#the dwarves were not as smart as they thought they were

[emmyspov]

Prioritise yourself (Thranduil x Reader)

author's note: happy easter to everyone who celebrates it and a happy weekend to all either way🪻this is honestly one of the most scary things i've posted because it's something so personal that i relate to a lot, but i thought maybe someone else might need it, too🥺 please always remember that nothing will ever be more important than your health and well-being 🩷

warnings: symptoms of burnout, lack of sleep, exhaustion, negative self-talk, skipping meals, mentions of food, nudity (for taking a bath together) - please please please let me know if I forgot something! 🩷

word count: 1.9k

edit is mine, all pics are from pinterest :)

It had seemed like a smart idea when you offered Thranduil to help him with all the paperwork.

His days were filled with meetings and more often than not he only returned to your chambers once it was dark already.

So, for the past few months, you had been - more or less secretly - helping him with whatever you could: sending out invitations to other royals, filing away documents, re-writing contracts so all that would be left to do was sign them.

You were the king's partner after all and you wanted to help him as much as possible. This was your kingdom, your home, as much as it was his, as he regularly reminded you.

Thranduil noticed, obviously. The hours in his study were reduced since most things were taken care of in a perfect way already - he could return to your private rooms right after dinner and spend time with you instead which the Elvenking appreciated immensely.

However, over the past few weeks, things have taken a turn. And Thranduil noticed that, too.

How, on some days, you would get up earlier than him, how you would skip lunch and dinner with him - although it was one of your favorite things since you got to spend it with one another during your otherwise busy schedules - and instead eat by yourself, hunched over some papers. He noticed your tired eyes and dull skin and- lack happiness, to cut it short.

Worry didn't even remotely describe what he was feeling. He felt sick to his stomach when he thought about you being unhappy.

Today was no different.

You had gotten up before sunrise, leaving your husband a little love letter, before entering your own study to take care of all official things.

There was a lot to do. Other elves as much as people from Laketown and even dwarves were sending letters, hoping to schedule a meeting with the king himself to talk over whatever was bothering them.

You made it your mission to answer every single one of them, noting down appointments and also sending out excuses if Thranduil wasn't the right one to talk to when it came to certain matters.

By the end of the day, your head was pounding. You let out a yawn and rubbed your eyes, hoping to relieve some of the pressure behind them, but to no use.

Closing them for only a minute wouldn't hurt. You could still look for your husband afterwards.

A line had been crossed for the Elvenking.

It was the second day in a row that you skipped your shared meals and from what he just learned, you weren't eating them at all.

He needed to talk to you. He wouldn’t - and couldn’t - let you destroy yourself over some work. Your happiness and well being came first and he would make you realise that, no matter the cost.

After reaching your study and receiving no answer to his knocks, he let himself in with determined steps, only to stop abruptly as soon as he saw your sleeping figure. His eyes softened immediately.

"Oh, meleth."

With two big steps, he was by your side, crouching down until he was on eye level with you. Even in your sleep, you looked stressed, your eyebrows scrunched up, reminding him of the times you woke up from a bad dream.

"What are you doing to yourself, hm?"

Gentle, as if you would break like glass if he touched you with too much force, he picked you up and carried you out of the room and into your shared bed chamber where he set you down on the soft mattress and covered you with a fluffy blanket.

Thranduil left the room again for only a few moments so he could blow out the candle in your study and put everything where it belonged. He himself hated to work at a messy desk and didn't want you to deal with the same thing once you would return to work, although he didn't want to think about that yet. For now, you needed rest and all the love and care you could get.

He returned to your bedroom after he spoke to some of his subordinates to let them know neither he nor you would be available in the next three days.

You were still fast asleep, curled up into the blanket. The king walked over to you and slowly began to remove all your uncomfortable clothing before he himself put on a night gown.

Only then did he lay down next to you, carefully maneuvering your body into his arms, your head on his chest. Even in your sleep you wrapped your arm around his waist and entangled your legs, letting out a small sigh.

"Sleep, meleth, you've been working too hard", your husband whispered and brought his delicate fingertips up to brush some hair out of your face before letting them trail down to your back, rubbing some calming circles into your shoulder. "I'll watch over you, I promise."

And Thranduil kept his word.

He stayed up to make sure you slept through the night, occasionally pressing a kiss to your temple or the top of your head while his fingers were always touching you in some way.

It was nearly lunch time when you woke up the next day.

After noticing you were still cuddled up with your husband although the sun was already shining into the room, you immediately sat up.

"I- I overslept, oh Varda, there is so much to do. Why didn’t you wake me, my love?"

With a gentle force, Thranduil pressed you back onto the mattress.

