoes across the sky as his sword strikes Smaug’s impenetrable scales. Smaug is sent soaring backwards at the force of the blow. Thor lets out a hearty laugh as he rushes off after him.

Smaug collects himself and looks around trying to find what hit him. He feels something land on his back, and he turns to see a man standing there with a bright smile on his face.

“Hello!” Thor calls as he gives him a slight wave.

“What are you?!” Smaug questions as he lands on some nearby houses.

“They call me the God of Thunder.” Thor replies jumping off his back landing on a nearby rooftop.

“Ah, I see now. You’re here for her.” Smaug calls out making Thor narrow his eyes at the dragon.

“You’re correct.” Thor replies gripping tightly to the hilt of his sword.

“She will die here.” Smaug says making Thor clench his jaw.

“I won’t let that happen.” Thor replies.

“You will be powerless to stop it.” Smaug growls making Thor’s body fill with anger. “She will die, and you will have to stand there and watch.”

He wanted to kill this dragon. He had never wanted anything more. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t his dragon to kill. It was the Bards. He couldn’t change the story. The events that happened her had to happen. Thor looks down at where Loki was glancing up at him. Loki knew what Thor wanted to do but he just shook his head.

Clenching his jaw, he looks around the floating town around him and sees someone racing toward a nearby tower with a bow in hand. That must be the Bard. Thor looks at his hand that was holding his sword and smiles.

“You aren’t clairvoyant dragon.” Thor says meeting Smaug’s eyes. “I know how this story ends.”

“Oh really?” Smaug questions and Thor chuckles.

“You know you’re pretty small for a dragon.” Thor antagonizes.

“What?” Smaug retorts in annoyance.

“Are you sure you’re a dragon? I mean I’ve fought bigger. Those dragons doubled your size. Were you the runt of your litter?” Thor continues as he watches from the corner of his eye as Bard readies his bow with his son Bain next to him.

“You and she, are more alike than you think.” Smaug growls and Thor smiles.

“Well…” He pauses lightning coursing through his body. “She is my sister.”

Thor sends a shockwave of electricity toward Smaug giving Bard the opening he needs to fire the black arrow.

It hurtles through the air and sinks all the way to the feathers, almost 6-7 feet, into Smaug’s chest through the spot without a scale. As Smaug leaps forward in pain and fear, Bard grabs Bain, just as Smaug careens into the tower. Thor zooms forward and grabs Bard and Bain before they fall with the tower into the water. Smaug rolls and slides through the town, destroying everything in the town. He struggles to fly into the sky. With massive effort, he manages to flap a few hundred feet up, screaming and wheezing in pain, then gasps for breath. His eyes lose their light, and he falls back down upon the city, dead, with the end of the arrow sticking out of his heart. He lands directly upon the Master’s boat, crushing it and presumably killing everyone on board.

“Thank you,” Bard says as he grips tightly to Thor’s hand.

“No thanks necessary.” Thor replies as he carries them over to the boat where the rest of Bard’s family, the dwarves, the elf, and Loki were waiting.

The girls rush their father and brother as Thor sets them down.

“We should help those we can.” Thor says to his brother and Loki tilts his head at him.

“How do we do that? There’s not enough room in the boat for everyone.” Tauriel points out as she motions the full boat.

“I can fly around and help those I can.” Thor replies before turning to Loki. “You can conjure a boat big enough for all.”

“I can, but why would I do that?” Loki questions making Thor furrow his brow.

“What do you mean why?” Thor inquires meeting his brother’s gaze.

“The dragon is dead, we should collect (Name) and return home before it’s too late.”

“We can’t just leave these people to suffer.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not what (Name) would want.” Thor replies and Loki rolls his eyes.

“Fine.”

Will Continue -

[elvish-sky]

The Temptation of Regality: You’re Here

A.N: I’ve had this idea for a super long time and was so happy to be able to incorporate it into this series! It was so much fun to write, I’ve kinda been adding ideas and working on it for a while and I’m honestly very proud of it. Also- I know I’m absolutely terrible at titles and I’m really trying but it’s just very hard so please don’t hate me for them. Anyways, enjoy!

Word Count: 2,654

Pairings: You know the drill… Thorin x Reader

Warnings: Injury, alcohol/drunkenness

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

****

You’re Here

You plodded through the trees, only able to summon enough energy to put one foot in front of the other. Thorin was in front of you, and Fili just behind- they wanted to make sure that if you did collapse, someone would catch you. You could feel the growing unease at the slow pace you were setting, and tried to speed up. Instead of complying, your leg gave out and you crumpled to the ground with a groan.

None of this would have been an issue if it wasn’t for the orcs. That morning, several days after departing from Rivendell, you had been foraging for breakfast in a lovely quiet green meadow, when an arrow came whistling through the trees and lodged itself in your leg. Crying out in pain, you had fallen to the ground, helplessly watching as a warg with an orc rider sprung from its perch of a boulder, clearly intent on finishing you off. The orc scrambled down from its seat, drawing a filthy sword with a grin on its face. Drawn by the sound of your cry, thirteen dwarves and a hobbit burst out of the trees, Kili killing the orc with a well-placed arrow (a shot that you couldn’t help but admire, despite your injured state), as Dwalin clashed with the warg, dispatching it with a blow to the neck that sent it right onto the point of Thorin’s sword. Once that had all been dealt with, they sprinted to where the rest of the Company was gathered around you, watching as Oin removed the arrow from your leg and bound the wound.

Given the fact that, as a human, you were larger than everyone else in the group, it would have been very difficult to carry you. Instead, you stubbornly insisted that you were “fine, thank you very much!” and staggered along the path. You had done okay most of the day, only having to stop more often than usual because the blood loss had made you weak. Every time Thorin had called “halt,” you had collapsed to the ground but had managed to rise one it was time to get moving again. At least, every time until now.

“Y/N,” Kili cautioned, “this does not look good.”

“I can tell that, thank you,” you snapped back at him, your pain causing the rudeness. Oin made his way up the line to talk to Thorin.

After a short, whispered conversation, Thorin pronounced “There is a small town just a little bit further ahead. I had planned on bypassing it completely, but Oin says that Y/N will heal much faster if she rests well tonight. We will sleep there tonight and continue our journey tomorrow.”

This was met with sighs of relief from the rest of the company, as everyone had been longing to sleep in a warm bed.

“Y/N, do you think you can make it just a bit further on that leg?” Dori inquired with a concerned look on his face.

“Of course I can.” You proceeded to haul yourself up by Fili’s coat, but once you tried to put weight on the wounded leg it gave out. Again.

“Thorin, I’m so sorry,” you stated apologetically, “I can’t walk. Just leave me here and continue the quest without me.”

“Nonsense, lass!” exclaimed Dwalin, and he, Fili, and Bofur proceeded to pick you up and put you on the makeshift litter they sometimes used for Bilbo or Bombur. Surprised at how comfortable it was even with your wound, you quickly drifted off to sleep.

Waking at the noise once you had reached the town, you gestured to Dwalin, Fili, and Bofur to put the litter down and you attempted to place weight on your leg once again. Refreshed from your nap, it didn’t give out beneath you although it was still painful.

“Where are Thorin, Bilbo, and Gloin?” you asked, noting their absence from the group gathered around you.

“Inside, getting rooms,” answered Nori.

While waiting for their return, you gazed at your surroundings. It looked to be a small village, about the size of Bree. The buildings were worn with age, scratches and dents highlighted by the bright moon above.

This peace was quickly disturbed by the crashing sound of a door opening, and you turned to see Gloin beckoning at the company to come inside. As you did, he told everyone the sleeping arrangements for the night.

“We are in luck, lads!” he exclaimed, and then with a look at you quickly added “and lass!”

“They have several adjoining rooms available, so Bifir, Bofur, and Bombur will have one, Dwalin, Balin, Oin, and myself will share another, Ori, Nori, Dori and Bilbo will have the third, and Fili, Kili, Thorin, and Y/N will share the last.”

This proclamation was met with mixed reactions, but the biggest objection came from Fili. “Y/N has to share with us!? She’s a girl, and she’s injured! Don’t they have any other open rooms?”

“I’m sorry lad,” Gloin apologized, “trust me when I say there really were no other options. Thorin threatened to separate the innkeeper’s head from his body, but they still did not have any other rooms.”

“It’s okay,” you consoled Fili, “I’ll be fine sharing, I can put up a blanket or something. Also, this way I have the three strongest warriors to protect me!” You knew that the best way to get him to calm down was through flattery, and sure enough it worked.

You limped up the stairs alongside everyone else. Gloin and Thorin opened doors as you made you way down the hallway, ushering groups of dwarves into their rooms. Finally, when you, Thorin, and the brothers had reached the end of the creaky floors, he pulled open the last door to reveal a small room. It had four beds, one was on top of another and the other two were placed side-by-side.

“They did not have any single rooms left, and I’d rather have you with us,” Thorin was looking up at you, clearly seeking your agreement. Bemused, you nodded your head in thanks. He had been much kinder to you since Rivendell, and you couldn’t quite figure out why, although you did look back on his reaction to you in that dress fondly.

“I figured we could hang a blanket around the bed on the bottom to give you some privacy,” Thorin explained.

“Good idea, Uncle!” Kili set to work, taking a blanket from his pack and tacking it up. When he finished, he stood to the side for your approval.

“Thank you, Kili, it looks great.” He beamed in satisfaction as you saw Thorin strolling over to another door you hadn’t noticed.

“The real reason we saved this room for the four of us was because…” and he opened the door to reveal a washroom.

“Everyone else has to use the communal ones!” Kili announced.

“Yes. Gloin and I paid the innkeeper a little extra to get this room,” said Thorin. You gave them each a little peck on the cheek in thanks and limped over to the washroom, intending to freshen up and maybe even bathe.

“Have a good time, Y/N,” Fili declared, and the three dwarves left you in peace.

After bathing, you examined your leg, which didn’t look as bad as you had first thought. You were relatively confident that you would be able to walk tomorrow. You dressed in your clean set of clothes, washed by the innkeeper’s wife while you bathed, and made your way downstairs for some food.

You were met with quite the sight. Thorin was hiding under a table, Nori and Bofur were singing along to the music played by Bifir and Gloin on top of said table. Dori, Ori, and Dwalin seemed to be doing some sort of dance next to the table, and Bombur had gotten hold of Nori’s coat and was searching through it for stolen goods. Bilbo seemed to be yelling at Thorin under the table, only making him cower more. Balin and Oin were seated at said table, looking highly amused by the antics.

Bemused, you made your way over to the table where Fili and Kili sat, looking, for once, well-behaved. “What on Middle-Earth is happening to everyone?” you exclaimed, “and why aren’t you two in the center of all the trouble?”

“They all got drunk,” Kili responded, “and we’ve been designated the official sober dwarves for the night.”

“Normally,” Fili added, “we’d be disappointed that we weren’t drinking. But we’re really enjoying this.”

You began to as well, watching your friends make complete fools of themselves. However, you were still a little confused about the antics.

“But why are they all acting so oddly?” you queried of the brothers.

“We haven’t had ale in a while, especially any as strong as this, and none of us are the best at holding our alcohol.” Fili returned.

“We spent a while in Rivendell, and you’re telling me none of you sampled any of their wines?” You were skeptical.

Kili looked sheepish. “Uncle forbid us. Said ‘I do not want you drinking any of the filthy elvish wines.’”

Fili nodded. “Of course, he may have put it a bit more strongly, but that’s the general gist of it.”

“Anyways,” Kili continued, “we’ve come to know what everyone in the company does when drunk, and would like to tell you. Fili, would you begin?”

“Gladly.” Fili took a big swig of water before launching in. “So, Y/N. Thorin gets rather paranoid when drunk, and I believe he currently thinks that most of the people in this room are assassins. Sadly, he is also a timid drunk and therefore will not confront them, which is probably best. Nori, Bifir, Bofur, and Gloin get very musical when drunk, and Nori also gets rather remorseful which is probably how Bombur got a hold of his coat.”

Kili picked up the explanation as Fili paused for a bite of food, “Dori, Ori, and Dwalin get rather overconfident, which explains the absolutely terrible dancing. And we’ve never seen Bilbo drunk before, but he seems to get rather angry.” With that the brothers sat back in their chairs, waiting for your reaction.

Which, sensibly, was to let your head crash onto the table. “This is going to be a long night.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Fili was starting to look rather worried himself.

Much later, you sat at the table with the boys, watching the room descend further into madness.

“Should we round them up?” They both nodded, and with a sigh the three of you stood.

“I’ll get Balin and Oin to help, they don’t look too bad.” You gave Fili a glance of approval before making your way into the throng.

Figuring that maybe if you got the leader under control, everyone else would calm down, you crawled under the table, wincing as you felt your wound flare up with pain, to see Thorin, curled into a ball with Bilbo kneeling next to him.

“And that’s another thing!” The hobbit was pretty much yelling. “Handkerchiefs are essential to a hobbit’s daily life! In forcing me to leave mine behind you have deprived me of my well-being…” At this point you tuned him out, focusing on the king.

“Bilbo.”

“What?!” He snapped at you.

“Would you mind heading upstairs? It’s late.”

“Why should I do what you tell me? I’ve been taking orders this whole quest with no one stopping for just a second to think about what I fe-”

“I hear there may be handkerchiefs upstairs.”

“Oh,” he looked thoughtful, “alright then.” And without further ado the hobbit left.

“Thorin?” You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He started. “Y/N? Why are you here?” And then his face darkened. “Have you come to kill me too, like Bilbo was?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at him “Unless our burglar was planning to talk you to death, I think we’re good. And no, Thorin, I’m not going to murder you.”

He looked at you, suspicion plainly written across his face. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, you silly dwarf,” you shook your head at him fondly, “now let’s head upstairs.”

You grabbed his hand, only now noticing the lack of noise from the room around you. Emerging from under the table, you saw only a few people left. Balin and Oin were still sitting, this time at a different table, and Balin threw a wink at you as you appeared, dwarf in tow. Blushing, you shook your head madly at him, seeing his mouth curve up in a smile under the white beard. Rolling your eyes as he and Oin raised tankards in your direction, you began to tow Thorin up the stairs.

Reaching the landing, you staggered as he leaned on you heavily. You weren’t sure if your leg could take the extra weight, it was already throbbing, so you grabbed him by the armpit, trying to support yourself and not make him fall. You failed, and you crashed to the ground, limbs tangled with those of the king.

Your fall had been rather noisy, and Fili and Kili came bursting out of your room at the end of the hall. They started laughing once they saw your predicament, but still made their way down the hall to help. Fili grabbed his uncle and hauled him up, slinging an arm across his shoulder. They staggered back, and you laughed at the sight of the nephew helping his taller uncle. Then you thought about what it must have looked like with you trying to help Thorin, and laughed even more.

Kili helped you stand, and stood still as you leaned on him, trying to find your balance. Once you had, he started slowly walking so that your hopping leg could keep up. Fed up with this about halfway down the hall, he scooped you up and carried you the rest of the way with no trouble despite the fact that you were much taller. Reaching the doorway, he shouldered it open and deposited you in the chair you directed him to right next to Thorin’s bed.

You giggled to see the king sprawled out on his bed, eyes closed. He didn’t look very regal, but it was just such an endearing sight. Reaching over, you pulled the blanket over him, tucking it in around his shoulders. You brushed a strand of hair out of his face, starting in surprise as his eyes opened and a hand shot out to grab your wrist.

“Amrâlimê (my love).” His voice was rough.

You heard twin gasps from across the room, and turned to see Fili and Kili sneaking out.

“We’ll just leave you two alone now.” Kili winked at you before shutting the door behind him.

“Amrâlimê.” Thorin’s voice was more insistent this time, and you looked at him to see his face lit up with earnesty.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

You smiled at his words. “Me too, Thorin. Me too.” You started to stroke his face, fingertips tracing the line of his beard as his eyes fluttered closed, breathing growing deeper. You smiled at him as your eyelids began to grow heavy. You fully intended to make your way over to your own bed, but, too tired to think about standing, you let your head fall onto Thorin’s chest, slumping across him as you drifted off to sleep.

Fili and Kili peered around the door to see you collapsed over their uncle, both fast asleep. Kili made to go move you to your bed, but Fili stopped him, grabbing his arm.

“Leave them be.”

Kili caught onto his brother’s plan, and stepped back. “Let’s leave these two in peace and go see if Bilbo and the Ri brothers have any spare room.”

Fili nodded, and the two quickly grabbed their bedding and packs before slipping out the door, Fili sneaking one last fond glance at the two sleeping figures before silently shutting the door.

Everything tag 💞: @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @boyruins @anjhope1

Series Tag: @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @moony-artnstuff @whiskeywinter89 @beakami @sassyscribbler @yes-captainstark

Thorin tag: @lathalea

[legolaslovely]

It Can Wait

A/N: Hi friends! This started as something to help me get rid of my little Fíli block (which SUCKS because I LOVE him with all my heart????), and I ended up really liking it! I hope you guys do too! :)

Pairing: Fíli x Fem ! Human ! Reader

Word Count: 2,847

Warnings: Fluff, talk of violence and injury, talk of blood, major character with a minor injury, nakedness (?), but like, respectful nakedness

Summary: Fíli runs to (Y/N)’s rescue at a rather inopportune time. ;)

“Lay down your packs. We’ll rest here for the night.”

Before Thorin even finished his sentence, the company of dwarves and their hobbit dropped their packs as if they were full of builders’ bricks. The resounding thump of bedrolls and clinking of weapons falling to the ground would have been enough to wake the nearest orc pack if it hadn’t already attacked the travelers earlier that day. Luckily the enemies were somewhat defeated and mostly evaded by the comrades. The skirmish did come with its casualties, but besides a few ripped packs with one gone and lost to the wargs, the injuries were survivable and would heal in a few days, according to Oin’s gruff but medically sound opinion.

(Y/N) walked to the far side of the rising camp and joined Thorin and his nephews instead of piling herself near the dwarves of the company who couldn’t bear to take another step. It seemed they’d rather plop where they stood, even if that meant sleeping on top of each other. 

“Move over there, Bofur,” Bombur said. “Give a dwarf his own space, will ye?”

“Ye have plenty of space, what with ye losin’ yer pack to the warg’s mouth,” Bofur answered.

“Which wouldn’t have happened if ye didn’t run so slow!”

“Oi!”

And thus the bickering began.

(Y/N) dropped her pack on the ground where she could have some space to herself. Once freed, her aching arms stretched up over her head and her creaking back bent from side to side like a reed in the wind. She inhaled deeply, hoping to refresh her senses with some clean forest air but what she got was nothing of the sort. 

That smell!

She coughed, she waved, but nothing completely dispelled the thick stink. One more sniff to make sure… and yes, that stench was her. Well, not exactly her. It was the black orc blood covering her tunic, the dirt under her nails, the sweat sliding down her skin and whatever the company shared for supper the night before. Nevertheless, that smell was indeed coming from her.

“I need to bathe,” she muttered.

“There’s a shallow river to the east. Not far,” Thorin said from behind her. She hadn’t realized he’d been setting up his bedroll so close to her as she complained about her… filth. “Go now,” he said. “Before it gets much darker.”

She nodded, going through her pack for some of her belongings. If she went now, she could wash her soiled and smelly tunic, fill her canteen, even wash her hair and still be back in time to share supper before it disappeared.

“Where are you going?” Kíli asked as (Y/N) loaded a smaller bag of hers with her washing utensils. 

“To the river. I won’t be long.”

“You’re going alone?” Fíli asked, standing from his half made bedroll and wincing from the effort. Even he hadn’t been spared by the orcs today, having taken quite a blow to his knee. (Y/N) was convinced his limp was the reason Thorin called for camp before dark.

“I’m going to bathe so yes, I’m going alone,” she said. 

Her fond teasing always left the tips of his ears stinging red.

“Do you think that’s the best idea?” he asked.

“I won’t be far. And I always have a dagger on me,” she said with a wink as she slung her bag over her shoulder and made for the river. 

Kíli leaned to his brother’s ear, eyeing the weapon that hung from (Y/N)’s hip. It caressed her leg like a friendly cat with every step she took into the woods. “Always, always?” he asked. “Where does she keep it?”

“Use your imagination, Kíli!” she called over her shoulder. 

Fíli saw the wheels chugging to life and wildly churning in his brother’s mind and smacked him.

“Oi!” Kíli barked.

Fíli listened to (Y/N)’s distant laugh and shoved his brother’s shoulder once more before returning to his bedroll. He flattened it out over a patch of long wildgrass which made for the softest sleeping place he’d had in weeks. 

Moving himself to sit was a challenge with his throbbing knee, but it was one that came with a just reward. He kicked his leg out in front of him and leaned back on his hands, not in a rush to dig the crumbs of dry food out of his pack for his supper. No, he’d sit for a moment and let his mind go blank for the first time since the night before. 

“Ye expect me to sleep on that little sliver of roll?”

“Yer lucky I’m sharin’ me roll with ye at all! Yer the one that lost yer pack!”

“ ‘Cause I was watchin’ out for ye!”

“Oi!”

Fíli cracked one eye open and rolled it at the spectacle. As the rest of the company spread out from their lazy pile, the grassy area dwindled, leaving mud moats and pebble piles as the only free space on the edge of the camp. Fíli had marked his territory, as had his brother and uncle. (Y/N), however, ran to the river so quickly she’d barely dropped her pack from her back, never mind set out her blanket. 

“Kee,” he whispered. “See that little sliver of grass there?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Unroll (Y/N)’s bed for her, will ya? Right there. She’ll be left in the rocks otherwise.”

Kíli lolled his head and looked behind him, hair brushing the ground with his movement as he leaned back on his elbows. “S’too far away, Fee.”

“It’s right there!”

“You get it, then!”

Fíli had a trademark glare he saved for his little brother. Wide eyes threatened while thick brows sat like soldiers braced for battle; thinly lined lips could snap a command at any moment though his jaw seemed still and hard as stone. The glower wasn’t often unsheathed but even after seventy-odd years together, it was a weapon that still made Kíli tremble. Even now, he glanced again to the pack in question in order to avoid his brother’s steel gaze.

“What?” Kíli squeaked. “She can do it herself!” 

“She’s not here.” 

Fíli pushed himself to stand. The pain shot through his leg like an fiery arrow through his veins, exploding its target in the middle of his knee and sending shrapnel throughout. He winced, face scrunched up tight, as he limped to unclip (Y/N)’s bedroll from the top of her pack.

“You don’t have to baby her,” Kíli said.

“I’m not,” Fíli said as he rolled the thick blanket over the grass near his own. “I would rather not listen to her complain of her sore back all because you didn’t save her a place.”

“I wouldn't have to if she didn’t take so long washing her pretty hair.”

Fíli patted his handiwork and leaned close to Kíli to say, “Good thing you didn’t get up off your rear, then.” He dodged Kíli’s flying hand and chuckled at his little brother’s faked outrage. Then he stood, adjusted his belt and looked to the sky to judge the time. The sun was low, shining in the trees ahead and painting the leaves golden, the same way it shone at the crown of (Y/N)’s head as if she were a royal. 

“She does have pretty hair,” Fíli said.

Before Kíli could shoot back an answer, his attention was pulled to a sharp cry echoing in the near distance. He caught Fíli’s eye and saw panic there. 

“What was that?” he asked.

Fíli unsheathed his dagger and listened. Nothing. 

“Stay here.”

Fíli disappeared into the eastern woods and made for the river. His injury was forgotten as he rushed through the trees, on guard for any lagging assailants waiting for him to approach. With each twig crunching step, he willed himself to slow down, make a plan, take in his surroundings, so as not to sprint full force into an enemy attack on his own. But the thought of (Y/N) in danger spurred him on. He rushed forth- forgot his training, his pain, his fear. His heart pounded in his chest as if attempting to break free from its cage and act as lieutenant.

His steps were mechanical, automatic. Green and brown whirred around him until he reached a clearing and saw blue. Then a shining dagger glinted in front of his chest. 

“(Y/N)! Wait!” he said, arms shot in front of him.

“Fíli! What’s wrong?” 

The land all around was empty except for the two of them. No enemy stood in sight and there was no evidence of a fight before he’d arrived. No blood, no weapons, and the only footsteps in the dirt were (Y/N)’s own. Her bare feet, tiny compared to his thick boots, led to bare calves, bare knees and mostly bare thighs, only the tops of which were covered with a clinging, wet tunic. Back to her feet his eyes went and he backed away, sheathing his dagger and looking anywhere except the soaked woman before him.

“Mahal, I’m so sorry. I thought I heard a scream and you were out here alone- my mind went to the worst. I really didn’t- this is no ploy to- I swear.”

“I believe you, Fíli.” She picked her dagger’s sheath from the ground and replaced her weapon. For a moment, he watched the soaked tunic adhere to her chest. Her hair shone with soap that slid down her neck, the bubbles making their way down over the dips of her collarbones and adding to the translucency of her covering. 

She straightened. “I heard it too, but it was a fox. The pack made a kill just over the bank and celebrated so loudly I thought they were actually dwarves.” The corners of her mouth wriggled as she tried not to smile. 

“You’re funny.”

“Thank you.” 

She watched him. For his reaction? To pressure him into keeping his gaze to himself? To thank him for risking his life for her safety? He wasn’t sure.

“I’m also shivering and covered in soap, so if you don’t mind-”

“I’ll leave.” He turned back to the way he came, leaning a bit too far onto his sore leg. Despite his best intentions, he hissed in pain but the spare air vanished when a damp hand landed on his arm.

“What did Oin say about your knee?” she asked.

His hand clamped onto hers. “I’ll be crooked for a few days, but it should heal just fine. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to run through the woods on either.”

A breeze blew between them. She shook with a chill that ran down her spine and took her hand away from his.

“You are shivering,” he said. “I’ll leave you as you asked.”

“Actually, I just meant to ask if you’d turn around so I can rinse off. Then we can walk back together. Wouldn’t want any foxes to attack you in your weakened state,” she said, biting her lip to stop from laughing as he shook his head.

He watched her back into the water, expertly dodging slippery, sharp rocks, until the little ripples reached her knees. She never took her eyes off his, but cocked a brow as she fiddled with the hem of her wet tunic. 

“You should probably turn around now.”

“Right.” 

He dutifully and respectfully spun, holding his breath to listen to her laugh. Her tunic landed on the rocks near his feet with a wet slap while the river water splashed and encased her in its embrace. If he closed his eyes, he’d be able to see her leaning her head back into the waves, revealing her neck and the swell of her breasts until her flesh disappeared below the surface. If he closed his eyes, he had the chance to imagine things he shouldn’t be picturing about his comrade. 

So he looked up into the trees to count the birds or the leaves or the branches- something that would take his attention away from the completely bare woman right behind him. Then he saw her extra tunic hanging dry, still stained dark grey and maroon from their skirmish with a small orc pack that afternoon.

“That’s your only spare tunic up there?” he asked.

She hummed. “I can’t seem to wash the orc stench out of it, but it seems I’ll have to wear it for the night as my other one won’t dry in time.”

“I have an extra you can wear.”

“Oh, no, I’ll make do.”

“Nonsense,” he said, retrieving the wet tunic-ball and hanging it over a branch. As he sniffed the stained one and winced, he said, “Rip this one up for rags. You’ll need some for cleaning and mending as we go on. This wet one will dry, but until we can get you another spare, you can take mine.” 

He dropped the rags-to-be by her bag and slid out of his outer layer. As he shed his clothes, he started to regret his decision. But asking her to choose between freezing overnight and sleeping in orc funk wasn’t an option. His fingers shook as the rustling of the water grew higher in pitch and her steps turned from small splashes to light pats over the dirt. 

“That’s generous of you. Thank you.”

He pulled his tunic over his head and held it out, only seeing her by his side when he ran a hand through his braids and set them to rights. She’d slipped into her trousers and though she’d squeezed the water from her hair, stubborn droplets ran down her smooth skin and over freckles that were newly formed from long hours in the sun. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, turning away as she dressed. 

It wasn’t long before she landed before him, long tails tucked in and bunched in her trousers and laces tied under her neck. 

“Well, then,” she said. “Ready to fight off some foxes?”

Fíli chuckled as the sleeve she’d pushed up to her elbow fell back down and over her wrist. “Indeed. Maybe we’ll find something for supper on the way,” he said as he neatly rolled the extra fabric up her arm the way he knew she liked it. 

“Anything would be better than whatever your brother caught for us last night.”

“Not a fan of mystery meat?”

“Not when it smells like that,” she said.

When the pair grabbed everything they’d brought with them to the river, they started their way back to the camp. The sun had set but there was still a residual light radiating from the sky and through the trees. The purple twilight illuminated the path which Fíli had made much more prominent with his previous run through the woods. Mighty bear jokes were passed back and forth as (Y/N) noticed the broken branches and large bootsteps left in the dirt. 

Fíli wrapped an arm tight around her shoulders and pulled, making her topple into his chest and giggle even more.

“Knock it off,” he said, words warped by his wide grin.

“Fine, fine. But seriously, Fíli. I’m honestly quite offended by what you’ve done tonight.”

He stopped her in the path, eyes wide and deep with regret. “(Y/N), I promise, I was not at all trying to sneak some sort of peek. I really thought you were in danger-”

“No, not that. All this time I always thought I had a rather pleasant voice. Now you say I sound like a yowling fox. It hurts me a bit.” She headed back to camp without him, leaving him stunned into place in the middle of the woods. “More than a bit, actually,” she continued. “I think you’re going to have to think very hard on how to make this all up to me. If we want to stay friends, that is.”

Two giant, limping steps later, he was close enough to take her in his arms and kiss her, as he’d wanted to do for months. And unexpectedly, magically, thankfully, she returned his embrace. Her fingers were cold on the nape of his neck but his tunic was warm around her body. Up her back and into her hair went his thick fingers, opening her to him and pulling her lips even closer. He sighed, a mix of her scent and his, her hair oil and his soap, and every bit of him swelled to capacity with pride and affection. Finally.

He drew away just enough to take in her face. Her eyes were still closed, and slowly, a smile grew on her pinked lips. She hummed and looked at him.

“That’s a good start,” she said.

“I’m glad you think so.”

Her smile spread into a bright and beautiful grin and Fíli could only return it. He shifted against her and felt her arms wrap further around him in support.

