#safe in Imladris au

[nighttimepatrons]

Erestor doing a silly little dance because he can, actually.

Don't interrupt him, he's doing the wave

[lathalea]

Congratulations on your followers! 🎉✨🧚🏼‍♀️ I am so happy to see you on my feed that I am not sure what I could even request… Would it be ok to request an Aragorn x reader ficlet with

26. Hurt/Comfort AU and 

5. “You did this for me?” (Maybe Aragorn got protective of the reader and she takes care of his wounds… just a little suggestion)

I am really not sure if I did this right and I apologize in advance if I did something wrong or made you uncomfortable. Thank you for doing this 💜 I hope you have a wonderful day Take care <3

Thank you so much and thank you for your wonderful ask! I hope you will enjoy the story I wrote for you... and I hope you don’t mind I tweaked your prompt a tiiiiiny bit ;)

The Golden Hour 

The sudden battle with the Ringwraiths at Amon Sûl took a toll on everyone. Frodo’s wound was serious — more serious than you have ever seen. It was a Morgul-blade, after all. The other Hobbits were shaken, but unscathed. What a relief. But then you noticed Aragorn clenching his left hand and giving out a slight hiss.

“You’re wounded!” Instantly, you recalled that he held that burning torch in this hand, attacking the wraiths with it mere moments ago.

“It’s nothing, my lady.” He shook his head and examined Frodo’s wound. “This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs elvish medicine.”

“Rivendell?” Your gaze met his. There was a frown on his handsome face when he nodded in agreement.

“We have no time to lose,” he said, looking at Frodo's pale face.

“I’ll take him there,” you stated. Your bay mare whinnied in agreement. It would not be your first race against death, and the Ranger knew it well.

After you placed Frodo safely before you, Aragorn gave your hand a squeeze.

“Ride with the grace of Valar.” He spoke with a glint in his eye.

The coarseness of his skin against yours made you tremble a little, and you looked away. You did not want him to read what hid in your eyes. He was the Strider, the legendary Ranger of the North, and you were… well, just you. A girl from nowhere — or everywhere. You met on the trail a couple of months ago and since then you travelled together. Both of you seemed to enjoy each other’s company. You exchanged tales by the fire, sang songs under the stars, or simply rode in silence, admiring the beauty of the landscape ahead of you. 

Then four hobbits joined you in Bree and from their whispered remarks you understood that the Strider was guiding them somewhere. Wandering hobbits were quite unusual, just like their mission had to be, but you never asked any questions. You understood they had their secrets, and you respected it. In the meantime, you scouted the area, took night watches together with Aragorn, and made sure that Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin were safe. Now, you were about to do it once again — for Frodo.

And so you rode like the wind, day and night, night and day, fleeing from the black shadows trying to catch up with you. But you and your mare were faster, leaving the dull thudding of their ghastly steeds’ hooves behind.

You crossed the fast-flowing waters of the river Bruinen with haste, and soon you found yourself in the Last Homely House, Lord Elrond’s domain. He was glad to see you in Imladris again and took care of the barely conscious Frodo right away. Elrond’s healing powers were legendary, so you were almost certain that he would succeed. And so he did.

A couple of days later Aragorn and the three hobbits arrived, exhausted and hungry. You could not help but notice how he held his left hand, fisted and close to his chest. There were deep shadows under his eyes.

“Let me see to your hand,” you said, closing the distance between you.

“The hobbits first,” he spoke quietly. You knew his face well by now; it was pale. Too pale for your liking.

That was when lady Arwen arrived, welcoming the new guests. As soon as you exchanged a glance with her, she swiftly moved towards Sam, Merry and Pippin.

“Welcome to Imladris, dear guests. May I offer you a place to rest and something to replenish your strength?” she spoke in her melodious voice, turning to the hobbits. Only then did Aragorn allow you to take him to his quarters.

You rolled up his left sleeve when he sat on his bed, and then you examined his arm. It looked like a large part of his hand and forearm was covered with burns, probably when one of the wraiths attempted his final attack, his robes on fire. You worked slowly, meticulously, and as gently as you could. At the end, you covered his skin with an elvish ointment given to you by lord Elrond and bandaged the worst-looking wounds. It would take some time, but you knew he would be fully healed. 

When you were done with your work, he was already asleep. The only thing you could do was to cover him with a blanket and leave him to rest.

***

A few days later you decided to take a walk in lord Elrond’s gardens. Whenever you visited Rivendell, you liked to stroll through this magical place, but this time you were not alone. On the path ahead of you, you saw a familiar figure bathed in the warm light of the evening sun.

“My lady,” the Ranger bowed his head and you saw how differently he looked from the man you had come to know on the road. Gone was the tiredness from his face and the grime from his clothes. Now, he wore green elvish robes, and his freshly washed hair softly fell onto his shoulders. In the golden light of the setting sun he looked more like a ruler of an ancient realm than a travelling swordsman.

“I have been looking for you,” he added. “I would like to thank you for what you did: for saving Frodo’s life, and with him, perhaps even something greater. And for caring for me when I needed it the most.”

“I haven’t done anything unusual. This is what one does when their travelling companions are in need. How is your arm doing today?” You glanced at his freshly bandaged arm.

“It is better, thanks to you.” A small smile appeared on his face, reaching the grey pools of his eyes. There was something in his gaze that made you smile back at him.

“Tomorrow I will have to leave Rivendell and continue my journey,” Aragorn continued. “It is a perilous one, and I do not know when or if I will return. I would like you to have this as a token of my appreciation. Something to remember me by, perhaps.”

“A necklace? Is that a mountain crystal? You made this for me?” you blinked in disbelief, looking at the crystal glinting golden in the sun, and at the elegantly interwoven leather straps that held it.

“I began making it on the road. They call this kind of crystal the elvenstone. May I?”

“Of course.” You bit your lower lip as Aragorn placed the necklace around your neck. He stood so close to you, you felt the warmth of his fingers brushing against the sides of your neck, and there was that smell of herbs, leather, and pipeweed, one that you could recognize even with your eyes closed.

“So very beautiful…” you whispered, touching the glistening crystal with your fingers.

“Very…” added Aragorn, but his eyes were set on your face. You swallowed.

“I will wear it every day with pride.” You heard yourself say. “But it will not remind me of you because I will be by your side.”

“But… My lady, the journey ahead of me is full of danger, I cannot…” He began, taking your hand in his.

“We have survived quite a few dangerous situations together, haven’t we? I believe we will survive a few more,” you smiled at him, finding golden sparks of sun among the grey clouds of Aragorn’s eyes.

“I believe we will,” your Ranger agreed and you knew that at dawn, you would be riding out from Imladris together.

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging 💙

➳➳➳ Here's the HUGE Celebration Masterlist! 💎

📜 Searching for more stories to read? Check out my masterlist!📜

[amid-ice-and-snow]

Elrohir & Nish

AU Verse/s: Becoming a parent & Elrohir stays behind This is just a generalised info. Things may alter depending on the RP. Thanks for @silvercrowned for helping to work parts of it out.

Elrohir had known for a long time that he wouldn't be travelling West when his twin did at the end of the war. Only his twin and Cirdan had been told; for his father was already dealing with the fact that Arwen had chosen a mortal life to be with Aragorn. After the Last Ship sailed from the Grey Havens, Elrohir returned to Imladris. His path would not lead him towards Valinor for another 2000 years, nor would it be smooth.

Although he travelled, it was only to places where his friends and family were living. He had been at Aragorn's side when his foster brother passed and later on, he kept Arwen company until she too had left the world. His journeys gradually decreased after that, for there were few left for him to see. He watched from a distance as both the Shire and Dwarven kingdoms faded away into history, their peoples forgotten in all but myths and legends. Much like that of the Elves.

Nish

Anishka, or Nish as they prefer to be known, was born in Imladris to Elrohir and a very close friend of his. He had pulled her mother, Harial, from the Bruinen Ford, after she had used it to get away from those hunting her. Although not in a relationship with each other, the decision to have Nish was in part due to their close friendship.

But the birth took much of her strength and they both knew that she wouldn't last much longer. So when Imladris' magic finally faded, Harial stayed behind to distract the hunters while Elrohir ran to protect their child. Because of her water magic, Harial was being hunted by the descendants of those who once followed Sauron.

Nish was the reason why Elrohir had remained in Middle Earth all those centuries ago; he just hadn't known it. After being on the run for years, he returned to the Grey Havens with Nish and set sail. It would take time and patience before the youngest of the twins started to feel safe again.

[amidst-snow-and-ice-moved]

Elrohir & Nish

AU Verse/s: Becoming a parent & Elrohir stays behind This is just a generalised info. Things may alter depending on the RP. Thanks for @silvercrowned for helping to work parts of it out.

Elrohir had known for a long time that he wouldn't be travelling West when his twin did at the end of the war. Only his twin and Cirdan had been told; for his father was already dealing with the fact that Arwen had chosen a mortal life to be with Aragorn. After the Last Ship sailed from the Grey Havens, Elrohir returned to Imladris. His path would not lead him towards Valinor for another 2000 years, nor would it be smooth.

Although he travelled, it was only to places where his friends and family were living. He had been at Aragorn's side when his foster brother passed and later on, he kept Arwen company until she too had left the world. His journeys gradually decreased after that, for there were few left for him to see. He watched from a distance as both the Shire and Dwarven kingdoms faded away into history, their peoples forgotten in all but myths and legends. Much like that of the Elves.

Nish

Anishka, or Nish as they prefer to be known, was born in Imladris to Elrohir and a very close friend of his. He had pulled her mother, Harial, from the Bruinen Ford, after she had used it to get away from those hunting her. Although not in a relationship with each other, the decision to have Nish was in part due to their close friendship.

But the birth took much of her strength and they both knew that she wouldn't last much longer. So when Imladris' magic finally faded, Harial stayed behind to distract the hunters while Elrohir ran to protect their child. Because of her water magic, Harial was being hunted by the descendants of those who once followed Sauron.

Nish was the reason why Elrohir had remained in Middle Earth all those centuries ago; he just hadn't known it. After being on the run for years, he returned to the Grey Havens with Nish and set sail. It would take time and patience before the youngest of the twins started to feel safe again.

[cuilpantielthesleepyscribe]

Cuilpantiel's finger prostheses lore

(specific to the Mistaken Identity/Kidnap AU with @thegreatstrongbow and @silvercrowned)

Prostheses themselves:

She is missing her index and middle fingers on both hands above the second joint, her thumbs above the first joint. She wears something similar to these:

Prostheses by Naked Prosthetics, video of them in action.

Suffice to say, Elves have had a lotttttt of war survivors and people who just lost limbs in accidents, occupational hazards, etc to come up with prostheses for.