"You've been overworking yourself for weeks and your health and happiness are suffering in return. I told everyone we wouldn't be available for the next few days. For the foreseeable future, we'll only take care of you."

You didn't want to cry. And you tried really hard to keep the tears at bay, but when the Elvenking looked at you with so much love in his eyes, you couldn’t stop them.

"I'm sorry for failing you, my king."

The elf wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. "Oh meleth, no. No, you didn't fail me, you never have. And you never will."

"I can't even take care of myself", you hiccuped, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "It's like the work and the pressure never stop and I'll never be good enough and now I am sitting here, crying to you, a literal king who has way more responsibility than me. I am so sorry to burden you with this."

Thranduil's heart was breaking. He couldn't believe this was how you saw yourself when, to him, you were the most beautiful being in all of Middle Earth.

"You are never a burden to me. Do you hear me? Never. We can fix this. You have to learn how to prioritise yourself. I can teach you. I will teach you. And we will start right now. You must be hungry, what do you want to eat?"

You fumbled around with your hands before looking up at the Elvenking. "Could I have some pancakes?"

Thranduil leaned forward to press a kiss against your nose. "Whatever you want, meleth nîn."

With one swift motion, he got up, put on one of his majestic robes and made his way to the kitchen to order your beloved pancakes and some additional treats as well as some hot and cold beverages.

He returned to your chambers with a first tray of food, watching your face lit up with delight at the sweet smell.

"Here you go, my love. Eat as much as you want and take all the time you need. There are no other things that need to get done today or the next few days."

You nodded and grabbed a plate, happily munching on the food the servants were bringing in over time.

The king was watching you carefully while he himself ate something. It was more than obvious that all the food was good for your mind, body and soul.

You let yourself fall back against the sheets when you were done, letting out a satisfied sigh. "That was good."

"It is about to get better. What do you think of a bath?"

Your eyes lit up. "Right now?"

The elf couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. "Is that what you want?"

You sat up, enthusiastically bouncing on the mattress and nodding your head. "Yes, please!"

Thranduil stood up again and walked into the bathroom, filling the tub with hot water and your favourite bath salts and flower petals before coming back to you.

With ease, he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off the bed, carrying you into the bathroom.

"Arms up", he ordered gently and removed your clothing, doing the same to himself afterwards.

"You're so handsome", you breathed out as you softly pressed your hand against his chest, right above his heart. "I'm so lucky to have you."

Thranduil's heart started to beat faster under your touch and praise and you smiled, feeling butterflies in your stomach at the fact that you still had this effect on him.

He lifted you into the tub, setting you down and lowering himself behind you, pulling your body flush against his chest.

"I'm the lucky one."

You shook your head before letting it fall back against his shoulder. "You take care of me when I can't do it myself."

The king's deft fingers brushed through your hair, letting them trail down your arm. "We take care of each other. You are the one who decreased my work load so I'd have more time."

You intertwined your hands. "Well, of course. I want you to be well."

A kiss was pressed against the top of your head. "Do you see my point?"

You nodded. "I think I do."

Thranduil let his thumb brush over the back of your hand. "Tomorrow, we can take a walk in the garden and look at all the blossoming flowers. Or we can do whatever else will make you happy."

A smile graced your lips. "Just being with you makes me happy."

Gently, the ellon grabbed your chin and turned your head around so he could kiss you. You melted into his embrace, smiling against his lips.

"Gi melin", he whispered after you two had parted for air and you replied with the same sentiment.

Once you two had soaked in the water for a while, the Elvenking grabbed your shampoo and lathered up his hands before bringing them up to your scalp to work in the product.

The more time you spend like this with your husband - in your little bubble of happiness and safety - the lighter your heart felt.

And it only got better when Thranduil's hands wandered down your head to your neck and shoulders, massaging your tense muscles to help you relax even further.

You shuddered and the king grinned to himself. He was just as pleased as you were earlier that his touch could, still, make you weak in the knees.

"Rest, meleth", he whispered as he continued to work on your upper back. "There will be time to talk about long-term adjustments and solutions, but for now, you can let yourself fall. I'll be there to catch you."

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[catboygretzky]

i have not read the silm but people always use it to go GLADADRIELS HAIR TO GIMLI can u explain

I wish i could do this without explaining so much of the silmarillion but i refuse to explain the entirety of the silmarillion

the first thing you have to know is that there's an elf called fëanor who was the most important elf of the early first age. he was a big deal. super smart, super talented, and he knew it. absolute cunt of a dude. was he an anti hero? was he simply a villain? idk at the end of the day he was a kinslayer of a cunt that committed atrocious war crimes. but he was smart and talented! (he created the silmarils which - well. as you may be able to guess are also a big deal)

super interesting character though. a 🔥 character, one may say.

so just. keep in mind that fëanor was super great at doing elf things (not so great at being a dad or just. having morals that weren't ambition and arrogance) and he was also galadriel's uncle.

now fëanor was obsessed i mean obsessed with galadriel's hair - literally everyone was.