“We should get you back for some rest. Your knee-”

“Can wait,” he said, taking her chin in his fingers and running his thumb just under her lips. “It can wait.”

He kissed her again, pain and worries gone.

***

Taglist: @emrfangirl​ @misslongcep​ @raindancer2004​ @ladybugg1235​ @xxbyimm​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @fire-flv​ @nerdbirdsworld​ @dashesofink​ @teagarages​ @dreams-of-wander​ @winchesterandpie​ @bluebellcotton @tumblinglringlring @fxngsfogxarty @specialagentsnark @afeistyfairy12 @queenofmankind @karlthecat15722 @sagabriar @marymegger @aidan-kili-mitchell-forever @c-s-stars

[rattyoakenbitch]

The Hobbit: In My Feelings || Thorin x Elf Reader

Warnings: Language, angst, mentions of blood, mentions of death sadness.

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x (short) Elf Reader

Note: OKAY, I’M SORRY IF THIS SOUNDS STUPID BUT I HAD TO. Basically, Gandalf & Galadriel did the nasty, resulting in a child, which is you. I don’t know if Elves and Wizards can.. you know, but I don’t care. I ship Gandalf & Galadriel wayyy too much and they’d be the coolest parents. Also, I was listening to Lana Del Rey’s “In My Feelings”, which just gave me this sad and sort of angry vibe, so I thought I’d make an imagine sort of releasing all that anger. I don’t know if that made any sense. 

Summary: Thorin Oakenshield, King Under The Mountain, your One, was taken over by dragon sickness. When Bilbo shares a little secret about having the Arkenstone in his possession, you take his side, angering Thorin. 

“It’s a trick! The Arkenstone is here in this mountain!” Thorin’s voice boomed. The king looked down intently at the bargeman, who was tossing the stone up and catching it as if it were a paper ball, only infuriating him more.

“It’s no trick. I gave it to them.” You close your eyes as you hear Bilbo’s words. You both kept the stone a secret, but now you were on edge, thinking about Thorin’s reaction. You were certain he would just about blow up. Thorin slowly turned around, staring Bilbo down, his face unreadable. 

“You?”

“I took it as my fourteenth share,” the hobbit said sheepishly.

“You would steal from me?” Thorin spoke lowly, sending shivers down your spine. “Steal from you? No, no. I may be a burglar, but I like to think I’m an honest one.” Thorin started to approach him, causing more anxiety and pressure to build up inside of you. “I’m willing to let it stand against my claim.”

“Your claim? You have no claim over me, you miserable rat!” Before Thorin could get a hold of Bilbo, you stopped him abruptly, standing in front of the frightened hobbit.

“Thorin, stop. It’s my fault, too.” He still had a hateful look on his face, but his eyes softened as he realized it was you, his One. He processed the words you had just spoke, and furrowed his brows together.

“What are you talking about?”

“Bilbo came to me and told me about the Arkenstone.. I knew he had it since we reclaimed the mountain..”  The tension in the air was high, and it was silent, besides the heavy breathing and the thumping in your chest.

“You..? Out of all people, why you?” He asked, seemingly hurt.

“Can’t you see, Thorin? You’ve become someone else. Ever since we had come to Erebor, all you’ve been talking about was the Arkenstone! Even daring to doubt the loyalty of your own fucking kin! As much as you hate to admit it, you have become your grandfather!” He took a step forward, staring you down like a lion would stalk its prey. But you stood your ground. You knew Thorin would never dare harm you.  “Thorin, we only want what’s best for you.. The stone has turned you into a monster. The dwarf that I met and loved in Rivendell would never dare to doubt his family, nor his friend,” you whispered, tears falling from your eyes. You searched his, looking for any sense of love or remorse. There was nothing in his deep blue eyes. It was empty, only full with greed. Within a second, you were held over the wall by your neck and collar, choking as Thorin’s grip got tighter. 

“Thorin, no!” The Company protested, attempting to stop Thorin. But he shoved them back, keeping you in his grasp. 

“Do not speak to me of love and loyalty, you traitor,” he spat, face twisting up in anger. It was at that moment that you knew Thorin was long gone. He was lost to the sickness, and you were devoid of any solutions to bring him back. You started to feel your chest tighten, and your head grow light. You gave up your struggle, and let yourself die by the hands of your lover. 

“If you do not like my daughter, hand her back to me!” A voice suddenly rang out. You realized it was the voice of your father, who you have not heard from since departing from Rivendell. “You are not making such a splendid figure as King Under the Mountain, are you, Thorin Oakenshield?”  At that, you were carelessly tossed aside back on the wall, gasping for air.  Fili & Kili helped you up, while Bofur assisted Bilbo down the wall.

“I am so sorry,” you cried to them. They simply shushed you by giving you a tight hug.

“Go, now. Save yourself,” Kili said. 

“May we meet again, someday, somehow,” you say last, before following Bilbo down the rope. Once you reached the bottom, you took one more glance at the king, your former love, before hurrying to Dale.

***

Thorin’s POV

I walked into the room where The Company was gathered, upset expressions on their faces. Soon as Kili noticed my presence, he stood up to approach me. “I will not hide behind walls of stone, while others fight our battle for us!” He vented, “It is not in my blood, Thorin.”

“No,” I said calmly. “It is not. We are Sons of Durin. And Durin’s Folk do not flee from a fight.” We hold each other in a short embrace, before I turn to the rest of The Company, who watched with anticipation. “I have no right to ask this of any of you, but will you follow me, one last time?” They all stood up and gripped their weapons, nodding their heads. I scan the room, looking for any signs of Y/N.

“Where is she?” I ask, “Where is my One? Where is Y/N?” Fili looks at the ground with a saddened face before answering. “She left with Bilbo over the wall. Must have fled to Dale or left completely.”

What have I done?

*** You took a seat by the steps of a ruined house, completely spaced out, trying to process what just took place. You had reclaimed Erebor, but for what? To lose your friends. More importantly, the one you were going to wed. But what were you thinking? An elf and a dwarf would never work. They had a big history of being hateful towards one another, and neither families would approve of such marriage, You knew Thorin would be taken by the sickness, but tried to shut out the fact and live an unrealistic fantasy. Because all good things come to an end. Right?

Hours passed since the battle started. Elves, dwarves, men, orcs. You didn’t fight, though. You stayed seated by the abandoned house, ignoring the death and screams around you. As much as you wanted to go back to rejoin The Company, Thorin would probably kill you. He already tried to. Your only love. Because of a stupid stone.

“Y/N! Miss Y/N!” Bilbo called, snapping you out of your daze. You look up at the little hobbit who was running towards you. “Thorin, Kili, Fili, and Dwalin are going to Ravenhill! It’s a trap! We have to warn them!”

You wanted to say “why”? and ��let them die”, but as much as you were pained and angry, you knew you couldn’t live with yourself, knowing you left your friends to their death.

“Let’s go.”

You & Bilbo made it to Ravenhill, successfully keeping out of sight from any enemies. But when you made it to the top, it was empty. No dwarves in sight, nor any orcs. You frantically searched the area for any signs of them. When at last, you found all four of them.

“Wait!” Bilbo shouted, instantly making their heads dart your direction. When Thorin’s eyes found yours, he practically ran over to you. “Y/N, I--” You collided the back of your hand with his face, stopping him from finishing his sentence. But shortly after, before he could react, you pulled him into a passionate kiss, as if to say sorry. “Okay, I might have deserved that,” he admitted, pulling away. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I did not see.”

“I love you, Thorin. And I will fight by your side, no matter the circumstance.”

Bilbo awkwardly coughed. “Okay, lovebirds. I hate to break up the cute reuniting kissy moment, but Azog has another army attacking from the north! This watch tower will be surrounded!”

AHHH I was in a rush making this and wasn’t sure if I should continue or just end it here. LMK! 

[avaria-revallier]

Chapter 7: A soft landing

Chapter 1 -start here

Chapter 6

Bella hurried back to the clearing as fast as her injured leg would let her. The bag with the herbs pressed against her aching ribcage.

When she reached the clearing she could only spot Dwalin and Nori. The thief was about to leave while Dwalin only stared at his back with an unidentifiable expression. Did she miss something?

“Dwalin? What happened?” she asked from behind him, feigning ignorance.

Of course Gandalf had showed up. The trolls turned to stone and the others were on their way to inspect the troll hoard. They wouldn’t have much time to rest. Maybe a few hours before Radagast turned up and with him the orcs and wargs. Luckily, she had already grabbed her backpack when she fetched the herbs.

“Bella! Let me get Oin to check you over. Where does it hurt? Come here, sit for a moment! Are you thirsty? Shall I get you some water?” Dwalin grabbed the bag from her arms and gently nudged her to a log nearby.

“I am fine, really. Just bring me to the others. We are no longer safe here.” Determined, Bella grabbed onto her brother's forearm.

She was half leaning on him and half dragging him into the direction Nori went off to earlier. Bella was right, he realised. They were no longer safe. If the trolls had come down from the mountains then even the main road was no longer safe.

Together they made their way toward the cave Fili and Kili had spotted. Gloin and Nori were busy burying a small chest. A smile stole itself on her lips. That small stinking chest had given her quite the headache back in Shire. So much gossip over such a small amount of gold. This was nothing compared to the treasure hall of Erebor.

Sitting down near the entrance, she held her face up in the sunshine. The warmth made her forget the pain in her body for a while.

A shadow fell over her and as she opened her eyes she stared directly into the deep blue eyes of the dwarven king. Bella took her time examining his face. He would look so much better with a smile on his face. Instead, he was frowning once again.

“How may I help you, master Oakenshield?” giving her best not to wince while standing up she asked him with a steady voice.

This whole situation was new for her. The dwarven king had never really cared for or about her before. He had even wanted to leave her with lord Elrond! Truly strange… Well, it might have been her fault as well as she had stuck to Gandalf for the better part of their travels before and only kept whining about her home and all the comforts she had to leave behind. How shameful of her! They had lost their homes and hadn’t left them willingly.

A pang of guilt hit her stomach. She had been so wrong in the past. This was a good enough reason to improve the present. She would have to improve herself to change their fate and hers at well.

“Well,” he started, averting his look from her intensive staring, “Here! Just take it… Might be your size.” He rumbled low while shoving a small leather sheath in her arms.

Sting. He had found her trusted traveling companion. The small sword lay reassuringly in her palm.

“Thank you.” she breathed.

Joy flooded her heart and mind. Later, she would blame her further actions on her brain malfunctioning at that very moment.

“Thank you so much, Thorin!” lunging forward, she embraced the stern king, giving him a big kiss on his cheek before happily making her way towards the grey wizard.

Thorin stood there. Petrified. Did she just? She did… She…

A muffled snicker followed by the thudding sound of a hand colliding with the back of a head confirmed his fear. She did!

‘Oh Mahal! This was more than confusing. Were hobbits such affectionate beings? Yes, that must be the case. She would have done the same for every other member of the company,’ his own train of thoughts made him angry.

“Nori! Gloin! Hurry up!” he grunted down the cave, turning his back at his nephews.

Those two rascals were still snickering and hiding the fact rather poorly. Bofur on the other hand laughed openly. Dwalin looked at him as if he had been the one kissing the lass. Mahal, how the burglar had already changed his cousin.

Dori, Ori and Gloin returned, having packed their rations and gear. Sadly, only four ponies and Gandalf's horse were left. The rest must have bolted when they had been busy fighting and, well… trying not to get eaten.

He would have to tell Ori once again to leave the record for this day blank! He wouldn’t need to be reminded of the shame when he had to cry out that they had parasites…

A crashing sound and loud cursing made him draw his sword and whirl around to face the possible threat head on.

Bella smiled. It had been ages since she had seen the brown wizard. He was still the same Radagast she remembered. A bit skittish, but full of love for the animals around him. The rabbits pulling his sled had always fascinated her. Curious, she stepped nearer. One of them lifted its head, looking into her eyes.

The dwarrows were still discussing whether to trust the newcomer or not. Sure, Radagast might have made quite the entrance, screaming and cursing, and the stick insect in his mouth along with the nest in his hair were rather off-putting, but he was a kind soul and not one to be corrupted.

The rabbit nuzzled its head into her hand and after a short while she was surrounded by the furry lot. They were gentle as if they knew of her injuries. Suddenly, the ears of their leader perked up and his nose twitched nervously. The wargs. How could she forget that?!

“Watch out!” she managed to scream, before the first ugly monster broke through the bushes and launched at Thorin.

It was killed quickly and now everyone shifted their attention towards the approaching enemy. Well, not all the attention. Gandalf shouted at Thorin and Thorin shouted back at Gandalf demanding to know who else would have known about their quest. She saw the look the leader of the company gave her. It made her heart freeze.

“I will draw them off!” Radagst offered.

“These are Gundabad wargs!” Gandalf warned his friend.

“These are Rhosgobel rabbits. I’d like to see them try!” the brown wizard puffed proud.

They ran and hid. The ponies were nervous and Bella's heart pounded against her damaged rib cage like it had been doing once long ago. This was exciting and nerve-wrecking, but it made her feel alive!

At the very moment when Thorin nodded at Kili to shoot the approaching warg together with its rider, Bella nearly jumped out herself. She was more than ready to take on the enemy once again. Dwalin held her back by gently grabbing her arm. He was right. Kili could handle this. He was an amazing archer and a great fighter. He needed this experience to grow. It would be good for him.

“Where are you leading us?” she could hear Thorin’s whispered question towards Gandalf.

Thorin surely wouldn’t like the answer and Gandalf knew this fact as did Bella, so he kept silent. They came closer towards the large rock formation that marked the entrance to the secret passageway into the hidden valley. Well, the last few hundred meters were open terrain. There was no way to hide anymore. Running would be the only option.

She prepared herself mentally for the pain that soon would be raging in her entire body. Each step had sent a wave of pain through her body, but the occasional breaks while they were hiding made it easier to catch her breath. The last part on the other hand would be not as forgiving. Maybe they would be lucky and lord Elrond would suddenly appear, together with his hunters.

Taking a deep breath, she readied herself to sprint whenever Thorin would give the signal. Without a warning, two tattooed arms lifted her off the ground and placed her on the last remaining pony.

“Why d-” Thorin's signal interrupted her question.

Kili and Fili slapped the frightened pony to encourage the poor thing to run even faster. Howls, barks and several orders cried out in black speech followed, leaving the rabbit sled alone.

The pony was definitely faster than she would have ever been on foot, injured or not. Still, it was way too frightening to break through the two wargs ahead, let alone blindly jump into a small opening between the stones. Panicked, the steed looked around, searching for a way out. A warg used this chance to jump at them, its jaw wide open. In a split second, the pony decided between being eaten by a warg and jumping into a cave, the cave being the winning option.

The sudden movement made Bella lose her grip and she slipped off of the back of the pony, landing on her backside. An arrow flew past her, grazing the warg’s ear. This distraction gave her enough time to scramble back onto her feet and limp as fast as she could towards the passageway.

Kili cursed while Fili changed his direction, running past her. Thorin cursed as well, but far more creatively than his nephew. Dwalin roared while swinging his battle axes. ‘How she had missed this before?’ she wondered, Bombur and Bifur had already vanished into the opening. Bofur helped Ori and Dori while Nori sent another one of his knives flying before jumping down as well. Balin had the nerve to lecture his brother not to be reckless and ‘cut the crap while you are still able to’. Oin and Gloin must also already be down there as she could hear them shouting for the others to come down.

Dwalin turned around, a grim expression on his face, grabbed Kili and Fili, each on one arm and jumped down as well. Thorin was still waiting for her at the entrance, his sword ready. Bella quickened her speed and prompt stumbled, falling into the dwarven kings arms and pulling him down with her.

She landed rather soft on top of Thorin. Her eyes tightly shut, she didn’t dare to move. Carefully, she opened her eyes slightly, only to look into the King's face. It was rather dark in the cave. She wasn't able to make out the expression on his face. In a rather poor attempt to separate herself from Thorin, Bella placed her hands on his chest. She tried not to think too much about how muscular he was. Slowly, she started to separate herself from him, wiggling around trying to find a position that wouldn’t hurt too much. Bella tried not to put any weight on her injured legs or any other parts of her that were hurting. Well, the only part not hurting at the moment was her head, but she could feel a headache rising.

Two big, strong hands on her hips made it impossible for her to move any further. The dwarven King had held her down in this rather shameful position.

Thorin took this chance to search her body for injuries. He grunted, displeased as she flinched under his touch. Somehow it made the King angry to see her hurt. And somehow, it felt nice to have her near. Bella started shifting again. She didn't know what exactly she was supposed to feel at this particular moment. It felt great to be able to be so close to him. But at the same moment, she felt a pang in her heart. This was not her Thorin. And this was not right.

She opened her mouth, ready to give him a piece of her mind when a growl from behind interrupted her. In the first second, she thought it was a warg, but then the growl evolved into a wave of dwarven curses spoken in Khuzdul. Gently, two arms wrapped around her from behind, easily lifting her up from Thorin. She recognised the tattoos on the arms. The warmth on her hips disappeared. Her body reacted to the sudden cold with a shiver while her heart winced to be separated from her One.  

Her brother held her protectively in his arms, standing with his back towards his king and putting himself between her and Thorin. She knew that dwarrows were protective, but she never thought that Dwalin would defy his king. This was a completely new experience for her. She didn't want to be in between the two of them, she didn't want to be in between anything. If she hadn't known what would have come next, maybe she would have stayed with Lord Elrond.

A furry body slid down into the cave, taking all the unwanted attention of her and presenting a way for Thorin to hide his embarrassment.

How in the world could he have let down his guard in such a critical moment? His palms still felt the softness of her body. There was something familiar in the way they touched, but he was quite sure he had never seen the hobbit lass before. Still, when Dwalin separated her from him, he wouldn't have liked anything better than punching his best friend in the face and getting back what belonged to him.

To get his mind off those strange thoughts, he shifted his attention towards the dead warg. An arrow was plunged into the throat of the monster. Separating the arrow from the body, he inspected it.

“Elves!” he spat out.  

As if to answer his angry grunting, the sound of a horn broke through the cries from outside. The company started fidgeting nervously, looking for a way out. Up and out of the cave was not an option and Thorin nearly sighed with relief when Bofur shouted that there was another way. It was a narrow pass seemingly leading deeper into the mountain, but it was rather bright, so maybe, just maybe, they had a chance.  

The passageway was too narrow for Dwalin to both carry Bella and fit through it himself at the same time. So, he had no other possibility than to walk behind her, lending her a helping hand and steadying her whenever she staggered. Whenever he wasn’t fast enough to catch her and, as a result, she would crash into a stone wall with a hollow thump, he would wince. Not being able to help her nearly drove him insane. His mood dropped with every passing second.

Seeing how Thorin looked at her with that worried, sad and longing look made him angrily clench his fists. He had no right to ogle his sister like that!

“It is as beautiful as I remembered.” She mumbled under her breath.

Dwalin wouldn’t have heard it if Thorin hadn’t lifted his head as soon as she opened her mouth. Both of them looked at each other in confusion. Had they heard right?

In front of them, a beautiful valley lay. The valley of Imladris where  the last homely house was. The tattooed warrior grumbled a curse in the wizard’s direction. To guide them right towards those damned elves! Thorin seemed to have the same thoughts. He finally stopped looking at Bella and glowered at the grey-hatted man.

Why must dwarrows be so bloody stubborn, wary and suspicious of each and every person they meet?! Bella had found herself in the middle of a small circle built out of muscles, sharp axes and rumbling growls. She could only shake her head at their overprotective behaviour. Lord Elrond would have never allowed harm to befall his guests. Here, in the last homely house, they would be just as safe as in Beorn's hut. A smile lightened up her face as she thought of the large man who was gentler than anyone could have ever imagined.

She shifted her attention back when the sound of a horn sounded in the distance once more, announcing the return of the elven king. The circle tightened around her even more. Gandalf watched their actions with amusement and when Bella locked eyes with him he chuckled at her distressed expression.

Thorin muttered something to Dwalin, too quietly for her to understand. But the two dwarves nodded in grim agreement, not letting the elves out of sight.

Lord Elrond returned with his hunters not a second too late. Lindir seemed a bit troubled by the gruff and dirty company that appeared on their doorstep. Led by Gandalf the Grey of all people! The exchange of greetings, compliments and courtesies gave Bella a chance to remember the lessons of elven language she had all those years before.

“Lord Elrond, it is good to see you again. May I request to visit your infirmary?” fighting her way out, she glared at Fili and Kili trying to pull her back.

The dark-haired elf lifted one brow at her request spoken in elvish. The pronunciation was not bad and gave evidence that she had been learning the language for quite some time. Lord Elrond looked at Gandalf. It was a  long, questioning look. The wizard only shrugged and searched his pockets for his pipe weed.

“Of course, little one. But you have to promise me to tell me all the exciting details of your journey over dinner. We hadn’t had a hobbit here in forever, and especially not one traveling with the dwarves, no less.” He smiled, waving Lindir over.

The king’s attendant picked her up with ease, earning a surprised and an acknowledging squeak from the hobbit and an angry uproar from the company. Threats, insults and crude curses were thrown at the elves until Gloin stormed forward, swinging his weapon to daunt the elf holding Bella. It didn’t work. Lindir only looked down at Gloin with an unchanged countenance.

“Food,” Bella hurried to say, “he offered us to stay for dinner, freshen up a bit and rest.”

The adrenalin slowly vanished from her system. The pain returned, stronger than before, and Bella wished for nothing more than a hot bath, a change of clothes, some food and a soft bed.

Dwalin stepped forward in an intimidating manner. He pushed Gloin aside and straightened his back. With his arms crossed, he looked up and, in his eyes, she could see the gleam of an idea. The idea to kick Lindir into the hollow of the knee and snatch her from his arms.

“What are you planning to do with my sister, elf?” his voice was deep and threatening.

Lindir only raised an eyebrow, looking down he smiled coldly, “If you happened to notice, your ‘sister’ is seriously injured.”

Dwain’s hands twitched as if he wanted to deliver the first punch. Right in that moment Fili and Kili appeared on each side of the warrior. They looked determined.

“We will come with you.” Fili decided, while Kili nodded agreeing, “Can’t let you alone with them!”

Bella smiled. It was not convincing and far away from reassuring, but from her position, held by Lindir, she was finally taller than all of the members of the company. They looked worried up to her, big pleading eyes and protective sternness in their faces. They meant it, she realized. Tears started to fill her eyes, not out of pain, but happiness. Even Thorin fidgeted from one leg onto the other, trying his best to not meet her eyes. He stared at Lord Elrond, but still observed her out of the corner of his eye.

“That is very sweet of you, but I do prefer to bathe alone,” Bella chuckled.

Her chuckle quickly changed into a cough and a few drops of blood blemished Lindir’s perfectly white robes. The elf frowned displeased down at her. With a sharp nod towards his king, he hurried off to the healing quarters, taking her with him. Over Lindir’s shoulder, Bella could catch a glimpse of Thorin’s expression. Was that jealousy hidden behind the usual frown?

Chapter 8

@stuckupstucky

General things:

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If you like what you have read consider reblogging my story for others to enjoy too.

I am always open for asks and requests for shorts of our favorite dwarrows!

[darnloveablecharacters]

Prove Me Wrong, Part Twenty-Four: Judgement

Series Summary:  Caithwistë, born from the only known pairing of an elf and a dwarf has spent most of her life in hiding. When an old friend, (or a certain meddling wizard) finds her in the woods, everything changes. Now, she will have the chance to prove the world wrong about her value. A ‘The Hobbit’ fanfiction based off of the following imagines from @imaginexhobbit: This One is the basis of the story, and This One and This One will be added in later. If you recognize it, it belongs to Professor Tolkien or Peter Jackson. But, as usual, the story and all of the mistakes are my own!

Prove Me Wrong - Masterlist

Chapter Notes: Another longer one! And I have to admit, as these go by I think they’re just going to get longer if I want to stick to my chapter plan. Oh darn :)

Warnings for this chapter: angst, violence, mention of death and so much angst. Did I mention angst?

Tagged: @imaginesreblogged @chevycastiel1967 @rices4me93 @tschrist1 If you want to be added just let me know!

For the first time that she could remember, Caithwistë felt cold. She sat with her back against the stone wall of her cell hugging her legs against her chest, shivering uncontrollably. By the time she had been shoved back into her cell her voice was hoarse. She had been greeted by the sounds of the Company exclaiming with relief at the sight of her, but it faded quickly when they noticed her condition.

She was thinner than she had been since they last saw her, and her face was sunken, pale and streaked with tears. “What have they done to you?” Dwalin growled from another cell. “If they have hurt you, they will pay.” He promised, allowing his anger at the injustice of their captors to fill him.

Caithwistë tried to answer, but her voice failed her and her body shook with another wave of sobs.

“What happened, Lass?” Balin prodded gently from the cell next to her. “Thorin, is he…” his voice shook as the unfinished question lingered.

Caithwistë took a shaking breath. Balin would know all too well the animosity between Thorin and Thranduil, she could easily understand what his concern would be. “Thorin is alive.” She finally answered in a strained voice.

She heard Balin let out a relieved breath before he continued. “Then what… oh.”

Caithwistë chuckled lightly at his reaction. “Oh.” She murmured back.

“Do either of you mind filling us in?” Dwalin grumbled after a moment of stunned silence.

“It is none of our concern, Brother.” Balin said shortly.

Caithwistë smiled appreciatively, even though he wouldn’t be able to see it. “Actually, dear Balin, this is their concern.” She said, suddenly feeling an odd wave of confidence flow through her. She realized then that she had failed with Thorin, but perhaps she could at least make it right with the rest of them. She stood shakily and stepped toward the gate to peer out at the other cells. “There is something I must tell all of you, but first I wish you to know that I care deeply for each and every one of you.” She could see the eyes of those in the cells across from her watching intently, hanging on her every word.

Caithwistë took another deep breath and continued. “I have been deceiving you, from the moment we met. It began with an attempt to protect myself as I have had to do for my entire life. Eventually, it simply became a habit and I became too afraid to speak the truth. I did not want to risk losing any of you. I understand now that was foolish.” She paused to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat before continuing. “I am not a hobbit as I have led you all to believe. My father was in fact a Dwarf of Erebor. His name was Rofur son of Lofur. The name may not be familiar to you, but the story may. He married my mother, Calyniel Aranel…. She was an Elf maiden of the Woodland Realm.” Caithwistë concluded.

The dungeon was completely silent as her words washed over the Company. Caithwistë took another deep breath then. In many ways, she felt much better having told them the truth; however, the silence was deafening and she tapped her fingers against the bars nervously as she waited for their reaction.

Mercifully, Bofur broke the thick silence. “Well, that explains a lot.” He said, sounding amused.

“Aye, it has been hard to believe that a hobbit could be so capable of surviving the wild as you do.” Dwalin agreed gruffly.

“And Thorin?” Balin asked nervously.

Caithwistë frowned as the image of Thorin’s guarded expression washed through her but was saved from the need to answer when the Dwarf in question was dragged through and pushed into a cell across from her.

“Did he offer you a deal?” Balin asked after the guard left again.

“He did. I told him he could go îsh kakhfê ai’d dur-rugnul.” Thorin said with a fierce edge to his voice. He gave Caithwistë a cold stare before adding. “Him and all his kin!”

Caithwistë sucked in a sharp breath at his words. She backed further into her cell, out of Thorin’s view, as Balin answered grimly. She could not hear his words though as she began to shiver again. She had expected anger, she felt it would be justified. Unfortunately, she had not been prepared for the hate she saw in his eyes.

~

Time passed, but it held no meaning for Caithwistë. She would occasionally hear soft voices in the caverns, but the words never registered. She was numb and could no longer move. She simply lay in her cell on the cold stone floor, wondering if she should have stayed in the Old Forest. Thorin would have found his own way to the Shire, in time.

Eventually, she heard shouting and covered her ears against it. Not even the sound of her cell door opening was enough to rouse her. It wasn’t until she was roughly pulled to her feet that she slowly began to focus. When the fog of her mind cleared, she noticed Dwalin had a hard grip on her arms and was shaking her. “Dwalin, I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

Dwalin huffed in frustration. “It’s time to go. Bilbo has set us free.” He grumbled.

Caithwistë glanced out to see the Company forming on the stairs. “Oh.” She said simply, nodding.

Dwalin rolled his eyes and pulled her with him toward the gathering. She followed silently as Bilbo led them through the winding paths. They slowed when they reached the cellars and snuck passed the two Elves who were asleep at the table. Caithwistë’s gaze was kept firmly on the ground as they stepped into the lower room. Again, she tried to tune out the sounds of the arguing Company but was forced to focus again when a firm voice silenced them.

“Do as he says!” Thorin had commanded the Company in a whisper.

Caithwistë fought the urge to glance at him as she was shoved unceremoniously into one of the empty barrels. As they waited for something to happen, she reflected that Thorin’s hold on her was too strong. How had she let this happen?

She was not given much time to ponder that thought as the floor suddenly dropped from underneath them and the barrels dropped into the river below. The immersion in cold water was just enough to completely snap Caithwistë out of her daze and bring her back to the present. She glanced around at the Company, ensuring they were all unharmed from the fall but there was a notable absence. “Where is Bilbo?” She cried.

“Perhaps he had another way out?” Bofur offered.

“We will give him a moment to catch up.” Thorin said softly.

Caithwistë couldn’t stop herself from glancing at him gratefully then. Thorin nodded briskly at her then returned his attention to where they fell. They were not forced to wait long before Bilbo dropped suddenly into the river. He surfaced quickly, sputtering and Nori grabbed his outstretched hand to help him grip the side of the barrel.

“Well done, Master Baggins.” Thorin said with pride. Bilbo, still spitting out water simply waved to motion them forward. “Come on, let’s go.” Thorin commanded, beginning to paddle forward with the current of the river.

It didn’t take them long to find the opening, but they were unable to celebrate as they were dropped down a small waterfall into the strong rapids of the river. Caithwistë gripped the side of her barrel as the river pushed it roughly against the rocks. In one of the rare smooth moments, she was able to look forward and saw they were near the river gate, but again the joy was short lived when the sound of a horn rang out.

“No!” She cried when the gate closed and the barrels began to pile against it. Thorin slammed his fist against it in frustration.