Being basically Celebrían's foster daughter, she's well-off enough (and is at enough formal events to justify the cost) to maintain two sets: an 'everyday' set and a 'good' set, and sets of spare rods, fingers, etc in various materials (copper, bone, horn, etc) she can swap in and out to change the look, along with spare straps and other paraphernalia. She prefers steel for everyday as it's more durable, but might swap in horn or bone fingertips for formal occasions for a softer look. As and when one set becomes worn out beyond repair, the current 'good' set gets downgraded to 'everyday' and she gets a new 'good' set.

She can handle pens, coins, lacing, keys, and larger knitting needles, but sewing needles and very fine knitting needles are a little beyond her.

Gloves and mittens:

She wears thin (preferably knitted, for minimal seams) gloves under the prostheses to protect it from her skin's oils and sweat. These are usually made to reach to slightly past her wrists, and cover the remaining parts of her index, middle, and thumb, the palms and backs of her hands, but leave her ring and pinky finger bare.

Many of the pairs of gloves are knitted by @silvercrowned's Celebrían and Arwen.

Most are plain wool or linen, but she does have a few with fancy patterns either knitted or embroidered in. She also has a few sewn pairs (eg leather, velvet, etc), sometimes embroidered as well, or with cuffs that can flip up and cover the prosthetic cuff, for special occasions. However, she finds the sewn pairs less comfortable and is likely to remove them as soon as the event is over.

She considers the most irritating sensation to be when something gets inside the gloves from where it's left open for her ring and pinky fingers, akin to getting rocks in her socks, and occasionally wears gloves that cover all of her remaining fingers for this reason.

If it is cold outside, she wears mittens (she does have gloves that fit over them, but it looks weird because of the extra spaces needed to accommodate the prosthetics' mechanics).

Name and misc:

Because of her prosthetic fingers, she is now known as Anglebir - Ang-lebir, Sindarin for Iron-fingers (warning: link for lebir is not safe for elflings).

A side effect of this is that after Elrond begins fostering Dúnedain Chieftain heirs, the Dúnedain become - noticeably more hostile towards Orcs than they would be otherwise. Not that they were ever particularly merciful, but still.

Why? Cuilpantiel Anglebir is usually their teacher for formal education, teaching them languages, maths, basic science, debate, law, etiquette, etc from age 5 to their mid-teens. While she does not teach a hatred of the Orcs, the heirs' first impression of the Orcs is going to be their beloved teacher who is missing six fingers, and for a long time was too traumatised to leave Imladris, due to Orcs.

[rangers-arecool]

For: Fin :: @lordofthegoldenflower Muse: Hal Verse: Sauron Has Won | Dark AU

  A peaceful, clear starlit night with the full moon shining down and bathing everything in it’s bright silvery light. Or at least… that’s what it should have been. But instead, the darkened moonlight shone down on a land broken apart by cracks and crevasses in which shadows twisted and snaked. Never dispersing even in the light of day, for the sunlight could not touch them.

  Hoofbeats shattered the eerie silence of a desolate and abandoned farm, passing thorough broken fields on which stalks of golden wheat once grew. But now there was nothing growing, except for wild grasses and the few wildflowers that could survive on the darkness tainted earth. The farmers and animals who had called this place home, were now long gone.

  Miles had already been covered by the black Rohan warhorse and his rider. Traversing the ruined landscape easily and leaving the wargs that had tried to follow, far behind. But their long journey was not yet finished, for they needed to reach one of the few remaining safe places left this side of the Misty Mountains. Or the Dúnedan hoped Imladris still stood, otherwise it meant that Lord Elrond had fallen in defence of his home and people.

  No one barring Aragorn and the Rangers knew of the dangerous undercover mission that Hal had been on long term. All they knew was that the Commander of Esteldin had gone dark and abandoned her kin, just like her father had done before. Proving to many from the Elves and Men that their suspicions had been right about the gender-fluid Ranger all along. The rumours spread but none of those who knew the truth attempted to stop them, in fear that it would endanger both Hal and her mission.

  Now though… the situation had changed.

  20 years had passed since she last travelled the wild paths of the Trollshaws. Two decades since she had disappeared into the night, leaving behind a sleeping golden haired Lord with no knowledge of what was to come. It had hurt leaving him like that yet Hal knew that Glorfindel would never have let her go if he'd known. She leaned against a tree just outside of the entrance to the valley, watching her horse companion graze and waiting for her Captain to emerge.

  But it wasn't Aragorn who came to meet her.

[rangers-are-cool-moved]

For: Open | AU

Verse: The Hobbit

Muse: Hal

Sneaking away from places unnoticed had always been easy for the young Ranger. Imladris was no exception. Unlike others within the Race of Men, Hal rarely wore anything on their feet. The result of a childhood spent wandering upon the Barrow-Downs near Bree.

It wasn't often that they utilised that particular skill but neither did they want to be stopped in the Hidden Valley. And the Misty Mountains were not a safe place to cross at the best of times. Especially tonight with the Thunder battles between the stone giants.

They followed the mountain path up, finding it easier for the Giants were still now. With the path widening out slightly, Hal didn't take long to catch up with the Dwarves and Hobbit. Although they side eyed the approaching cave, something warning them about it.

[arlenianchronicles]

A continuation of my Maedros Lives!AU: In which Elrond brings his adar back to Rivendell, and there Maedros bids Elros goodbye.