Even among the Eldar [Galadriel] was accounted beautiful, and her hair was held a marvel unmatched. It was golden like the hair of her father and of her foremother Indis, but richer and more radiant, for its gold was touched by some memory of the starlike silver of her mother; and the Eldar said that the light of the Two Trees, Laurelin and Telperion, had been snared in her tresses. Many thought that this saying first gave to Fëanor the thought of imprisoning and blending the light of the Trees that later took shape in his hands as the Silmarils.

so yeah - pretty impressive hair on a pretty impressive elf. impressive enough to inspire the silmarils creation? maybe.

(everyone was obsessed, but fëanor was obsessed obsessed, there's this whole thing with him and light. see: silmarils, which literally captured the light of the Two Trees of Valinor and quite possibly were inspired by galadriel herself)

NOW fëanor begged for an entire lock of hair, and expected her to agree, three times. galadriel denied fëanor all three times.

to bring gimli back in - if you remember, gimli says his only desire is a single strand of her hair, not expecting to receive it but hey, she asked for what i desire most so!

by this point you may be able to sumise why it's a big deal without me telling you BUT

when galadriel tells him to name his desire and what she should give him, gimli says this

"There is nothing, Lady Galadriel," said Gimli, bowing low and stammering. "Nothing, unless it might be - unless it is permitted to ask, nay, to name a single strand of your hair, which surpasses the gold of the earth as the stars surpass the gems of the mine. I do not ask for such a gift. But you commanded me to name my desire."

"i do not ask for such a gift, but you commanded me to name my desire" whereas fëanor begged - gimli didn't even ask it of her, just answered her question about his desires.

but to everyone else this was a Big Deal

The Elves stirred and murmured with astonishment, and Celeborn gazed at the Dwarf in wonder, but the Lady smiled. "It is said that the skill of the Dwarves is in their hands rather than in their tongues," she said; "yet that is not true of Gimli. For none have ever made to me a request so bold and yet so courteous. And how shall I refuse, since I commanded him to speak? But tell me, what would you do with such a gift?" "Treasure it, Lady," he answered, "in memory of your words to me at our first meeting. And if ever I return to the smithies of my home, it shall be set in imperishable crystal to be an heirloom of my house, and a pledge of good will between the Mountain and the Wood until the end of days."

the elves went UM WHAT THE FUCK but galadriel just smiled because yeah, it was bold of him to ask, but he expected nothing and the only thing he would use it for would be to fix the (shitty) relationship between dwarves and elves.

so this look? when gimli tells legolas she gave him three hairs?

i'm sure inside he's thinking "holy shit holy shit holy shit", but it's definitely a turning point in their friendship. because well, if galadriel deems him worthy...

and when gimli said the only thing he'd use it for was to fix the relationship between elves and dwarves? HE DID.

and then galadriel let legolas bring gimli into elf heaven.

i'm sure others can say this much more eloquently, but tl;dr: galadriel said 'fuck you fëanor, go gimli go'

[keldae]

Musings

Gale couldn't remember the last time he had slept with someone – spending his time asleep wrapped in a lover's arms had been before Mystra. He hadn't ever needed to sleep when he was with his goddess in her realm, and she would never have come to the mortal planes to spend an entire night with him. So sharing his bedroll now was… unusual.

Not a bad type of unusual, he admitted to himself. But still unusual. And it was even more unusual that he hadn't had relations with his bed partner yet – that hadn't ever been a situation he'd found himself in, during the years before Mystra.

But then, with the orb in his chest… having sex was out of the question.

Unable to shut his mind off, he propped his head up on his pillow, looking down at the half-Elf who had stolen his blankets, and was trying to steal his heart. Devi was dead to the world, squished tightly against Gale's side, coppery hair loose around her head. Gale smiled fondly down at the little half-Elf, watching as a few strands of her hair moved with every slow breath past her parted lips. 

What are you seeing in your dreams tonight, Devi? he thought, gazing down at the thief. Hopefully her dreams were pleasant tonight. He didn't think she'd had a bad nightmare since they'd started sleeping together in the Underdark – he definitely had had pleasant dreams while sharing his tent and bedroll with her. Are you in Baldur's Gate, thriving as a little thief? Or are you thinking of the halfling and the dwarves from the book we read tonight? She had seemed to enjoy the story he had read to her.