“Watch out!” Bofur called out, drawing their attention back. “Those are orcs!” He cried as the body of one of the Elven guards falls into the river.

Caithwistë gasped as the sounds of a fierce battle raged on the bridge above them and bodies of Elves and orcs alike began to crash into the river.

“Get under the bridge!” Thorin called out to the Company.

Caithwistë gripped the side of her barrel even tighter. She was crammed in too tight and she could barely see what was happening. She glanced at Thorin, who had a similar white knuckled grip on his barrel as he watched helplessly beside her.

She tore her gaze away fearfully when Fili yelled Kili’s name in fear.

“Kili.” Thorin repeated, shocked.

The sounds of the battle only seemed to intensify then and the gate was abruptly opened. Again, they were pulled into the rapids but were now pursued closely by the Orc pack. Caithwistë could only watch in awe as the Dwarves passed a stolen sword between each other, killing the Orcs as they jumped at them.

The Elves pursued as well, led by Legolas. He darted between the riverbanks swiftly, dispatching the orcs as they mercilessly attacked the mostly defenseless Company. The last thing she saw as they turned the bend was an axe that had been thrown by Thorin, killing the orc who was charging at Legolas from behind.

~

When they had finally gained some distance between themselves and the orcs, they paddled to a rocky riverbank and make their way clumsily out of the barrels. Caithwistë was soaked, but found herself cheerful that they had their freedom again. Even if the orcs were on their tail. She was distracted though, when Kili fell to the ground with a grunt of pain. She rushed to his side and gripped his shoulder, but he ignored her. She followed his gaze down at his leg where he was holding a thin cloth to a bleeding wound and gasped.

Kili seemed to notice her then and waved her off. “I’m fine, it’s nothing.” He said dismissively.

Caithwistë narrowed her eyes at him but they were interrupted by Thorin. “On your feet.” He commanded as he walked past without regarding them.

Fili ran to their side and Caithwistë stepped away as he took in his brother’s wound. “Kili’s wounded. His leg needs binding!” He exclaimed.

“There’s an orc pack on our tail; we keep moving.” Thorin said firmly.

“To where?” Balin asked breathlessly.

“To the mountain; we’re so close.” Bilbo offered.

Balin simply shook his head. “A lake lies between us and that mountain. We have no way to cross it.”

Bilbo pursed his lips. “So then we go around.”

Dwalin crossed his arms. “The orcs will run us down, as sure as daylight. We have no weapons to defend ourselves.”

“Bind his leg, quickly. You have two minutes.” Thorin growled, stepping away from them.

Caithwistë glanced at Kili with concern again as Fili began to work on his leg. He looked up and met her eyes, trying not to focus on what his brother was doing. “Go to Thorin.” He said softly after observing her for a moment. “You’ll have to speak with him eventually.”

“Yes.” Fili agreed, tightening the bandage and making Kili wince. “Better to get it over with I think.”

She crossed her arms, grimacing as she looked to where Thorin was trailing up the river. They were right and she knew it. Sighing, she nodded at the brothers and took off after him. “Thorin, wait.” She called out when she was close enough.

Thorin stopped but did not turn toward her. She placed a tentative hand on his arm, but he shook her off. “Do not touch me.” He growled.

Caithwistë was taken aback. “Can we not speak of this?”

Thorin turned to her then and crossed his arms. “You wish to do this now?” He asked in a low voice, eyes narrowed at her.

“I… yes. I just wanted to explain.” She said warily.

Thorin frowned. “There is nothing to explain, half-breed.” He said with disdain.

Caithwistë winced at the title. “Is that it then?” She asked, feeling her own anger rising up within her. “You find out what I am, and you simply decide I am not worthy?”

Thorin continued to glare and said nothing.

Caithwistë glared back, no longer able contain her own anger. “I’m glad I went on this journey with you Thorin Oakenshield. You have given me the truth I sought after.” She shook her head in frustration and turned away.

“And what truth is that?” Thorin asked unkindly.

Caithwistë stopped, glancing at the Company around her. They were watching the exchange in horror, but as her gaze moved over them, they couldn’t meet her eyes. She frowned, realizing that her fear of what the truth would bring was beginning to unfold before her, and there would be nothing she could do to prevent it. The damage had already been done. “There is no honor in this world. It doesn’t matter what you do if you were born the wrong species.” She said bitterly.

She moved to walk away again but Thorin turned her toward him with a rough grip on her arm. He glared down at her. They were close enough now that their noses nearly touched, and she could feel the heat of his anger against her skin. “You’re saying I have no honor, half-breed?” He growled menacingly.

She met his angry gaze with her own ferocity. “What would you call it Dwarf? How would you describe when one gives up everything for another, and is met with hate for what they are?”

“Not only a liar, but a fool.” He said, taking a step back and shaking his head in disgust.

She looked at him incredulously, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes. “You know nothing about me!” She suddenly screamed at him.

“That is your own doing! You have deceived me from the moment we met!” He yelled back.

“What choice did I ever have?” She demanded. “Would you have accepted me, had you known before? You told me yourself that you hate Elves.”

“That is correct. I thank you for proving to me that my hatred for your kind is not unfounded.” Thorin said with a mock bow.

Caithwistë felt the pain from his words but even then, she could not deny her own feelings. She rubbed her face, attempting to quell her anger and took a tentative step toward him. “I love you, Thorin. None of this changes that and I am truly sorry for deceiving you.” She said softly.

Thorin’s eyes glistened, his own rage appearing to dissolve for a moment. “How can I believe anything you say to me?” He asked quietly, voice quavering. Caithwistë was at a loss. She had no answer for him and simply sighed in defeat. She dropped her gaze to his boots, wiping the tears that had begun to fall away with her sleeve. He shook his head then and his face fell into an emotionless mask. “It doesn’t matter.” He said, voice growing stern. “You wished to speak of this now and so you shall receive my judgement.” Caithwistë took a shaky breath and met his eyes, bracing herself. “You are released from your contract. You are to leave this company, and never come back.”

Caithwistë felt as if her heart had dropped into her stomach at his words. Bilbo was at her side instantly. “Thorin please, reconsider. We need her.”

Thorin just watched them emotionlessly as Caithwistë placed her hands on Bilbo’s shoulders comfortingly. “You will be fine Bilbo. It is up to you to take care of them.” She said with a sad smile.

Balin rushed forward next, grabbing Thorin’s arm. “Thorin, I understand that you are angry, but she is unarmed as we all are. Do not leave her alone to die in these lands.” he pleaded.

“Enough!” Thorin yelled, shoving Balin off who backed away with his head bowed respectfully. Even he could not face the full wrath of the King. “I will hear no more of this.” Thorin said, angrily turning back to Caithwistë. “I will not allow this quest to fail at the hands of a lying half-breed.”

Shaking with the effort to maintain her composure, Caithwistë gave a final bow to Thorin. “As you wish, My King. May you have good fortune with the completion of your quest.” She said with sincerity. Thorin furrowed his brows at that, but Caithwistë didn’t wait for any further response. She simply turned on her heel and ran. In that moment, she only wanted to gain as much distance as she could from the ones she loved before she fully lost control of her emotions.

Author’s Note: Told you it was angsty....

Translations: îsh kakhfê ai’d dur-rugnul – Totally not actually going to translate this, just know it’s really mean (khuzdul)

[theincaprincess]

Shards of a forgotten past *part 9*

Afternoon darlings, here is part 9 for you! Hope you enjoy it! 

Tag list @amyf20​ @blankdblank​ @deepestfirefun​ @catthefearless​ @moonfaery​ @meyoko10​ @tolkienprincess​ @starlightintherain89​ @southsidesarcasticwriter​  @sdavid09​​ @thorinanddwalinsdwarrowdam​ @nikolett3​ @j25m18c24​ @letsbeinspiredby​ @shanty-lol​ @miabee0706​ @aspiringtranslator​ @fuer-immer-jetzt​ @phanaelion​ @xxbyimm​ @fizzyxcustard​ @lady-of-lies​ @soradragon​ 

Shard tag list @yes-captainstark​ @thetrappednerd​ @vorpal-queen​

Main masterlist here 

Thorin Oakneshield masterlist here 

 Catch up here 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Word count 1,184

Running through the forest Thennith stopped and lifted her head up trying to hear anything, when she heard the shout of Fili for his brother, turning to the right she ran towards the shouts and her eyes landed on the company fight off the spiders, taken a breath Thennith was about to charge forward when something caught her eyes in the top of the trees, looking up she saw the flash of blonde hair, and she knew it belonged to her nephew Legolas, hiding around the tree Thennith slow climbed up and watched the scene unfold below her. 

“Do not think I won’t kill you, Dwarf. It would be my pleasure” Legolas barked at the company, making Thennith roll her eyes at the tone.

“Search them!” Legolas ordered as Thennith looked around and saw Bilbo hiding behind a tree looking around until his eyes landed on her, given a hand signal to stay put, as one of the other elves took Thorin’s sword and handed it to Legolas.

“This is an ancient Elvish blade, it was forged by my kin” Legolas spoke as he twisted orcrist around “where did you get this?” He asked while giving Thorin a dirty look.

“It was given to me” Thorin proclaimed remembering the day when Thennith handed it over to him saying it was made by her kin and it would serve him well. 

Pointing orcrist at him Legolas wet his lips “not just a thief, but a liar as well” he hissed before telling the elves to lead them towards Mirkwood as the company was pushed past Thorin until Balin reached his side and they walked together. 

Waiting until everyone was out of sight Thennith climbed down the tree and met with Bilbo in the clearing, she could see the hobbit was anxious and unsure at what they could do “Bilbo everything will be fine” Thennith spoke trying to claim the hobbit. 

“How can you say that? We’re lost in a forest, Thorin has been taken to Mirkwood and I doubt they would be happy if we walk up to the door and knock on it asking for our friends back” Bilbo huffed. 

“My dear Bilbo, all is not lost” Thennith started but stopped she was still unsure if she should say anything but when Bilbo turned to face her with tears slowly started to pool behind his eyes, her walls crumbled “I Thennith, daughter of Oropher, Twin and younger sister to King Thranduil, Princess of the woodland realm, promise you we will get our friends back.”

Staring at her Bilbo felt his mouth drop open as he searched for anything to say to her when he finally spoke he was sure she didn’t hear him “You are the lost princess?” 

“Lost and thought dead for 60 years” Thennith said as she raised her hand and placed it on Bilbo’s shoulder “Thorin doesn't know, Balin and Gandalf do, but you must keep my secret and I will keep yours” she added. 

“I don’t have any” Bilbo said sharcting his head. 

“Hobbits can go unseen by many folk, but to disappear entirely, you have a rare gift Mr. Baggains” Thennith smiled at him. 

“Oh, yeah so erm I won't tell if you don’t” Bilbo muttered. 

“I’m counting on it” Thennith laughed, “Right I have an idea and if we pull this off we should be in Laketown by tonight, so listen closely” She added before explaining her plan to the hobbit.

….

In the cells of Mirkwood, all the company was throwing themselves against the doors trying to open them to break free, but nothing was working.

“Leave it, there is no way out of here, this is no Orc dungeon! These are the Halls of the Woodland Realm and that means no one leaves here, but, by the King’s consent” Balin shouted from his cell to the others.

Standing in the middle of the throne room Thorin watched as Thranduil started to descend the stairs from the Thorne “Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand, a Quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon” Thranduil spoke as he reached the bottom of the stairs, “I myself, suspect a more prosaic motive, attempted burglary, or something of that ilk” He added while staring down at Thorin.

Taken closely look at the King, Thorin was confused he was sure he was looking at Thennith, but he hadn’t seen her since she climbed the tree at the bridge within the forest.

Tilting his head Thranduil wet his lips and continued speaking at Thorin, rather then to him “you have found a way in, you seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule, a King’s jewel, the Arkenstone, It is precious to you beyond measure, I understand that there are gems in the mountain that I too desire, white gems of pure starlight, I offer you my help” he finished with a bow of his head.

“I am listening” Thorin said holding a sarcastic smile.

“I will let you go if you but return what is mine” Thranduil demanded.

“A favour for a favour” Thorin spat.

“You have my word, One King to another” Thranduil spat back.

Smirking to himself Thorin lowered his head before looking back up to Thranduil “I would not trust, Thranduil, the great King, to only his word, till the end of all days be upon us! You lack all honor! I have seen how you treat your friends! We came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help, but you turned your back, You, turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us! May you die in dragon fire!” Thorin shouted at Thranduil.

“Do not talk to me of dragon fire! I know its wrath and ruin, I have faced the great serpents of the North” Thranduil shouted back as he got in Thorin’s face, letting the illusion drop and showing his burned scared face, before stepping away from the dwarf and pulling his shield back up “I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen, You are just like him” Thranduil mocked as he turned and walked back towards his throne motioning to his guards with a head tight as they grabbed a hold of Thorin as started to drag him away “Stay here if you will, and rot a hundred years is a mere blink in a life of an Elf, I’m patient, I can wait” Thranduil hissed with venom as Thorin was dragged out of his sight.

Balin watched as the guards dragged Thorin down the stairs and threw him into the cell, after they walked away he asked “Did he offer you a deal?”

“He did, I told him he could go ishkh khakfe andu null, him and all his kin!” Thorin shouted making Balin roll his eyes.

“Well, that’s that then, The deal was our only hope” Balin muttered as he sat against the wall.

“It’s not our only hope” Thorin whispered hoping Thennith and Bilbo were nearby and not in a different cell. 

*Part 10 coming soon*

[superpuppies]

Hobbit High

Chapter 3: Damages

Fandom- The Hobbit

Characters- Ori X Dwalin, Bilbo X Thorin, Fili, Kili, Dori, Nori, Gandalf, Thlandral, Legolas

Rating- PG13

Word count-1748

Archive Link- https://archiveofourown.org/works/10027448/chapters/57582829#workskin

Summary- Nori takes a quick assessment of the damages

Hey all, here’s the newest from my mind, please keep in mind that I do have dyslexia and I really do try to fix all spelling mistakes but some will always slip through. If you spot some please let me know and I will do my best to correct it. Thank you.

Nori stood in the kitchen glaring down at the stir-fry vegetables he was chopping. When he had first gotten home he had crashed and slept for a few hours and that had helped. But now he was up and lying around, even if that’s all he wanted to do, made him feel useless. So since Ori was do home he had started dinner, but now Ori was just plane late and Dori would be calling in less than an hour. Nori was prepared for the lecture he was going to get about leaving school early, never mind that he had a perfectly good excuse for it, he did not need the added fact that Ori had apparently gone missing. Nori was sure if Ori didn’t show up in the next ten minutes he was going to go out, find him and then kill him.

The front door opened interrupting Nori’s planning of how to dispose of the body, and he growled putting down the knife as he walked out of the kitchen to meet his soon to be dead brother. “What the Hell, Ori!” He barked coming through the kitchen doorway.

“Your head feeling better?” Thorin smirked at his friend.

“Holy shit! What happened to you two?” Nori sputtered taking in the sight of the disheveled and defeated looking Bilbo and Ori. Nori ignored Thorin, rushing up to Ori and lifting his chin to force him to meet his brother’s eyes.

Ori turned away from his brother keeping his eyes down cast. He didn’t want to deal with the impending conversation all he wanted to do was lay down. In fact laying down sounded great right now! Ori tried to break away from Nori and Dwalin toward the sofa but Dwalin kept a firm hold on his shoulders. The pressure of his own arm against his side made Ori wince which in turn made Nori fall into panic mode. Nori removed Dwalin’s arm, a little more forcefully then necessary, and pulled Ori into the kitchen. Depositing him onto a tall counter stool before digging the rest of the half-tucked shirt out of Ori’s pants. Ori swatted at Nori’s hands. “St- stop it! Nori!” Ori whined as Nori hands tightened on the shirt and he pulled, popping the buttons off to reveal a splotchy Dalmatian pattern of bruises across Ori’s chest that merged into a deep dark bruise that took up his left side. “Wh- a, wh, why!” Ori stumbled staring at his brother. “Seriously! Why would you do that?”

Dwalin smirked despite himself, it was the most normal thing Ori had done since he found them. Though he didn’t like the hitch and pause to Ori’s breathing or the way Ori’s chest muscles seized with pain as he yelled.

“Like I’m not already enough of a mess, you just had to rip my shirt apart too!”

“Well, I needed to see what was” Nori was irritatingly calm.

“You could have just asked me! I would have done it. Just give me a minute, Damn it!” Ori pressed his right hand to his left side and sucked in a breath. “Now my shirt is ripped too. Way to just add to the day.” He glared. Nori just rolled his eyes but moved closer to Ori, reaching out to feel where Ori had his hand.

“Don’t be such a drama Queen” Nori said pressing his fingers into Ori’s bruise looking for any broken ribs.

“I, aah! I’m the drama queen! Mmhp! I didn’t just rip open someone’s shirt because I’m too stubborn and impatient to, Ow! Talk to them.”

“Alright, fine. I’m Sorry.” Nori’s sarcasm did nothing to help him.

Ori pushed his hands away and stood. “Bull shit! It’s this very shit that started those rumors!” Ori pushed past Nori with a wince and tore up the back stairs, Nori simply watched him blankly as he disappeared.

“Are you sure-” Dwalin began.

“Ah, he’s just going to go sulk in the shower.” Nori cut him off turning back to face them. “He doesn’t have any broken bones that I can feel anyway so he’ll come back down when he’s hungry or when Dori calls.”

“He does have a point though.” Thorin shrugged dropping his and Bilbo’s bag onto the kitchen table.

“Yes, yes I know, you have a problem with my screwing my brother senseless every night, so why don’t you just shut up about it.”

“I have a problem with it being blatantly untrue.” Thorin said dryly, rolling his eyes.

“I do!” Dwalin barked angrily, before he could stop himself. Bilbo, Thorin and Nori looked at Dwalin smirks spreading across their faces.

“That’s just because you want to be the one doing it.” Thorin and Nori said in unison. Dwalin turned on Thorin ready to attack but was cut off by Nori’s snickering voice.

“Shit! Like I didn’t know.”

“I knew it” Thorin triumphed at the horrified look on Dwalin’s face.

“You’ve been eyeing Ori for little over a year now. In fact I was pretty sure if you eyed him any harder you’d have burned a hole right through him.” Nori stated with a cocky little eyebrow raise.

Dwalin’s face fell, this was ridiculous, did everyone know how much he wanted Ori? He had been trying so hard to keep it hidden not wanting to scare Ori off or let Dori know. Dwalin was one hundred percent sure if Dori knew he was a dead man.

“Have you told him?” Bilbo asked looking up at Dwalin a sweet little smile on his face. He sincerely hoped Dwalin hadn’t because if he had that meant that Ori was being deliberately obtuse.

“Dwalin?” Thorin laughed. “No, he’s too much of a fucking pansy to tell Ori.”

“Fuck you, Thorin.” Dwalin barked and Nori laughed. “Like you have the balls to tell Bilbo what you want to do to him.” Thorin’s eyes flashed and Bilbo’s cheeks flushed red.

“Actually, Dwalin, I already have.” Thorin leaned in threateningly, then backed away slightly his eyes flickering towards the ground. “Well some of it.”

Dwalin stared, stuck in disbelief. “Damn it!”

Nori scrunched up his face, confused. When did that happen? Man, you go home early one day and the whole world changes. “And just think,” Nori chimed in. “All it took was the two of them getting the crap beat out of them.”

Thorin dropped his head in shame. “Yeah, there is that.”

Bilbo moved closer to Dwalin and put his hand on the larger boy’s arm. “You should tell him, it’d help.”

“Speaking of helping, young master Bilbo.” Bilbo turned to Nori. “Come on over here and let’s have a look at you while you share with us the magical tale of what exactly happened to you two today.” Nori indicated the stool Ori had vacated in a huff. Bilbo sighed and began pulling his shirt off as he walked over. Bilbo’s chest and sides were blotchy with bruises as Ori’s had been but thankfully, he did not have the solid deep side engulfing bruise that Ori had scored for himself. Nori crossed his arms and waited for Bilbo to begin. Bilbo just stared down at his own chest; he had never seen his skin turn such an array of colors before.

“Bilbo, explain.” Nori said leaning over him slightly.

“Oh,” Bilbo looked up at Nori. “Right. Sorry. Umm, I guess”

“Bilbo”

“Yesterday,” Bilbo looked down at the ground. “Ori and I swapped stories” Nori groaned but held his tongue as he began feeling under the bruises. “he didn’t want one of the stories I gave him so I put it in my locker. I know I did.”

“Oh lord.” Nori mumbled.

“Then at the end of the day I couldn’t find it but Ori and I were talking so I thought I had already grabbed it and put it in my bag.” Bilbo quieted for a moment and looked up at Nori sadly. “I couldn’t find it anywhere. When I told him this morning we started looking everywhere. We were headed over to Mr. Théoden’s to see if I had dropped it there when Fili and Kili showed up.” Bilbo sighed and shifted his gaze to his hands. “They had it, I don’t know where they got it but” Nori put his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders and Bilbo looked up at him quieting.

Nori sighed and then shook Bilbo. “How many times have I told you not to bring those to school!”

Bilbo made a startled squeak and grabbed Nori’s arms to keep from falling off the stool. “I know, I know”

Thorin glared at Nori. “Stop that.”

Nori let go of Bilbo, who then fell against his chest. Nori turned his head to look at Thorin and brought his eyebrows together in confusion.

“Where’s Dwalin?”

Thorin looked to his right with a quiet. “What?” Then turned around taking in the whole room until he came back to Nori and Bilbo looking just as confused. “I have no idea. Maybe the whole thing was too much for him and he ran home.” Thorin laughed.

“Oye, those two are perfect for each other.” Nori sighed. “Alright, Bilbo let’s get you cleaned up and call your folks so they don’t worry about you too much.”

Bilbo smiled then started up the stairs Nori behind him. Nori set Bilbo up in Dori’s bathroom and brought him some of Ori’s pajamas to put on, before he headed toward the bathroom he shared with Ori in an attempt to pull his brother back to the real world. He still didn’t get where Dwalin had run off to but if the big man wanted to chicken out and be a pansy about this then fine.

“Ori, Come on we have to figure out what we’re going to tell Dori so he doesn’t freak out and rush back here” Nori had started before opening the door to the bathroom but let his voice trailed off as he found Dwalin.

Dwalin was kneeling next to the tub looking over his shoulder at Nori, now but had just been kissing a very wet, very naked and very confused looking Ori. The three simply stared at each other until Nori spoke again. “Okay. Well that explains what happened to you. Ori get dressed, Dori’s going to call soon and I for one would like to know what we are going to tell him.” With that Nori turned and walked out of the room shouting, “Ten minutes, Ori.” over his shoulder.

[displacedhobbit]

Update: Greater Than Gold

AN: Whoop whoop; here’s part 3.

IDK who is still out here and reading this but I hope you enjoy!!

Also, the formatting keeps getting messed up when I try to post it on Tumblr so it’s probably better to actually read on FF.net or AO3. One day I’ll get it figured out.

Warnings: Some swearing, shoddy depictions of violence because that’s what I’m garbage at writing.

Also on FF.net and AO3

Chapter 27: Eighty-Three and Seventy-Seven - Part 3

Word Count (chapter): 9368

Thorin shifts farther back into his cell, intent on ignoring Balin’s lecture. He settles into the back wall, into the shadows, letting the din from the idotic elvish party reverberate around the stone to drown out his cousin’s rough whispering.

He knew what he was doing. At least, he thought he knew. Bilbo would come through; he was so sure of it, more sure than most anything else in his life these days. The hobbit owed him no loyalty, could have left a dozen times at least, but he never had. He had stuck with them through all of this mess - had stuck with him . Bilbo had won Thorin’s trust, and had shown the depths of his loyalty. He would wait a hundred years for Bilbo before he bent to trust Thranduil.

He could not say as much to Balin. Not here; not now. So he would let Balin rant himself out instead, here in these damp cells.

He picks a piece of dried mud from his boots, his ire renewing as he recalls how Thranduil’s guard had stripped them of all their belongings, down to their shirts and trousers, and locked them away like criminals. Angrily, he flicks the mud to the ground, then squashes it with the toe of his boot. They were so close . If only they hadn’t lost the road.

He sighs, Balin’s incessant whispering still reaching his ears, though it has become too jumbled for him to make out the words. He hoped the rest of the company fared well enough. Fíli sounded as though he had recovered from the spider’s  venom, and he could breathe easier knowing Kíli had returned from Thranduil’s interrogation unscathed.

The fire of his anger grew. How dare Thranduil? How dare he attempt to weasle a deal out of him by having his own son hold a knife to Kíli’s throat? Truly, he lacked all honor.

He releases a shuddering breath. For a moment, he was afraid that Thranduil would issue the order, that he would spill Kíli’s blood on his throne room floor. But, dishonorable as he was, Thranduil was not stupid. Lestwise, he was not stupid enough to kill an unarmed dwarf and incur the wrath of the Iron Hills in retalliation. Dain and Thranduil had a long-standing cease order between their two kingdoms - Dain would harm no elf and Thranduil would harm no dwarf - to violate it would wound Dain’s pride and invoke his wrath.

But still, he’d seen the glimmer of panic in Kíli’s eyes. And Thorin had felt it, too - the fear that he would be wrong . Though he was a king, Thranduil was still unpredictable. He’d been foolish to hedge his bets on the elven king fearing retaliation from Dain.

Once, when Kíli was still a tiny dwarfling, he’d had a horrifying night terror in which he’d gambled with Kíli’s life and lost . It had plagued him since, popping up in quiet moments, surprising him by squeezing the breath out of his lungs in unprecedented panic. The same image always leapt to his mind, of Kíli, pale as snow, his blood poured out around him. Like Frerin. Just like Frerin .

He’s found his thoughts drifting to his brother quite frequently on this journey. He wishes, beyond anything else in this world, that Frerin were at his side. He was so much better with Frerin. Would his brother’s presence have calmed him enough to negotiate a deal with Thranduil? Would his gentle, loving demeanor have tempered his ire?

But no, he had let Frein down ages ago. Let his blood spill on unholy dirt, until the light faded from his eyes.

He thinks of Dís, her sharp mind and quick wit. Had she been with him, she would have surely performed some sort of verbal gymnastics on Thranduil and charmed them out of their cells. She had always been so eloquent, so thoughtful. As children he had often envied her way with words; while he and Frerin stumbled over theirs, she had always sounded like a queen.

And he had let her down, too. Promised to care for her boys but led them on this damn quest, to these gods-forsaken cells.

He swallows thickly. He could not dwell on the past, or on horrors seen only in dreams that he would fight with every breath in his being to keep from coming to pass.

When they were free of this wretched place, he would explain it all to Kíli, explain why he had taken such an unfathomable risk, see to it that he understood that Thorin knew in his bones that Thranduil would not harm him. He would remind him that there was no treasure, no honor, nothing in this world that was worth more to him than Fíli and Kíli. Nothing .

He can only hope that Bilbo will be swift.

-----

He fiddles with his shirt hem, idly fingering along a tear, flicking the flap of it up and down as the sounds of the elven party drift through the corridor. It sounds downright raucous, much more so than the parties that Lord Elrond had hosted. Kíli admittedly didn’t know much about the different families of elves (which made him strangely grateful for the cells that separated them - Balin would chastise his ear off is he knew Kíli had forgotten his lessons), but he had to imagine that the Mirkwood elves were the most...un-elf-like of them all. Perhaps like how Kíli himself was decidedly un-dwarf-like.

He sighs, once again considering trying to fall asleep. He can hear snoring from somewhere, and he wonders who has already nodded off. Not Fíli, at least; he can hear his brother humming quietly. He wishes it were easier to talk with him, but he didn’t dare speak too loud and the music and laughter from the party would probably drown him out anyway.

The redheaded elf patrols by again, glancing into each of their cells as she walks by with quick, light steps. She had been the one who spared him from the spiders in the wood. It was probably proper to thank her, but that seemed senseless now that she was ensuring they stayed locked in their cells.

He also thought she looked quite sad, and he found himself wondering why. Perhaps because she was on patrol while the rest of the elves were celebrating. He tried not to dwell on it too much; for the moment, she was their enemy - an obstacle. Dwalin had warned him that his soft heart would be his undoing one day.

He pulls his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them as he scans the hallway once more. Candlelight flickers off the walls, casting strange shadows. He focuses on Fíli’s soft humming, and closes his eyes.

Fíli’s humming stops. “You still awake, nadadith?” he asks, and though his voice is quiet somehow Kíli manages to hear it clear as day.

“Yea,” he murmurs in reply, scooting closer to the door of his cell. “Don’t think I could sleep with all this anyhow.”

“Such a light sleeper,” Fíli comments, and he can hear the smile in his voice. “One positive of the spiders was that Oin’s drought knocked me right out for a while.”

Kíli snorts. “I know. You’re heavy.” Fíli chuckles outright, and they lapse back into silence.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” Fíli says after a while, his tone wistful. “Do you remember that autumn in Ered Luin when we snuck off from Dwalin? And built the fort?”

Kíli smiled. He did remember. They were young, much younger then, and they’d fancied themselves as fine explorers so they’d ‘snuck’ away (Dwalin had told him later that he’d known exactly where the lads were - they weren’t particularly stealthy in their youth), venturing to an outcropping of rocks with a large slate overhang, gathering sticks and stones to fashion their fire and other comforts, pretending they were regal princes of Ered Luin, sword fighting with the largest sticks they could find. They had played for hours, until the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, and Dwalin had come and feigned ire at their escape.

It was a good memory. He hadn’t thought on it in a long while.

“I came upon it on a patrol once,” Fíli says. “I went to look inside but there was a fox and her cubs. ‘Bout near scared me out of my skin.”

“I guess she’s the Lord of Ered Luin now,” Kíli says with a small laugh.

Fíli hums in agreement. Were they in different circumstances, he’d imagine his brother would be packing his pipe and settling in for the evening. Kíli finds himself longing for those simpler times, longing for the only home they’d ever known, wondering if he will ever be that content again. He tries instead to conjure up other happy memories of his childhood with his brother, willing away the loneliness he feels.

Fíli must sense his distress. Even though it was through a stone wall, he could still read Kíli like one of Balin’s books. “After this is all over, I want to go back some day,” he says, quietly. “And I suspect you do, too.”

Kíli swallows the lump in his throat. “Aye,” he manages. “I think I’d like that.”