I ended up writing a little one-shot to go with this scene, since I was having trouble getting my ideas out in drawing-form. I hope y’all enjoy! ^^;;

~~~

Elrond leads Maedros through Imladris, slowly, to match Maedros’ pace, as his adar takes his time in observing their surroundings. Awe and wariness fight for dominance over Maedros’ scarred face as he stares at the buildings and pavilions, the gardens, and the distant waterfalls that fall into the valley. What does he think of this haven that Elrond has built? Perhaps Elrond will know someday, once Maedros truly feels safe.

It is two days after their return to Imladris. The journey took over a week and sapped much of their energy. But all is considerably well now; both their injuries have been tended to, and Maedros’ desire to explore has managed to overtake his caution, it seems.

A light robe hangs from his tall, slim frame. It is not enough to conceal the bandages around both his arms, and there are more wrappings underneath his clothes. Elrond’s own wound still aches, but it is manageable. As for Maedros, the wound on his hand – inflicted by the Silmaril’s fire – needs regular attention. Elrond has no intention of letting it fester.

At present, Elrond tamps down his restlessness while his adar lingers by a railing, overlooking the rushing water below. The afternoon sun turns the water bright and golden, its droplets sparkling light crystal. He appears to be listening to the water’s sound.

Elrond carefully touches Maedros’ arm. “Adar?”

Maedros has gotten used to Elrond’s voice. Elrond hopes for that much, at least. Before, in the days following their reunion, his adar would flinch or move quickly like some startled animal.

Now he turns, fixing his cloudy blue gaze on Elrond. Elrond smiles. “It is nearing time to change your bandages. There will be plenty of time to explore later.”

Maedros does not respond. He has hardly spoken at all throughout their journey. Yet he lowers his gaze, with a slight tilt of his head, and Elrond knows that he will follow.

“When you are ready,” Elrond continues as they move on, “there are some people I would dearly love for you to meet. It does not have to be for a while, if you prefer. I know this is all rather … overwhelming.” He laughs softly, nervously, to himself. In truth, it still feels like a dream that he found Maedros – or perhaps it was the other way around. But what does it matter who found who? They are here now, together, and perhaps his adar can finally heal properly with the Oath no longer around his throat.

Maedros makes a soft sound at the base of his throat, a questioning grunt. Elrond is still learning what his new mannerisms mean. Most are new, but others are old, and recognizable if he pays close enough attention to his memory.

“My family,” Elrond elaborates. “I have told them stories about you and … Ada Maglor.” A lump forms in his throat, but he swallows it down. He does not want to distress Maedros now. “I have twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir, and a daughter, Arwen. They are away at the moment, but they will return in time.”

Maedros’ bandaged hand clamps over Elrond’s shoulder. They both come to a halt; Elrond looks at his adar in surprise, and Maedros loosens his grip a little. He is still learning how to be gentle again.

Maedros’ scarred lips twist and part open, and his voice comes through in a mumble. Elrond waits, hardly daring to breathe lest he startle his adar with a harsh breath. 

It takes Maedros a moment to shape the word he wants. “El … rr,” he murmurs. Frustration tightens across his thin features, and he tries again, a little louder, raspier. “Elr-ross.”

Elrond blinks once, twice. “Ah. Elros is not here, Adar. He – passed away long ago.”

Maedros’ jaw twitches. A tremor passes through his hand as he grips Elrond’s shoulder. “El-ros,” he repeats slowly, hoarsely, eyes gleaming with sudden sharpness.

Elrond ought to have expected this, but, in truth, he did not. After more than a millennium of isolation, how much does Maedros remember? Elrond planned to guide Maedros through the past years slowly, so as to not drown him in knowledge all at once. That includes the life of Elros -- the reign of Tar-Minyatur.

But Maedros did not forget Elrond, and Elrond shares Elros’ features exactly. And … Perhaps the mention of twins helped.

“I have something to remember Elros by,” Elrond offers. “If that is what you wish to see.”

He wonders if his adar understands. Looking up into the weathered face, worn and battered from years of torment and war and grief, it is sometimes hard to see the feeling behind it all. It was one of those things that frightened Elrond and Elros when they were very, very young, when they still did not fully trust Maedros as they did Maglor.

That is, until they learned that he was like a stone fortress, with its gates cracked open just enough for them to slip through, and if they were brave enough, they could find his heart in the innermost chamber and touch it.

As of now, Maedros gives Elrond’s shoulder a brief squeeze. Elrond takes that to mean yes, so he carefully leads Maedros away from the railing and into the private gardens. The sound of rushing water fades away, replaced by the gentle burbling of a fountain. Elrond often comes here whenever he desires to think in silence, or pore over a few old scrolls. It is generally known that he does not wish to be disturbed while in here.

A pavilion sits on the edge of the gardens, offering a marvelous view of the mountains and waterfalls in the distance. On a stone platform extending from the pavilion, facing west, stands a full-sized statue of Elros. It is carved in his exact likeness (Elrond oversaw the project and even provided himself for reference), with the winged crown and Númenórean robes from his coronation as Tar-Minyatur.

The statue of Elros looks out westward. The light of the afternoon falls over it in golden streams, and you could trick yourself into thinking that the grey marble breathes. Elrond has done so many times, whether intentionally or by accident, following his brother’s passing.

Maedros sucks in a harsh breath and moves forward before Elrond can say anything. He watches, with no small amount of nerves, as his adar approaches the statue, looking upon its face. The statue is half a head taller than Maedros due to its pedestal, whereupon Elros’ names are carved in Tengwar.

Maedros raises his bandaged hand, thin fingers trembling as he touches the shoulder, the intricately-carved tresses of hair, the smooth cheek. He murmurs something, but Elrond does not catch what he says.

Then Maedros leans forward and kisses the statue’s chin. When he draws back, Elrond sees the glimmer of tears on his face as he rises to his full height, pressing another kiss to the marble cheek. Maedros does not close his eyes all the while.

Deep down, Elrond thanks the Valar that he has the statue washed and maintained regularly. Another part of him is certain that Maedros, in his current state, would not care either way.

Maedros draws back and lowers his head. Elrond comes over to his side, and his adar shifts closer to him. For a heartbeat, his stone-like countenance cracks, and all the years of toil and weariness spread across his face. A tear slips down to his chin and falls to the floor.

Elrond gently takes his arm. “Let us go, Adar. I will tell you stories of Elros while we get you patched up. Would you like that?”

One must look past the mane of scraggly, red tresses, the twisting scars, and the tear-glazed eyes to see the small, soft smile that touches Maedros’ face.

[dimdiamond]

Bagginshield fic list

Yeah, I decided to make one too because there are enough to cause me headaches and I'd like to have them somewhere organized. Please look at the tags before reading them!

Fix-it fics

Desperate magic by BeautifulFiction: Bilbo is left to tend Thorin as he hovers on the brink of death after the Battle of the Five Armies. Is love enough to save Erebor's king, or is this the last farewell?

Lay your troubles down by Avelera: An extended version of "the acorn scene." Bilbo sees his chance to snap Thorin out of his madness, and takes it.

The Riven Crown by BeautifulFiction: The aftermath of war is no laughing matter. Those who died must be honoured, those who are wounded must be healed, and those who remain need food and clothing, peace and sanctuary. With Thorin's life hanging in the balance, it is up to Bilbo and the rest of the Company to rule the rag-tag remnants of Erebor in his place. Then there is the matter of the gold... Can Bilbo save both king and kingdom, or is Erebor destined to fall deeper into ruin?

The Color of Possibility by lindoreda: When Bilbo puts himself between Thorin and Azog's blade, his mithril shirt protecting them both, it isn't long before some dwarves whisper that 'Oakenshield' might not be the best epithet for their king anymore. But for Bilbo, barred from Thorin's sight since the battle, this new epithet only adds to the sting. Spending his days caring for the recovering princes, Bilbo wonders how much more of this he can take, not suspecting his place at the center of a silent divide in the company.

Homesick by Margo_Kim: Five years after they've reclaimed Erebor, Thorin is sick of home, Bilbo is just sick, and neither is handling the situation ideally.

The Road Delivered Us Home by keelywolfe: In the years since Bilbo left Erebor, he has lost his respectability, gained a nephew, and gotten on with life at Bag End. He'd left aside adventure for the comforts and peace of his little Hobbit hole, and for the love of a child who needed him. Though perhaps, adventures can yet find him.

Notices in the Paper by YamBits: Bilbo returns to the Shire after his adventure, newly married, and newly homeless, after his two year absence allowed the Sackville-Bagginses to obtain Bag End. Bilbo and Thorin go to the Tooks for help, and find newly orphaned Frodo Baggins, also looking for a home.

A Royal Guardianship by ladyoakenshields: When Bilbo and Thorin return to the Shire for a sabbatical during Yuletide, they find a reason to retire the throne in Erebor sooner than expected.

The Shire's gems by awkwarng3: Thorin, Bilbo, and Frodo move to the Shire after raising Frodo in Erebor, and Frodo makes a friend.

Time travel fix-it fics

An expected journey by MarieJacquelyn: For years Bilbo has written about his adventures and told stories about his dealings with dwarves and dragons. To most it seemed like fanciful nonsense but to Bilbo it was all very real. A weight followed him home from his travels, one called regret. Now in his final moments Bilbo has a choice to make – go quietly into death’s embrace or go back again and face all the fear and pain for the chance to make things right? Of course, change is a fickle thing and not everything can be done again as Bilbo is about to find out. In the end, it may not only be salvation that he’s fighting for.

Bilbo Baggins, warrior of the Valar by Pallalalo: Bilbo raised his eyebrows. “And you’ve come to the Shire to look for this someone? My, Gandalf, I wonder if you know Hobbits at all. They would tell you that adventures are nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things. That they would make you late for dinner.” Bilbo recalled his own words perfectly. It had been something he and Gandalf had looked back on with bittersweet laughter. This Gandalf however noticed his exact words. “Would they now? And what about you, mhm? What would you tell me about adventures?” #The Valar send Bilbo back in time, to the day where Gandalf asks him to join in an adventure. After living a lifetime of regret and suffering, he vows to change things for the better. For Thorin. For Frodo. But will he succeed?

I'll die to care for you by thehufflepuffhobbit: His gaze landed on Mahal's eyes once more. "You did your best, Thorin." It was tempting to look away; he wanted to deny that with everything he had. It certainly didn't feel as though falling into Gold Sickness and then dying was doing his best. Mahal smirked, as though he knew Thorin's desire to contradict him, and pinched his cheek before walking over to a table. "Aye, I didn't think you would believe me. I'm not lying, it certainly could have gone better. More according to my plan, but I know you really did try." "Your plan?" He didn't know if he should ask, really. Knowing that his Maker had set a course for him, he didn't want to think about the ways he had done everything wrong. There were too many examples of mistakes in his long life, too many opportunities that he had missed that had probably been planned for him from the beginning. Or:Mahal feels like Thorin fucked up his legacy and gives him a do over.

Darker times ahead by Reach4theSky: Bilbo is sailing to the Undying Lands but wary of letting go of the guilt that has been with him for many decade. His most sincerest wish is to go back and change what was done. Before reaching the lands of peace and healing, he dies aboard the ship and finds that his wish is being granted, not because he is the one to wish it but because this is the dwarves last chance to escape a fate of eternal waiting. He finds that not only is he going to be sent back to his younger body, but so is the entire Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Time is a fickle thing and not all the members have their memories returned to them at the same time. The journey on becomes interesting as the dwarves slowly remember and fight for themselves and their kin, yet new hurdles are thrown at them when they realize that more people remember than expected...