Devi shifted slightly, rolling onto her side, facing Gale. Before he was quite aware of it, he was reaching to gently brush the loose strands of hair out of her face, tucking the locks behind one delicately pointed ear. His thumb touched her lips, slowly tracing the outline of her mouth. For a moment, he felt an unspeakable yearning for the woman sleeping beside him. If her thoughts during their lesson in the Weave were any indication, she wanted to kiss Gale, despite his affliction – and gods knew he desperately wanted to give her that kiss. He wanted to know what it would feel like to press his lips against hers, to let his tongue meet her own, to taste her mouth and breathe in her exhales as he fulfilled the vision she had shared with him of a kiss…

He closed his eyes, trying to force his mind away from the dangerous thoughts of kissing the woman with him. He'd spent the last year struggling to stabilise the orb – he couldn't risk his mental discipline failing him now. If he killed them all because of letting himself think too much, too enthusiastically, of kissing a beautiful girl… He wanted to groan in frustration.

Except that would have woken Devi up. He settled for silently scolding himself instead. Get a grip, Dekarios!

Besides, Devi wouldn't – couldn't – truly love a broken man like Gale was. He was older than she was, by quite a few years – and in trying to keep up with her youthful half-Elven exuberance, he definitely felt every tenday of his age in comparison to her. And he was irreparably broken, only a shadow of the man and wizard he had been a year and a half ago. He was the reject of a goddess, damned by his own foolishness, and doomed to meet an explosive end alone. 

In comparison, Devi was young, and full of life and fire and optimism. She had had a poor start in life – any child born poor in the Lower City of Baldur's Gate had a disadvantage. But she was smart, and stubborn, and if she was given the correct support, she could exceed any expectations for a girl born as a poor urchin. Maybe, Gale thought, he could leave a note leaving his wealth to her after he met his unavoidable end? Or he could just give her the key to his tower in Waterdeep before he inevitably had to leave the party to die somewhere safer. If she could cure her tadpole, maybe she could live on, somewhere safer than Baldur's Gate. And it would be a good use for the money and wealth he had, rather than leaving it all to rot. It wasn’t like Tara would really be able to use it, after all.

But he digressed. Devi was too young for him to pursue romantically, too vibrant, too lively to tie herself to a damned man. In another life, if they had ever even crossed paths, they would never have given each other a second thought (unless Devi had identified him as a pickpocketing target… which, Gale knew she would have targeted him in a heartbeat.). Even if he hadn't been damned, they were in entirely different social circles. Imagine the scandal, if he were to return to Waterdeep with an uneducated, uncouth, younger Baldurian thief, and one who could swear like a well-educated mercenary at that, as his lover! 

Gale grinned for a moment, imagining the reactions of some of his more class-conscious peers. His amusement faded with a sigh as he looked back down at Devi. You don't deserve as grim a fate as tying yourself to me would give you, he thought. You're too alive and hopeful to bind yourself to a broken, damned man. In another life, one where he wasn't a walking explosive, he might have still taken her to bed, trying to perhaps prove that being this much older than her just meant he was more experienced with pleasing a lover. And he was pretty certain he had pleased Mystra when he was the goddess’s lover – he could have wowed Devi with his command of the Weave in bed. He had already impressed her with their magic lesson after the tiefling party, and that had been tame! What he could have done behind a sound dampening ward to blow her away and make her cry out his name in bliss, over and over again…

Speaking of blowing away, he firmly turned his thoughts away from the idea of bedding Devi, thinking about spell incantations instead. The orb rumbled in his chest, but remained calm for the moment as his heart settled back down.

With another sigh, he stroked Devi's hair back from her face again. Where will your mind take you tonight? Will you dream of me? You really shouldn't – I'm a dead man walking. You deserve better than a broken heart. Although, wasn't he bold, to think that Devi might care for him the way he did her? What could he possibly offer her besides his knowledge of the arcane? He was doomed twice over – once from the illithid tadpole, and once from his own idiocy. She at least still had a chance at a normal life once she was cured of the tadpole. 

Tomorrow, he decided, he would start trying to distance himself from her. It would hurt her in the short term, and it would be agony for him, but it was for the best. She deserved better than to develop affections for a man who had nothing before him but an explosive death. Maybe he could subtly point her in the direction of Wyll – the warlock, despite his devilish appearance, was a good man. He was certainly a better man than the wizard who had tried to advance himself beyond mortal limitations to impress a goddess – and even with Wyll’s pact to a devil, he had a hope for a future beyond a destructive death alone. And he was younger, and handsome, and full of life and vigour, and could crack a joke to make even Devi groan while she was laughing…

Gods, this was already breaking Gale's heart.