His gaze focuses again on the flickering light of the hall, trying to make out shapes in the shadows that skirt along the wall. It must be his imagination, because the shadows suddenly move as if blown by the wind, a too-uniform wave passing through their movements. Kíli narrows his eyes, leaning forward to focus, wondering if there is some form of elvish magic at work, but the shadows resume their random dance as though nothing odd happened.

He relaxes, leaning back against the wall with a sigh.There’s the sound of a stone being kicked farther down the hall.

“Did you hear that?” Fíli asks, his voice a sharp whisper, and Kíli’s body snaps to alertness again.

“I thought I saw something move a second ago,” he confirms, hauling himself up to his knees and watching out his cell gate. He can make out voices down the hall, but nothing else.

“ Bilbo !” someone halfway shouts from down the hall, and he hears the sounds of a key opening a lock.

-----

“Come on, this way,” Bilbo whispers, sneaking down the corridor, looking around every corner to ensure they are unseen.

The dwarves follow, boots scraping along the stone floor. Since they’d been divested of their weapons and most of their affects they were much quieter than normal. Fortunate, that was.

“He’s leading us to the cellars!” Dwalin hisses, accusatory.

“You’re supposed to be leading us out, not farther down!” Bofur nearly shouts.

Bilbo whirls to face them. “Shh! I know what I’m doing. Trust me .” He leads them around a corner, where a number of large barrels sit empty. “Well?” Bilbo says, gesturing to the barrels. “Get in!”

“Are you mad?” Gloin replies. “They’ll find us!”

“No, they won’t. I promise ,” Bilbo assures them, turning pleading eyes to Thorin.

Fíli looks to his uncle, then to Kíli who stands uncertainly at his side. Bilbo has proven his worth many times over, and had already broken them free from their cells. What reason did they have not to trust him? Yet still...hiding in barrels in the elven wine cellar didn’t seem like the best of plans.

Thorin turns to the rest of the company. “Do as he says!”

At his command, they clamber into the barrels, the wound in his side stinging uncomfortably. Kíli casts him a worried glance. “I’m fine,” he assures him. Then, almost as an afterthought, he reaches forward, grasps the back of Kíli’s neck and presses their foreheads together. “I promise.”

“What do we do now?” Bofur asks, as all the dwarves turn to look at Bilbo.

The hobbit looks uncertain for a scant second. “Uh, hold your breath.”

The floor beneath them begins to creak, and suddenly their barrels are rolling, then falling, then splashing violently into the stream below. The shock of hitting water instead of solid ground forces the breath from his lungs and he sputters, trying to find balance as he bobs in the stream. Once he has his bearings he searches for his brother - frowning at the wide, terrified look in his brother’s eyes as he coughs some of the splashed water out of his lungs. After a deep, shuddering breath, Kíli’s face clears, and he catches Fíli’s gaze and gives him a reassuring nod.

There’s no shortage of shouting and coughing as the dwarves regain their composure. Ori and Bifur, caught off guard in their fall, had fallen out of their barrels, and it was no simple task to get them back inside as they bob about. From behind him, Fíli can hear Dwalin muttering something about useless hobbits and being drowned like criminals.

“Hold on!” Thorin shouts, reaching his arm out to grab Fíli’s barrel. “We must wait for Bilbo.” Taking his uncle’s cue, he reaches for the nearest barrel (Bofur’s, who for his part looks a bit like a drowned rat) and grasps it tightly. The dwarves work quickly to form a chain with their barrels, blocking the path forward in a makeshift dam, when the hobbit suddenly falls from the ceiling, plopping into the water, barrelless.

Once he comes up, sputtering for air, he swims to the nearest barrel, Nori’s, and hangs on for dear life.

“Well done Master Baggins,” Thorin laughs, sounding almost mirthful at this turn of events.

Bilbo waves them on, spitting water as he does. “They’re coming. Go .”

With that, they release their barrels and start paddling to gain speed. They careen down a waterfall, each of the dwarves (and poor Bilbo) clinging to their barrels, and they rise from the water to see that they’re now bathed in bright daylight. It’s a sharp contrast from the dark cells they’d resided in for who knows how long, and it takes Fíli’s eyes a moment to focus. He can see shapes rushing through the woods, when suddenly the elf-guard that had captured them in the woods springs forth, shouting something in elvish just before a horn sounds.

“No!” Thorin shouts from ahead, and he turns to see a gated bridge across the stream, and an elf standing atop it near a lever as a sluice begins to close.

Well, shit . He thinks. They’re weapons-less and, quite literally, sitting ducks. He desperately tries to form a plan, to come up with some way that they do not wind up back in the cells or dead . Thranduil didn’t strike him as a particularly merciful king.

“Watch out!” Bofur shouts, and he turns to see the elf that had stood atop the bridge falling into the water just in front of him, a jagged arrow lodged in his back.

Orcs . Of course the orcs have come.

Now that they have nowhere to go, the dwarves are seemingly forgotten by the elves as they shift their focus onto the orcs. The orcs, however, remain fixed on getting to Thorin, lunging onto their barrels with blades drawn. Fortunately, Bilbo produces a sword from somewhere , stabbing one, and Dwalin, brawny as ever, elbows another in the face, stealing it’s sword before it plops gracelessly into the water. Fíli manages to subdue another, grabbing its dagger.

He catches movement from the corner of his eye, and turns to see Kíli rushing up the ramp, completely unarmed, eyes fixed on the lever the elf had pulled before. Orcs rush toward him, and Fíli’s breath catches in his throat.

“Kíli!” Dwalin calls, lobbing the sword he’d snagged up to his brother. Kíli catches it easily, swinging it down to take out the orc in front of him, sending it splashing into the water below as Bofur reaches over to snag it’s weapon.

His brother continues up the stairs and across the bridge, slashing his way through. Another orc comes up behind him, spear poised to strike Kíli in the back, and Fíli hurls the dagger forward, sighing with relief when his aim rings true and the dagger lodges itself in the filth’s temple. The way is clear now, and Fíli feels a surge of adrenaline as Kíli nears the lever. They’re going to make it ; Kíli is going to open the gate and they’re going to get away -

Suddenly, Kíli lets out a strangled cry of pain and collapses to the ground, grasp coming just short of the lever, sword falling from his fingers and clattering to the ground beside him.. “Kíli!” he hears himself shout, fear welling up within him. From under the bridge, Thorin calls out his brother’s name as well, blind to the situation.

An orc leaps onto the bridge, sword drawn and prepared to bare down on Kíli, but an arrow abruptly skewers its head as more elves arrive. Distracted, the orcs switch their focus to the ambush, and Kíli manages to crawl up to his knees, gasping for breath. With a groan of pain, he throws his weight onto the level, pushing it down and opening the sluice, before collapsing once more.

“Kíli!” he shouts again, grabbing his brother’s empty barrel with one hand and trying to find purchase on the slippery rocks with the other. “Kíli, come on!” he calls again, voice breaking. “Please!” His hands are slipping on the rocks, his barrel is being pulled under the bridge by the rushing current, The other dwarves slip one by one down the small waterfall, into the rapids below.

Just as he’s certain he’s going to lose his grip on the rocks (and by extension, Kíli, because he knows without a doubt in his mind that if he’s left behind he’ll be captured and worse ), Kíli’s body falls from the bridge, landing roughly on top of his barrel, halfway into the water. He looks positively ashen, and Fíli’s heart sinks as he prays to any diety that will listen that the arrow wasn’t poisoned, that his brother will be okay .

“Hold on!” is all Fíli can say as his hand loses its grip on the rocks. Kíli manages to hoist himself back into his barrel, a rough shout of pain bursting from him, and they’re swept along the current with the rest of the dwarves, the orcs still in pursuit.

-----

“Mahal, Kíli,” Fíli breathes as he examines the wound, pulling the torn pieces of his trousers to get a better look. It was already so inflamed, and he couldn’t tell if the arrowhead was still inside or not. “Oin needs to take a look at this,” he says, immediately searching for their healer. “If it was poisoned, then -”

“Just bind it,” Kíli hisses, brow furrowed in pain. “We have to keep moving. You heard Thorin”

Fíli frowns at him, shaking his head. He cannot be serious ; there’s no way he would make it far with his leg wounded so badly.

“I’ll be fine,” Kíli says, looking him straight in the eye, which manages to reassure him, however smally. “We’re not safe here.” Fíli still hesitates, and his brother reaches for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Fíli tries to ignore how badly Kíli’s hand is shaking. “I promise to have Oin tend to it as soon as we can spare,” he adds.

Finally, Fíli nods and unceremoniously rips fabric from the hem of his shirt, dunking it into the river in a feeble attempt to clean it, before setting about tightly wrapping Kíli’s wound. His brother winces and grits his teeth as he works, driving Fíli’s own anxiety higher. He knows he will feel much better once Oin has a chance to properly tend to him. He can only hope, as he finishes up, that Kíli will be able to make it to safety. Frowning, he looks at his work. It’s a poor excuse for a bandage, even for a field dressing, but it will have to do. He doesn’t have another option.

“Come on,” he says, helping Kíli back to his feet. For the first few steps, his brother leans heavily on him, but after a moment he regains his footing well enough to walk on his own across the slippery rocks, with hardly a limp in his step as he goes to rejoin the others. Fíli frowns again; he knows how good Kíli is at hiding his hurts and knows that his brother is going to overdo it and wind up being in more agony farther down the line if he can’t get a proper dressing soon.

There’s a commotion from behind him, and Fíli whirls around to see a man, bow drawn and aimed at Ori and Dwalin, the latter brandishing a tree branch as a weapon.

Dwalin raises the branch, ready to fight, and an arrow strikes directly into it, right between his hands, in warning. “Do it again and you’re dead,” the man snaps, another arrow already drawn.

“Excuse me,” Balin calls, using his ‘diplomatic voice’ that Fíli has heard countless times before. He approaches the man with his arms raised. “You’re, uh, from Laketown, if I’m not mistaken?”

The man lowers his blow, casting a sidelong glance at Balin.

“That barge over there,” he continues, gesturing behind the man, where Fíli now sees the very tip of a boat, mostly hidden from their sight by the thick underbrush that lines the river. “It wouldn’t be available for hire , by any chance?”

-----

Dwalin keeps his eyes on the lads as they sail.

Fíli and Kíli are pressed shoulder to shoulder, their backs against the damaged barrels. He’d been worried about the lad since he saw the arrow pierce his leg - orc arrows were rarely free of poisons or filth that could take even the hardiest dwarf down in a matter of hours. Once they’d safely boarded the barge, Oin had tended to the wound and gave it a proper dressing. The arrowhead had still been lodged in his leg, but with steady hands and a sharp knife borrowed from the bowman, Oin had been able to remove it. The old healer had stated that he’d need a poultice to draw out any infection and to help with the pain, but the man - Bard , he remembers from Bilbo’s chastising - had none, so Kíli would have to make due until they were smuggled into Laketown.

Kíli was too pale, so much so that the darkness of his hair and the red smear of blood on his lip (he’d bitten it so hard to keep himself from screaming as Oin had removed the arrow) stood out in stark contrast. It made the dark circles under his eyes look worse. It made it look like he could slip from this world at any moment, despite Oin’s assurances that he would make it to Laketown.

It’s the cold, Dwalin tells himself, it’s just the cold that makes him look so pale.

The small blessing was that Kíli was asleep, that he was able to take this brief respite while his brother watched over him.

They’d come too close to losing him too many times on this quest. Dwalin had sworn to protect him, knew without a doubt that he would gladly die if it kept either of the lads safe, but every time he had been too far away or otherwise unable to help, unable to do anything other than watch . He wouldn’t be able to bear it if they lost one of them and Dwalin had done nothing .

He chews the inside of his cheek, keeping the lads in his periphery as he watches the lakeman. He doesn't trust him, doesn’t like that they’re stuck on a boat in the middle of frigid, foggy waters with him, doesn’t like that their survival may very well depend on him being true to his word. Something sits ill within him, like they’re walking into a trap, but with the other option being trying to beat orcs on the road, unarmed and without supplies, he knows they had no other choice.

Someone comes to his side, shoulder brushing his as they lean along the railing beside him. He doesn’t have to look to know that it is Thorin.

“How is he?” he asks, barely concealed concern in his voice.

Dwalin shrugs. “Not well, by any means,” he says, gaze shifting back to Kíli. “But, not getting worse.”

Thorin makes a small noise in the back of his throat in acknowledgement. “Do you think it knew?”

He does look at him then, eyebrow raised in confusion.

“Azog’s spawn,” Thorin clarifies. “Do you think it knew who he was? That he was my kin?” he adds in a whisper.

Dwalin shakes his head. “Think he was just trying to take out anyone that would’ve helped us escape,” he says. “Wouldn’ta mattered who it was.” He knows this fear, this old, horrible fear that Thorin had carried with him ever since Frerin had died. He couldn’t bear to lose anyone else for being associated with his line. It would almost certainly spiral Thorin into madness, and if it were Azog’s own spawn (for how else could the other pale orc have come to be?) that ended one of the lads...he could not fathom how Thorin would go on.

With a sigh, he looks for his brother, catches him with a gaggle of the company, counting coins to pay their way as Bard navigates them through the waters.

“How do we know he won’t betray us?” he finds himself asking, putting words to his fears in the confidence of his best friend.

Thorin frowns, a misted look in his eyes. “We don’t.”

Dwalin settles back with a huff, hating the answer but knowing Thorin is right all the same. There’s some squabbling between Gloin and his brother that he considers intervening on, but the fog thins ahead, and he finds himself awestruck instead. “Look,” he says softly, nudging Thorin’s arm. His eyes water on their own accord.

The Lonely Mountain sits on the horizon, closer than he’s seen it in an age.

-----

“You look like shit,” he says fondly as he tucks Kíli’s hair behind his ear.

Kíli scoffs in indignation at him, but he doesn’t argue. “I feel like shit.”

Fíli just smiles and wraps a blanket around his brother’s shoulders, sitting beside him on the settee, eyes fixed on the Lonely Mountain out the window. Kíli leans back into the plush cushion, turning himself the tiniest bit into his brother, just a tiny bit too close, as always. His leg is propped up on a footstool, at Oin’s request. Fíli lets his cheek rest on the top of his brother’s head, content.

They’d been welcomed into the home of the Master of Laketown (who, in Fíli’s humble opinion, looked more like a louse than the lord of a town, but men were much different than dwarves), and while the man had thrown them a rather uproarious party, Fíli and Kíli had taken their leave to rest. Oin had instructed Kíli to do so (and Thorin, too, though he need not say the words aloud) to give the poultice he’d packed the arrow wound with time to work. He’d worried that they’d perhaps taken too long, and that after being doused with river water, covered in fish guts, and crawling through a toilet the wound had likely become infected. So off he’d sent them, just after the party started, with a plate full of food and a mug of ale ( for Fíli only he had stressed) - and Fíli had felt Thorin’s eyes on them the entire time he’d helped his brother up the stairs to the rooms they’d been lent.

When Kíli had fallen in the armory, Fíli’s heart had stopped. He knew , the second he’d heard the loud clattering of weapons that it had been Kíli, the ache in his leg finally overcoming him. He had pushed it too far, given too much without resting, just as Fíli knew he would. He loops his arm around his brother’s shoulders, tugging him a bit closer still.

“How’s your side?” Kíli asks softly, sleepiness evident in his voice. He turns to press a kiss against his brother’s hair. Of course Kíli was still worried about him. Even with everything that had happened, even with the wound that Fíli knew was causing him pain. Kíli’s kindness never wavered

“Better,” he says, and Kíli hums in acknowledgement. His head seems to sink further into Fíli’s shoulder, blessedly cool forehead pressed against his neck.

From below, he can hear music, shouts and cheers. The merriment at the return of the Lord of Silver Fountains seems as though it will last long through the night, though Thorin had told the company that they would be leaving at first light.

“Tomorrow, we’ll be there,” Fíli murmurs softly as he gazes at the mountain, but Kíli doesn’t reply. He listens for a moment, pleased to hear his brother’s breathing deep and even with sleep. He presses another kiss to the crown of Kíli’s head. “Tomorrow we will finally see Erebor, nadadith.”

From his right, the door to the guest room they’d been lent for the night creaks open, sounds of the party spilling in, causing Kíli to stir slightly. He cranes his neck around to see Thorin sheepishly enter, closing the door behind himself with a quiet snick . He walks over to them, sitting gingerly on the edge of the settee before reaching out to card his hand through Kíli’s hair.

Fíli sees the fondness there, the raw emotion. It warms his heart - Thorin had been so focused on the quest, so in control for fear that their enemies would discover them as his heirs - he cannot remember the last time he had seen such tenderness from their uncle. He’d known to expect distance; Thorin had warned them that it was important to keep their relation to him a secret. He just hadn’t expected it to bother him as much as it did. Hadn’t expected it to hurt .

“How is he?” Thorin asks, his thumb tracing reverently over Kíli’s high cheekbone, as if committing his face to memory. Fíli frowns; what does Thorin know that he isn’t saying?

“He seems better,” Fíli admits. “I think the medicine is starting to take.”

Thorin smiles at him before reaching over to cup Fíli’s cheek, before dropping his hand to squeeze the nape of his neck.

“Talk to me, Uncle,” Fíli says quietly. “What troubles you?”

Thorin sighs, drawing away from the lads to stand by the window, eyes on the mountain. Fíli hates it a little because he can no longer see Thorin’s face, but he knows good and well that that’s probably the reason he stood in the first place. He almost wants to join him, just so he can see his face and read him better, but he doesn’t dare leave from where Kíli is tucked safely into his side.

“I’ve not been this close since...since we fled,” he says softly. “It’s made me sentimental, I suppose.” Thorin runs a hand through his beard. “I fear what we will encounter when we reach the mountain. I fear what will happen if we awaken Smaug. I fear...everything all at once, I suppose.”

Fíli can hear the barely restrained emotion in his voice. “So do I,” he admits just as quietly. “But I’m also…” he frowns, trying to decide on the right word. “Excited? Anxious? I don’t know. You’ve told us about Erebor our whole lives. It feels surreal that tomorrow...that we’ll be there.”

Thorin stiffins, almost imperceptibly, but he catches it nonetheless. “I hope it does not disappoint you,” he says after a long stretch of silence.

“I doubt it could,” Fíli says quietly. “Even after years of Smaug’s squatting, I’m certain it will be grander than anything we’ve seen before.”

Thorin turns back to him and smiles softly. “I cannot wait to show it to you.” He hears so much in his voice - pride, worry, fear, love - and it fills Fíli with an emotion he cannot quite identify. “But you should rest,” he says as he comes back toward him, bending down to press their foreheads together.

Fíli nods. “You should, too,” he says, an amused smile coming to his lips. “Can’t stay up partying all night.”

“Know that I love you,” Thorin says softly, not playing into his joke. “The both of you. More than anything in this world.” There are tears in his eyes when he pulls away, and Fíli has to swallow the lump in his throat, blinking back his own tears.

“We know, Uncle,” he asserts with a shaking voice. “Kíli adores you. I love you. Always.”

The corner of Thorin’s mouth quirps upward, in the barest hint of a smile. “It is more than I deserve.”

-----

He’s wrestled with this decision for days, though it felt like years.

Ever since his youngest nephew had been struck by the orc filth’s arrow, he’s wondered if he should send him home, or have him wait here, with these wretched men in Laketown. He doesn’t want to. Kíli is, for all intents and purposes and lineage aside, his son . They both are. He’s been with them since they were babes, he’s promised them Erebor since before they even knew what it meant.

They still didn’t know what it meant.

It meant no more rumbling stomachs, no more scrimping and saving, no more threadbare clothes, no more disdain from elves and men. It meant the end of the suffering of their people, the dawn of a new age. It meant peace and happiness in their lives for all the rest of their days. It meant everything to him because it meant he could finally, finally give everything to them . Everything they’d craved, everything they’d deserved…everything .

And they’ve come so far, they’ve conquered so much, and it seems such a shame to send him away when they are but in the shadow of the mountain.

But time is not on his side. If he is to give them all he desires, he must be swift.

And when Kíli makes to step onto the boat, horrible limp still evident in his step, his decision is made. He had hoped Oin’s cures would have had more of an effect, that the solid night’s rest would somehow make him strong enough to complete this last, precious leg of the journey.

But it hadn’t, in his heart he’d always known it wouldn’t. It had been a foolish hope.

“Not you,” he murmurs as he reaches out an arm to stop him. Kíli’s face twists into something that is a terrible cross of hurt and shame and fear, and Thorin knows he must school his features and stay impassive. He cannot let these men see him break. He cannot let them know what his nephews mean to him. They could use it as a weapon against him, and he will not have it.

“We must travel at speed,” he elaborates when he feels many eyes fall to him. “You will slow us down.”

Kíli looks up at him, disbelief clouding his face as he tries to manage a smile, to pretend that this is just a joke.. “What?” he murmurs, gaze flickering just quickly to where Fíli stands behind his uncle. “What are you talking about? I’m…I’m coming with you.”

Thorin can see the pallor in his face, the dark circles under his eyes. Kíli is still clearly not well. It would be reckless to bring him, he reasons with himself.

Thorin gives the barest shake of his head and resolutely ignores the tiny whimper of desperation that escapes Kíli’s throat. He has to do this. He has to keep him safe and win back the mountain. He has to do this. For them .

“I’m going to be there when that door is opened, when we first look upon the halls of our fathers,” he implores. “Thorin…”

He knows Kíli cannot possibly understand why he is doing this, knows he should have done this earlier, should have prepared him, should have explained . But he didn’t. He was a coward, had seen Kíli asleep the night before when he went to speak his mind, and had lost his nerve. With a sigh, he reaches to cup the back of Kíli’s head, pulling their foreheads as close as he dares.

He cannot let them know how much Kíli means to him.

“Kíli,” he murmurs, fixing him with a gaze that he hopes will explain everything. “Stay here. Rest . Join us when you are healed.” Kíli has always been better at reading him than anyone.

Kíli’s eyes search him again, desperate. Thorin’s heart breaks; he doesn’t understand.

Kíli shakes his head, breath coming out in a staggering huff, and a barely whispered ‘Uncle…’ reaches his ears. For a moment he’s terrified that he’ll cave, that he won’t let Kíli go , but Óin comes to his rescue, saying that he’ll stay with the lad. It eases his heart greatly to know that Kíli will not be alone here, that he will be in good hands between Óin and Bofur, if he ever chooses to come round again. He watches as his cousin leads his nephew away, heart feeling leaden in his chest.

When he turns back to the company, he’s met with Fíli’s furious face, nearly cringes when he sees the betrayal shining in the depths of his cerulean eyes. “Uncle,” he murmurs the damning word, but thankfully none of the men seem to hear it. “We grew up on tales of the mountain. Tales you told us. You cannot take that away from him!”

He is hurt, his tone accusing, and Thorin has to focus to keep his face neutral and impassive. “Fíli,” he starts, trying to find the right words to explain himself, but his nephew doesn’t give him the chance.

“I will carry him if I must!” he declares, and in it Thorin hears the silent ‘Uncle, please!’ , but he resolutely ignores it. They’ll be angry at him now, hurt because of him now, but he’ll make it up to them. He’ll win back the mountain. He’ll give them everything that he couldn’t for the entirety of their lives.

“One day you will be King and you will understand,” he says.

You will understand why I have to do this. It’s for both you , he means.

“I cannot risk the fate of this quest for the sake of one dwarf – not even my own kin,” he explains, in nothing more than a hushed whisper.

I cannot risk losing him, losing the mountain, not when I’ve come this far to reclaim it for you…for all of us , he means.

Fíli’s face is filled with disbelief and fierce determination, and Thorin knows what he means to do before he even moves his feet. He reaches out quickly, grabs his arm.

“Fíli, don’t be a fool,” he half-begs. “You belong with the company.”

You belong with me. I am doing this for you . I need you by my side , he means.

“I belong with my brother ,” his heir all but snarls as he wrenches his arm free.

With a heavy sigh, Thorin watches him leave the boat. He cannot blame him. He wants Fíli to stay with him, knows that he will feel better and stronger if he has at least one of them by his side, but he can’t stop him. He won’t stop him.

He turns back to the company, desperately ignores with worried glances, particularly the one Dwalin aims at him, and gives the nod for them to depart. He doesn’t look back, cannot look back, because if he does he will break. Time is not on their side, and if he is to do this, if he is to do this for them , then he must be swift.

Dwalin slides close enough to him so that their shoulders are pressed closely together to give him strength. He knows he needs it. He has to see this through, and when he does everything will be alright in the end. He will be able to give them everything.

He can do this.

He’ll do it for them.

-----

This is how it ends for him, he thinks. He cannot see a way that his brother survives this day.

They are back at Bard’s home, having been turned away everywhere else when Kíli took a turn for the worse. He’d practically fainted, then spiked a deliriously high temperature that had startled even Oin. When he’d peeled away the bandage the healer hadn’t been able to hide his gasp of surprise. In a matter of hours the wound had festered, turning black around the edges.

“It was poison,” Oin had hissed under his breath as Bofur and Fíli had supported Kíli’s deadweight. “Slow acting, very deadly... damn those creatures.”

Deadly . When Oin had uttered that word Fíli felt as if part of his soul had left his body. It took every ounce of his strength to remain calm ( for Kíli , he would constantly remind himself - in his fleeting moments of lucidity he was completely terrified, and Fíli vowed that he would not make his terror worse). It helps that Oin has taken control, that he is barking orders at him, giving him something to do , a task to focus on.

“Get him up on the table,” Oin commands. Bard makes a sound as if to protest, but he clears the table nonetheless, sending dishes and bowls clattering to the floor, making space for Kíli. Fíli stays by his head, knelt on the ground, trying to talk his brother through what is happening, though he has no idea if Kíli can hear him or not. One of Bard’s girls brings in a cloth and a basin of cool water.

“Can you not do something?” Fíli asks frantically as Kíli’s form seizes once again. He is burning hot; even pressing the cool rag to his forehead seems to do nothing.

“I need something to bring down his fever,” Oin calls over his shoulder, to Bard, as he cuts Kíli’s pant leg off and removes the latest bandage, face stricken. Fíli can’t make out what the bowman says in reply. “No, no; those are no use to me. They won’t stop the poison. Do you have any kingsfoil?”

“No; it’s a weed,” Bard says as he presents Oin with his own bowl of hot water and some cloths. The healer immediately starts clearing out the wound,  causing Kíli to groan in agony once more. “We feed it to the pigs.”

“Pigs?” Bofur says, jumping up from Kíli’s other side. “I’ll find it,” he says. He fixes Fíli with a comforting look. “I’ll find it, laddie.” He reaches for Kíli’s hand and squeezes it. “Hold on for me, yea?”

Bard’s daughter comes to kneel beside him, placing another basin of cool water beside him, then wetting her own rag and wiping it along Kíli’s face. Sigrid , her name pops into his mind again. He nods at her in gratitude. Sigrid gives him a soft, small smile, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

Kíli lets out a pitiful, gasping wail as he arches his back against the pain. Fíli can’t take it; the tears spill freely from his eyes now as he presses his forehead to Kíli’s too-hot temple. “Hold on, nadadith,” he whispers, voice tight. “Just hold on for me, yea? Bofur will be back. We’re going to fix this. I just need you to hold on. Please,” he adds, his voice breaking on the last word as he hopes beyond hope that Kíli can hear him.

Suddenly, the ground around them shakes violently. Fíli’s stomach sinks into his boots.

“It’s coming from the mountain,” Bard’s son says, just as the room rumbles once more.

Fíli’s eyes find Bard’s. “You should leave us. Take your children and go; get out of here!”

“And go where?” Bard says, clearly distraught as he takes in each of his children.

“Are we going to die, Da?” the littlest one asks, and Fíli fears that they will . “Is the dragon going to kill us?”

“No darling,” Bard says, quickly striding over to their kitchen and yanking something free from a hanging rack. Fíli bites back a gasp of surprise; a black arrow. Ammunition for a wind-lance. “I’m going to kill it first.”

-----

“What about Bilbo?” Ori asks, a slightly panicked tone in his voice. It seemed like everything was going well enough, but then the ground had trembled beneath them.

Smaug was awake. There was no denying it. Any hope that Thorin had held that the blasted worm had perished and died within the mountain wafted away like smoke.

“Give him more time,” he says finally, eyes anxiously watching the door. He trusted Bilbo; he knew the hobbit would not let him down, knew that he would find the Arkenstone and return it to him.

“Time for what?” Balin scoffs. “To be killed?”

“You’re afraid,” Thorin acuses, crossing his arms over his chest and staring his old friend down. They need the Arkenstone; Balin needs to trust him.

“Yes, I’m afraid,” Balin retorts. “I’m afraid for you .”

Thorin takes a step back, leveling Balin with a glare.

“A sickness lies upon that treasure horde, Thorin,” he needlessly reminds him. “A sickness that drove your grandfather mad .”

“I am not my grandfather,” Thorin hisses, ire rising up within him. He knows , he knows the tragedy that had befallen his grandfather because he had watched it happen, helplessly on the sidelines. Stuck to do nothing while Thror withered into a shell of himself. He would not go down the same path. He would fight, tooth and nail, to keep that from happening.

“You are not yourself!” Balin continues. “The Thorin I know would not hesitate to go in there and -”

“I cannot risk the fate of this quest for one burgular,” Thorin interrupts, hoping that he sounds practical.

“ Bilbo ,” Balin hisses. “His name is Bilbo. Or have you forgotten?”

Thorin frowns, eyes drifting to Laketown, to Fíli and Kíli. The ground rumbles lightly beneath them once more. “What would you have me do?” he says quietly. “What would you have me do to stand against this worm who has taken everything from me.? I cannot hope to triumph against Smaug.”

Balin’s face softens. “It seems that you are also afraid, my dear friend.”

Thorin says nothing, but his gaze shifts back to the stone door. He knows that Balin is right , he cannot leave Bilbo to fend for himself. But still, he cannot make himself move to venture into the halls. He cannot face Smaug again, not without a plan to defeat him. But if Bilbo can get the Arkenstone, he can rally the dwarf kingdoms, they could form an army and stand a chance at killing that beast…

“We have to do something , Thorin,” Balin says again. “We would not have made it this far without him. We cannot leave him to face the dragon alone.”