Of an arcane binding by Salvia_G: An inexplicable magic ties Bilbo Baggins, hobbit of the Shire, to Thorin, dwarven prince of Erebor.

Legends by DomesticGoddess: The fellowship has set out on its noble quest to destroy the ring and put an end to the threat that is Sauron! Just set out really, barely left the gates of Imladris, but things are going smoothly enough so far. That is until the two most unlikely party crashers fall upon their little fellowship. Uncle Bilbo and the Legendary Thorin Oakenshield?! Frodo just wants to know what's going on but the two of them won't stop hollering at each other long enough for anyone to get a word in edgewise. Suddenly, their little group is joined by Frodo's two biggest heroes and he discovers there was a lot more to Uncle Bilbo's stories than he realized.

Beside myself by bliboboggins: "What are you doing? Just who do you think you are?" Startled, Bilbo turned around slowly. And there, in a familiar patchwork dressing gown, brandishing a fire poker wildly about, was... Bilbo.

Erebor never fell au fics

The hearth doesn't make the home by Moonrose91: For things Bilbo could not change, he was condemned to a life of isolation, with the belief that none could love him. And then a Dwarf came to Hobbiton.

Clarity of vision by Mithen: In a Middle-Earth where Erebor never fell, a shadow remains in the heart of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo Baggins finds himself drawn reluctantly into a quest that will lead him across the continent--from Bree to Lake Evendim to the icy North and beyond--with a party of five dwarves searching for an artifact that will cure the ailing King Thrór.

Ghivashel by mdseiran: The last thing Bilbo expects when he stays up late one night is company. The strange dwarf and his companion crash into his life and prove unexpected saviours. But the dwarf seems to think he will be joining them on their travels, and Bilbo has no such intentions.

The Song of My Heart by DomesticGoddess: After a failed attempt of trying to carve out a new home in the Blue Mountains for his people, Thorin finds himself beseeching the Hobbit Thain and his council for a place for his people in their bountiful land. An agreement is struck and plans in the works for integrating his people into their land. The only condition being an arranged marriage between himself and one of their family heads. A small price to pay to see his people safe and well fed. Unfortunately, he’s to marry the most disagreeable hobbit in all the Shire who also seems to hold a personal grudge against him. If only he could figure out why his new betrothed hates him so much.

Oak and Mistletoe by HildyJ: After a life dominated by a strange form of sickness, Thorin is sent to the Shire to seek a cure only Bilbo Baggins can offer.

Karkûn shukula - A Cinderella AU by harrypanther: When the Prince of the Shire visits the Kingdom of Erebor, there is great excitement. There are hopes he will choose to marry one of the Royal Family, cementing an alliance that would secure food supplies for the dwarven Kingdom and gain new allies. All eligible dwarves are expected to attend a series of Balls. Unknown to the guests, there is a third royal child, manoeuvred out by his ambitious stepmother, for whom this may be his last chance of restoring his fortunes and escaping his fate…

Alone this Yuletide by Emsiecat: 'Alone this Yuletide? Irritated with prying and nosey family members? I am an out of work blacksmith currently trying to make my way by any means necessary that does not involve my resorting to thievery (prisons are most uncomfortable, I've unfortunate first hand experience). However, if you would like me to be your strictly platonic companion for any social function, but have me pretend that we are in a serious courtship, so as to torment your family and ward off unwanted suitors then I am more than obliging...' After becoming increasingly irritated by overtures of romance from various Shire residents following the death of his mother four years ago, Bilbo is more than ready to resort to desperate measures. That is, up to and including pretending to be in a serious relationship with a certain surly blacksmith currently inhabiting the Bindbale Woods. It's a good idea after all; all they have to do is pretend to be in love over the Yuletide period and Bilbo's family and suitors will surely leave him alone after that. It's perfect! And nothing can possibly go wrong, right? Certainly nothing as preposterous as falling for one another for real...

Modern au fics

Nothing gold can stay by perkynurples: Bilbo Baggins led a rather peaceful life, thank you very much, until an old acquaintance decided to turn it upside down, and he found himself agreeing to take a job that’s… let’s say not exactly up his alley, and might eventually cost him a little more than his treasured cozy lifestyle. Who would have thought tutoring a slightly menacing monarch’s more than slightly overbearing nephew could prove to be such an adventure?

Love-In-Idleness by perkynurples: Taking Bilbo Baggins, a successful movie actor who is only just getting used to the perks and intricacies of becoming A Face People Want To See, and putting him together with Thorin Oakenshield, with his very traditional (read: slightly backwards) ideas about what constitutes Real Art and Real Talent, might very well be viewed as just some clothead’s idea of a joke. But there are jokes, and then there are carefully calculated risks the size of controversial reproductions of classic Shakespearean plays - for Bilbo, it is the chance of a lifetime to prove himself to all those who have ever deemed him too one-dimensional to even attempt stage, while Thorin has the opportunity to get out of the rut that’s been hindering his career for so long now, and shine in a role worthy of his talent once again. That is if the two learn how to share the same space for more than ten minutes without wanting to tear each other’s hair out. The course of true love never did run smooth, after all…

Candid by northerntrash: Thorin wasn't entirely sure why there was a six-foot candid photograph of him hanging in this exhibition, but he was going to wring the neck of whoever had put it there. In which Bilbo is a photographer, Thorin an accidental model, and Gandalf just likes to make trouble for everyone.

How the west was won and where it got us by stickman: Bilbo is a harried 1st year British literature Ph.D. (early 20th century fiction) who happens to have an interest in spatial narrative structures, a lack of time-management skills, and a tiny apartment with a lot of books and very little furniture. He’s stressed, always, and doesn't quite know where he belongs. He tells himself that really, this is, in fact, what he wants to be doing. But sometimes, as much as he loves books, he gets an urge to do something with his hands. Thorin is a disgruntled M.Arch. 1 in his last year who can’t be arsed to shave and frightens his students, and, frankly, his profs, but his work is top-notch so no one can really say much. They can, however, bully him into running a hands-on design workshop on Saturday mornings, which is complete crap, because he’s used to drinking his Friday nights into oblivion so showing up at Milstein at 7:45 the next morning and trying to teach in a room of wall-to-wall windows as the sun rises is not at the top of his list. Besides, no one ever shows up. Except one morning, someone does. [graduate school AU]

Butterfly effect by eyra: Yoga wasn’t for him. Yoga was for interesting people. Luminous people; people who took gap years and spoke a foreign language. People who ate lentils and burned incense and had fantastic, colourful friends with fantastic, colourful lives full of travel and silent retreats and those baggy trousers with elephants on them. Yoga was decidedly not for people like Bilbo, who wore cardigans and ate beans on toast and whose linguistic capabilities stretched only as far as a rusty Spanish A-Level. Just your regular story of boy meets yoga instructor.

Remover of the obstacles by MistakenMagic: "Dis often chided her older brother for being a misanthropist. She did it so often it had become a term of endearment. It was true that Thorin struggled with people; he struggled to form and maintain relationships. Dr. Grey had diagnosed him with this and Thorin hadn’t the heart to tell him this wasn’t a symptom of his PTSD, it was a symptom of his personality. He exercised a sense of apathy with almost everyone he met… But Bilbo was different. Thorin actually found himself wanting to know more about him."

Color outside the lines by andquitefrankly: Kindergarten has just gotten significantly better. Just ask Thorin, who's got the biggest crush on the new kid in class, Bilbo Baggins. With the help of his friends, Thorin knows that he can take back the swings from the 1st graders, show up the K-1 class in the school pageant, and win the heart of one curly haired boy. Yup. Kindergarten is going to be a year to remember.

Bran' New Suit by pibroch (littleblackdog): Andrew's description had been sufficient to recognize him— a riot of honey brown curls, short in stature, a well-favoured face with expressive features— but it hadn't quite been enough to prepare Tom for the sharp, almost painful tug in his gut at the sight of the man. They had never met before, to the best of Tom's recollection, but there was something eerily and inexplicably familiar about him all the same.

Different species au fics

I've grown a hedge around my heart by pibroch (littleblackdog): "Thorin was the essence of so many Buckland oddities, distilled into one misfortunate young hobbit, much to his infinite embarrassment. Built like a stork, his father had said once, in an example of Thrain Brandybuck’s usual tactless humour. All beak and legs." Thorin Brandybuck, just recently come of age, still lives in his family’s smial in Buckland, with his parents and two younger siblings. Thorin is an odd duck amongst his relations and neighbours-- unsociable, grumpy, shy, and awkward. And beyond that, he looks rather strange even for a Bucklander, strongly favouring the thick, dark haired build of his Stoorish blood. It defies all sense and reason why Bilbo Baggins, an exemplar of all the respectable traits Thorin lacked, would ever desire a friendship with him. Bilbo, as Thorin discovers, is not always as sensible as he appears.

In which the dwarves are satyrs for reasons by HiddenKitty What the title says basically.

Bride of the demon king by DomesticGoddess: Thorin is King of the demons, a beast-like race feared by humans. Ever since the demons and humans formed a truce years ago, the humans have sent a young human every year as a tribute to the King of demons. Thorin is tired of having to deal with the tribute that has long since lost its meaning. The only tribute he'd be interested in is the boy he met fifteen years ago on the border of the demon and human realms. Despite his fantasies, Thorin knows the chances of ever seeing the boy again are slim to none, until they're not.

Lost He Wandered Under Leaves by serenbach: Thorin son of Thrain is a struggling blacksmith descended from a fallen line of kings. In an attempt to provide for his family over the winter, he reluctantly accepts an impossible sounding task - to hunt down an enchanted deer that lives in the Old Forest that borders the Shire, and make armour and weapons from its hide and antlers. He never expected to succeed. And he certainly never expected what he found to change his life so completely.

A Dryad's Tale by Bilbo Baggins by Moongazer12: Bilbo is a dryad (think little sibling to ents). Long ago a curse was placed upon him from destroying one of the rings of power. Whenever he touches someone with his bare skin he will make them insane. But despite this, he and Gandalf have gone on many adventures to help protect Middle Earth (What was the point to destroying the ring if something else destroyed it instead?) Gandalf has called on him once again to help on a quest, Bilbo just hopes that they read his amendments to the contract.

The quest but with a twist au fics

King, come at the red morning by Tawabids: Bilbo has heard fairytales of the lost prince of the dwarves, Thorin son of Thrain, who disappeared the day Smaug attacked the Lonely Mountain. But he does not believe in fairytales until he comes across the dwarf sleeping in the depths of Erebor, and kisses him back to life. Now Thorin - a hundred and fifty years out of his time - has to confront a world in which his city is empty, his people scattered, his baby brother Frerin is king, two nephews he's never met are missing in action, and a war is brewing right on his doorstep. And as if that wasn't complicated enough he's trapped in the body of an old man and falling stupidly in love with a gossipy, grudging little hobbit.