But Devi would be happy with Wyll. Or maybe Shadowheart, if Wyll didn’t strike her fancy – the two half-Elves seemed to have a close connection already. Even if Shadowheart was a Sharran, Devi didn't seem to think less of her for it. Or Karlach, as boisterous and friendly as she was, would be a good match for the feisty little thief.

None of them were a depressed middle-aged wizard who had already exceeded his potential and his usefulness to Faerûn. 

Gale sighed yet again and started to roll away from Devi onto his side, trying to get some sleep. In the morning he would talk to Devi, and see if the thief would be receptive to the idea of spending her nights apart from him. Certainly, she would be upset at first – Gale fully expected to get slapped. But she had to see the logic eventually, right? She was more than smart enough, even if she was uneducated –

At his side, Devi softly moaned in protest of his movements. Her hand reached up, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down on his back again. Before Gale could do anything, the little half-Elf wrapped her arm around his stomach and settled her head on his chest, squirming until she was comfortable. Once she was satisfied with her human pillow, she sighed and draped her leg over his before she fell fully back to sleep, peacefully lost in her dreams.

Shit. This was not doing a damn thing to help Gale reconcile himself to letting go of her. She felt so damn good beside him, warm and snuggly, tucked under his arm where she belonged. How in the Nine Hells was he supposed to separate himself from her when she did things like this to him? His heart twisted in his chest at how serenely innocent she looked. She trusted him enough to sleep with him, even with the orb in his chest that could kill them all in an instant. Hells, she was sleeping on him now, only inches from the ugly markings he bore!

And she didn't seem to be bothered by that in the slightest.

“Why do you do this to me?” Gale whispered to the woman at his side. Giving up, he wrapped his arm around her, holding her closer to him. Was it his imagination, or did a little smile flicker over her lips as she felt him embrace her? He inwardly groaned – there was no way he could force himself to let go of her, or make her let go of him, when she so effortlessly held his heart in her hands. He was dooming her, every night that he slept with her, every time he read a book for her, every time he gave her a kind word or a smile or a gentle touch.

She would never let go of him in the way she needed to, in order to save herself from him and his grim fate. And Gale knew she would only call him a “self-destructive hopeless idiot”, or something similar, and cling tighter to him if he tried to talk to her about this and make her see sense.

Was she wrong, though?

Frustrated, Gale closed his eyes again and tried to will himself to sleep. Perhaps in the morning, he could think of a way to gently turn Devi from him and to a partner who actually had a future. It would break his heart, but it was better than dragging her down with him.

But maybe he could allow himself one more night of holding Devi against his heart and wishing he could safely confess his love for her. He sighed, forcing himself to resist the urge to kiss her hair, or her forehead, or those perfect lips. If he started kissing her even innocently right now, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop, not until the orb ended him. But gods, he wished he could… He could have died happy while kissing her, but it wasn't worth the risk he posed to everyone else in a ten-mile radius. Nobody else deserved to die while he indulged himself in kissing the woman he wanted – especially not the woman in question.

He sighed, shifting as much as he dared until he was comfortable under Devi. His other hand came up to slowly card his fingers through her loose hair, a soothing motion that made her contentedly hum in her sleep. Dammit, Devi, he thought, you make it too easy for me to love you.

That thought made him blink his eyes open again. Was this…? He thought for a moment, then sighed. Yes – this was love he felt for the woman in his arms. This was adoration, and devotion, and more than a bit of strongly-denied lust. He wanted her in every way possible – emotionally, and in spirit, and yes, physically too. 

But he wanted her safe and happy, even more than he wanted her with him. If you really love her, then you have to let her go, he tried to tell himself. Doesn't she deserve better than to be with you? Wyll would make her happy.

But what if she doesn't want Wyll? What if–

He firmly shut down the little voice in his mind before it could make the suggestion that maybe the woman in his arms wanted him. Nobody with any sense would want the older, broken, damned man that he was.

Then again, just that day, Astarion had been very enthusiastic in telling Devi that she had no sense, or self-preservation instincts, whatsoever…

Shut up. He scowled, then tugged the blankets up a little higher over himself and Devi. Just go to sleep. With any luck, Devi will see the truth herself without any prodding. And if she doesn't… it will hurt, but it will save her in the long term to break from her.

He sighed, then settled in to sleep, savouring what he was determined would be his last night holding the woman he loved.

—

Only a couple of hours later, Gale awoke to the sound of a whimper. He opened his eyes, frowning into the darkness of his tent until he heard a stifled sob from the half-Elf in his arms. He mumbled the incantation for a light cantrip, looking at Devi with anxiety spiking in his chest.