It shakes him to his core, but Thorin nods.

-----

Kíli has gone positively ashen. His cries have weakened; he has started murmuring nonsense. Fíli can do little more than stroke his brother’s hair from his sweaty face, than whisper empty reassurances. There’s nothing they can do unless Bofur can find the kingsfoil. Nothing.

Kíli will die here, and he probably will too, judging by the ever increasing rumbles coming from the mountain.

A cold resignation settles over him. He presses a kiss to his brother’s sweaty temple, suddenly grateful for the evening they’d had the night prior, when everything had seemed so simple, so much like when they were children. He’d felt safe. Happy. He’d felt like they were going to make it to Erebor, to live out their destiny, but it had all gone wrong.

How had it all gone so wrong so quickly?

There’s a clunk on the roof, drawing Sigrid’s attention. “Da?” she calls, peeking out the door. When she receives no response, she shrugs and turns back into the house, when an orc suddenly lands on the balcony behind her. With a scream, she tries to slam the door shut, but the orc stops the door with his sword.

Sigrid’s scream snaps them all to attention, even Kíli, who struggles to get to his feet, bleary eyes trying to focus on the situation at hand. “Kíli, get down ,” he hisses, pushing his brother behind him onto a nearby settee as the orc forces its way in.

A second orc crashes through the ceiling. Oin is grabbing anything within reach and chucking them at the orcs  - starting with the plates. Bain gets his sisters under the table, blocking them from the orcs with the bench as Fíli grabs the pike hook Bard had fashioned for them and throws it with a snarl, finding a sick sort of satisfaction as it finds its mark in the orc’s throat.

More orcs crash through the ceiling, and he hears Kíli cry out in pain behind him. One of the orcs has him by his wounded leg, dragging him off of the settee, and Fíli sees red. He spies a knife on the floor and grabs it, hurling it with deadly accuracy, freeing his brother, who crashes to the ground with a whimper. Fíli has enough sense about him to grab the sword from the creature before turning to face the onslaught.

Just as suddenly, two elves come crashing through the roof, quickly getting to work on the orcs. He recognizes them from Thraduil’s halls - the blond he thinks was the elven king’s son, and the redhead had been the one patrolling the hall with their cells. The orcs must have continued following them, seeking Thorin, and the elves were clearly still hunting the orcs.

Fíli grabs Bain, shoving him down as another one of the orcs rushes at him, giving him space to slay the beast. It only takes a few moments for them to dispel the orcs - the elves are deadly accurate with their blows. There’s shouting in black speech from outside, and the remaining orcs flee from the house, leaving it a chaotic wreck. Fíli pants heavily, eyes scanning the small abode once again to make sure they are safe.

“Are you alright?” the redheaded elf asks the children as she helps them to their feet.

“You killed them all,” Bain murmurs in amazement.

Oin pushes past him, rushing back to Kíli’s side. His brother is struggling to breathe, his whole body hitching as he tries to take in air. “We’re losing him!” the healer shouts.

“What happened?” he hears the elf ask from behind him, but he can barely make it out over the blood rushing in his ears. They’re losing him.

“Please, Kee,” he begs, sinking to his knees beside his brother, a sob forming in his throat. “Please don’t leave me here alone. Please .”

“I found it!” Bofur shouts, bursting back into the home. “What in the blazes happened here?”

Fíli turns to look at him, tears streaking his face. “You found it?” he asks, numbly. Bofur holds up his hand, the plant clutched in it.

“He’s too far gone,” Oin says sadly. “I don’t know what to do.” Fíli chokes on a sob.

“I do,” the redheaded elf says, eyes switching between Kíli and the kingsfoil in Bofur’s hand.

“Tauriel,” the prince says. “We must go. We’re losing the pack.”

She shakes her head. “I’m going to save him,” she says. “Get him up on the table. I need hot water,” she says, looking at Sigrid and Tilda.

Fíli feels something akin to hope blossoming in his chest as they gather Kíli’s limp form and settle him back onto the table. He has heard the stories of elvish healing magic; he prays to Mahal that it will be enough to save Kíli. His brother is mumbling deliriously again, skin so pale that, were he not drawing in breath, Fíli would think he was dead.

He watches as the elf washes the herbs, hands deftly shredding the leaves and creating a poultice. “Hold him down,” she says, eyes fixing onto Fíli with something akin to sympathy. Fíli grabs his brother’s shoulders and Bofur takes his ankles, pressing them to the table as he tries to ignore the whimper of protest that slips past his brother’s lips.

The elf begins chanting in a language he does not recognize, before she presses the poultice into the wound, and Kíli screams. Fíli struggles to keep him still, even as Oin and Bard’s children come to help. Kíli thrashes, but the elf holds steady, keeping the poultice pressed to his wound as she recites the healing magic. After a moment, Kíli takes a heaving breath and his thrashing calms, glassy eyes staring sightlessly at the roof.

“Kíli,” he murmurs, relinquishing his hold on his brother’s shoulders and pushing his sweaty hair from his face.

The elf’s chanting ceases, and she pulls the poultice away from the wound. Fíli gasps aloud - the festering blackness of the wound has vanished, and it looks tremendously better already. He can hardly believe it.

“I’ve heard tell of the wonders of elvish medicine,” Oin says, sounding just as awed as Fíli feels. “That was a privilege to witness.”

“Burn this,” the elf says as she hands the poultice to Bofur, who obediently tosses it into the fire. “He needs rest, though I fear it will be a while before he can have it,” she says softly as she sets about binding Kíli’s leg with a clean bandage. “The poison is gone, but his body is weak.”

Fíli can hardly find the words to speak. He presses his forehead to Kíli’s temple, breathing a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he manages finally.

“He is precious to you,” the elf observes, a small smile on her face as she finishes Kíli’s binding.

“He’s my brother,” Fíli whispers. “My only family.”

She squeezes his shoulder as she stands. “I thought as much,” she admits. “You looked after one another in Mirkwood. With the spiders.”

The ground rumbles around them. Fíli closes his eyes. Have they saved him only to perish in dragonfire?

“You have to leave,” she says, speaking to all of them now. “There is no time!”

Bain hesitates. “We cannot leave without our Da,” he says, but even as he speaks the ground rumbles again, shaking debris loose from their damaged roof.

Tauriel frowns. “If you stay here, you and your sister will die. Is that what your father would want?” Bain blinks quickly, eyes shining when he finally shakes his head, looking to his sisters sadly.

Fíli and Bofur work to get Kíli to his feet. His brother is slowly coming back to himself, his eyes clearing, but he’s far too weak to walk on his own. “Fee,” he mumbles softly, his head lolling onto Fíli’s shoulder as they right him.

“Don’t worry; I’ve got you.” he promises, pressing a kiss to Kíli’s temple. Bofur helps Fíli get his brother onto his back, keeping the weight off of his leg.

Oin and Bard’s children gather some provisions as Fíli and Bofur make their way down the stairs to the dock. It is slow work; Fíli is careful not to jostle his brother and Bofur works to ensure he maintains his balance as they navigate the steps. He is just getting Kíli situated at the back of the boat, propping his wounded leg up on the side, when the others rejoin them.

A horrible tremor shakes the ground, sending waves sloshing through the lake. In the distance, they hear the shriek of a dragon. Fíli locks eyes with his brother.

Smaug is coming.

-----

No. No, no, no, no, no .

Bilbo stammers to his feet, chasing after where Smaug had fled, the other dwarves clambering behind him. He can hardly breathe. How had this happened? Thorin’s plan had been so good , he was so certain that it would work to subdue Smaug, but now ...now thousands of innocents were now in Smaug’s path. Because of them. Because of him .

They can do little more than watch when Smaug unleashes his flames upon Laketown.

-----

AN - So it looks like I’ll be rounding this bad boy out at 30 chapters. Next chapter will be pre-BOTFA focused, 29 will be BOTFA, and 30 will be the end. I’m sad and anxious and excited all at the same time.

Anyway, as always thank you so much for reading this little story that has occupied so much of my life at this point. It means the world.

[annoyedfanfiction]

Thorin x Reader

“No! No! No more dw–“ Bilbo stopped shouting as he opened the door, looking out at the girl in front of him. “Your ears!” He covered his mouth immediately, begging a flushed apology.

“No need, Master Baggins,” she laughed, ruffling his hair, “You said the same thing when you were a youngling. Not everyday you see a half-elf hobbit! Oh, how much you’ve grown! Now, are these dwarves causing trouble?”

“Wha-I’m terribly sorry, but who are you?” he asked, peering at her, curiously. She stood only a few inches taller than him – more than a head shorter than the others in the room.

“Oh, of course, you won’t remember me.” She offered her hand, with a warm, age-old smile. “Faëlisse. Friend and cousin of your mother’s.” That explained her Tookish grin then.

“I remember mother telling me stories about you,” Bilbo mused, sleepily, “I had no idea you were still alive – or half-elf! No offence, of course, its just, you must be older than her and she passed a long time ago.”

“None taken, Bilbo,” she smiled, sadly, Belladonna’s mischief dancing through her mind.

“Hogging our guest, Master Baggins?” Gandalf’s deep voice rumbled, above the two. “Gandalf, it has been so long since we saw one another,” she scolded, “It was time I caught up with Belladonna’s little one. And you know how rude it is to mark a Hobbit’s home!”

“Yes, yes, well–“ He paused, as she folded her arms, eyebrows flickering up. “My apologies, Master Bilbo.” The wizard turned, and the two Hobbits followed him into the kitchen. Silence fell as they entered, all eyes edging between the group in the doorway and the scowling dwarf at the head of the table. The dwarf placed his cutlery down, and looked up, eyeing Faëlisse from head to toe.

“Another Hobbit?” he asked Gandalf, exhaustedly, gesturing to her slight figure, “I thought you said she was a trained–“ The blade which pinned his sleeve to the wall cut him off, and every eye turned to her. The smaller, elderly dwarf grabbed his brother’s arm as he made to get up, shaking his head. His brother scowled, but returned to his seat.

“You, erm, seem to have a little something…” She gestured to his sleeve, making the two young ones and the moustachioed dwarf smother a laugh.

“Indeed,” he huffed, pulling it from the wall, and examining the blade. “Obsidian?”

“From the magma of Mount Doom,” Faëlisse answered, happily, making even the scowling brother look up, as the king handed him the dagger.

“Forged?” Thorin queried, continuing on.

“By my own hand,” she responded, with an easy shrug.

“Impressive handiwork, lass,” the scowling one commented. “Thank you…er…” she trailed off unsure.

“Dwalin,” the gruff man put in, passing back her blade.

“A pleasure,” she smiled, “I take it Gandalf has not introduced me, so I shall take that liberty. Faëlisse Took.”

“You are not just hobbit,” the elder brother commented, curiously.

“Half-elven,” she answered, “Of a heritage which no longer exists, but I have made my homes in the Shire and at the Last Homely House.”

“You would bring an elf into this?” Thorin’s hostility flared again, and Faëlisse sighed.

“I am only half-elven.” She shoved her blade back into her sleeve, silently promising to fix Bilbo’s wall. “And even if I were a full-blooded elf, the wrongs of Mirkwood should not reflect on all my race. Nor on me.” She resisted the urge to add that he, son of Thrain, son of Thror, should know better than any one that not all who share blood are the same. Thorin shook his head, looking over to Dwalin and his brother, as the two young ones leapt from their seats to envelope her in chatter.

“Faëlisse, right?” Fili asked, holding out a hand. “Fili, at your service”

“A pleasure,” she smiled, kneeling to kiss his hand. “My prince.” He chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Not yet,” Kili huffed, “I’m Kili.”

“My prince.” She repeated her action, then straightened. “You are the king’s nephew’s, are you not?” The two nodded at the same time, and she felt Bilbo’s incredulous eyes on them, turning to him. “Gandalf did not tell you? The leader of this Company is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, rightful King under the Mountain. His nephews will be Princes.” 

“No,” Bilbo ground out, “He did not tell me.” The three of them laughed, as Gandalf shrugged in the corner at Bilbo’s glare. 

“How do you know Gandalf then?” Fili asked, curiously. 

“We are both wanderers,” she answered, with a grin, “We have journeyed together many times.” Kili nudged his brother, gesturing across the room to Dwalin, who once again had his hand stuck in the cookie jar. 

“It’s a weakness,” he laughed, conspiratorially. “I’m surprised he doesn’t have more of a paunch for it.” Faëlisse smothered a laugh, as Bilbo frowned at the improper princes. 

“Oh, come Bilbo,” she teased the Hobbit, “If you are to meet a dragon, you must have all your Took blood on show.”

“You are related?” Kili questioned, tearing his eyes away from the sight of the irritable warrior.

“Cousins, distantly,” Faëlisse answered, inviting Bilbo’s frown, “I’m the fun side of the family.” The two brothers burst into laughter, the eavesdropping wizard joining them, causing Thorin’s disgruntled look as he noticed the group at the end of the table. 

“The contract,” the small, elderly dwarf said, holding out a long parchment to each of the hobbits. 

“I will make it clear, that I will not be responsible for your safety,” Thorin grumbled, firmly. “I cannot guarantee you will return.” Bilbo gulped, as the moustachioed dwarf began his story of the dragon. She caught him as he fell, raising an eyebrow at the now-silent dwarf. 

“...oops?” he questioned, making her roll her eyes, carrying her cousin from the room. He appeared again, moments later, with two cups of tea, but she didn’t miss the two others watching him from the hallway. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” he murmured, handing both her and Bilbo a cup. “I did not realise–“ 

“It’s quite alright, Master Dwarf,” Bilbo mumbled, into his tea.

“Bofur,” he offered, as he backed away slightly. 

“And your supervisors?” Faëlisse snickered, as the two dwarves in the corridor vainly attempted to flee. 

“Bombur, my brother,” Bofur said, eliciting a timid wave from the younger, rotund red-haired dwarf. “And Dori.”

”Pleased to make your acquaintances,” Faëlisse nodded, sipping her tea. The three dwarves made a quick exit, into the living room next door, and she could hear their quiet voices as they discussed the two newcomers. Moments passed, as the voices edged into silence, before a warm rumbling grew from the room. She padded in, just in time to hear the other dwarves join Thorin in their song, Erebor’s vast halls returning to life in their words. As the singing melted to a close, Thorin looked up from the fireplace and caught her wooded gaze, and immediately the welcome halls of the song faded from her. She was not wanted here, at least by him. Wordlessly, she rolled her contract, and handed it to the elderly dwarf beside her - Balin, she remembered, before she fluttered out of the room. She could hear the two younger brothers huff at Thorin for it, but she did not stop to hear it. 

“Farewell, young cousin,” she smiled, placing a soft kiss on Bilbo’s forehead. “I will see you soon, if you are truly a Took.” Bilbo frowned, wondering at her meaning. It would wake him the next morning as a challenge, and she would smirk as he proved her right. Took blood was not so easily diluted.

———————

“Wait! Wait!” She turned to all of them, a wide smirk fixed in place, as Bilbo flew down the hill. 

“Get him on a pony,” Thorin commanded, as Fili and Kili scooped the poor Hobbit up. 

“Ah, actually,” she sped up, reigning her horse in between the two scowling leaders. “I believe you both owe me.” Their scowls deepened, if it was possible, but each of them passed over a small bag of coins. “Thank you!” She dropped back, beside her cousin and Gandalf, just as the wizard pocketed his own coin. 

“What did you think?” Bilbo demanded, folding his arms. “Surely you had more sense than to bet on me?”

“I had the sense not to bet against a Took,” she answered, with a wide grin, coins jingling as she tucked them into her pockets. 

———————

“What in Mahal’s name were you thinking?” Thorin demanded, pulling Faëlisse up by her collar. “You could’ve been killed!”

“I was thinking that if I didn’t, Fili would have been killed,” she answered, calmly, hiding her wince, as she brushed dirt from her sleeves. Thorin just stared at her, the calm demeanour flooring his rage. She turned to Fili while he gathered his thoughts, checking the blond prince for injuries.

“Raurion (lion-son),” she murmured, ruffling Fili’s hair, letting Thorin wander off to speak to the returned wizard about the troll cave, unable to find the words for the girl. 

“Follow the smell,” she muttered, gesturing vaguely at the concealed cave to the left of the clearing. Kili glanced up from reaching for the growing bruise appearing behind the ripped sleeve on Fili’s shoulder, confused.

“What?” he questioned, making the previously oblivious Fili jump, and turn to glare at his younger brother, moving away towards Oin.

“They’re wondering about the troll cave,” she replied, pointing to the nearby group, who had turned to look around the area. “It’s over there!” She raised her voice, nodding towards the hidden entrance, from which the rotten smell floated. She could feel the darkness growing around her as the dwarves edged towards the cave, weapons and complaints at the ready.

“You coming?” Kili asked, scrambling to his feet.

“I’ll keep watch.” She pulled out one of her swords and a whetstone, kicking back to lean against a large rock. He shrugged, disappearing into the cave with the others. 

“Radagast, calm down!” she exclaimed, entrapping the sobbing brown wizard in a hug, “What’s wrong?” 

“Greenwood,” Radagast shivered, looking up at her, with tears in his eyes, as Sebastian snuffled out from under his hat, curling into Faëlisse’s wild, earth-brown hair. “The Shadow is back.” Gandalf swooped out of the cave, pulling the other wizard aside.

“Um, no,” Faëlisse scolded, following the two, “I have as much right to hear this as you, Mithrandir.” Gandalf sighed, but Radagast continued to speak.

“Mirkwood has returned, and it is spreading – the spiders, the forest is darkening, goblins are returning.” She knew the thundering footsteps in her ear couldn’t have been a good sign, but she couldn’t quite place it until a distant roar echoed across the plain, unheard by her companions.

“Wargs,” she whispered, Radagast’s hysteria fading as she lifted Sebastian from her hair, “Wargs!” The dwarves who had begun emerging from the cave sprinted out, but not in time to catch the bolting ponies. 

“Who did you tell?” Gandalf roared at the company, but Faëlisse simply cuffed him under the chin as the dwarves fired back with empty answers.

“It is Azog,” she snarled, picking up the few discarded packs, as Radagast’s black owl clung to her shoulder.

“Radagast, take Quessë back,” she said, as the owl refused to release her. “Quickly, we must go.”

“She will stay with you,” Radagast answered, tucking Sebastian safely back beneath his hat. “I will lead them off.”

“These are Gundabad wargs, they will outrun you.” Gandalf shook his head, tapping his staff irritably.

“Those are Rhosgobel rabbits,” Faëlisse pointed out, earning Radagast’s mischievous grin. “I’d like to see them try.” With that, the brown wizard took off across the plains, whooping, sending the Wargs bounding after him in a cacophony of movement, as Gandalf took the lead.

———————

“This was your plan all along!” Thorin snapped, turning on the meddling wizard. “You think the elves will bless this quest? They will try to stop us!”

“Nevertheless, we have questions we need answered,” Gandalf pointed out, “And injuries to heal, and it will take no little tact or charm to gain such answers. That is why you must leave the talking to me and Faëlisse.” 

“What questions?” Thorin demanded, not letting the wizard’s trickery pass so easily. “Faëlisse can read the map!”

“There are still injuries,” Gandalf answered, making Thorin’s eyes flickering over the tired, but mostly whole company, allowing Gandalf to slip away to speak to Lindir.

“Bruises, but nothin–Faëlisse!” he exclaimed, suddenly noticing the red stain crossing her mud-soaked shirt, the way she swayed a little on her feet, even as the owl still clung to her. “Why didn’t you say anything?” His questions were echoed by the Company, until the elf-horn from the plain sounded again, turning all eyes back to the front. Dismounting to greet Gandalf, Elrond’s eyes scanned the company, until he was nudged, urgently, by a golden-haired elf, as two young, brown-haired elves wove their way into the company, grasping Faëlisse, worriedly.

“You are injured!” one of them exclaimed, turning to the company, “What did you do to her?” 

“I am fine, Eln (Elladan),” she soothed, brushing her fingers through the tips of his hair, “There were… obstacles… to our journey, this is not the fault of the company.”

“Was it an orc blade?” the other asked, hurriedly, “Those were Gundabad orcs, they pois–“

“It was a troll, don’t worry, Elr (Elrohir),” Faëlisse answered, as Elrond and Lindir, too, joined the group. “Adar. Lina.”

“Lindir, take Faëlisse to her room,” Elrond instructed, making the more experienced elf nod, grasping her arm and half her weight. “Elladan, fetch hot water and clean bandages. Elrohir, go with Lindir and find out what he needs.” “Hey! Where are you taking her?” Thorin blocked the path, as Lindir tried to lead Faëlisse from the room.

“He’s taking me to clean my wound, Thorin,” Faëlisse assured him, with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Lindir is almost my brother, he will keep me safe. Lord Elrond is not the same as Thranduil, you can trust him as much as you can trust me.” 

———————

She could hear footsteps in the corridor – given the distrust of elves, she could hardly call it unusual. Thorin’s footsteps had a distinctive click when he was brooding. Elrohir entered with the herbs Lindir had requested, before joining Elladan at her bedside as Lindir set to work on the poultice.

“I swear, if he does one more lap of this corridor, I’m going to spike his food with poppy milk,” Faëlisse complained, resisting the urge to yell out to the pacing king. Elladan chuckled, shaking his head.

“He was a little stressed,” Elrohir commented, the king’s fretful face flashing across his mind. 

“Always,” she sighed, rolling her eyes at the brothers. “Brooding is his natural state.”

“No, I mean, he was worried,” Elrohir compounded his words, with a pouty face. “Like, I could feel his eyes burning into my back when I entered kind of worried.” Faëlisse scoffed, shaking her head at her brother.

“If you’d met the man before, you’d know his eyes burn into anything that moves,” she managed through a wince, earning a soft laugh from the brothers, as Lindir pressed the poultice to her wound. “I can’t imagine how many elves he’s tried to set on fire being in their home.”

“I’ll be back,” he promised, looking them sternly in the eyes. “No moving – you’ll dislodge it.” He turned, and vanished from the door, immediately earning the ceasing of footsteps, before they began again, hurriedly.

“Is she alright?” Thorin’s voice travelled easily through the walls. 

“She is quite fine, your Majesty,” Lindir replied, calmly. Faëlisse could hear the hidden smirk in his voice, raising an eyebrow at the brothers, who just grinned back at her. “I’ll check if she’ll see you, if you would like?” 

“I shouldn’t disturb her,” Thorin hesitated, making the brothers snort.

“If anything, you will be a calming influence in that room,” Lindir assured him, as the door clicked open and closed again. “I hate to say this, but Elrohir’s right.” Faëlisse glared at him, as he wrapped her wound.

“Excuse me?” she questioned, sitting up once he fixed the bandages in place.

“You’ve scored a king,” Elladan translated, despite her already fatal look.

“The only one who’s scored a king is the mountain he calls home,” she answered, as Elrohir pulled the door open to invite Thorin in, just in time to see Faëlisse’s knuckles land firmly on Elladan’s shoulder. “Hi, Thorin.”

“Am I interrupting?” Thorin questioned, as Elrohir pulled up another chair for him.

“Not at all,” she smiled, widely, “Have you met Elladan, Elrohir and Lindir?” She gestured to the three elves around her. “Elladan and Elrohir are Elrond’s sons, and Lindir is his partner and friend.”

———————

“How is Faëlisse?” Fili questioned, innocently, as the brothers sidled up to Thorin in the corridor.

“Healing, and happy,” Thorin replied, resisting the urge to grind his teeth at the memory of one of the brunet elves fixing the braid in her hair.

“Are her brothers with her?” Kili asked, guiding his uncle into the dining hall, where the rest of the company was causing a rather subdued ruckus.

“Brothers?” he queried, taking a seat between Balin and Dwalin, with his nephews opposite him.

“Elladan, Elrohir, and Lindir?” Fili said, munching down on some salad. “And Lord Elrond – remember, she called him Adar, he’s in charge. They’re not actually related, but she’s basically adopted them as her family.” Thorin’s thoughts floated back to the room.

“Yes, they were,” he confirmed, picking at the salad, “You’re sure they’re her family?”

“She didn’t stop talking about her crazy brothers,” Kili informed him, with a wild grin, “Gave us half our ideas for pranks, between her childhood and theirs.” 

“I’ll have to remind her to stop talking to you,” Dwalin muttered, glaring distastefully at the greenery in front of him.

“Stop talking to who?” Faëlisse’s voice made them all jump, as she took a seat beside the brothers.

“Us,” Fili and Kili sulked, simultaneously.

“Arm?” Dwalin grunted, unceremoniously. 

“Good as new,” she smiled, happily. “Lindir and Elrond are the best healers around.” “Oi!” Oin complained.

“I thought you were deaf?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“Dead? Me? You’re the idiot who got herself stabbed!” he grouched, turning back to the table, as Gloin shrugged, helplessly. Faëlisse and the Durin brothers burst into laughter, as Elladan and Elrohir entered, snatching their chairs from the table where Elrond and Gandalf sat.

“Do you mind if we join you?” The question was aimed at the whole table, but all eyes were firmly fixed on Thorin. He considered the two for a moment, before nodding.

“By all means,” he replied, tactfully, “It is the least we can offer in thanks for your hospitality.” The elven brothers grinned, taking their seats on the other side of Faëlisse, and immediately descending into chatter with the Durin brothers. Faëlisse glanced across the table mid-laugh, meeting Thorin’s almost-smiling eyes with her own. She smiled, softly, before turning back to the others, wincing as she twisted her injured shoulder. 

Thorin watched as Faëlisse kissed each of her brothers and her cousin on the cheek, and then Kili and Fili, bidding them goodnight warmly. The rest of the company was too absorbed in their chaos, so she simply waved, not risking the makeshift dance floor, before she made her way over to them.

“Goodnight,” she smiled, planting a gentle kiss on Gandalf and Elrond’s cheeks, before hugging Balin. She hesitated in front of Dwalin, who just opened his huge, tanned arms, letting her leap in for a warm hug.

“May I walk you to your room, milady?” Thorin asked, before she could dismiss him.

“Only if you are going that way, your majesty,” she agreed, as he rose to his feet.

“Indeed I am,” he said, nodding goodnight to the others at the table. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Elrond.” She lead the way out of the hall, before she stumbled a little. Thorin caught her with her good arm, and steadied her on her feet.

“Are you alright?” he queried, carrying a little of her weight. 

“Indeed, thank you,” she smiled, gently, “Lindir’s herbs are starting to kick in, I suppose. They tend to make for a potent combination. I appreciate your help.” He pushed open the door to her room and she sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling out a small container of poppy milk that Lindir had left for her. 

“You know which room you are?” she asked, recalling that the dwarven leader had lost his way even in the Shire.

“Well…” he muttered, remembering the unfamiliar carvings on the door, the maze of marble halls, “I’ll find it.” She chuckled, rolling her eyes.

“Stay here for tonight,” she yawned, fumbling with the ties on her delicate dress, before slipping it off to reveal a long shift beneath it. “I will show you the way in the morning.”

“I shouldn’t,” Thorin protested, weakly, as she climbed, sleepily, into one side of the huge bed. “It isn’t pro–“ “It is practical,” she interrupted, burying her face in the pillows. “If you would prefer properness, feel free to wander the halls until Elrond takes pity and sends someone for you.” He sighed, knowing she was correct, before stripping down to just his trousers, and climbing into the bed beside her. She seemed to already have been lost in the sea of blankets, and he wondered, briefly, what he had even been worried about.

“Faëlisse!” Dwalin’s voice thundered into the room, fists slamming loudly on the door the next morning.

“Come in, Dwalin,” she answered, blearily, “And stop that forsaken banging.”

“Thorin is–“ His sentence stopped dead as he stared at the scene in front of him. “Thorin is right here,” she said, as the red-faced dwarf king could do nothing but stare at his best friend. “He could not find his room last night, and I was too tired to show him the way. Now either both of you leave me in peace, or Thorin and I both get to go back to sleep. Either way, I’m sleeping.” The two dwarves rumbled out a chuckle, and Dwalin backed out of the room.

“The others are not awake yet,” he said, turning away, “I will…return to my room.” Thorin sighed, flopping back onto the mattress, as Faëlisse curled back up.

She blinked her eyes open, the soft pillow beneath her head distinctively cold against the warm surface she was pressed against. The warm, breathing surface. The warm, Thorin surface. She peered up at him, desperately hoping to see his eyes closed, so she could edge away without his noticing, despite the arm wrapped around her shoulders, but she was met with gunmetal eyes. Very open gunmetal eyes.

“Good morning, again,” he greeted, softly, allowing her to unfurl from him. “You were having a…rather aggressive dream. It was either be cuddled or be kicked.” His soft laughter was infectious, and she giggled, as she ran a hand through her curly hair. 

“Apologies,” she offered, as the door inched open again, revealing eight mischievous eyes. Mischief turned to fear as they realised they’d been caught. “Ah, I knew you four would make a formidable team,” she commented, as the culprits slunk into the room. “Mahal help us all.”

“Did you sleep well, Faëlisse, Uncle?” Fili asked, innocently.

“Well, he must’ve slept better than he would have wandering the halls,” Faëlisse defended, though she couldn’t help the rising flush.

“So you’re saying this is all because Uncle has no sense of direction?” Kili confirmed, eliciting snickers from his companions, and a growl from his uncle.

“I don’t believe either of us had enough mead last night to justify any other suspicions,” Thorin grumbled, but no one missed the matching pink tinge on his cheeks.

“Faë!” A child’s voice squealed, as a tiny bundle of dark hair raced through the open door, pouncing on her.

“Estel, my little rovén-hén,” she smiled, scooping him into her arms. “How have you fared?” “I’ve been to Lothlorien!” he exclaimed, excitedly, launching into babble about the other Elvish homeland. 

“Who are you?” he demanded, then, turning to Thorin, who was staring at the infant in disbelief.

“Estel, that is Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain,” Faëlisse informed him, easily, “Thorin, this is Estel, Lord Elrond’s ward.”

“You’re a king?” Estel’s eyes widened. “What’s it like? I’m gonna be a king when I grow up!”

“Are you?” Thorin snapped out of his daze, as the child crawled over onto his lap.

“Yeah! I am!” he said, bouncing up and down, as he began to describe his perfect future kingdom. “Are you going to marry Faëlisse?” The room paused, letting the statement sink in, as Faëlisse and Thorin stared at the child, horrified, with the four mischief-makers unable to control their laughter. 