When the sun rises by Harry1981: Bilbo Baggins of Bag End was not a very respectable Hobbit. No respectable Hobbit had a sword and crossbow hanging in their home, nor did they have Dwarves as family. But Bilbo Baggins did, and all of Shire knew of his husband, blacksmith Thorin Oakenshield. When Bilbo comes home to find his Husband earlier than expected, he learns of a quest to reclaim Erebor. It is a death mission. Bilbo knows that Dwarves are stubborn creatures, and none more than Thorin himself. But nobody said that Bilbo himself was any less stubborn. So he will follow his dearest husband across all of Middle Earth, through plains and mountains and forests, all while hiding the true nature of their relationship (Dwarven politics never helped anyone), brushing off some old wounds (and getting new ones) and finding out new things about the dwarf Bilbo calls husband (and his extended family). Nobody ever said love was easy, after all.

Small, but fierce by DomesticGoddess: As a result of a magical mishap during the trip to the lonely mountain, Bilbo is reverted to a wee little hobbitling. Only in body, of course. His adult mind is still very aware of the indignity of it all (seriously! He doesn't need to be coddled, carried, and fed like a child). It turns out, dwarves love children and there is nothing cuter than Hobbit children. Bilbo soon realizes that he can get away with just about anything in his babyish form and starts taking full advantage of it. Even the grumpy brooding king can't deny the angelic little creature anything he desires (and Bilbo's going to milk that for all it's worth).

Your song like a home in my heart by Nennvial: In Middle Earth, all creatures have a soulmate. Not all have some, but if they do, it is a bond nothing can break, not even death. The more famous story of such a bound was the story of Bren and Luthien, who even defied detath. The way someone can find out that the other is one’s soulmate is through song: when they meet and hear the voice of the other, a song sings in their heart, which feels like home and makes them complete. They may refuse it if they wish to do so, but they hence risk a life of bitter looniness. Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins are soulmates, but they must admit it to themselves throughout their journey to Erebor.

To Dungeons Deep (And Caverns Old) by KingUndertheMountain: Bilbo Baggins was not your average hobbit. Of course, he had the wonderfully groomed and well-taken-care-of hairy feet like every other one of his race, yes, but he was not like other hobbits. He was cursed. Or, as the witch who gave him the enchantment put it, was “gifted”. She had given him the “gift” of obedience – whenever there was a direct command given to him, for example “cook a large meal” or “take a walk”, he could not disobey. Not without a lot of pain and eventual submission.

Chocolate candy one-shots

The world is sleeping (my world is you) by katheneverwrites (mandolinearts): I asked Persephone, “How could you grow to love him? He took you from flowers to a kingdom where not a single living thing can grow.” Persephone smiled, “My darling, every flower on your earth withers. What Hades gave me was a crown made for the immortal flowers in my bones.” - Nikita Gill ---“What do you mean, my friend?” There is a line of thought that surfaces in Gandalf’s mind, but he drowns it before it can take root. Surely not. But Bilbo’s chuckle sets him on edge. The small, gentle god of harvest, nature, and flowers sits up straighter, and in his crown of flowers there is a wire of strong metal, his cloak is suddenly not colorful anymore but the deepest black and he is terrifying, horrific, powerful - “I married Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the World.”

Of seasons by northerntrash: As far as he could tell, he had been kidnapped, which in itself made this week more than a little unusual. In which Bilbo steals away the Lord of Death, and Thorin can't quite bring himself to stay angry about it.

Warm up by paranoid_fridge: On one of their walks, Bilbo tumbles into a stream. They make it back to Bag End and Bilbo demands Thorin warm him up.

Royal Blue And Crimson Red by Mistofstars: Here's what happened before and after Bilbo accidentally eavesdrops on Gandalf and Elrond at night in Rivendell, as they discuss Thorin's quest and his family's history. Oh, and Thorin and Bilbo share a room, of course ;)

I was young when I left home by Margo_Kim: There was a pity clapper somewhere in the third row. Thorin finished his fourth song to polite applause from the people who noticed that the song was finished, but within the smattering of claps was someone beating his hands together like he was trying to rhythmically kill a fly. There was usually one of those, the kind who notices that no one else is paying attention and so is determined to compensate for that regardless of how they feel about the actual music. Thorin ignored him. It was easy to do so—he'd always hated looking at the audience when the singing was done.

A matter of buttons by StupidFatPenguin: “Your shirt,” says Thorin, quite out of the blue, and Bilbo looks down his front to see if there is a spot of tea or jam or anything equally embarrassing spilled on it. He is relieved to find nothing of the sort and looks up at the dwarf with an eyebrow raised in question. Thorin sits mute, his still-smoking pipe forgotten in his hand. He looks on for long moments still, seems almost lost to a thought before he shifts and lifts his gaze to meet Bilbo’s inquiring face. “It is familiar to me. Did you not wear this on the eve we met?” In which Bilbo and Thorin re-enact the evening they met.

The ladder by Milliethekitty27: Inspired from a post made by wheeloffortune-design on tumblr. Tired of his lonely kitchen in Yavanna's Garden, Bilbo Baggins wonders if the dwarven love of being underground is true in death. If so, maybe his dwarves are living (ha ha) under the very land Bilbo is weeding. With that thought, Bilbo goes and asks Hamfast for a shovel.

Love hobbit by HybridOwl: Bilbo Baggins considers himself a bit of a cock up, all things considered. He never made it out of his small highway adjacent town, can't seem to stop chain-smoking, and overall has more to talk about with the plants in his shop than 90% of all the rest of Middle Earth. So when he's reading the morning paper and a love note that can't be for anyone but him pops up, he's pretty sure - almost positive, really - that he's being made fun of. "TO the chain-smoking little stud who collects two metros from Gamgee's Goods every morning, will you be my love hobbit? - Bearded Biker." (heavily inspired by tumblr posts)

Fusion with other fandoms au fics

The Second Time by authoressjean; Sebastian Moran can't pull the trigger on John Watson to save his own hide, and what the hell is it with the doctor, anyway? Then Gandalf shows up, meddlesome wizard, and reminds him none too gently of his past life: as Thorin Oakenshield, leader of a company that had once included a small hobbit named Bilbo Baggins. One that looked decidedly like John Watson. And this would be the perfect chance to make things right with Bilbo the way he really hadn't been able to before he died, and that's when Gandalf tells him John doesn't remember being Bilbo, and to leave him alone. Right. Like that's going to happen.

And sow a star divided in us by MistakenMagic: Short summary: Gays in space! Longer summary: After his first successful solo mission, Jedi Knight Bilbo Baggins, trained by High Council member and full-time nuisance, Master Gandalf, returns to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. During an excursion to the sparring arena, he meets a group of Dwarven Jedi from Ered Luin, a mountainous planet located in the Outer Rim. Young padawans, Fili and Kili, are full of curiosity at this strange, barefoot Jedi, but Master Thorin, who appears to have the personality of a rancor and mental shields like blast doors, is less than impressed.

Comics you should definitely check

Every work by rutobuka, seriously they're criminally cute and they're not still favored by everyone without reason.

Retelling the Hobbit by Mellow_Comics: Bilbo has never been good at telling the "true" story of what happened on his journey to the Lonely Mountain. Now he's trying to turn the tale of his quest into a lighthearted children's book-- a bedtime story for his young nephew Frodo. But what really happened on his journey? And how did it actually affect him? This is a comic adaptation/retelling of the Hobbit! It's framed as a bedtime story that Bilbo is telling a younger Frodo.

For now these are some of my personal favourites! However, I'm sure my list will grow since my reading list has some gems still waiting for me to read, so be certain that there will be a part 2 of this list!

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

more of tauriel’s hellfamily adventures! there’s still a couple of gaps in my conception of this au, which is why these are bullet points and not an actual fic, but i think i’ve got enough to progress the plot, such as it is. certainly got a bunch of anecdotes i think are funny

i’m not even going to bother explaining how tauriel ended up in one of the fëanorians’ boltholes being treated for mild injuries

nothing super serious, but enough that she’s out of action for the rest of the night. the palace is on fire

the bolthole opens, and celegorm (who’s doing first aid) turns his head. his preemptive scowl melts away instantly. ‘hi elrond!’

the former lord of imladris just sighs. ‘please tell me you idiots haven’t abducted tauriel’

legolas has concerns, apparently. he saw celegorm vanish into an alleyway with her slung over his shoulder and immediately started panicking

‘i've talked him into delaying his rescue mission until i had the chance to check that she was safe’ elrond finishes, sounding absolutely exhausted

tauriel confirms that she is doing fine, as much as she can through the concussion. celegorm’s like ‘if he’s so worried about her why doesn’t he just come up here’

elrond disappears, and a few minutes later legolas scrambles inside

he’s glaring at celegorm. celegorm tells him where the first aid kit is, punches him on the arm, compliments his tracking skills in a vaguely threatening manner, and jumps back out to assist with the chaos

legolas collapses by tauriel’s bedside, still clutching his bow. tauriel pats him on the thigh reassuringly

neither of them are surprised elrond knows the fëanorians - they stayed in his place in tol eressëa for a while, dude knows literally everyone - but they don’t really know why

closer to dawn, elrond’s voice drifts up into the hideout. he’s going on this long irritated rant that climaxes in an extremely exasperated ‘valardamnit dad!’

maglor cackles. tauriel’s like ‘huh didn’t know that.’ legolas makes a face like he accidentally swallowed a spider

by this point, tauriel’s known the brothers hellspawn for long enough legolas has been unnervingly close to a kinslayer way more times than he’d like

this is the longest he’s spent in proximity to them by far, but it’s not the only time he’s interacted with them. they seem to like tauriel, and he knows she can take care of herself

but like still

it keeps happening, though. as tauriel further ingratiates herself with these awful awful elves, her two separate social circles keep bleeding into each other

take the time legolas and co visited the aulendili

before they left middle-earth, gimli whipped round every dwarf they knew and assembled several volumes of complaints. they refuse to confirm or deny whether aulë is the maker, but they are determined someone’s gonna hear their grievances

and thus a small wagon train of wood elves head up into the mountains. including tauriel

tauriel offhandedly mentioned the upcoming trip to the twins, and amras was like ‘hey we’ve got family up there!’ a few messages went up and down the funicular, and now gimli and crew have a place to crash up there

they’re put up by some of the fëanorians’ less murderous (if equally loud) relatives. it’s a pretty interesting trip

half the town is redheads. several people still mistake tauriel for a fëanorian. it’s been happening a lot in the wider noldorin territory lately, it’s weird

caranthir stumbles up into town about halfway through their visit. he gets into an extremely long philosophical argument with gimli that somehow ends with a mutual dwarven nod of respect

he also ends up fighting back-to-back with tauriel in one of those debatebrawls so common among the noldor. neither of them is quite sure how it happens

that’s the way it goes, isn’t it. there’s no big official moment when tauriel becomes part of the family

she just grows closer to them over her time in valinor, as they do to her

she merges into their social world. she develops a rapport with maglor’s wife - a first age mountain sinda and a third age forest avar don’t have that much in common, but they are both looking at noldorin culture from the outside. they have so many injokes about ridiculous bling