She didn't appear to be hurt. But her brow was furrowed as if she was in pain, and she was shaking. “Stop…” she whispered, flinching from something only she could see. “Please…”

Worried, Gale gently shook her shoulder. “Devi,” he lowly said, softly calling her name. “You're dreaming. You need to wake up.”

Devi didn't seem to hear him. She flinched again as though she'd been struck. “No,” she begged whoever was tormenting her. “You're hurting me!”

Gale shook her again, fear making the motion a little harder. “Devi,” he spoke her name again, a little louder. “Wake up, darling. I have you – you're safe. Wake up.”

His words didn't seem to be getting through. Devi whimpered again, her fingers tightening in Gale's shirt. “Please… help me… stop!” Her next words made Gale's heart twist in his chest. “No! Not Gale! Please!”

“Shhhh.” Gale shook her again and pressed his lips to her hair. “It's all right, darling. You're safe. Wake up now.” He lowered his lips to her ear as she whimpered again. “Wake up, Devi. You're safe… you're safe. I promise. Wake up. Wake up!”

Devi's twitching and flinching finally slowed, then stopped as Gale kept kissing her hair and whispering soothing reassurances to her. He finally felt her clutch his shirt a little tighter as she turned her head up to him. “Gale?” she whispered, her voice tiny and broken.

“I'm here,” Gale murmured, relief washing through his veins. “I have you. You're safe – it was just a dream, dear one. You're perfectly safe.”

“Oh, gods.” Still shaking, Devi buried her face in the crook of Gale's neck, clinging to him. “You were… you were…”

“Shhh,” Gale whispered. “I'm here.” He took her hand, guiding it to rest over his beating heart so she could feel his pulse. “I’m here. You’re all right – and so am I. Just breathe.” He heard a little sob from the woman he was holding, and felt his heart break for her. “Shhh. Breathe with me, Devi. Can you feel me breathing?” He waited until she nodded into his neck. “That’s my girl. Breathe with me, darling.” He focused on taking slow, calming breaths to make his chest move enough for her to easily feel him. For the first few breaths, Devi couldn’t quite match his slow breathing – stifled sobs made her body jerk unevenly under his arm. But as the minutes passed, she seemed to find his rhythm with breathing, her inhales slowly coming to match his as she calmed down from her nightmare. 

“Thank you,” she finally mumbled, slowly pulling her face out of his neck. There was a suspicious wetness on her cheeks that told Gale she’d been crying into his skin; indeed, he could feel her tears on him. “I’m sorry–”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Gale murmured, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone. He offered her a small, reassuring smile. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Devi started to shake her head, then hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of the blanket. “I… told you how my father’s a gods-damned bastard that not even the hells want?” she asked, her voice low and quiet. 

Gale nodded. “You’ve told me he’s a terrible person and you plan on dancing on his grave when he dies,” he softly answered. “Or using his grave for a latrine. Perhaps both.”

Devi made a little sound that Gale thought was trying to be a laugh, a laugh mingled with a sob. “He deserves it. He and his friends, they…” She took a shaky breath, not looking at Gale’s face. “They were hurting me, and then they… they decided to hurt you when you appeared in the dream — I think you were trying to save me? But they… gods, the things they did…” 

“Shhh.” Gale pulled Devi’s face back into the crook of his neck; she went to him willingly, clinging to him. “We’re both all right – there’s nothing to be afraid of in this tent.” Except the orb, and the tadpoles, and the threat of the Absolute, and the small-but-still-present risk that Mystra would simply spontaneously detonate the orb in Gale’s chest to kill him and everyone around him – Gale shook his head. “We’re safe here. Nobody can hurt you when I’m here to protect you.” 

“They hurt you,” Devi mumbled. “They were hurting you, and they were going to kill you, and–”

“Shhh. It was just a bad dream, darling. I’m entirely unhurt, and so are you.” Gale hesitated for a moment, then chuckled. “And you can tell your subconscious that I don’t fear a thief and his henchmen. I might be outnumbered, but I would make them regret facing me before falling.”

Devi trembled again in his arms. “You couldn’t fight,” she whispered, quiet enough that Gale almost couldn’t hear her. “You… you were trying to save me. If you had fought them… they would have hurt me more.”

Apparently Devi’s subconscious knew Gale well enough to know that this was a truth about him. If that nightmare had been reality… Gale knew he would have stopped fighting the instant it became clear that his resistance would have endangered the woman he loved. “Shhh,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “It was just a dream. Your father can’t hurt either of us here.” 