“What’s so funny?” he demanded, turning to them, as they sank to the floor. “Gilraen said that people only get in bed together if they love each other very much. And he’s not her brother!”

“Thorin and I are friends, rovén-hén,” Faëlisse explained, finally snapping out of her shock. 

“But–“ he began, furrowing his little brow. “I think it’s time you showed Kili and Fili where to get breakfast,” she interrupted, flying him off the bed, despite the protests of the mischief-makers.

“I can do that!” Estel exclaimed, grabbing one of Kili’s hands and one of Fili’s, leading the two out of the room at a run, with a still-laughing Elladan and Elrohir on their heels. Silence fell across the room again as the door shut, firmly, behind the group.

“Is Estel…Is he your son?” Thorin asked, desperately trying to sound only curious.

“Oh, no,” she answered, easily, standing to pull on a clean, lavender shift and dress. “I mean…he is in all but blood. His mother is Gilraen…he reminds her far too much of her widow, so since Elrond took them in she has drifted away.” Her musing was interrupted by the black flurry which flew through the window, attaching itself to her shoulder. 

“Ah, welcome back, Quessë,” she smiled, scritching the owls dark neck. 

“What’s so funny?” Dwalin grumbled, suspiciously, as the laughing Durin brothers and the two elves were led in by a smiling child. “And who’s the kid?”

“Estel, Lord Elrond’s ward,” Fili answered, as the others struggled to still their laughter. 

“And your amusement?” Balin queried, from a distance. 

“I have never seen a face as red as your king’s when this one asked if he was going to marry our sister,” Elladan replied, through his laughter. The room stopped, then burst into uproarious laughter. 

“Oh Mahal,” Bofur choked, staggering up to them, “What did he say?”

“He just…stared,” Kili managed, wiping mirthful tears from his eyes, “They both did! I thought they were going to implode. Good job, kiddo.” He ruffled Estel’s hair, and the human child stared up at him, confused.

“What? I still don’t understand why this is funny!” he complained, huffily. 

“Because, Esté,” Elrohir said, glancing down at the irate boy. “Those two are madly crushing on each other, but they haven’t admitted it yet.”

“But, whyyyy?” Estel’s brow furrowed. “Why haven’t they? I’m going to a–“ “No, no,” Elladan grabbed the child before he could take off again, “You can’t say a word about this to either of them, alright? Pretend we didn’t tell you.” “Clueless questions about marriage are quite fitting, however,” Fili mused, catching Kili’s twinkling eyes. 

“Oh yeah, keep doing that,” Elrohir nodded, grinning, “We’d never get away with it, but Faë’ll let you off easy.” Estel matched Elrohir’s grin, mischief forming in his bright, dark eyes, as he sprang from Elladan’s arms and bounced at their feet, eyes fixed on the huge stacks of pancakes on the table. 

“Last one to the table’s a rotten egg!” he grinned, shooting off to one of the wooden stools, sending the other four scrambling after him.

Thorin collided directly with his wrathful general as he exited Faëlisse’s room, wrinkling his nose at the disgusting smell.

“What is that?” he complained, stepping quickly back, to get a good look at Dwalin, just as Faëlisse appeared beside him. 

“Estel beat you to the table, didn’t he.” It was more a statement than a question, earning an irate growl of affirmation from Dwalin. A large, brownish egg yolk rested on the top of his bald head, the greyish tendrils of off egg white sticking to his hair and beard. The rest of the Company rounded the corner, quickly retreating at the sight before them. “I’ll show you to the baths.” She raised her voice, summoning the other dwarves. “At least if you’re all together Thorin can’t get lost.” She danced out of the king’s reach, taking up the lead.

“Clothes?” Faëlisse requested, knocking at the door of the change room. “Dwalin, especially, Estel and I will get the egg out of yours. You’ll want to at least start the rest of our journey clean.” She looked down at Estel, reproachfully, who looked down at his feet, pouting. The door opened, eliciting loud shrieks of protest, as a basket was handed to her. 

“Oh, sissies,” she huffed, as the culprit – a towel-enshrouded Bifur – closed the door, quickly. “It’s not like that.” “You wouldn’t be saying that if Thorin didn’t have a towel on, lassie!” Bofur’s statement was followed by the resounding flick of a towel slapping against bare skin, and a squeal from the offending dwarf. 

“There are innocent ears out here, Bofur,” she scolded, as Estel finally looked up from his feet.

“There are innocent in ears in here, too!” Dori complained, and even without looking in, everyone, including Faëlisse, could see him clutching a confused Ori’s ears.

“What does that mean?” he questioned, frowning. “What difference does a towel make? Aren’t you and Thorin getting married anyway?” That sent another wave of laughter through the dwarves.

“We better go do the washing,” Faëlisse said, hoisting the basket onto her hip.

“You didn’t say no, lass!” Kili called, but she just shook her head, leading Estel towards the laundry rooms to the echoing sound of Kili’s pained squeal.

“Stop encouraging the kid,” Thorin scolded, as the rest of the company moved towards the baths. “He may be genuinely confused, but you aren’t.” The dwarves clamoured in disagreement, and Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose, turning to Dwalin, who just shrugged.

“I’m confused too,” the warrior teased, darting out of the way of Thorin’s towel-whip. “Perhaps to a different extent to the child.”

“What’s so confusing?” he huffed, sinking into the warm water. “Faëlisse didn’t trust me to find my way through the halls.” “Well, you did get lost in the shire,” Bilbo pointed out, breaking his silence on the issue. “I can’t say I blame her. Especially with how obvious the mark on my door was.” 

“Well, then, what’s so confusing?” Thorin repeated, flicking water at his sniggering nephews.

“You think we believe that you would’ve stayed if it was anyone except her who said it?” Balin asked, raising an eyebrow from beside Thorin.

“Aye, if it’d been me, ya would’ve stormed off and had to be fished out of some ravine on the other side of Middle Earth,” Dwalin agreed, on the king’s other side.

“I–“ Thorin frowned, insistently blaming his heated cheeks on the warm water. “Definitely would’ve,” Fili completed, with a shit-eating grin. 

“Why don’t you just admit you like the lass?” Gloin asked, reclining back in the warm water.

“Even I can see it,” Bilbo agreed, before ducking under the water, soaking his light curls into a dark mop.

“Aye, ya look at th’girl same as Gloin looked at Mizim,” Oin nodded, sagely, ear horn sitting at the side of the pool.

“I thought you were deaf,” Thorin snarked at the old healer.

“Dead?” Oin repeated, irritably, “And here I had the same discussion with Faëlisse last night. You’re both as stupid as each other, you’ll make quite a pair.”

———————

“Touch me again, you great slug,” Faëlisse snarled, kicking aside the huge, rotten tooth she had knocked from the goblin king’s mouth. “And I’ll serve your delightful subjects your intestines for dinner.”

“Will you, now, daughter of Feanör?” The Goblin King sneered, ensuring that he fastened her limbs together as he lifted her the second time. Her skin crackled with heat, sending him into a howling release, but not without tearing the sleeve from her coat. She snatched it up, irritably, tucking it into her belt. 

“To think, this coat lasted through Sauron’s attacks, only to be torn by a measly Goblin,” she huffed, as Gandalf’s voice bellowed through the chamber. 

“Take up arms and fight, you fools.” She was getting very sick of being grouped among the fools. She snatched Dwalin’s axes from the goblin beside her, tossing them to him with a shout, before spinning to hand Thorin Orcrist, in exchange for her various obsidian daggers and sword. He froze, as her hand met his, staring down at her uncovered arm, and the scars that danced up it, white and red and ridged.

“Thorin!” she snarled, slicing a goblin away with his sword. “Give me my blades! And take yours!” The Dwarf King shook his head, looking up at her, abruptly, resuming the weapons trade without a word, his gunmetal eyes glazed, as she turned back into the battle, familiar black-bladed sword swinging.

———————

“Thorin, don’t be a fool!” she growled, snatching, vainly, at the Dwarf King’s charging coat. “Thorin!” Azog overpowered him all too quickly, outnumbered by the white orc and his huge, white Warg, not mention the cheering audience of orcs. Bilbo lunged from nowhere, the glowing Sting held before him, just as Faëlisse leaped from the tree. She landed on her feet on the white Warg’s back, pressing her long, obsidian blade to the Orc’s neck, even as he gripped Bilbo by the collar. 

“Unhand the Hobbit,” she hissed, burrowing her blade deeper into his skin. 

“He is not who I want anyway,” Azog growled, unceremoniously tossing the small creature aside. “The lines of Durin and Feanör ending at once? I could not have asked for more.” Without warning, he flipped backwards, snatching at air where Faëlisse had stood just moments before, only blistering footprints left in her wake on the Warg’s skin. Above his head, the Lord of the Eagles called loudly to his kin, the company of Thorin Oakenshield firmly in their talons. 

“A daughter of Feanör, huh?” Bofur queried, with what was an attempt at cheer, as he took a seat beside her on the Carrock. 

“Indeed,” she smiled, absently, pulling aside the dwarf’s torn and singed sleeve to reveal the blistered burn beneath. She reached for an ointment, waving his shirt over his head, reluctantly, all eyes still fixed on Thorin, even as Oín began tending to other wounds. “I did not take the oath, but I was born the same day my father did, his only daughter. There was nothing I wanted more than to please him, for a time, and then I realised I couldn’t. I was only half-elf, and a girl, at that. I hadn’t taken the oath before I realised what it meant, and then, I couldn’t. The Silmarils cost me everything, everyone I loved. How could I vow to return them to a father whose madness only grew?” She finished cleaning the wound, covering it with a gauze, and letting the hatted dwarf pull his shirt back on. Thorin suddenly shot up from where Gandalf was kneeling over him, leaping to his feet just as quickly.

“You! What were you doing!” Thorin’s voice was low, but harsh, and the relief which had flooded Bilbo’s face vanished. “You nearly got yourself killed. Did I not say that you would be a burden?” The others hustled, awkwardly, unwilling to interrupt their leader. “That you wouldn’t survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?” Faëlisse watched Gandalf curiously, but the wizard seemed no more comprehending than the rest of them, as the scene unfolded. “I have never been so wrong in all my life.” And suddenly, Thorin’s anger vanished as quickly as Bilbo’s relief had, and he tugged the confused Hobbit into a warm embrace. The other dwarves hummed, happiness scattering through the group, as Thorin continued to converse with the hobbit. As the sun faded, eagles swooping back out of the landscape, all eyes fixed on the distant peak, alone among the flats.

“Erebor.” Gandalf broke the reverent silence. “The Lonely Mountain. Last of the great Dwarf Kingdoms of Middle Earth.”

“A raven!” Oín exclaimed, as a bird twittered past, “The birds are returning to the mountain!”

“That, my dear Oín, is a thrush,” Faëlisse corrected, from behind them, making the dwarves jump, peering back at the small figure, enshrouded in darkness, petting the black-feathered owl which had returned to her. 

“I will take it as a sign,” Thorin shrugged, turning his eyes back to the mountain, “A good omen.” Faëlisse smothered her doubt, as her optimistically-eyed younger cousin looked forward with the dwarves, pulling out a needle and thread to attend to her torn coat, as the dwarves scattered to set up for the night.

“Faëlisse.” Thorin took a seat beside her, as the others’ loud chatter faded into mountain-rocking snores.

“Thorin,” she answered, turning to the bruised dwarf king. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, thanks to you and your cousin,” he admitted, nodding, “And the meddling wizard, of course.” “Careful, he is not so deep a sleeper that he will not hear your insults,” she laughed, catching Quessë on her wrist as the small owl swooped back down from the air. “Hello Quessë.” Even as she cooed at the bird, she could feel Thorin’s eyes burning into the side of her head. “You should get some sleep, after all, it takes a lot of energy to almost die.” He hummed back, noncommittally, but his eyes turned away from her anyway, for a moment. 

“I’m serious, Thorin,” she urged, pushing him off his perch, towards his bed roll. “You need to sleep. Whatever you wish to say can be discussed in the morning.” 

———————

“Thranduil.” Her history with the elven king was nothing if not amicable, so the stout glare he fixed her with now only caused irritation. “Thranduil, Elven King, please, this is madness.” His guards lead the dwarves away even as she spoke, leaving her to stand before him alone.

“Madness?” he questioned, turning his icy eyes back to her as the door clicked shut. “Madness is a quest to reclaim a mountain of accursed gold, from a dragon who has killed as many as Ancagalon the Black!”

“Smaug is barely an ant compared to Ancagalon,” Faëlisse protested, logically. “I have faced dragons more fearsome than this and won. You could help us, and win the favour of Erebor when the time comes that you need it.”

“Need it? You think I need help from these dwarves?” he spat, looming up over the already shorter halfling. 

“I know you do!” she snapped back, Quessë eliciting a sharp sound of support. “Mirkwood has returned. Spiders and shadows range your woods as I haven’t seen since Sauron’s death!”

“Enough!” Thranduil growled, as she swiftly dodged his hand. “Take her to a cell.” Elven hands caught her wrists, dragging her backwards, but she slapped them off.

“I can walk on my own,” she snarled, glaring at the young blond. “Legolas, my prince.” She nodded, civilly at him, and kept walking, until he opened a cell door before her, and she stepped in.

“Are you alright?” her cellmate queried, and she looked up into the concerned eyes of her shivering young cousin. 

“Indeed I am, Bilbo,” she smiled, pulling off her coat and handing it to him.

“No, you must be freezing,” he disagreed, attempting to hand her back the warm sheepskin.

“I am not cold,” she answered, shaking her head. “I know it is not up to the Baggins taste, but somewhere like this there is little we can do.”

“How are we going to get out of here?” Bilbo asked, finally accepting the jacket, pulling it around his cold shoulders.

“We’ll find a way.”

She grinned as Bilbo held up the keys to the cell, days later.

“I told you the Took blood would come through,” she laughed, quietly, as he set to work retrieving the dwarves from their cells. “This way, to the basement.” “Basement?” Gloin protested, earning himself an immediate shushing. “Why would we go to the basement? We want to get out, not go further in!” 

“Because the basement is where the produce which goes to Laketown is kept,” Faëlisse answered, pulling the door open to reveal two sleeping, drunken guards.

“You’re not serious,” Dwalin huffed, staring at the barrels before him in dismay.

“Barrel rides,” she grinned back, mischievously, earning Kili and Fili’s smiles. “It’ll be fun!”

“This is not fun,” Ori whimpered, as an Orc arrow landed in the wood between his fingers. 

“Get down,” Faëlisse scolded, pushing the young dwarf’s head into cover. “Those arrows are poisoned.”

“Kili!” she growled, sending the arrow at his eye-level into flames, “Get your head down. We cannot hit them from here, just wait until we get past.” He grumbled something about her being no fun, but ducked his head down anyway, still trying to remove the vision of the Orc’s arrow from before his eyes. 

“I said stay in cover!” she snarled, shoving Kili behind her, growling out a curse as the arrow aimed for him clipped into her thigh. Kili’s returning arrow hit the Orc in the eye, knocking him backwards.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, worriedly. “I’m sorry I didn’t–“ “Shh, Aiwë (small bird), it’s fine,” she assured him, turning back as Balin spoke to the bow-wielding Bard. “Bard!” The dark bargeman looked over to her, in surprise, suspicion softening.

“Faëlisse.” His eyes darkened at her wound. “You are injured.”

“I am,” she agreed, as a hum of worry rang through the dwarves. “But that is not the point. It has been too long, dear friend.” 

“Too long indeed,” he nodded, wrapping her in a gentle embrace. “How did you end up with these dwarves?”

“I offered them my assistance,” she answered, shrugging, turning back to the group. “Bard, this is the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Everyone, this is Bard. And your weapons are in one of those barrels.” She gestured vaguely at the fifteen soggy, half-smashed barrels on the shore, and the dwarves turned to them, excitedly.

“Way to win favour,” Bard laughed, shaking his head at her. “Always full of surprises.” “Indeed, how are Sígrid and Bain? Little Tilda?” she continued, fondly remembering the three young children.

“Very well, but they will be better for seeing you,” Bard replied, looking down at her.

“I am afraid I do not come without the company,” she said, shaking her head. “And they will be more difficult to get into Laketown. And more dangerous for you to harbour.” “I have my barge,” Bard offered, reluctantly eyeing up the dwarves and hobbit. “Get back in your barrels and I can take you. Faëlisse, you can stay out – your leg will only be worse for movement, and the Master welcomes you.”

“I know my way around a wound,” Faëlisse muttered, pulling the fresh bandages tighter around her leg, “But at this point, I almost wish it had taken me longer to heal.” She stared out at the dismal, dark sky of Laketown, offering Tauriel one last hug goodbye, before limping a little out the door.

“You should stay here and mend, lass,” Balin told her, once again, as she boarded the boat, Tilda crying into her sister’s shoulder. “The children will miss you.” “I do not see anyone else here who has faced down a dragon and won, Balin,” she answered, tugging her brown hair back into a ponytail. “A daughter of Feanör must use her curse as a gift.”  Her skin crackled, charring around her fingertips, and Balin nodded, sighing.

“It does not make you invincible,” Oin grumbled, appearing behind them.

“No, but it does make me impervious to the dragon’s flames,” she grinned back, eyes glinting with challenge.

———————

Smaug exited the mountain, enraged, already spitting flames at the desolated land. 

“No!” Faëlisse snarled, vaulting from her ledge on the mountain’s edge, sending the dwarves bellowing after her. “She’s on him!” Fili breathed, excitedly.

“She’s on him!” Ori choked, horrified.

“She is literally riding a dragon,” Kili whooped, jumping up and down. “Oh, no.” Flames never reaching so far as Dale, before they circled upwards, around him, Smaug took a sudden turn downwards, spiralling towards the city. “She’s crashing a dragon.” A sudden force tugged him aside with a fiery flash, and two figures dropped from the sky.

“No, no, no!” Bard growled, tossing aside his bow, as Bain stared into the sky, horror tinging his young face. The two of them belted down the stairs of the watchtower, racing for the river on the outskirts of town. “Why was she riding the bloody dragon?”

He arrived at the river at the same time as the Company, Smaug’s huge body overshadowing the site. 

“Why was she…I didn’t think she’d be–“ None of the dwarves replied, staring in horror at the unmoving surface of the lake.

“What are you staring at?” Tilda’s voice questioned, innocently, searching for something more interesting than the fallen dragon.

“Whatever it is, can you stop?” Sigrid continued, huffing, “She needs a medic.” They all looked over at the two girls. Three girls. Faëlisse was sitting beside Sigrid, blinking dazedly.

“That was a nice shot, Bard,” she mumbled, dizzily, before slumping backwards into the mud.

“Faë!” Tilda screamed, scrambling for the halfling, as the others hurried over, Oín and Gandalf quickly settling by her side.

———————

“And here I thought my cousin was wrong when he told me you had traded your honour for treasure. Elves and orcs stand on your doorstep,” Faëlisse said, voice echoing decisively through the stone hall, as she and Dwalin thrust open the doors to the throne room. “Your cousin Dain is set to arrive and plunge into a battle you will not even look upon. You just betrayed Bilbo’s trust, and mine, and your Company’s. And you sit upon the throne as though you deserve it.” 

“Silence!” Thorin growled, jumping to his feet, “If you wish to join the traitor, I can throw you from the battlements as well.”

“Go on, then,” she dared him, eyes flashing, “Touch me and you will lose your hand, king or not.” 

“You sit here in these vast halls, with a crown upon your head,” Dwalin spat, “And yet you are lesser now than you have ever been.”

“Go. Before I kill you,” Thorin growled back. She could see the pain in his eyes, behind the hatred, the confusion. She could see him hearing his own voice but not recognising the words. The two of them stalked out, but she paused in the doorway, earning Dwalin’s questioning gaze. She waved him forward, and he hesitated, until she shoved him on his way.

“You know the worst thing about all this?” Faëlisse’s voice was unshakable, sharper than any blade. “I thought you deserved this throne, once. I fought to put you upon it, to put my faith in you over the advice of my family, of my age-old allies and friends. We fought to put you upon it. And you stand before us as though it is a birthright you had no help in claiming.” She stormed back down the hall, snatching Orcrist from his belt, before dancing back out of reach. “You are worthy of your grandfather’s crown, sure enough, but not of Ecthelion’s blade.” She slammed the door behind her, and ran, blindly, tears scorning her cheeks, tracing the familiar path back to the battlements.

“I am going to fight,” she interrupted the dwarves’ debate, hanging Orcrist on the wall beside the others’ weapons. Not a word was spoken. “Farewell, my friends.” She trapped each of them into a tearful hug, as they stared at her, uncomprehending.

“But, Thorin said–“ Ori began, but she shook her head.

“He is not my king,” she told him, sadly, “And he is not the same person I grew to love.” She gave the young dwarf a quick peck on the cheek, swinging her legs over the battlements. As she was grabbed by the arms from either side.

“Wait! Faëlisse, no, you can’t just…” Kili trailed off, still gripping her right arm tightly.

“You can’t just go,” Fili continued for him, from her other side. Both of them held their grip resolutely as she tried to shake it off.

“I can and I am,” she replied, carefully working to pry their resisting fingers from her arms, “I have a responsibility for Bilbo, and a duty to myself. Thorin has fallen as far as my father did – I will not watch that again.” Fili paused, but released her, as Dwalin laid a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“You’ll come back, though?” hke whispered, voice shaking a little. 

“I just stole your Uncle’s precious sword,” she laughed, bitterly. “He will not have me back. I will write, so will Bilbo. You have my word.” Kili’s eyes tore between her and his brother, face falling further if possible, but he let her go.

“Thank you,” she whispered, kissing each of the brothers on the forehead. “I love you. So does Thorin. He will come back to you, I am sure of it. Your place is in your home, in Erebor. My place can no longer be here, even if it tears my heart.” Then she dropped, swinging on the rope Bilbo had slid down, and somersaulting to her feet. She paused, at the bottom, and waved to them, before disappearing into Thranduil’s tent. 

“Faëlisse,” Gandalf breathed, as she entered. “Are you alright?”

“Unharmed,” she replied, dusting herself off.

“But...Faë,” Bilbo protested, quietly, staring, shell shocked at his cousin. “You love him.”

“I stole his precious Orcrist from his very belt, Bilbo,” she laughed, even as tears melted from her eyes. “And told him he was not worthy of Ecthelion’s blade. I called him his grandfather. My place was no longer in Erebor. But I will fight to defend it, if I must.” This last she said with a pointed look into Thranduil’s cold, blue eyes. 

“You think I fear a halfling who was foolish enough to fall for that dwarven scum?” the Elven King scoffed, his head snapping back with a loud crack as her fist slammed across his face. Tauriel leapt into a defensive position, fending off any further attacks, but Faëlisse had already turned away. 

“At least he has a heart when he is in his right mind,” she told him, spitting at his feet. “You know what I am capable of, Thranduil. And it will bring me no joy, but I will burn your entire army to the ground if I must.”

“Faëlisse,” Gandalf rumbled, warningly. 

“There will be no need,” Bard assured her, with a warning glare at Thranduil. “We are far from the greatest danger to the mountain.”

“Azog,” Faëlisse agreed, the white warg’s howl curdling her blood. 

“Will you follow me, one last time?” Thorin’s  voice cracked as spoke, but the Company only nodded, reaching for their weapons. He reached back, pulling Orcrist from the walls, scanning the 13 faces before him. 

“Where is Faëlisse?” They froze in their movements, faces filled with guilt and worry.

“She followed her cousin,” Fili piped up, bravely. “As we should.”

———————

“And here I thought you could fight your own battles, agrecthion (despised)?” She emerged from behind the burning catapult, black blade drawn. 

“Ah, the line of Feanör ends at last,” Azog rumbled back, stumbling to his feet again.

“It is well past our time,” she smirked back, with a shrug. “But Coivë-antë (Life-Giver; name of her blade) has yet to fail me.” She would at least leave him with another scar. 

———————

“No!” Tauriel snatched Fili’s wrist as he tumbled, a long gash running across his chest, and Faëlisse swung her blade at Azog, making the white orc simply growl, as though she were a mere nuisance. Fili stumbled forward again as Azog disappeared from sight, back into the hill. 

“Fili,” Faëlisse fretted, hurrying to the blond prince. “Are you alright?” 

“I am,” he nodded, looking to Tauriel. “Thank you, Captain.” Tauriel just nodded, with a gentle smile, catching the blond prince as he swayed. 

“I have to go,” Faëlisse said, hurriedly. “Tauriel, can you make sure he makes it back to the Mountain?”

“Yes, but where are you going?” the elf queried, beginning to lead Fili down the stairs. “You cannot just face him alone.”

“Ravenhill,” Faëlisse answered, before springing from the window the same way Azog had, landing in a snowdrift on the nearby hill, and disappearing. 

She was silent as she pounced, tackling Azog to the ground. 

“I told you,” she growled, tearing her dagger across his chest as he wrestled her off. “You have to go through me.” Azog tossed the smaller creature aside, leaving Kili in his wounded pile to the side, and facing Thorin again. 

“Pathetic.” His voice echoed over the battlefield. “Your halfling girlfriend fights for you.”

“I am no one’s,” Faëlisse snapped, dragging herself to her injured feet, still swaying. “And I have fought for longer than even the King Under the Mountain.” Azog scoffed, knocking her unsteady form aside as she approached him again. Tauriel was out of his line of sight as she appeared, reaching for her fallen dwarf. As the second prince disappeared from the battlefield Faëlisse felt her chest lighten a little, before Azog decided she would stay down this time, satisfied by the blood pooling in the snow around her, and turned back to Thorin.

Thorin stood on the ice, panting. 

“Move!” Faëlisse yelled, urgently. “You have to–“ Azog’s sword emerged from the pond, slicing through Thorin’s foot, followed by the Orc himself, turning his blade on Thorin as he stumbled backwards. Faëlisse staggered to her feet and leapt forwards, throwing all of her small body against the Orc, knocking him back. She felt his blade sink into her stomach, but she pushed again, harder, and he fell back, losing his grip on the blade. She pulled it from her stomach, sinking to her knees from the pain, but sliced it across the exhausted orc’s knees anyway, separating his lower legs from his scarred body. Azog screamed in pain, collapsing over the edge of the hill as Faëlisse’s vision faded to black and she fell forwards into the snow. 

“Faëlisse!” Tauriel’s voice was the last thing she heard, Thorin’s shocked, horrified gaze the last thing she felt. 

Tauriel snatched her friend from the ground, embedding her hand over the wound to stem some bleeding, as the dwarf king stared, hopelessly. 

“Can you get yourself back to the Mountain?” she asked, looking down at the fallen dwarf, blood seeping from his foot and various other wounds. “Or shall I send someone to fetch you?”

“I...can walk,” Thorin answered, clambering to his feet and limping after her. “Why did she do that?” The elf in front of him scoffed, shaking her head. 

“Why do you think?” she challenged, not slowing her fast pace.

“I treated her poorly the last time I saw her,” Thorin continued, lost in his thoughts. “I treated all of them so poorly. And they followed me into battle.”

“You are their king,” she told him. “But, first and foremost, you are their friend.” The room was flooded with elves – from Mirkwood, from Rivendell. 

———————

“Tauriel!” One of the brunet elves Faëlisse had called her brothers appeared, as they entered the infirmary the mountain had become. “Where’s Faë?” He darted through the crowd, managing to clear his view to fix his eyes on the limp halfling in Tauriel’s arms. He snarled an Elven curse, before turning back into the crowd, leading Tauriel after him, with Thorin staggering to keep up. 

“Adar!” Elrohir summoned, urgently, making Elrond look up from bandaging Fili’s wounds. He leaped to his feet, shouting to one of the other Elven healers nearby, and gesturing to Tauriel to lay her down. Her face was deathly pale as breaths struggled through her lips, blood seeping out with each one. He pressed his hands to the wound, with a shout behind him, sending Lindir bustling over with a needle and thread. 

“Faë,” the elf minstrel choked, kneeling down beside her, as Elrond began to stitch the wound. 

“Fetch Mithrandir,” Elrond ordered Elrohir, “Then find your brother and keep Estel out of here.” Elrohir nodded, a last lingering glance over Faëlisse’s still form, before he vanished back into the crowds of people. 

“Lord Elrond, your son–“ Gandalf’s words cut off, abruptly, and Thorin watched in horror at the first time he had seen the wizard rendered speechless. What he had hoped to cause as a triumph now settled deep into his soul as the signature on her death warrant. Gandalf knelt beside the two elves, as Elrond finished stitching, resting his hands over the wound. 

“We need Radagast,” he breathed, looking back at the elves, fear written across his face. 

“Radagast is in Rhosgobel!” Lindir protested, wildly. “He will not get here in time.”

“Where is Quessë?” Gandalf demanded, turning to Thorin and Tauriel as they stood above the scene. 

“I...she flew away.” Thorin scanned his memory, finding only the mess of black feathers which shot past his face as Faëlisse pounced on the white orc. 

“No,” Gandalf muttered, sinking back to his knees, casting his eyes over the friend who had stood beside him for longer than any other, “No. She can’t have.” He jumped to his feet, barging past the mismatched pair that stood at be bedside, prickling at one another’s presence. If the shorter wizard hadn’t stopped him, he would’ve stormed directly into him. 

“Radagast,” he breathed, eyes catching the brown wizard. “How did you–“

“Animals are better eyes than people.” He looked past, expression falling grave, fixing on Faëlisse. He knelt beside her, as Thorin wondered how many more people would kneel beside her and do nothing. Laying his hand over her wound, he whispered in an ancient language, Quessë and the hedgehog snuffling into her curly brown hair, chirruping quietly. Faëlisse’s eyes flickered open, recognising Radagast’s form learning over her. 

“Radagast?” she breathed, meeting the wizard’s worried brown eyes as he looked up at her. “What are you doing here?”

“Quessë fetched me,” he answered, earning a proud chirp from the tiny owl. “Good thing, too. Gundabad blades are nasty things.”

“Ugh, you’re telling me,” she sighed, as Sebastian moved to curl up on her chest. She looked up, catching sight of Thorin and Tauriel standing over her. 