(it goes the other way too. this childhood friend oc of hers i’m developing - pretty sweet guy, the token sane man in the legolas-tauriel-him trinity - gets along really well with celebrimbor)

this one time tauriel punches a guy out for calling elrond a traitor. it doesn’t matter that he’s like three times her age, he is babey

she gets chewed out by maedhros and tests out new devices for curufin and drops in on nerdanel for tea. even though she doesn’t permanently live in the definitely-not-fëanorian quarter, she has her own personal space in its innermost warren

she’s one of them long before anyone consciously realises it

what causes that realisation is, admittedly, partially the conspiracy theories. if you say something often enough, you’ll start to believe it, and while the tauriel origin stories circulating through the noldorin rumour mill vary a lot in the details they all agree she is a fëanorian

but that’s a gradual long-term thing. it’s one more thread that leads to the moment

because there has to be an inflection point, i think. the fëanorians have plenty of family friends within the ranks of their definitely-not-minions. some are even as close to them as tauriel’s become

something has to happen to show she’s something more. fortunately, as demonstrated by the darkening and the númenorian invasion, no matter how peaceful it seems, history never stops

shit goes down. the exact details i’ll admit i don’t know yet, but at some point some sort of massive crisis rocks all of valinor. it’s during that crisis that tauriel does stuff that makes it blindingly obvious she’s not just on her side, but one of them

what stuff? again, i don’t know yet. i have this mental image of her leading a strike team that’s half definitely-not-minions and half legolas’ people through a burning city to do... something badass, but that’s as specific as i can get atm

what i am certain about, is that throughout the unfolding of the crisis, tauriel is permanently on the fëanorians’ side, just like they’re on hers

it’s one thing to be someone’s friend in bright happy days. it’s another thing to stick by them when everything’s falling to pieces and the whole world is against them. it’s in the depths of this crisis that both parties have the chance to fully prove their worth to each other

that probably wouldn’t be enough on its own, but combined with the friendship and the conspiracy theories and just the general way she is, once the dust settles it’s blazingly clear that tauriel is a daughter of the house of fëanor

there’s a little debate about where exactly she fits on the family tree, but not much. our sample size is admittedly small, but third generation fëanorians tend to have the slightest modicum of common sense? elrond and celebrimbor both have a fair degree of self-awareness and at least a few brain cells

tauriel does not. tauriel is mad, bad, and dangerous to know, just smart enough to understand that her sheer chaoticness is something she can channel but not nearly close to regularly thinking through the consequences of her actions. she’s loud and violent and does whatever she wants whenever she wants without a single thought towards what people will think of her

and more than that, she doesn’t relate to the second generation fëanorians the way the third generation does. she’s their friend and partner-in-crime, not one of their precious perfect must-protect children. she gets jerked around and bullied and does all that stuff right back, and while she doesn’t have a solid place in the second generation’s internal hierarchy yet she would easily slot in

no, tauriel’s a second generation fëanorian, one of fëanor and nerdanel’s horrible children. the fact that fëanor is currently indisposed and unable to provide an opinion on the matter doesn’t seem to bother anyone

she gets inducted into the family in a massive group hug, and from then on out the brothers hellspawn are the siblings hellspawn

her new family doesn’t replace her old one, of course, she has a long talk with elrond wherein she hashes this out. she’s still a silvan of the greenwood

she’s just also the little sister of the most bloodthirsty elves in history

(that sound in the background is legolas screaming)

[nocompromise-noregrets]

Writers’ Month 2020 masterpost

1. “tattoo artist/florist AU”: On Arda Street, chapter 1: The Tattoo Artist and the Florist. Bard/Thranduil plus Sigrid, Bain, Tilda and Legolas. There’s a tattoo studio, and a florist’s shop, one on one side of the street and the other a few doors down on the other side, and the curious thing is that the tattoo artist has no tattoos at all - or at least, no visible ones - and the florist has more than a casual observer would be able to count at a glance.

2. “quarantine”: Quarantine with Hal and Jack, chapter 1. Hal Peacock/Jack Outlaw | Jack McQueen, plus Natalie Peacock (OCs from my forever-unfinished novel Two of a Kind). Jack is not coping as well with the covid-19 lockdown as Hal had thought he might. Luckily, Hal has an idea for something to take his mind off it. (not that, get your mind out of the gutter :D )

3. “magic”: Something Magical. Bard/Thranduil. Thranduil thinks about magic, and glamour, and illusion, and wonders if now he is under a different kind of enchantment.

4. “long distance relationship”: So Much To Say. Bard/Thranduil. Bard did not quite manage to tell Thranduil exactly how he felt before the Elves left Dale to return home.

5. “soulmates”: Who Else?. Elladan/Elrohir. The twins are not looking forward to the day of their majority, when they will find out how long they have until they each meet their respective soulmates. However, it appears the Valar already have something in mind for them.

6. “ocean”: Anchor Me To My Promises. Legolas/Imrahil. Legolas stands at the top of the tallest tower of Dol Amroth and looks out over the Sea to the West; sometimes the Sea-longing is almost more than he can bear, but Imrahil is there to ease it and to anchor him to Middle-Earth, for now at least.

7. “hurt/comfort”: All The Time That There Is. Melkor/Mairon. After the Ring is destroyed, Sauron falls.

8. “eight”: Not Right At All. Pippin. It isn’t right, Pippin thinks incoherently as they stumble away from the gates of Moria, blinking in the daylight, blinking back tears. It isn’t right, they were the Nine Walkers, and now Gandalf is gone and there are only eight of them.

9. “illness”: Susceptible. Elladan, Elrohir, Aragorn, Legolas, Elrond, Erestor. The twins and Estel have caught something distinctly resembling the flu while out hunting Orc with the Dúnedain. Elladan is not happy about it, Elrohir is asleep, Elrond is trying to care for them, Legolas is worried about Estel - and Erestor takes charge.

10. “bunnies”: An Alliance With The Land. Tilda, Tauriel.  On their way to the Woodland Realm to visit the Elvenking, Tilda decides she doesn't want to eat rabbits any more, and Tauriel tells her about the Elves' alliance with the forest.

11. “light”: The Light In The Bottle. Sam, Galadriel, Celeborn. At Aragorn and Arwen's wedding, Sam scrunches up his courage to thank Galadriel for the Light of Eärendil which saved Frodo's life (and, he might reluctantly admit, his own).

12. “meet-cute”: A Man Of Splendour. Legolas/Imrahil, Gimli. Gimli likes to tease Legolas about how starry-eyed he got when they first met Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Legolas likes to deny everything, but he knows Gimli is right.

13. “music”: Quarantine with Hal and Jack, chapter 2. Hal Peacock/Jack McQueen | Jack Outlaw. Hal’s and Jack’s bands do a livestream gig...with a surprise at the end for the fans.

14. “metamorphosis”: How To Build A Boy. Hal Peacock/Jack McQueen | Jack Outlaw. Hal thinks about how much Jack has changed over the long years he's known him. Which is...a Lot.

15. “coffee-shop AU”: On Arda Street, chapter 2: The Last Homely Coffee House. Elrond, Celebrían and the kids, half of the population of Imladris, Thorin's Company, various hobbits and a few refugees from the Silmarillion. A little further down the street from the tattoo studio and the florist’s shop is a coffee house. The sign over the door says ‘The Last Homely Coffee House’ and everyone is welcome.

16. “history”: Tales of Glory. Pippin, Merry, Éowyn, Legolas, Glorfindel. At Aragorn and Arwen's wedding, Legolas introduces Éowyn, Merry and Pippin to Glorfindel, who is very keen to thank Merry and Éowyn for proving him right.

17. “cooking”: Birthday Cake. Hal Peacock/Jack McQueen | Jack Outlaw, Natalie Peacock. Natalie wants to bake her dad a birthday cake. Jack, slightly bewildered by the whole concept, helps out.

18. “myths”: Stories of the Past. Frodo. Frodo thinks about stories a lot, in the months after his return to Bag End.

19. “deaging”: A Little Less Than Safe. Bard/Thranduil, Sigrid, Tilda, Sauron. Thranduil takes Bard, Sigrid and Tilda for a picnic in the forest. The sorcerer of Dol Guldur sees an opportunity to have a little fun and teach the Elvenking a lesson.

20. “loss”: To Those We Have Lost. Legolas/Imrahil, Bard/Thranduil (past). After Imrahil's funeral, Legolas arrives back in Ithilien to find that he has a visitor, the one person in all of Middle-Earth who knows exactly what he is feeling: his father.

21. “family”: Room For One More. Legolas, Tilda, background Bard/Thranduil. Legolas finds himself travelling near Dale, ten years or so after the Battle of the Five Armies, and decides to see for himself how the city has changed since he was last there, which brings him news and a gift that he had not expected.

22. “pet store AU”: On Arda Street chapter 3: The Animal Café. Beorn, Sigrid, Tilda, Legolas, Théoden, Théodred, Éowyn, Éomer, Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen, Aragorn. One of the other shops on the street isn’t a shop at all; it’s an animal café and sanctuary for all sorts of animals.

23. “poison”: Complicated. Tilda, Tauriel, Sigrid, Bard/Thranduil. Tilda wants to know why the Elvenking was mean to Tauriel, when her Da seems to think he's nice, and Tauriel tries to explain.

24. “true love’s kiss”: True Love’s Kiss. Hal Peacock/Jack McQueen | Jack Outlaw, Natalie Peacock. Natalie is trying to explain Sleeping Beauty to Jack. Jack doesn't get it, and Hal steps in to try and help (and possibly demonstrate).

25. “drop”: Nobody Tosses A Dwarf. Legolas, Gimli. While exploring the Glittering Caves, Legolas and Gimli come across a place where the path has fallen away. Legolas can make the jump, but Gimli...can't quite.

26. “summer vacation”: Reunions. Legolas/Imrahil, Bard/Thranduil (past). In the fifth summer of Legolas' new colony in Ithilien, his father comes to visit him, and they talk about some of the things they now have in common.

27. “dream”: A Dream In The Green. Gawain (Cursed 2020). Tortured, gravely injured, barely alive, Gawain dreams. And the earth takes him back to herself, to heal.

28. “fantasy”: You Know There’s Another Three Movies, Right? Hal Peacock/Jack McQueen | Jack Outlaw. Hal and Jack watch the Lord of the Rings movies. Jack actually enjoys them, which is rather more than Hal had expected.

29. “high school AU”: On Arda Street, chapter 4: The Kids Are All Right. Legolas, Sigrid, Bain, Tilda, Bard/Thranduil. The children of the tattoo artist and the florist think it’s high time their dads admitted they like each other. Little do they know, their dads are some way ahead of them.

30. “joy”: Empty-Handed. Bard/Thranduil, Thranduil’s Wife (Auriel), Bard’s Wife (Maudie), Legolas, Sigrid, Tilda. Thranduil almost does not sail West at all, certain that Valinor will hold nothing for him, and when he does get there he begins to lose his already tenuous grip on life. But his wife and his son have a plan to restore his happiness to him.

31. “there was only one bed!”: The Fellowship Reunited. The Fellowship and friends. Everyone is very, very tired after the end of the War of the Ring, and when the Fellowship visit Frodo during his recovery, nobody can quite stay awake. Unfortunately there is only one bed...zzzzzz...

All works posted to my Writers’ Month 2020 series on AO3!

Huge thanks to the mods of @writersmonth for organising this event and to everyone who has read, kudos’d, commented and supplied ideas! I have had a hectic, tiring and incredibly enjoyable month, and have written and posted 41,307 words (phew!). Now I’m going to have a little rest...and then start working on the extra chapters some of these stories deserve! (and posting the story to which several of these serve as side-fics and epilogues...)

[tolkienrsb]

Roundup Post #8

Feeling the Sunday night blues?  Never fear, we’ve got you covered with our latest selection of fic and art collaborations...

*

Breaking the Siege by @lendmyboyfriendahand (writer) / @senalishia (artist) //  With Imladris once more safe after driving back the threat from Angmar, Celebrian helps her husband relax a little.

The Line of Durin Continues by Rogercat (writer) / @silverwork4furs (artist) // Who doesn’t love a “Durins Live” AU?

Over Streams, Under Stars by @swan-of-a-kind (writer) / @usuallysublimepenguin (artist) //  The first Fallohide to travel westward–a hobbit newly of age, Berylla–encounters an unexpected settlement of dwarves in the north of the Misty Mountains.