He felt Devi slowly nod, but she still clung to him, shaking like a leaf. He suspected that she was probably too scared to easily go back to sleep. With a grunt, he reached out for the book they had been reading earlier that evening – or rather, that he had been reading to her. Nudging the lights to where he could more easily see the pages, he opened the book back where they had left off. “Shall I try to get your mind back onto a more soothing subject?” he asked. At her hesitant nod, he kissed her hair again, then started quietly reading the next chapter. The halfling and dwarves had been caught by ogres, and were being argued over by said ogres who couldn’t decide how to cook them properly. It was one of Gale’s favourite scenes in the book, and Devi seemed to be entranced by the story normally. Indeed, she seemed to calm down as he read to her, shifting from having her face buried in his neck, to resting her cheek on his shoulder. 

As Gale came to the end of the chapter, he looked down to see Devi’s eyes closed and her lips slightly parted again, her breathing soft and slow. He wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep again, but he was grateful that she had found rest. Careful to not disturb her, he replaced the bookmark in the pages, then set the book back down and extinguished the lights over their heads. Devi grunted as he slowly rested on the pillow again, then snuggled up as closely as she could to him.

Gale sighed softly, running his hand over her hair soothingly. Apparently this was the gods’ way of foiling his plan to break apart from Devi before anything could begin with them. Who else was going to cuddle the little half-Elf after her nightmares? Who else would read to her to get her mind off her fear again? Try as Gale might, he couldn’t imagine Devi snuggling up so closely to Wyll, or Shadowheart, or Karlach, or any of their other friends in the party. For some reason, she had chosen Gale, doomed and damned as he was.

Guilt and hope surged in equal amounts in his heart – guilt because he was dragging Devi down with him, and hope because maybe he wasn’t quite as broken and useless as he believed himself to be. Maybe Devi saw something in him that he couldn’t see or acknowledge himself.

It would have been easier if she didn’t see anything in him, he thought. 

He yawned and let himself cuddle Devi closely, doing his best to make sure she felt protected and safe in his arms. “No harm will come to you if I can help it,” he promised her in a whisper. “You are safe with me.” Closing his eyes, he rested his cheek on her hair and let himself fall back asleep, praying that Devi’s dreams for the rest of the night (and his, he supposed) would be peaceful.

If you dream of me again, dear one… dream of the happiness that I can’t give you in reality. Please don’t dream of either of us suffering for the other, he thought before sleep reclaimed him.

[wild-lavender-rose]

Queen of Mirkwood

Pairing: Legolas x fem!human!reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Backstory: You and the rest of the dwarf company were taken captive by King Thranduil. But while Thorin’s hate for elves grows stronger, you find yourself developing feelings for Prince Legolas. He visits nightly and stays to talk of the adventures you’ve been on. When Bilbo comes to free the company, you follow without hesitation. The last thing you expected was an orc attack, or the terrible consequences that would come after...

Warning: Description of injuries, canon typical violence 

     “Kili, no!” You screamed, watching in one of the barrels as Kili collapsed from an arrow to the leg. 

     Thorin roared. The dwarves surrounding you were scrambling to fight. But fight what? Enemies were on all sides, elves and orcs attacking both the company and one another. Thorin had ordered you to stay by his side, but once Kili went down you could not simply stand by. 

     Giving Thorin an apologetic look, you scrambled out of the barrel and hopped back onto the river bank just in time to fight an orc barehanded. With a few skillful blows you pushed the beast into the water, but not before disarming him of both his swords. 

     With a terrible snarl, the orcs turned their attention from Kili to you, surrounding you on every side. Blades poised, you met each one head on, dispatching them with ease. 

     “What kind of magic is this?” An orc howled. 

     A smile played along your lips. “I take it you’ve never fought a woman before.” 

     You continued to fight them, glancing over at the dwarves whenever you could. They were nearly past the gates. Kili was with them, after having all but fallen into one of the barrels. The wound that they arrow caused seemed severe. And the chance of poison was great. Your heart twisted painfully at the thought. 

     Thorin called your name. “Hurry!” He gestured to the barrels. 

     You fought through the last of the orcs and broke into a run, shoving an elf out of the way as you started for the top of the gate where Kili had just been. But this proved to be a fatal mistake. The elf behind you drew his sword. You heard the slash of metal and turned, just barely blocking his blade with yours. 

     It wasn’t enough. Thorin gave a cry of anguish as the tip of the blade sank into your shoulder, withdrawing only to slash along your legs. You fell to your knees with a cry of pain, staring up at your attacker as your only way of escape disappeared down the river. 