“You two should really see a healer,” she commented, vaguely, taking in the various lacerations scattered across their forms, and the single foot Thorin balanced on. “You scored a pretty rough blade to the foot, Your Majesty.” Thorin almost winced at the formality, but did not have the chance, as the two other injured were hustled away to be tended. 

———————

“Shh, shh, its alright, Raurion,” she soothed, reaching for the trembling heir as he shot up in the night. Fili stared at her, eyes wide, then sank back into her shoulder as she clutched him to her. “You’re safe.” “I’m sorry,” he whispered, as her fingers threaded through his knotted hair. “I’m sorry irak’amad.” 

“There is nothing to be sorry for, Raurion.” She leant forwards, pulling her blanket up around Fili. “The most hardened warriors have battle dreams. There is nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“What happened to your arms?” he asked, suddenly, as the white, ridged scars on her forearms glowed lighter in the moonlight, and he recalled the ridges he had felt when he had untied her from the battlement.

“I fought myself,” she replied, voice shaking, as she tightened her arms around him. “I fought myself in a way which no one should. Don’t ever, Fili. You are far too loved for that.” She felt a tear that wasn’t her own splatter onto her arm, but she only leant back against the cold stone behind her, a soft hum rising from her chest.

“You are too loved for that, also, irak’amad,” Fili said, after a long pause, breaking through her humming. She smiled, softly, placing a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

“Thank you, Raurion.”

“Kili, Kili. You’re safe, Aiwë.” She felt Fili stir, and shift off her, both of them reaching for the crying prince. “It’s just Faë, and Fili.” She clutched him to her as she had his brother, as Fili watched, gripping his little brother’s hands firmly.

“I don’t know what I’m snivelling about,” Kili offered, attempting to wipe away his tears. “I did not see the worst of it.”

“You have the right to remember,” Faëlisse told him, firmly. “You both do. The right to remember, the right to cry, the right to be scared. There is no weakness in fear or in memory. And there is no weakness in seeking help.” She opened her arms a little, and Fili joined the huddle, bringing the warm blanket with him, warding out the chill.

“It seems the lass has adopted yer nephews, ye miserable ol’ bastard.” Dwalin’s voice woke her the next morning, and she fluttered her green eyes open to catch sight of the whole company gazing down upon them. Kili and Fili were each tucked under one arm, with the blanket tightly wrapped around the three of them. Seeing that they were still asleep, she fixed her glare on the loud warrior, earning him a nudge from his brother, and the instruction to be quiet. Thorin limped over from the other side of the room, and she avoided his light eyes, leaning back again and begging for sleep to return.

“Well, can’t say I blame them,” Thorin muttered, with a wry smile, careful not to raise his voice any louder than it needed to be. “I’d prefer someone with some sense and kindness over a gold-sick fool.” Muffled laughter drifted through the company, tinged with relief, as Dwalin slapped Thorin on the shoulder.

“Estel! Faë is sick, don’t wake her.” Faëlisse lifted her head as Elladan’s familiar voice carried into the room, following quick footsteps.

“No, no, I’m awake,” she whispered, smiling up at them. “You can only come in if you’re really quiet, rovén-hén. Will you go back to sleep?” Estel nodded, obediently, clambering into the pile, and curling up on her lap, in the small gap between the slumbering young dwarves. Elladan shook his head, looking down at the pile of sleeping bodies. 

“Made to mother.” Elladan grinned, and padded out of the room, calling over his shoulder. “Adar will want to check your wounds soon.” 

———————

“Estel!” Kili cooed as he woke, the rest of the company having drifted out of the room. “I didn’t know you were here. How do you like Erebor?” 

“It’s huge!” Estel exclaimed, bouncing up and down in Faëlisse’s lap. “And really pretty! But it made Amalsain (new mother) sick.” 

“That was not Erebor, rovén-hén,” Faëlisse chuckled, ruffling the little boy’s hair with her now-freed hand. He immediately perked up, smiling again.

“I like it then!” he declared, happily. 

“Alright, sweet as this is,” Elrohir declared, entering beside his father, “You’re gonna have to break it up so we can check you.” Kili, Fili, and Faëlisse all groaned, reluctantly shuffling apart, each of them frantically reaching for a warm blanket or coat from their pile, much to the amusement of the watching dwarves. Elrohir knelt beside Fili, Lindir beside Kili, and Elrond beside Faëlisse, with Estel still clinging to her side. 

“Any pain in the night?” Elrond asked, as she pulled her shirt up to reveal the wound, making Faëlisse laugh.

“You mean other than the pain of my internal organs restitching themselves, right?” she teased, making Elrond roll his eyes.

“Ew,” Estel complained, wrinkling up his nose. “That’s gross, Amalsain.” 

“It is, isn’t it?” Fili agreed, as Elrohir cleared him with a simple bandage change. 

“Did you sleep?” Elrond continued with his questions, swallowing his amusement at the two young boys with the bitter appearance of the hole in Faëlisse’s abdomen.

“Of course, I had two very effective dwarf prince heat packs,” she answered, earning a playful punch from Fili, “I am a firm believer in the theory that warmth and hugs ease any pain.” 

“And here I thought you were just being kind.” Fili feigned hurt, pressing a hand to his chest.

“I feel used,” Kili joked, also joining them. 

“Well, what can I say?” she grinned back, wincing as Elrond gently cleaned the wound. 

“Oi, give the lass some space,” Dwalin commanded, trundling back into the hall. “Bombur’s busy in the kitchen if yer gonna come ’n ‘ave breakfast.” Kili perked at that, and Lindir grabbed him before he could follow Estel in leaping to his feet.

“You literally got stabbed yesterday,” the elf minstrel scolded, “And your leg is broken. Take it slowly.” Kili pouted, but rose more demurely, as Elrohir helped Fili to his feet.

“All you Durins and your troublesome legs,” Faëlisse teased, as both of them limped around for a moment, finding their bearings on their injuries.

“Oh, says the girl whose stomach was punctured,” Kili retorted, poking his tongue out at her. 

“Your foot is injured as well,” Fili pointed out, gesturing to the bandaged limb.

“Sprained.” Elrond answered her questioning look, as she noticed the source of her sore foot for the first time. 

“At least it’ll heal faster than your insides,” Dwalin offered, sniggering, as he reached over to help her up, as the elves packed away their things.

———————

“Bombur, you have truly excelled,” Faëlisse told the red-head dwarf, as she limped into the kitchen with a stack of emptied plates. “I could not be sadder that the hole in my stomach decreased my appetite a little.” Bombur blushed as she placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, with a smile. 

“Thank you, Faë,” he murmured, smiling, as she filled a bucket with warm, soapy water from the cauldron over the fire. “It was my amad’s recipe. She was such a fabulous cook.” 

“And you would make her proud everyday,” she assured him, plonking the  plates into the tub. “Go and have fun. Send one of those other slackers in to dry for me, you have done so much this morning already.” He guffawed at that, bustling out the door, leaving the kitchen to fall into silence. Moments passed, then the huge, wooden door clipped open again, and uneven footsteps crossed the floor. Thorin came into sight, without saying a word, picking up a drying towel and one of the plates.

“Thank you,” she said, tightly, quickening her previously lazy scrubbing.

“No need to rush just because I am here,” he told her, noticing the increased pace. “I already have quite a backlog to get through.” 

“Perhaps it is not for your benefit that I hurry,” she replied, almost under her breath. He paused his movement, for just a moment, then continued.

“That would be… understandable,” he conceded, after a time, lapsing back into the tense silence he had entered in.

“You must have come in here for a reason, Your Majesty,” Faëlisse demanded, eventually, as she removed the last plate from the sink. “You are their king, you are one of the worst injured among us. Anyone else could be here.” 

“Perhaps I wanted to help,” Thorin attempted, weakly. She didn’t deign that with a reply, other than to turn away and pick up another drying towel. “Or…perhaps I came because I knew you were avoiding me.”

“Mahal, I wonder why ever that might be,” she snapped back, taking all of her self-restraint not the slam the last plate down. 

“Faëlisse, I… you–“

“I know that what I did could be called treasonous. I know that you can punish me with exile, Thorin,” she snarled, slamming her down and clenching them around the carved stone until her knuckles whitened. “But I am injured, and, quite frankly, I would not make it back to Imladris, even with Adar and the others tending me. Now, do you see? I am selfish. Self-preserving. I do not want to die from a wound inflicted while I acted in defence of my banisher. I do not want to die knowing that it is because the person I foolishly let myself fall in love with simply did not care for me once he had his precious mountain back!” She tossed the towel over her shoulder and stormed out, as well as she could with her foot screaming, and blood seeping from the reopened stitches in her stomach. Lindir met her at the door, wrapping her in a tight embrace, shielding her from the gaze of the dwarves, though she didn’t miss the horrified expressions written across Fili, Kili, Estel, and her brothers’ faces.

“Oh, Faë,” Linder comforted her, “Come on, we’ll get you patched up.” Elrond followed behind as she was led away from the kitchens. 

“What in Mahal did you do?” Thorin was still staring, blankly, at the door, when Kili and Fili burst in, closely followed by Dwalin and Balin attempting to pull them back. “You would banish her after she saved our lives?” His nephews stood before him, seething, and he could see the shadow of Dis within them both in that instant.

“I didn’t…she just…” he stumbled over his words, leaning back against the counter. “She thinks I do not care for her.”

“Yeah, that’s the least of our problems!” Fili snapped, angrily, “She thinks you intend to banish her! I thought you came in here to fix things. I would’ve done it instead if I thought you would make it worse!”

“I didn’t say anything about banishing her!” Thorin yelled back, making the others’ eyes widen. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. Why is she so upset with me?”

“What?” Kili questioned, incredulity lacing his tone. “Why is she so– Mahal, you don’t remember.” Realisation dawned over him, and he stepped back, running a hand over his face. “You don’t remember.” The four faces in the room stared at him, dark-eyed. 

“What happened?” He mumbled it at first, then stepped forward, raising his voice. “What happened!”

“You almost killed Bilbo.” Dwalin’s voice was quieter than any of them had heard it before. “And then you almost killed her for defending him.” Thorin stumbled back the single step he had taken, sinking against the counter, but his cousin hadn’t finished. “You cut her sleeves off, took her coat and boots, and tied her to a ledge on one of the battlements in just her dress, and sat guard yourself for a night, to ensure she stayed there the whole time.”

“Once she was freed, the Orcs had already arrived,” Balin continued where his brother had left off. “She and Dwalin went down to your court to call you once more, after she’d recovered. She was damn near hypothermic. You told Dwalin to leave before you killed him. She stayed, and–“ “I remember that,” Thorin cut him off, voice hoarse. “And I must make another apology to you, Dwalin. You have been more than loyal, better than any friend I could ask for, and I treated you like that. I am so sorry.”

“I have put it in the past,” Dwalin grumbled back, gesturing to the door, “I am not the one who fears banishment.”

———————

Faëlisse wandered up the height of the battlements, then clambered up the short gap to the ledge which jutted from near the mountain’s peak, closed off from internal access by a collapse. The battlefield was still scattered with bodies, and three tents stood proudly amongst them – Thranduil’s, Dain’s, and Bard’s. Dain did not need his tent – after all, he was cousin to the king, and would be staying in the mountain. But he insisted it stand, simply to spite Thranduil, whose tent was smaller. A few figures picked through the battlefield, carrying the bodies to their appropriate place. She twisted one of her blades in her hands, running her fingers along its delicate edge. The view was scarred by the battle, as the harsh sunlight glared down on the truths. She slipped off her coat, eying the long, white, ridges which had stood unchanged for more than a year, and could almost have laughed at herself. Breaking such a streak over the King Under the Mountain.

“Irak’amad.” Fili’s voice made her jump from her thoughts, guiltily jerking the knife away from herself, as he appeared beside her. “It’s cold up here. Put your coat back on–“ He ran his hands over her bare arms, gently prying the knife away and tucking it into its sheath on her belt. “You’re freezing! I brought a blanket, and a Kili… and an Estel.” He crossed to her other side, letting Kili squish in on the side closest to the descent. He wrapped the blanket around the three of them, and Estel grinned, burrowing in to sit on her lap, recreating the morning’s position. They settled into a comfortable silence for a moment, just watching the busyness below, before Kili spoke.

“He doesn’t remember.” Faëlisse turned to face him, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” Fili shifted closer, turning so that he was facing in across the group, freeing up her arm. 

“Thorin, he doesn’t remember when he threw Bilbo out,” Kili reiterated, bluntly. Faëlisse scoffed, bitterly.

“I’m not sure if that’s better or worse,” Faëlisse scoffed, bitterly.

“Me either,” Kili admitted, lapsing back into silence, as Estel snuggled into Faëlisse, already asleep in her lap.

“He’s not going to banish you, Faë,” Fili picked up in his brother’s silence. “He…is not the most tactful.” Faëlisse and Kili both snorted, eliciting a wry smile from the blond heir. “But he loves you. I would never ask you to forgive his actions – I don’t think I ever will – but…could you let him offer an apology before you go?”

“Go?” she questioned, looking back at him. “I thought you said he wasn’t going to banish me.” 

“He’s not, but…I thought, once you were better, you’d want to…” Fili hesitated, bewildered.

“He thought he was giving out a punishment befitting a crime,” she murmured, thoughtfully, staring out over the plains again. “Even if he was wrong…”

Kili and Fili darted on and off the ledge for the rest of the morning, but she stayed, Estel asleep in her lap until the afternoon, when he too scampered down the descent, reappearing moments to inform her that Bombur had made lunch. She drifted, warily, into the small dining hall outside the kitchen, immediately being summoned into a seat with Elladan and Elrohir on one side, and Estel and Bilbo on the other. Lindir, Elrond, and Bombur sat in the other nearby seats, Gandalf and Radagast having disappeared earlier in the day. The meal passed uneventfully, with Bofur’s jokes earning laughter from even Thorin, before the topic fell to her. Dain had not joined them for breakfast, having eaten early and left to tend to his men.

“Are you going to introduce me to the young lass?” he asked, eventually, catching sight of her brown locks beside Bilbo’s.

“My cousin, Faëlisse,” Bilbo piped up, with a warm smile at the Dwarven king of the Iron Hills. 

“Our irak-amad,” Fili grinned, mischievously, earning a glare from Thorin, and a surprised snort from Dain, as he lapsed into Khûzdul to speak to his cousin.

“Will you be staying in Erebor, Miss Faëlisse?” Dain queried, catching Thorin’s sharp elbow before it could hit his stomach. 

“Forgive me, my Lord Dain,” she answered, with a careful smile, “But I am not sure of my welcome. I hope to stay until I am healed.” 

“You are welcome here for as long as you wish,” Thorin assured her, hurriedly. “I would not have any member of the company who won our home back turned away.” She smiled, again, more warmly.

“Then perhaps I shall see whether I am wanted or needed,” she rephrased, looking back at Dain. “I have lived too long to waste time where I am doing no good.” 

“A wise principle,” Dain agreed, sagely, but she didn’t miss his eyes flickering to the elves at the end of the table. “But I would almost expect it from the mouth of an elf.” 

“Well, I am half-elven,” Faëlisse stated, coldly, “So perhaps that is not so far from accurate.” Dain couldn’t help it, as his head flicked between her and Thorin, half-whispering to his cousin in Khûzdul. 

“I did not see you or your people offering aid in our expedition!” Kili snapped, eventually, even as Thorin gestured for his silence.

“Actually I recall your courtiers calling it an ultimate folly,” Fili continued, glaring at the red-haired ruler.

“Aiwë, Raurion, that is enough,” Faëlisse commanded, limping up to their end of the table, “I can see that my Lord Dain disapproves of elves as much as his cousin. Perhaps, my Lord, you would take that argument up with me, or at least, in a language I speak fluently. Khûzdul has never been shared with me.” 

“You call even Dwarven princes in that tongue?” Dain demanded.

“You would tell me they dislike it on their behalf?” she challenged, getting up into the seated king’s face, at his eye level. “I do not think it is your business who the princes of Erebor interact with, or how. You are neither their father nor their uncle. You did not even bother to consult them when you discussed their home with their uncle, and now you think you can speak for them in their friendships?” Dain hauled himself to his feet, towering over her, but she didn’t so much as flinch. “I have faced Morgoth, Sauron, Azog, even my own brothers. You will not intimidate me with mere size, tele-falch kanuina.” 

“What did you call me?” Dain asked, anger fading into genuine bewilderment, as Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel burst into uncontrolled laughter. 

“Ass-crack of lead.” She said it with an entirely straight face, looking Dain directly in his brown eyes. The dwarf stared at her for a moment, then his face split into a broad smile.

“Ass-crack of lead?” he guffawed, clapping her on the shoulder. “Oh, my dear, the last time I heard something like that, the man turned around and begged for forgiveness after learning I was a king.” 

“I am afraid that I was already aware,” Faëlisse informed him, as the whole table eyed Dain, tensely quizzical. 

“That is what makes it better,” Dain answered, taking his seat again. “You are made for my cousin. Erebor could not ask for a better queen.” Thorin elbowed him before he could catch it this time, shaking his head, a mortified blush rising to both his cheeks and hers. 

“What have you been calling me?” she hissed at Thorin’s nephews.

“Auntie,” Fili grinned back, and she groaned, turning to meet Thorin’s eyes, awkwardly, as Dain laughed between them, apparently pleased with his matchmaking efforts.

“I mean…” Thorin muttered, hesitantly, “He’s not wrong that Erebor could not find a better queen. That I could not find a better queen.”

“You’re saying this now.” Faëlisse folded her arms. “Here?” 

“You’d prefer I didn’t say it?” he asked, smiling softly. “I am so sorry, amrâlimê. I treated you deplorably.” 

“Oh no, not the eyes,” she sighed, squinting against his power. “You’re right. You thought it was punishment for a crime, but you were wrong. It was deplorable.” She turned away from him, then glanced back at his worried face, before glaring over at Kili and Fili. “You two started this.” 

“Oh, come on, irak-amad,” Kili grinned.

“I even gave you a way out,” Fili agreed, “I said you didn’t have to forgive him, that I wouldn’t expect you to. You’re the one who pointed out the crime and punishment thing.” She huffed at them, then turned on her heel, looking back at Thorin.

“Thorin, I…” she stammered, looking him in the eye as they perched on the battlements. “There are some things we need to discuss before we go any further with this.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, hesitantly. “I must apologise for…everything, really.”

“Thorin, please,” she murmured, shaking her head, eyes fixed on the floor. “You haven’t even been looked at me for weeks. You hung me from your battlements. You almost killed my cousin. And all for a rock. Now, Gandalf has the Arkenstone–“

“Gandalf has it?” Thorin growled, leaping to his feet. She stepped back from him, and he froze, staring at her in horror. The room around them was silent, even as hands fixed themselves on weapons.

“You can’t be surprised after what you’ve done,” she told him, coldly. “If Gandalf returns it, I want you to let Dwalin destroy it.” 

“Destroy the Arkenstone…” Thorin muttered, his eyes dark. “After all this.”

“Thorin, either it stays here, destroyed, or Gandalf takes it,” Faëlisse said, stepping back further, clenching her sword tightly. “And me with it.”

“And us,” Kili and Fili murmured, behind her. “There is no point having this mountain if you would handle the throne the same way it was handled when it was lost.” Thorin looked up at them, the darkness fading from him, as he stared around at the agreeing faces. 

“Thorin,” she whispered, tears clinging to her cheeks. “Please. I don’t want to do this without you.” He stepped towards her, instinctively, but she only drew her blade, holding it between them, shakily. The room held its breath, even as Dain pressed his own blade on Faëlisse’s, lowering them both, slowly, he made no move to prevent her from lifting it again.

“The Arkenstone has done Erebor no good, cousin,” he advised, from his seat. “A Queen would.”

“Dwalin, destroy it,” Thorin commanded, eventually, nodding to Dwalin. The warrior stood, and Gandalf handed him the stone, and he disappeared from the room. Thorin took a seat, sighing deeply. 

“You have to see what it does to you, Thorin,” Faëlisse breathed, sheathing her sword again. “Gold sickness changes you, and that Arkenstone is the source of it. Erebor cannot have a king who will not spend even a single coin in his management of the kingdom.”

“I am not my grandfather,” he ground out, glaring up at her. 

“Then don’t act like him, Thorin!” She raised her voice, gesturing at him. “You sat in your throne room for weeks refusing us any rest as we searched for your precious Arkenstone. You almost killed my cousin and me. You left Kili and Fili in Laketown alone! He would have died if it wasn’t for Tauriel and me! And you left! You walked out Bard’s door as if he was nothing to you, not the precious nephew who’s photo you wear on that chain! If you are not your grandfather then do not act like him!” She stormed out of the room, her footsteps silent even in her rage, brushing off Elrond and Lindir as they reached for her, as Elladan held Estel back.

“Don’t you dare follow her,” Fili growled, matching his uncle’s movements as they stood. “You haven’t the right to see her after whatever that just was.”

Dwalin re-entered, the shards of silver stone gripped tightly in his palm.

“Give them to Gandalf,” Thorin commanded, a sudden wave of inspiration washing over him. “They will be set into gifts for our allies.” The room stared at him, as though he had gone even more insane. “I cannot have it’s remains in my kingdom, I have proven that well enough.”

———————

“Irak’amad!” Kili called out to her, practically bouncing up with his brother, weeks later. Elrond had left almost two weeks ago, taking Estel with him – though he assured her it was temporary – and all their injuries were almost completely healed. Quessë had returned, and remained happily on her shoulder wherever she went. Balin followed more slowly after the brothers.

“Aiwë, Raurion,” she answered, happily. “What are these?”

“Crowns!” Kili answered, eagerly, passing her an intricate silver piece, inlaid with the glimmering white stone. “The silver will be for King Thranduil,” Fili elaborated, holding up two more similar crowns, “The gold for King Bard and the copper for King Dain.”

“And the ring is for Lord Elrond,” Kili added. “They’re made from the Arkenstone.” She almost dropped the crown she was holding, looking up at them both.

“Your uncle is intending to give part of the Arkenstone to Thranduil?” she questioned, incredulously. 

“It seems so,” Balin nodded, almost as disbelievingly as her. 

“And…he – and we – had a request,” Fili continued, nervously.

“Indeed?” she asked, suspiciously.

“Well, Thorin cannot go himself,” Balin started, and she nodded, realisation sinking in.

“I would be happy to accompany the princes,” she assured him, happily, ruffling Kili’s hair.

“He was hoping you would accompany them as regent of the crown,” Balin clarified, her face immediately falling. “Kili is travelling to Mirkwood with the intention not only of passing on the gift, but with a proposal for the Captain of the Guard.” Her face brightened immediately, and she grinned.

“Can Fili not be the ambassador to the crown?” she asked, despite her smile. 

“Well, I can, but…” Fili conceded, almost pouting.

“But you’re proposing this to me for Thorin,” she finished, shaking her head at him, and ruffling his hair. “I will discuss this with him.” She placed a kiss on Fili’s golden brow, and on Kili’s. “Will you accompany me, Balin?”

“It would be an honour,” Balin replied, laughing a little, as the two set off towards the throne room, gathering the jewels from the princes’ hands.

“Thorin,” she greeted him, warmly, placing a gently kiss on his cheek. “I see you have been busy.” 

“I needed to get rid of the Arkenstone, and it seemed only fitting that it finally did some good for the kingdom it has done so much harm to,” he nodded, as Balin returned the precious pieces to their proper places.

“I also heard you wanted a second regent of the crown on the trip,” she added, as Thorin took a seat beside her on the steps leading to the throne. Balin hurried to excuse himself, and vanished from the room, with the quiet thump of the door to the throne room.

“Ah, yes,” he murmured, thoughtfully, “I would��appreciate such.” “And you truly think I would be the most appropriate candidate?” she queried, looking him directly in the eye.

“No one, except perhaps Balin, matches your diplomatic skill,” Thorin agreed, maintaining her gaze. “And…well…if you were to accept my proposal, it is only appropriate for the Queen of Erebor to lead the journey to our closest allies.”

“That is a rather roundabout way of asking me to court you, my King,” she smirked, widely. 

“And that’s a rather roundabout answer,” he snarked back, pulling out a small box, revealing a silver bead, with a tiny, darkly pigmented carving of an owl, and a ring of entwined strands of silver and gold, embedded with a delicate emerald. “Will you accept my offer of courtship, and take your place as Queen Under the Mountain?”

“Of course,” she smiled, pulling out a tiny box of her own. “If you will take me.” Her silver bead was intricately decorated with a longsword through a crown, and the ring was wide and flat, with a small sapphire embedded in the eye of the crow carved upon it.

“Uncle! Did you know Faëlisse was courting someone?” Fili scrambled into the room, with Kili on his heels. 

“She’s got a new braid, and a ring. This must’ve been going on for a while!” Kili continued, outraged. “How did we not know?” “Boys!” Faëlisse shouted, following them in, casting an apologetic smile to the confused company.

“No, no, this is interesting,” Bofur interrupted her attempt to pull them from the room. “Who’s the lucky man?” Ballin shook his head, as the rest of the company stared, accusingly at her.

“Are Kili and Fili the only people in this mountain who have eyes?” she asked, folding her arms. “Why am I not allowed to braid my hair and wear a ring, but Thorin is?” 

“If Uncle had a new braid, we’d – Wait!” The brothers turned on their uncle, looking him up and down with a scrutinising eye. Dwalin picked up Thorin’s left hand, and waved it in the air, the new ring glinting.

“You!” Kili bellowed, accusatorially. “You’re who Faëlisse is courting! And she gave you a ring as well! Is that an elven thing?” 

“Oh, Mahal,” Thorin groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Who else would it be?” Faëlisse questioned, suddenly incredulous. “I didn’t think you were actually asking. You two have been trying to pair us up for a year and suddenly you’re ready to believe I’m courting someone else?” Fili opened his mouth, but closed it again, and they both folded their arms, pouting, as she burst out laughing.

“Well, now that that mystery is solved,” Dwalin huffed, though he couldn’t hide his grin, “Back to business?”

———————

“King Bard,” Faëlisse smiled, embracing the man warmly. His children raced over, clustering around her, clamouring for attention. “Hello Sigrid, Bain.” She scooped Tilda up, scrunching the small girls nose, as Bain showed off his new sword. “We have a gift for you, from Erebor.” Fili laughed at her, as she struggled to pull the crown out singlehandedly, and took it himself, handing it over to Bard.

“Thank you,” the king acknowledged, carefully unwrapping the package.

“It was forged by our Uncle himself,” Kili informed him, happily, “From the shards of the Arkenstone, and the first gold mined in Erebor since our return.” 

“I am honoured,” Bard smiled, as Bain immediately snatched the crown from him, handing it to Sigrid.

“Put it on him, put it on him,” he demanded, grinning at his older sister. Sigrid laughed, lifting the crown above her father’s head, and resting it over his brow.

“Suits you,” Faëlisse laughed, spinning Tilda in the air, before landing her in her father’s arms. “But we must keep going. We need to reach Mirkwood before nightfall.”

“Good luck,” Bard called after them, as the children waved goodbye.

“Oh, wait! We forgot the coronation!” Kili exclaimed, turning them around. “Your official invitation.” He handed over the small envelope. “The children are welcome too, of course.” 

“My Prince,” she greeted Legolas, still astride her horse, “We bring a gift and proposition from Erebor.” He looked her up and down, suspiciously, but nodded, and she dismounted, gesturing to the others to do so also. Legolas’ guards led the horses away, while he led the envoy deeper into the realm, sending a messenger rushing ahead.

“King Thranduil will see you right away,” the messenger told them, greeting them at the door. “This way, please.” They entered the hall, familiarity washing over them, as Thranduil stared down at them from his throne.

“Faëlisse,” he greeted, warmly, the two exchanging kisses on one another’s cheeks. She had saved him in the Battle of Five Armies, and Elrond’s insistence had helped to mend the bonds between them.

“Thranduil,” she smiled, happily. “You know Prince Kili, and Crown Prince Fili.” The two princes stepped forward, and exchanged greetings with the taller elven king.

“Such a delegation cannot be here on a social visit,” he queried, leading them into a conference room and offering them seats.

“And we are not,” Faëlisse agreed, withdrawing the wrapped crown from her pack. “We are here to offer a gift to consolidate connections between Erebor and Mirkwood, as well as your official invitation to the coronation of the royal family.” 

“And?” Thranduil questioned, knowingly, his eyes tracing over Kili, who hadn’t stopped looking around since he had arrived.

“We have a proposal for my dear friend Tauriel,” she confirmed, nodding. Thranduil nodded, gratefully receiving the wrapped package. He unwrapped it, carefully, revealing the glinting silver and stones.

“The Arkenstone?” he asked, placing it gently on the table.

“My uncle thought it suitable for the jewel to be shared among our closest allies,” Fili piped up, his first words since he had greeted the king.

“I appreciate it,” Thranduil smiled, warmly, and Faëlisse grinned. A knock at the door interrupted any response, and Thranduil called for it to open. 

“Tauriel!” Faëlisse beat even Kili in greeting the Captain of the Guard, wrapping her friend in a warm embrace.

“Faë,” Tauriel greeted, “Prince Fili, Kili. How may I be of service, my King?”

“The delegates of Erebor have a proposal for you, Captain,” Thranduil replied, causing Tauriel to look back at them, querulously. Immediately, Fili and Faëlisse stepped back, pushing Kili forward. The dark-haired dwarf was almost trembling as he stood before her. 

“Tauriel, would you do me the honour,” he paused, retrieving a small box from his pocket, “Of accepting my offer of courtship?” Tauriel glanced between the faces in the room, but Thranduil merely nodded to her.

“Yes!” She resisted the urge to squeal. “Yes, I will, Kili. I will.”

“Now, I hate to interrupt,” Faëlisse interrupted, stepping forward before Kili could offer the gifts. “But it is my responsibility as regent of the king to inform you that accepting this courtship also means accepting the responsibility of a Princess of Erebor.” Tauriel nodded, looking her old friend in the eye.

“I accept,” she murmured, and Faëlisse squealed, bouncing back out of the way, and allowing Kili to offer his ring and bead. 