Wizard Plans, Eru Laughs by @erisofimladris (writer) / Smaug (artist) //  Gandalf plans a journey, but doesn't anticipate the complications of a particularly... interesting hobbit.

The Elf Who Saved Christmas by @naryaflame (writer) / @cycas (artist) // Maglor has a very good reason to believe in Father Christmas.

The Waterfall by Burning_Nightingale (writer) / @z-h-i-e (artist) //  Seeking to escape a night of insomnia, Glorfindel goes out for a ride and encounters an unexpected new acquaintance.

*

And that concludes our roundup of collaborations!  If yours hasn’t appeared on a roundup post, please check that you actually submitted the promo post information to us; if you think you did and we’ve somehow missed you out, please drop a message into our Ask box.

Tomorrow there will be a bonus post to showcase the treats we have promo posts for, and then that will be all from us for 2019!  Thank you again to everyone who took part, read, commented, cheered from the sidelines, reblogged and otherwise helped to make this a great event.

In the unlikely event you haven’t found it yet, the full collection is here.

[amid-ice-and-snow]

For: Open Muse: Elrohir Verse: LOTR | au

with the Ring (and the Hobbits) having been transported safely to Imladris, Elrohir had been dispatched to the Bruinen Ford. he halted his mare at the campsite on the High Moors and made the remainder of the trip on foot. unwilling to put his companion at risk should the Nazgul still be around.

silver eyes scanned the Ford, before walking over and crouching to study the dead horses. at first, he couldn't sense anything. but a nicker of concern had the elf retreating to stand near the pale grey mare that had followed him down. just in the nick of time, for darkness started to gather on the far side of the bank.

the Nine dared not cross, not after last night. still, Elrohir didn't take any chances and returned to the Valley. leaving some scouts to watch over the Ford while he went to alert the necessary people. namely: his father, Aragorn and Gandalf.

[amidst-snow-and-ice-moved]

For: Elrond :: @calcmities Muse: Elrohir Verse: Empath | AU

Dol Guldur.

formerly known as Amon Lanc; once the home and fortress of Oropher, late King of the Greenwood. now the current residence of the Necromancer, better known as Sauron. it wasn't a place where most would dare tread, even if they wanted to. not even the Elves of the Woodland Realm, who lived within the now aptly named Mirkwood, would go there.

it was common knowledge that Elves and Dwarves rarely got on well together, especially after the Fall off Erebor. both races tried to stay away from each other, only crossing paths if they had no other choice. in the few places they did live close to the other, Ered Luin for example; there were usually Rangers of the North nearby to keep the peace.

while folk almost never came to the old Elven fortress, it was far from being deserted. alongside the so called Necromancer and his minions, the dungeons held some long term guests of his. guests who had been missing for so long, many thought they were dead. and who, despite their races, had found a mutual companionship in each-other.

"…El..?"

'Just resting, Thrain...'

a lone blue eye peered at the, older than him but still young, elf. concern stirred at the faded mental response, a direct result of pulling him from the Dark Lord's grasp. he didn't know how long his companion had been in Dol Guldur but time had not been kind to either of them. "..Not alone... Above Tharkûn... Elves..."

the halting words, spoken in a mixture of Westron and Khuzdul, the secret language of Dwarves, finally caused silver eyes to open and focus on Thrain. only then, was it possible to fully recognise who the elf actually was: Elrohir, the younger twin son of Lord Elrond from Imladris.

'Elves... Few would attempt.. to come here.. unless...'

although still weakened from earlier, Elrohir used his empathy to scan the fortress for whom Thrain had spoken. it wasn't difficult- his grandmother and father were easy to identify. his time spent as Sauron's prisoner had strengthened his power yet at the same time, weakened his control.

so his scan was more powerful than the silent elf intended, unintentionally helping the White Council in their fight. there was also another unintended side effect: it alerted them to prisoners below.

'Gandalf, Thrain is.. alive and safe...'

although the message was intended for the Grey Wizard, it was broadcasted to both Istari and elves. his mental words soon wavered and faded. but there was no doubting who had spoken- or that the missing young elf was still alive. if only just.

[sweetteaanddragons]

Geez, I hope Maedhros got sent back to just before the silmaril was handed over -- can you imagine if he'd been there as long as Elrond and Elros and spent the whole time sure the same damnation was repeating? God, the least mercy, the worst. Also, I question if he'd have gone to find that lava early. I can't even tell if he'd think living to hold a silmaril would be a mercy for his brothers or not.

Okay, so technically, in my Time Traveling Twins AU, they’re the only time travelers. Maedrhos doesn’t actually know what’s going on, he just made the same mistake Elwing did.

However, this gave me an idea, so here, have an AU of an AU in which Elrond and Elros are not the only ones caught up in this mess: 

He had stepped into the fire anticipating darkness. Cessation. Cold.

That was the best his mind could conjure when imagining the Void. Failing that, he had expected a call to Mandos’s Halls where he would be judged and locked away. Perhaps, if Namo was merciful, it would be with his brothers. Even if he was not, he would at least be in a world of grey with nothing more to cause hurt.

He had not expected to wake up in bed without even a twinge of pain in his hand.

For a moment, he lay perfectly still, barely breathing, daring to allow himself to imagine that he is back in Aman. Soon, one of his little brothers would come running in to wake him, or he would hear one of his parents call -

“Maedhros, I’m sorry to wake you, but - “

Maedhros. Not Maitimo.

Maglor hurried over to him. “Maedhros, are you well?”

Maedhros forced his eyes open to see what precise moment of the slow descent down he had found himself in.

Stone walls. Rescued wall hangings, one of which had a slight scorch mark on it, barely visible.

Amon Ereb.

Maedhros forced himself from the bed, fell to his knees, grabbed the chamber pot, and threw up whatever precious food had been served the night before.

Maglor was beside him in an instant, holding back his hair, and singing a soothing song until Maedhros was finally done retching.

“The twins?” Maedhros croaked as soon as he could. A safe question. There were always twins at Amon Ereb. Maglor’s response will tell him just what he’s being forced to relive.

“Amrod and Amras are already up and preparing the horses for their patrol,” Maglor assured him. “They won’t have heard.”

“I need to see them.” It was nearly certainly a bad idea as he doubted very much he could maintain control if he did, but it was go find them or sink back into the bed and beg Namo to end it already, and trying to end it hadn’t worked so well last time.

He had tried. He had somehow, impossibly, failed.

Maedhros was used to failure, and as tired as he was, the iron will that had been forged even harder on Thangorodrim was reasserting itself now.

Maglor was looking at him with open concern. He hadn’t been so open since Maedhros had insisted they send the twins away. He had closed himself off then, going through the motions till Maedhros had finally asked too much -

But no. That hadn’t happened yet.

“Of course,” Maglor said. “But let’s get you cleaned up first. They won’t leave without seeing you, not after last time. That’s what I came to wake you up for, in fact, though I was sorry to do it. I know the dreams have been worse of late.”

They’ll get even worse than this, Maedhros almost told him, but he stopped himself just in time and let Maglor wipe his face and hand him his clothes.

And none shall release us, he thought bitterly. Not even death itself.

He wondered if he would only have to gain Elwing’s Silmaril to fulfill the Oath now.

It was like wondering whether it would be quicker to fly to the Sun or the Moon. His task was impossible. How impossible was a matter that concerned him barely at all.

But he kept moving, kept going, because he knew now that was the only choice he had.

Two weeks after that, Maglor came stumbling into his room in the dark watches of the night. Maedhros was still up, reading reports by candlelight and trying to figure out a way to save at least someone from this trap of Doom.

“Maedhros,” he said, swaying. “Maedhros.”

Maedhros glanced up. This did not sound like Maglor’s usual attempts to get him to go to bed.

Maglor’s eyes were wild. His brother stumbled forward and grabbed his shoulder. “You’re real,” he said. “You’re real.” Tears started rolling down his cheeks. “You’re real, you’re real, you’re real . . . “ He sank to his knees and buried his head in Maedhros’s shoulder. “Don’t leave me again,” he pleaded, and Maedhros knew.

“I won’t,” he said helplessly, knowing it might be a lie. “I won’t. Don’t cry, ‘Laure, please don’t cry.”

But Maedhros’s own iron control, already rusted almost to nothing, was already cracking, and he was crying too.

Amrod and Amras did not wake up.

“Maybe because they didn’t hold a Silmaril?” Maglor suggested.

“Maybe because they’re less cursed,” Maedhros said, pressing a hand to his burning eyes. Sleep was becoming ever more difficult to obtain. “They weren’t around for me to drag them into a fourth kinslaying.”

“Maedhros . . . “

“Never mind,” Maedhros said wearily. “What does it matter? We should be thankful that they at least do not know their end.”

“The end is not fixed,” Maglor said firmly.

Maedhros thought of the cold iron of the Doom of Mandos, but he maintained the sense not to say, Isn’t it?

The hardest part was keeping up the charade that he still had a little hope left, but he’d been trying to keep up that charade the first time around too, so if there was a little more despair in his eyes or weariness in him movements, no one noticed it, not even his youngest brothers.

No one save Maglor, who seemed afraid to leave him alone.

Maglor need not have feared. Maedhros was not eager to seek another way to die.

Next time, he might wake up in Angband.

Maglor poured over the letter they sent to Elwing. Apparently he thought that if he got the wording just right, the young queen might give in.

Maedhros had no such hope. At his most optimistic, he thought perhaps he could get the Ambarussa through the fighting. The rest of the time, he spent his hope on the thought that if he failed in that, at least Elrond and Elros might bring some comfort to Maglor again.

When the letter actually received a favorable response and a team of ambassadors with it there to negotiate a deal, Maedhros spent the whole of negotiations convinced it was some ploy for spies or assassins. It could not be as simple as different wording to the letter. It could not.

If it was, then that if he had simply tried harder . . . If he had simply tried longer . . . 

He avoided Maglor’s triumphant looks and waited until he could excuse himself to go be violently sick.

Amrod found him curled up agains the cool stone of the bedroom wall. Maedhros tried to sit up, but dizziness and Amrod’s hand forced him down again.

“It’ll be alright,” Amrod assured him quietly. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed how ill you’ve been lately, but it’ll be alright. Once we’ve gotten one Silmaril, the Oath will leave us alone for awhile.”

Once, the Oath had felt like fire in his mind. Now it felt like an iron leash, dragging him forward into the dark.

Maedhros could hardly breathe.

“It’ll be alright,” Amrod said again, and the warmth of his brother pressed against him was enough to push the dark enough away that he could breathe.

The Doom might claim them all eventually, but for right now, three of his brothers were still here.

Maedhros had been prepared for many things from the delegation supposedly bringing the Silmaril, treachery foremost among them.

He had not been expecting to see Elrond and Elros, somewhat changed but unmistakably them, among them. Elrond and Elros as adults.

He accepted the Silmaril in a daze and almost forgot to flinch, but it didn’t burn. Instead, the Oath’s noose loosened and jostled uncertainly, as if it was uncertain whether it ought to be lifted entirely or not.

He didn’t blame it.

He looked to Maglor to make sure he hadn’t been driven mad after all, but Maglor’s eyes were locked on the children.

Well. Not the children, anymore.

Maglor’s songs were wild with joy, and neither of them had to look at the other to slip away after Elrond and Elros when the two finally went to bed. The Ambarussa could play chief hosts for awhile.

Maglor opened his mouth to call out after them, but his voice must have failed him. He sent a pleading look at Maedhros.

“Elrond? Elros?” Maedhros called because he had failed his brothers too often to do with such a simple thing now.