[blissfullyshipping]

The Drawbacks of Protection (Thorin x Reader) - Pt2

Requested by @deepestfirefun : You’re a human girl (surprisingly small one) and Thorin´s One who is fiercely protective of you as are also Dwalin, Fili, and Kili, because of the fact that dwarves find their Ones very rarely these days and when they do, they don´t stop at anything to keep their companion safe and you have been with them from the beginning. So when there seems to be a murderer among the dwarves in Erebor that almost manages to kill you by shooting an arrow at your side, Thorin and his company´s rage is blown out of scale, especially Thorin who will make the culprit to pay what he tried to do.

Fandom: The hobbit (Thorin x Reader)

Genre: angst?

Warnings: mentions of death, fighting

A/N: Finally I can post this! I can’t write a fic that has 2 parts, apparently. So a part 3 will be out soon. I liked the idea the p1 is the readers POV, p2 is Thorin’s POV and p3 will be both of them together. 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

“It's all my fault.” Thorin whispers to himself as he paces the corridor outside your room. The nurses shooed him out as Gandalf takes in your limp body

Nothing is certain.

He could lose you before Gandalf can even try to help you or the wizard might no be able to save you. Instead, all Thorin can do is wait. Wait for someone to tell him the fate of his One.

He should've told you. He should've told you that the murderer was coming after you. That he left messages after each guard was slaughtered. Messages that threatened your life. They hated that their Queen is a human, and he should've told you.

But he didn't, and now you reap the consequences of his so called ‘protection’.

“I know this isn’t the best time Thorin,” Dwalin says softly as he approaches his king. “But the uh- dead prisoner. What should we do with him?” He stumbles with his words, being careful not to cause any more grief to his friend.

Thorin made sure the council was busy. He knows how protective the company is of you, and gave them all jobs to do in an attempt to keep their minds off the impending wait on their Queen’s health. And whilst he was protecting his companions, Thorin was deliberately leaving himself to wallow in the guilt.

“Decapitate him. I want his head on a spike outside the mountain, for everyone to see.” He orders coldly, a snarl taking over his saddened features. If these traitors have any followers Thorin will make sure they get his message. “Keep the other one in the dungeons. I’ll deal with him myself.”  

As Dwalin leaves, Thorin ceases his pacing, listening intently to the mutterings of spells and the shuffling of nurses. When he hears your screams of agony and cries of pain he crumples to the floor.

And then there’s silence. Thorin doesn't know which is is worse. Hearing your cries or listening to complete silence. Flashbacks of your lifeless body in his arms haunts him, and he can't help but think of the worst outcomes.

After what seems like hours the door finally opens and a small dwarrowdam comes out. Immediately Thorin scrambles to his feet, desperate to know what has happened.

“She's alive.” The doctor smiles softly, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Thorin sighs in relief, his eyes stinging at the news. You're alive. “You can go in to see her but she is resting for the time being. Mr Gandalf managed to save her but he fainted soon after.”

Thorin knows he will forever be indebted to his old friend after the countless of times he has saved his kin.

Hesitantly opening the door, Thorin enters the room for the first time. A group of nurses cleaning up as he makes his way to your bed.  

When he gazes upon your sunken, pale face Thorin’s heart fills with dread. You might as well be dead. He takes your frail hand into his, feeling guilty as it sits limply. Your hair sticks to your forehead, drenched in sweat, and when he pushes the hair away Thorin flinches at your lack of warmth.

It's all my fault. He thinks as he sees you tremble in pain in your sleep, his eyes brimming with tears. He can't bare to sit and watch you suffer because of his actions. Furiously, he storms out of the room heading to the dungeons with a newfound determination.

Ignoring, the looks of pity from the guards he goes straight for the traitors cell and doesn't hesitate opening it up and grabbing the prisoner, slamming him against the stone wall.

“WHY! WHY HER?! SHE DID NOTHING WRONG!” He screams into his face. All the guilt, anger and frustration needs to be released. Thorin feels sick to the stomach when he sees the prisoner smile crookedly.

“She's human Thorin.” His expression turning sour, leaning in slightly, he continues “It's what she deserves.” He whispers into the King's ear.

And that's all Thorin needs to hear. Pushing the traitor to the ground he slams his fist into his face repeatedly. Blinded by his anger Thorin flows into a rhythm. He hears the cries and the breaking of bones, but this just keeps him going.

The stinging in his knuckles reminds him that he is also responsible for your state.

“Thorin!” Dwalin and Balin appear behind him, grabbing his bloody hands and pulling him away from the mutilated dwarf. Thorin shakes his head, thrashing in his friends arms as they drag him back to his chambers.

When they enter his chambers, Thorin breaks down. Collapsing into the arms of the two brothers, his sobs soak their tunics as they try to console their King.

“It’s all my fault “ Balin hears him whisper. Balin hasn’t seen Thorin cry this much since he held the King when he was grief-stricken after Frerin’s death.

“It’s not your fault! It wasn't you who murdered guards just to get closer to her. It wasn't you who left threats to her life!” Dwalin cries, frustrated at the guilt Thorin wrongly feels.

“It’s my duty to protect her, and I couldn’t even do that.”

“Son, in that case we all failed. You know how protective the company is over Y/N, no one would want anything bad to come to her. Yet it still happened. You were trying to protect your One, just like we were trying to protect our Queen.” Balin replies calmly, easing the tension in the room.

A timid knock on the door captures their attention. The same doctor comes in wary of the tear-stained King. “Queen Y/N is awake Sir. She’s requesting your presence.” She says and leaves after being dismissed by Balin.

“I can’t go.”

“You can Thorin, she’s calling for you.” Balin says softly.

“How can I look her in the eyes, knowing I could’ve stopped this from happening. How can I face her after not being able to protect her?!” He yells, shaking his head, refusing to go.

“You act as if she’s dead Thorin.” Dwalin hisses. As much as he cares for Thorin, he hates how much he is blaming himself. The guilt slowly turning to victimisation. “She’s alive, your One is calling for you Thorin. Don’t forget that she is hurting more than you are. Go to Y/N, look after her. Learn from your mistakes. But for Mahal’s sake Thorin don’t push her away when she needs you the most.”

Yet again Dwalin was lifting the wool from Thorin’s eyes. Pushing away the guilt, Thorin stands up ready to put aside his own conflict and tend to your every need, like a husband should. Thorin swears to the Valar that he will be by your side to fix whatever he broke.

Taglist: @letsbeinspiredby @tschrist1 @red608 @sacredburial24 @j25m18c24

[catbowserauthor]

Hobbit Story: Calling in a King's Favor: 2

            Fili caught up to the orc before too long. He wasn’t well fed, despite his size and the battle had left him with some deep wounds. Plus, Fili had come to know these lands so pushing him to an area of land with deep pits and a not quite so frozen water crossing was easier than he had planned. One orc was not about to sacrifice himself needlessly. For all their horrific appearance, the real threat of orcs was their sheer numbers. One on one, a dwarf could easily fall a well-trained black creature. Fili was more than average in sword skill and this orc was obviously more accustomed to a crossbow or another distance weapon. The shape of the muscles in his arms gave away that. All the same, it was important not to be come complicant. Thorin had taught them well that it was overconfidence that killed more of their people than all other causes combined.

            “What are Orcs doing in Erebor’s lands?” Fili finally stated, both swords held upright and threatening. “Your kind is not welcomed here.”

            He didn’t get a response but then, he really didn’t expect one. It wasn’t like their enemies routinely spouted off all their information. He gave the dwarf prince a hiss and bared his pointed yellow teeth instead, along with a word in Black Speech that the Prince was fairly certain was not of a complimentary nature. He approached, side-stepping, to get as close as he could without lowering his own guard. It was a hard situation. Openings were hard to keep closed when there was just one of you! Where was—

            The arrow swishing by his ear and embedding itself directly in the orc’s knee, driving him to the ground, gave Fili his answer. It didn’t take long before his dark haired sibling had taken up stance next to him, another arrow already cocked in his bow, string pulled taut. “You’d best answer us, Mordor Filth.” The younger Prince had never been very diplomatic but in this case, his threats were well deserved. Fili saw the harsh anger in his brother’s eyes and was glad he’d opted to grab his bow and not the sword. An angry Kili made stupid mistakes with his blade. This close, the wind wasn’t so much an issue (he could tell his brother had not been aiming for the knee) though the slowly gathering snow might be before too long.

            Again, silence, answered their demands. The orc was certainly more nervous now though.

            Fili spoke again, “If you’re not going to give us answers then you have no good reason for trespassing in our lands. I doubt I need to tell you that such an action carries a death sentence.”

            Kili angled his bow up, just slightly, “Just give the word, Brother.” He spat. “I’d love an excuse to harpoon his head.”

            Fili paused, gave his brother a ‘wait a moment’ look. After growing up together, they had perfected communicating with no words. While Kili’s face was still contorted with rage, he kept his grip firm on the arrow.

            The standoff lasted only about another three minutes when the orc decided to try and make a move. Tossing his black mace at the two princes, he ducked and attempted to run to the left. He’d underestimated the battle prowess of the young princes.

            Fili caught the swung weapon with his left hand, dropping his own sword and in the same instant, Kili’s arrow left its string, perfectly aimed to skid just past his brother’s nose without cutting him in the least. A twang, a cutting of air and the orc fell to the ground, cold as the gathering snow about them. A clean shot, from the base of the skull to the front of the head.

            “Nice shot,” Fili remarked, dropping the heavy mace, grimacing as he wiped the sweat and grime off on his pants. He could not wait to get home and drench himself in a hot bath. Small as it might be, any residue of orc was stomach turning. He lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder, both out of respect and out of a slightly sadistic sense of if he had to suffer orc slime, so should his brother. His sibling gave a half-smile, half-scowl.

            “Thanks.” Kili adjusted his satchel closer to his body, supporting the bottom with one hand. “Whatta you think? Spy?”

            “No.” Fili remarked and kicked the orc over, looking for some sign. “Don’t think so. Scouting maybe? Though, from where, I’m not sure.” He pointed to the orc’s clothing. “I don’t know these patterns. Not from the mountains.”

            “Balin might know. Or Uncle. Take a piece of it back.” Kili suggested and then shifted his weight, cradling the satchel closer to his body for the second time. Fili took a second look and noted that the satchel was much plumper and rounded than before. Certainly not from the weight of all their scrolls and maps.

            “Kili.” He said pointedly as he took the orc’s patterned belt into his hand, cursing the filth of Mordor under his breath, “What did you do?”

            The younger dwarf grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, Brother. When I was headin’ after you, I tripped and I almost squashed them.”

            “Them?”

            Kili lifted the flap of the satchel and first a black furred then a white-gold colored head popped up, ears alert and noses sniffing.

            Wolf pups. Two of them.

            “Kili, what are you doing?” Fili stated, though he found himself kneeling over and scratching the dark furred one behind the ear. It was small, black as night, with deep brown eyes and a coal black nose. It lifted its ears, slightly, head tilted and responded to the kind gesture of affection with a half whine and a limp lick to the dwarf prince’s hand. They were young, from the looks of it. Not quite young enough to be on milk but young enough. Wolves around the Misty Mountains had pups year round but it was odd to see them so far from a range or forest. “They were with the dead wolf?”

            “No,” Kili remarked, rolling his eyes, “They fell out of the sky with a litter of kittens.”

            Fili set his brother with a glare though he supposed that had been a stupid question.

            “Yeah, they were under the wolf. Looks like there used to be five pups. But those damned orcs…ate the others.” He looked sick to his stomach. “These two musta hid or been under the mother or something because they weren’t touched. They came out when the orcs took off and tripped me. I almost fell on them.” Eyes soft, Kili reached down and stroked the head of the golden furred wolf that leaned into his touch. “So, I wasn’t gonna just leave them there, Fili.” Glancing skyward, he observing the cold onset of snow and he set a firm look on his sibling. “And I won’t just leave them here either.”

            Raising a brow, Fili inquired “So, what do you plan to do? Take them home to Erebor?” Judging by his brother’s determined face, Fili was well aware that such a task was exactly what he planned to do. Why? They both knew that their uncle would absolutely forbid it. Erebor, while stable, was still in the process of being rebuilt. The cold winter months were approaching. Two extra mouths to feed, and ones that may not yet be strong enough to take meat or even milk without aid, were not what their kingdom needed right now.

            Though, the golden haired prince would be a liar if he said the dark furred one was not intriguing him and if he said that he was not trying to brainstorm solutions that would allow them to harbor these pups, he would also be in denial.

            “Well, you did almost convince Uncle when we were kids, remember? If Ma hadn’t come home, Uncle would have said yes to that wolf pup.” Kili remembered that moment with immense clarity. Their mother’s refusal to let them keep the brown furred creature when Thorin had been mere minutes away from saying yes had broken Kili’s heart. It was the only time he remembered screaming at his mother about how mean she was and storming into his room in tears. While he had apologized later for screaming at her, he had refused to speak to her otherwise for nearly three days. Now, with a similar situation at hand but without his mother yet arrived, he may have been a bit conniving to take advantage of it but he could hardly help it. “You remember that, right?”

            “Aye, of course I do.” Fili smirked. “You were a little brat for several days.”

            Pouting indignantly, Kili retorted, “Had right to be. Ma was being unfair.” Reaching into his satchel, Kili pulled the golden furred pup up into his arms and without prompting, Fili did the same with the dark furred one. “See? They like us.” He added “And they look like us! This one is a wolf-you and that one is a wolf me!”

“Just what I need…a version of you with sharp teeth,” Fili snorted though not without a smile.

Sticking out his tongue playfully, Kili shifted, lifting the small canine up to his shoulder, as if he were a baby dwarfling, Fili could see the golden coloring among the white fur, circling the pup’s face and trailing down his back in parallel lines. He supposed if he were to have a wolf form, it likely would have been similar to that. “It reminds me of that special gold Uncle used to talk about…” Kili went on, supporting the pup under the tail which was swishing happily back and forth. “What did Uncle call it?”

            “Fire-Gold.” Fili supplied. “Ma has a necklace made of it.”

            “That’d be a good name for you,” Kili stated to the wolf child. “Firegold!”

            His answer was a yelping sound and a tiny tongue caressing his nose. Smiling, Kili nuzzled the pup’s nose back.

            Sighing heavily, Fili’s thoughts were interrupted by a soft paw padding up at his face. Centering his sight on the pup, he couldn’t stop a similar grin from crossing his own face. The pup was smaller than the other one with dark black fur but brown coloring about the face. Eyes dark as chocolate gazed out at him and the creature gently batted at his face again with their paws, letting out a pathetic whine at the same moment. Fili relented, adjusted his grip on the pup and gently stroked its head. He was rewarded with a soft whimper of pleasure.

            “Come on, Fili.” Kili practically pleaded. “They love us, see?”

            Fili’s heart felt heavy and the longer he both looked at Kili and held this wolf in his arms, he felt that he would hardly be able to release them into the cold of the elements. He would never be able to do it. Not with the way the creature was looking at him, not with the way his brother was laughing so joyfully at the tiny pup’s affections, and not with the pitiful whining the dark furred one in his arms was emitting as it nuzzled its small head up under his chin, seeking comfort in the warmth of his furs and leather.

            Surrendering to the inevitable, Fili pulled the flap of his jacket over the creature and looking up at his brother, the heir of Erebor advised “I’m not the one we have to convince, Little Brother.”

[rattyoakenbitch]

The Hobbit: Fili Imagine “Hold Me”

Warnings: Dark thoughts, suicidal thoughts, breakdowns, graphic depictions of gore, angst, PTSD, fluff.

Word count: N/A

Pairings: Fili x Dunedain/human reader

Note: if you’re sensitive to the warnings above, don’t read!

Summary: You’ve been picked to be the 14th member of The Company. Since your age was closest to The Durin Brothers, you’ve been spending most of your time with them. Especially Fili, who you immediately clicked with from the start. One night, something triggers you, causing you to breakdown. Fili finds you and comforts you, spending the rest of the night beside you.

Blood. Ash. Fire. Smoke.

It’s all that filled your senses.

Children’s endless screaming for their mother.

Your screams were among them. You would have thought that you’d lose your voice after all your ear-piercing shrieks. No, just your mind.

At the young age of sixteen, the small town you & your family resided in was raided  by Orcs. Though it was tragic, it was very common, as it happened to you again, barely a year after.  While you got caught in your thoughts, distant screeches snapped you back to reality. It didn’t take long to realize it was Orcs. Possibly even a raid.  Thorin instantly shot up, searching for the source of the noise, while Bilbo emerged from his hiding spot behind his pony, clearly concerned.

“Um, what was that?” 

“Orcs.” 

“What?”

“Throatcutters,” Fili said all too casually. “There’ll be dozens of them out there.”

“They strike in the wee, small hours when everyone’s asleep. Quick and quiet. No screams. Just lots of blood.” With that, you winced as the memories kept replaying in your head. The images of dark, nearly black, gooey blood splat all across the floor. The disfigured faces of the Orcs, laughing as they went about on their killing spree.  Over and over. 

You didn’t even realize your breathing got heavier until Fili pointed it out. “Y/N, are you all right--?” He hesitantly asked, hoping you wouldn’t snap. You’ve failed to mention that you’d often have mood swings, sometimes even scaring Thorin which was rare. But The Company was understanding, as one time, you’ve shared a small detail about what you’ve gone through. They easily pieced it together and figured your capricious personality was linked with your scarring encounters. 

Deciding you didn’t want to completely break down in front of the whole Company, you stormed off into a farther area. As soon as you were fairly distanced, you dropped down onto the cold, dirt ground and started to sob. Your chest felt tighter by the second, your head was throbbing, and your eyes stung from the hot & salty tears that streamed down your cheeks.  You didn’t, and you couldn’t stop them. You had no control over your body or mind, anymore. You felt so helpless. Enslaved to the past.

“Y/N!” You recognized that voice from anywhere. When you didn’t respond, Fili called your name again, trying to find you through the gloomy fog. He eventually found you propped up against a tree, sobbing into your shoulders. He fell beside you, reaching out to pull you to him, but as soon as his skin came in contact with yours, you let out a short whimper and backed away, startled by the touch. Despite you being afraid, he was persistent. You flinched, thinking he was going to hurt you. Instead, he pulled your body to his, holding you in a tight embrace.

You cried into his chest for what felt like forever, yet he never left you. “Please, kill me,” you begged. He was taken back at the words.

“Y/N..” he trailed off, not knowing exactly how to respond. 

“Fili, I’m telling you, just end me right here and now,” you continued to bawl. “I can’t take it anymore.” He held you even tighter, rubbing his hands up and down your back comfortingly. 

“Hey, hey,” he attempted to calm you down. “Deep breaths, okay? Don’t think like that. For me.” Tears still prickled in your eyes, but you were finally in a more sensible state. You realized what had just happened.

“Oh, gods. Fili, I’m so sorry,” you panicked. “I didn’t know what I was saying! I-” He quickly shushed you, keeping you from rambling any further.

“Y/N, it’s all right. Just calm down and catch your breath.” You did as he said, slowly regaining your composure. “Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head. 

“I just want to sleep..”

He sucked in a deep breath, “Is there anything I can do?”

Hesitantly, you spoke. “C-Can you just hold me tonight?” Grasping what you’d said, your cheeks flushed.

“I mean, if it’s not too much to ask. I-I can manag-”

He let out a small, short chuckle. His pale cheeks went red as well.

“Of course, Y/N. Come on,” he said, picking you up bridal style before you could protest. You, Kili, & Fili would play around. They treated you like a child and picked you up a lot (considering you were nearly their height) to prove their point, which resulted in them being kicked and pushed over.  This time you didn’t struggle, as Fili held you warmly against him. You found comfort and feelings you’ve never felt before just by being near him. He carried you back to camp, where everybody but Kili, Gandalf & Balin were awake. Kili was about to make a snarky remark, but Fili put a finger over his lips and sent Kili a certain look as if to tell him to hold it back this time.  Carefully, Fili laid you down on your bedroll.

“Wait here,” he said, before going back to fetch his own. He came back and laid his bedroll beside yours, joining you to sleep. Your back was pressed against his chest, while his arms were wrapped around you securely.

You felt yourself drift to sleep. Before you completely dozed off, you whispered to Fili, “Thank you for doing this.”

“Sleep, amralime, (my love)”  The last thing he did was kiss the top of your head before you passed out.

[leah-halliwell92]

In the Dungeons

Summary: In the dungeons Hartha fills the company in on her talk with the Elf King and to her surprise is greeted with cheers at the way she had dealt with him. Balin of course knowing better knew that some sort of deal would need to be struck in order for them to be set free. Hartha and Bilbo have other ideas.

The guards escorting her to the dungeons were more than a littler weary of her so kept their distance as they took her to her cell. Her heart leapt as she passed Thorin’s cell and to the cell right by his.

Thorin seemed to be one with the cell bars by how hard he was pressing himself to them.

Hartha offered her hands to one of the guards. The guard removed the shackles on her wrists as the other opened the cell, both looking more than a bit weary.

Rubbing her wrists Hartha stepped into the cell quietly and was rather surprised the dwarves remained quiet during the exchange but coudn’t be more relieved at their silence.

The group remained quiet waiting for the guards to leave.

”Did they hurt you lass?” Dwalin asked quietly.

Hartha grinned to herself as she sat on the sleeping palette near the far corner cell with the blanket atop her legs.

”I’m fine Dwalin they didn’t hurt me,” she said as she pulled her legs to her chest and leaned closer to the wall that separated her cell from Thorin’s.

”And the king?” Thorin asked his voice oddly free of emotion.

Hartha pressed her temple to the wall and in the same quiet voice said, “No...any hurt he could have caused is already done. He killed my father after all.”

She heard the grumbling of the company and caught on to some of the not so nice words they were calling the Elf King for the pain he has not only caused them but her as well.

This touched Hartha. They truly do consider her to be a part of the company...

”He will most likely want to speak to you Thorin. Kindly tell him to piss off,” she said a note of satisfaction in her voice as she said this.

Thorin gave a deep chuckle and Hartha could have sworn she felt it through the wall.

Thorin unbeknownst to her, was sitting in the exact same place as her with his temple to the wall as if both their bodies were longing to hold the other.

Hartha looked to Balin’s cell her eyes holding the silent question of where Thorin is sitting.

A quiet nod from him confirmed that yes...Thorin is very much sitting beside her.

She wanted to laugh at the unfairness of it all. She an elf in love with a Dwarf King.

’Do not despair my child. Love always finds a way,’ she heard a warm whisper in her mind.

’He will never love me grandmother. An embrace is all I will ever have gotten from him and he will never know how much that simple gesture means to me,’ She thought back mournfully.

Time seemed to trickle by slowly as the stars shown from above.

Hartha wanted to laugh at the unfairness of it all again as the Captain of his Majesty’s guard trapped the heart of Kíli. What nearly broke her was the fact that she seemed as smitten with the Dwarven Prince as he is with her.

Balin heard the whispered talk and looked to Hartha. He was stricken when he saw the tears falling from her eyes.

‘She will die before she even has the chance to tell him she loves him at this rate,’ he thought mournfully.

Thorin was nodding off when front he cell beside him he heard her sing.

“When you try your best but you don't succeed When you get what you want but not what you need When you feel so tired but you can't sleep Stuck in reverse

When the tears come streaming down your face When you lose something you can't replace When you love someone but it goes to waste Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you.”

”What do you sing?” He asked Hartha curiously.

Hartha grinned blankly and said, “It’s the song of a one sided love. It holds a different meaning for everyone, in this case to me it means to love someone but not being able to to anything about it should that love interest not share those feelings.”

Thorin tilted his head at the wall to where he thought hers was and asked, “Is there someone in particular you are singing this song to?”

Balin (and pretty much all the company) froze at the question.

Dwalin and Bofur waited on baited breath to see what her answer would be though fearful of what the admittance would do to her.

Hartha swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to keep the tears from her voice when she said, “Yes.”

Balin saw the hazel brown-green eyes dim slightly.

“High up above or down below When you're too in love to let it go If you never try you'll never know Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you.”

”Will you not tell him how you feel?” Thorin asked quietly.

Hartha couldn’t help the harsh laugh that fell from her lips at the question.

Dwalin, Balin and Bofur all flinched at the coldness of it and frowned.

”He’d never love me,” she said resignation in her voice, “...not ever.”

”You’ll never know if you don’t tell him,” Thorin said his voice filled with an emotion she couldn’t identify, “Why do you believe he will not love you?”

“Because I am an Elf and he is not,” She said simply.

”What difference would that make unless–“

”Unless he is a Dwarf,” Hartha finished for him.

”Is it one of us?” He asked quietly his voice slowly hardening with anger.

“Tears stream down your face When you lose something you cannot replace Tears stream down your face And I

Tears stream down your face I promise you I will learn from all my mistakes Tears stream down your face And I

Lights will guide you home And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you.”

”Whom of you is cruel enough to turn her love away!? Who!?” Thorin bellowed at his company from his cell.

Dwalin, Balin and Bofur looked on at their friend with sorrow as she dissolved into sobs.

”Hartha...will you not tell him who?” Thorin pleaded.

Hartha crawled to the cage and pulled a pin from her hair. With deft fingers Hartha undid the lock from her cell and as quietly as she could did the same for Thorin.

Thorin stood as he heard his cell door open and nearly gasped at the state their Elf was in. He did not expect her to get on her knees before him and press a kiss to his lips with a quiet, “You,” falling from her lips.

Thorin froze at the touch of her lips.

’She is my One,’ he thought in awe.

Hartha pulled back and sat on her heels as she waited for his response.

’Please, say something...anything,’ she thought as she stared at her hands on her lap.

Tears fell as nothing came.

’No...,’ she thought as her heart broke.

”Oh my,” Balin whispered to himself as he saw her crumble.

Hartha stood and gave Thorin a respectful bow and quietly said, ”I’ll leave the cell unlocked but closed in case any of the guards make their rounds. I’ll open the rest of the cells.”

Thorin seemed to snap from his haze as he saw her leave.

”Wait–“

”There’s no need for you to explain. I...expected this to be the result,” She said a painfully broken grin on her features.

Hartha made her way to Dwalin’s and unlocked his cell. Opening the cell bars Hartha fell in a heap in the embrace of the burly dwarf quiet sobs shacking her frame.

”He doesn’t...he doesn’t,” She stuttered quietly onto his shoulder as she cried.

Dwalin ran his fingers through the loose strands of her hair in an attempt to comfort her.

Having cried her full Hartha stood and made quick work of the other’s cells before scouting ahead to find an exit.

”Hartha!” She heard a whispered cry.

Turning she saw Bilbo coming from a shadowed alcove.

Looking around Hartha went to the Hobbit and enveloped him in a big hug.

“Careful Bilbo, these woods are not to be trusted even when inside the kingdom,” she said burying her pain for the moment and asking, “How did you evade the guards?”

Bilbo showed Hartha the ring and Hartha nearly crumbled as she recognized it.

Looking to Bilbo, he saw the look of fear on her normally confident features.

Putting it away he asked, “Why do you look as if you’ve seen a ghost?”

Hartha shook her head and said, “You know not what you carry. For now keep it to yourself until we leave. Then and only then will I explain.”

Bilbo nodded accepting her answer and went on to explain that there were no open pathways for them to quietly exit through unnoticed.

Hartha smirked at that and told him not to worry.

”One more thing you should do is try to sneak as much food as you can to the company. We are being fed but not much and if you can take as much lembas bread as you can it will come in handy,” she told him as she looked around.

Bilbo nodded and went on to do as requested silently asking himself what on Middle-Earth could his ring be to cause Hartha to look so frightened.

‘There is a hidden hallway to your left that will take you the armory,’ Galadriel said.

Nodding Hartha made her way through the hallway and retrieved as many of their weapons as she could.

Going back to the dungeons, Hartha gave the Ri’s and Ur’s their weapons giving careful instructions on how to hide them from the guards that are on patrol.

One by one Hartha gave her company their weapons back.

When the time came for her to give Thorin Orcrist, Hartha offered the bundled sword along with his quiver and bow her head bowed avoiding his gaze.

”Will you not look at me?” He asked softly.

Hartha shook her head and said, “I will not break my own heart further.”

Thorin took her hand as she moved to leave, “Will you not hear my piece?”

Hartha froze and let him turn her to him.

”I did not let–“

”His rather slow mind catch up to his brash mouth,” Balin ‘whispered’ knowing full well what would start to happen.

Hartha let a soft giggle escape and nearly laughed at the disgruntled look on Thorin’s face.

“Yes...that. But also I did not react as swiftly as I should have,” Thorin said a tender grin widening on hi handsome features.

Before he could say more Hartha heard steps coming and told everyone to remain as they are in their cells to wait until their guard was done with his rounds.

Hartha was surprised to see that it wasn’t just a mere guard making his rounds but the one and only captain of the guard. She kept her gaze on the She-Elf and was surprised to see her stop in front of Kíli once again. She heard them talk about many things and was surprised to see the bond forming between them. As soon as the Feast Of Starlight was mentioned Hartha knew better timing could not have come at a better time. Bilbo, who was hiding with Bofur, caught on to what the maiden was thinking and nodded quietly before telling Bofur the new development.

Hartha was more than relieved when the Captain left giving them the proper moment to escape came.

Hartha through Galadriel’s instructions, helped them escape knowing full well she couldn’t navigate the halls alone. And even if there was another way she doubted it would save them from the winding rabbits of the river.

Tauriel saw what was happening when she passed through the cells to find them empty.

Hartha moved to the elf carefully mindful of her position under King Thranduil.

”Come with us,” Hartha said.

Tauriel looked curiously at Hartha.

Hartha looked to Kíli as an answer and would have laughed as he looked away from them a blush on his stubbly cheeks.

Tauriel grinned fondly at Kíli then looked to Hartha, “You love one of them.”

Hartha returned her grin in full and said, “As do you. And believe me when I say that the love is all too real. It burns and grows. As well as hurts when things are not said.”

Tauriel nodded and took a moment to think on her posibilites.

She knew there was nothing much keeping her in the wood. She also knew that Thranduil would rather end her than listen to any advice she has to offer even if it does concern the safety of his kingdom and others. She also knew that the love she holds for Kíli is not one of mere passing and is more than willing to take a chance on it.

Nodding Tauriel moved to the front.

Weaving them through the Kingdom, Tauriel made a split decision to pass through the armory for an extra set of bows, quivers and arrows for herself and Hartha before making guiding them throug an empty and rather abandoned looking corridor where a hidden exit took them to the woods once again.

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