The two of them turned automatically, and even in the moonlight, he could see their eyes were wide.

“How - ?” Elros started to say.

“I could ask the same of you,” Maedhros said wryly, “considering that you are supposed to be about six years old right now.” If they had travelled as he and Maglor had, what was the common factor? Why were they not in their own younger bodies?

But there was a lightness in his chest now that he had not dared to trust to before. The children were here and safe, and so were the Ambarussa. The Silmaril was here and their’s, and there had been no blood shed for it. Things had changed, and they had not been the only ones changing things, apparently, so perhaps a different letter had not been all that was needed after all. Perhaps their good fortune was from the work of the twins, little deserved though it was.

Elrond, for his part, was looking at Maglor with over bright eyes. “I did tell you that I wouldn’t let that be the last time I saw you,” he said.

Maglor reached out a tentative hand and placed it gently on Elrond’s shoulder, like he was afraid it would fall through. “Clearly, I should have listened,” he said with a shaking smile. “I suspect letting myself get dragged to Imladris would have caused far less trouble.”

“Or Numenor, for that matter,” Elros grumbled and threw himself at Maglor like the boy he should be instead of the full grown man he so clearly was. “Stop being so elvish and hug him already, Elrond. You too, Maedhros, we didn’t do all that wrangling with Mother’s council just to get stared at.”

“That must have been awkward,” Maedhros said blankly. “What did you tell her?”

Elros groaned. “Technically, nothing that wasn’t true except for ridiculous fake names that are apparently also real names because my brother has no imagination. By implication, I pretty sure she made the same mistake you used to on bad nights. Awkward doesn’t begin to cover it. Get over here. You owe us this.”

That and far more than that.

And holding close those he had thought lost to Doom and folly was hardly a high price to pay.

[tanoraqui]

This is the last you’ll get of this AU for a while, I think. Until then...bonus points to whoever accurately guesses where/when Whitestone comes in!

[Prologue / 1 / 2 ]

Flashback to several hundred years ago:

Vex did not fall back onto her bed so much as fling herself delightedly, with the express purpose of bouncing. The famed elven bards of Rivendell had, this night, utterly failed to induce restfulness in their listeners.

“I shall be just like Luthien when I am older,” she announced. “Wham! Ha! Aaaa!” She punched the air, and sang a ringing note.

“And marry a human?” Vax, sitting calmly on his own bed, gasped in faux-horror. “Father would be furious.”

Vex rolled onto her elbows and grinned at him. “That is another benefit. You're growing so wise, brother.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. She propped one hand under her chin and continued.

“I do wonder if Men are more...energetic, than Elves. You'd think so, wouldn't you, with how little time they have? It's not just here - even back home, everyone is so dull. Slow. Not at all fun to-”

“Stop!” Vax put his hands over his ears. “I do NOT want to hear about you and...anybody, ever. Not in Mirkwood, not in this shitty house-”

Now it was Vex’s turn to stick out her tongue. But she abated her musing.

“Anyway,” said Vax, once it was safe to uncover his ears, “Tinuviel wasn't as badass as her father.”

“Thingol?” Vex’s voice could not have been fuller of scorn. “What did he do?”

Vax wobbled one hand in the air, palm up. “Banged a Man?” He lifted the other and shook it up and down firmly. “Banged a Maia.”

Vex replied, with that tone of almost genuine sympathy that only a sibling can truly achieve, “I really don't think Gilmore thinks of you the way you-”

A lesser being might not have caught the pillow, so quickly did Vax fling it at her face. But Vex’ahlia, daughter of Syldor, had come of age hunting beasts beneath the dangerous eaves of Mirkwood. Her reflexes were second to none.

“Shut up!” her brother shouted, already reaching for another pillow. “That's not what I- and anyway, no one knows whence- we were just talking, Vex’ahlia, it's not like-”

The rest of the scene was lost in quite a lot of torn cloth and flying feathers.

Even the great translator Professor Tolkien of Oxford University did not dwell, in his similar tale, on every detail discussed at the great council we now come upon. So nor shall I, overly much.

For some context, I should say first that Pike wakes after three days, and when she does, Gilmore has arrived at last, and they are delighted to see one another well. It had been a couple close calls: Gilmore had been attacked on Weathertop just a few days before Pike and her companions, by four of the Nine. As well as had some previous troubles of his own. And Pike, of course, had nearly passed away into wraithhood herself, the sliver of the Witch-Queen’s blade working its way steadily toward her heart for days. But Syldor Half-Elven* is a mighty healer, well-practiced in battling evil wounds of such type, though perhaps never so severe. But hobbits, as Gilmore has been saying for years, are surprisingly hardy folk.

The even dearer reunion is with Wilhand, who has been in Imladris for many years now. He earned his retirement in the Last Homely House with his own great deeds and adventures, if you will recall previous tales. There were several dwarves, and one dragon. He has gone a little deaf, now, and partakes a tad much of wine and sweetmeat—just think what the neighbors would say, he japes to Pike, once they are done hugging. After so many years of adventurous reputation, he’s acting like a respectable hobbit at last!

(This tale that I am telling now has fewer dwarves, and…well. We shall have to see about the matter of dragons.)

It is another couple days before Pike is well enough to see Grog, for he is camped out on the opposite shore of the now-quieted river. There is a limit to how far people will go to make good with unlikely allies, and that limit is an orc in Rivendell. Grog, frankly, agreed. The valley is too bright everywhere for his tastes. He has not been too alone: when Scanlan was not fretting at Pike’s bedside, he was across the ford, teaching Grog drinking songs from the Shire. With accompanying drink, of course. Minxie visited a time or two, and Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan more often. They brought much of the best drink.

First, however, the Council of Syldor. Dark times are come to Middle Earth, and so it is not just for Pike’s burden that people have assembled from near and far, seeking advice in trade for ill but urgent tidings.

From Uriel’s elven court of Mirkwood comes Allura, a lady and a scholar, to say that dark things are stirring once more in Dol Guldur. Not long did the fortress lay silent, after the cleansing dealt by the Wise back when Wilhand was out adventuring. Once more, spiders spin their webs, and orcs move and Black Riders have been sighted.

Lowbearer Vord, a dwarf of the Lonely Mountain, comes with his ward to bring similar news, and darker yet. War is brewing to the east, for the Lonely Mountain and Dale as well. Messengers have come in Vecna’s name to treat. They also ask after a hobbit, and a ring - “a trifle”, they say. Twice they have been rebuffed, but a third and final choice approaches…

Maryanne Darington of Minas Tirith arrived just this morning, with tale of a city beset and a dream most strange. For the latter, she seeks council; of the former, she speaks only with weariness and pride. Long has Gondor stood against the Enemy, and long shall it - she hopes. Osgiliath has fallen, and her brother’s dream spoke of Isildur’s Bane.

And what if that ring, that trifle, that doom of Elendil’s eldest son? That tale falls to Syldor, who was there for much of it - for times lost save in song and story, and the living memory of a very a few still on this earth.

I will not bore you with a retelling of those great events. The forging of the great rings, the betrayal of Sauron, the Last Alliance of Men and Elves… I’m sure you are likewise familiar with the parts of the tale that Gilmore fills in, of the finding of the One Ring by first one small person, and then another.

There, of course, the tale does a hop, skip, and a jump, as Wilhand tells his part - how he lost his party beneath the Misty Mountains and came across a small golden ring instead, as well as a young orc being strangled in the dark by a pale, slippery sort of being. This was the selfsame orc who had earlier tried to defend Wilhand against his own monstrous kin, so Wilhand sought to return the favor. Together, though it was not quite the tender-hearted hobbit’s plan, he and the orc killed the strange, frog-like beast, and tended each other’s wounds and escaped into the sunlight before parting ways.

That young orc, of course, was Grog, because orcs live as long as I, the storyteller, want them to live. He is very much not at this council - but while Pike was recovering, Gilmore and Minxie together got a story out of him, of wandering south and east, as countless of his kind were summoned over these last many years, and saw many terrible things and endured far, far worse, until the Great Eye knew the name “Trickfoot” and the race “hobbits”, and the land “Shire.”

(This, GIlmore tells with sympathy in his voice, and Wilhand takes and squeezes Pike’s hand as she shudders for their friend, remembering too well the Nine’s deathly cruelty. Because fuck you, Tolkien; even orcs don’t deserve that.)

Gilmore also speaks of his own recent captivity at the tower of Orthanc, at the hands of the wizard Curunir. (“Sauruman” in other tales, but in this world of Exandria, so enamoured was she of the name the elves gave her that she entreated its use by all, and they weren’t assholes so it stuck.)

So...the quest.

In the books, the moment is still, as they all stare at the Ring on the table in the center of the circle. This small, golden ring, which holds all their fates. In the films, there is shouting, discord already being sown by the power of the Ring. To guard it with the wisdom of Elves, or the strength of Men, or the strange, untouchable nature of Matthew Mercer, back in the Old Forest t the edge of the Shire, who would be First and Last? Or to take it, to use it, to overthrow the Enemy and win peace at last for Middle Earth? No, no--it must be destroyed, that is known. But how? And, moreover, who? Who could bear such a perilous quest, unspeakable temptation and greater peril, to the Fires of Mount Doom itself?

“I’ll do it.”

Pike’s voice rings clear, through silence or hubbub. She does not stand tall but she does stand forth, with her head high and her eyes alight. Her shaking hands curled into steady fists.

“I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though I do not know the way.”

[and now, for dramatic effect, I think I will follow the films]

“I have some knowledge of it,” says Gilmore, and comes to stand beside her, a tall and steady presence. “I will help you bear this burden, Pike Trickfoot, as long as I may.”

“And I.” Minxie - or Keyleth, perhaps, we ought call her - kneels to hobbit height. ��Broken or not, my sword is yours.”

“And my axe!” Kima of the Iron Hills, the Lowbearer’s ward, jumps to her feet. She has been fidgeting since the council convened.

Allura shoots the dwarf a skeptical look, and steps forth as well. “Whatever aid the Kingdom of Mirkwood can give, or even just I myself, is yours, little one.”

“I think that’s our line, darling.”

Syldor scowls as Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan step from the shadows by the door. His children by a Silvan elf, now deceased, they are estranged, and had not been invited to this meeting. They came anyway, and now take matching places at Pike’s back.

“We’ve got you, Pickle,” says Vax, with a comforting hand on her shoulder. She smiles up at him.

“And me!”

Scanlan’s appearance from hiding is much less graceful. He falls out of a tree. But he picks himself up and scrambles to stand by Pike. “No way is Pike going to go destroy all evil without me.”

Syldor casts his eyes to the heavens, as if seeking salvation. Maryanne snickers for just a moment as she stands, before her sobriety returns. “If this is truly the will of the Council…” she says slowly, and puts a hand on the hilt of her sword. “Then Gondor will see it done.”

“Fine,” Syldor says with perhaps more force than necessary. But he, too, sobers as he surveys the group assembled before him. “The Enemy fields Nine Riders - so we shall send forth Nine Walkers. The Fellowship-”

“Actually,” Scanlan interrupts. “Mr. Elf Sir Guy. Sorry, but we’re ten.”

“What? No, you are-”

Scanlan Shorthalf, who knows his way around a story, crosses his arms and stares down Syldor Peredhil, son of Eärendil, of the line of Beren and Luthien. He says, confidently: “There’s no way Grog is gonna want to miss this.”

*A/N: This is the character swap-in I’m least comfortable with, because tbh Elrond deserves better, but I am assuaged by how much canon!Syldor would hate this title.