     You tried to say something smart but found yourself struggling for air, a hand clasping your shoulder as the elf aimed his sword at your chest. You tried to stand and were met with a shock of pain, sending you back to your knees with a barely repressed whimper. You stared up at your attacker through tendrils of wet hair. “Do it then.” You hissed. “Kill me.” 

     “Lower your weapon.” 

     The voice caused you to look, the labored breaths in your chest growing even more stuttered at the sight of Legolas approaching you. You struggled to get up again, this time using a nearby tree for support. 

     “Stay down before the prince.” The elf shoved you back down. 

     “You will stand down immediately!” Legolas sheathed his sword and knelt down beside you, taking in your bloody, disheveled state. “What do the orcs want with Thorin?” 

     “I’ll die before I tell you.” You winced as the wound in your shoulder began to hurt, badly. Blood was soaking your shirt through, causing it to stick to your skin. 

     “Please,” the softer sound of Legolas’s voice betrayed the nights you had spent talking to him, the sensation you felt when his hand first touched yours. Part of you wanted to trust him, the part that had grown to long for his visits to your jail cell. But you knew what side he was on, and it was a side you would never agree with. 

     But as your blood mingled with the dirt below and Legolas moved closer all of these thoughts and reasons began to blur. You shook your head and moved away, your back hitting the tree behind you. “Just kill me.” 

     “Thranduil will want to question her.” The elf who attacked you was watching you with disgust. 

     “You are dismissed.” Legolas shot him an icy look before returning his attention. “Listen to me, you are bleeding.” 

     “I will not become a prisoner again.” You hated the way your voice broke, revealing your fear. 

     “And I will not have you die.” Legolas moved once more, ignoring your weakening resistance as he pulled you into his arms. 

                                                      # # # # # 

     “Did you ever tell him?” 

     You looked over at Thorin seated atop his throne, the two of you observing the great celebratory feast being held in his great hall. It was a wonderful gathering, and it warmed your heart to see men, elves and dwarves getting along. Even Thranduil seemed to be enjoying himself, talking amongst his soldiers as he drank from a luxurious silver goblet. 

     “Tell him what, my king?” You looked over at where Thorin was regarding you. 

     “After you were captured, and Legolas cared for you until you were well enough to follow our trail. Did you tell him anything?” 

     You smiled. “I did not. An orc they captured supplied everything. I promise I was faithful to the quest, Thorin.” 

     “I am not so sure about that, my lady.” Thorin smirked, his eyes alight with a happiness unlike any other you had seen before. 

     “My lady,” 

     You looked to see Legolas approach where you sat, bowing before you with a gentle smile. He held out his hand. “Will you dance with me?” 

     You smiled back. “Of course, my love.” You glanced back at Thorin. “My king.” 

     Thorin nodded, his warm chuckles sounding in your ear as you and Legolas, your love, your betrothed, made your way into the middle of the room and began to dance to the music. 

And that was how you became queen of Mirkwood. 

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[tathrin]

💚 a ship that you think deserves more love

[from this ask meme]

Okay hear me out: Celebrimbor/Narvi/Sauron.

It's a disaster! It's three incredibly talented smiths trying to one-up one another all the time; it's three creative outcasts supporting one another in their shared craft; it's three people from the most different possible backgrounds imaginable coming together to forge something greater than any one of them could have made alone.

It's beautiful! It's the heart of what the Gwaith-i-Mírdain was supposed to be about... (and only one of them knows that it's been rotten at the core all along.)

It's hopeful! It's overcoming suspicion and distrust on all sides with the power of love... (and then dying alone in the dark.) It's doomed! It's lovely! It's tragic! It's terrible!

It never could have ended well...but it could have ended better than this.

(Is Celebrimbor's grief over Narvi's mortal death part of how Annatar entices him to push further than before and make the Rings of Power? Rings that greatly extend the lifespan of whatever mortal wears them? Rings that could have kept Narvi alive and with them if they'd only been forged sooner?)

(Is Narvi's distrust of Annatar part of what pushes Celebrimbor to overlook his own suspicions of the maia? Because after all, he and Narvi were suspicious of one another at first, and now look at all they have done together! Or maybe it was the other way around; maybe Celebrimbor was the one who distrusted this ostensible emissary of the Valar, and good-hearted Narvi who urged Celebrimbor to open his heart again...)

(Is Annatar's initial dismissal of Narvi part of what first draws them all together, as Celebrimbor determines to prove to this stuffy maia that Aulë's children are just as noble and good and talented as those of Illuvatar, even as Narvi shrugs and shrugs it off because it's hardly the first time someone has looked down on a dwarf...

...but Celebrimbor won't allow anyone so smart to be stupid enough to disrespect his beloved, and he pushes and pushes and pushes until Annatar finally sees and agrees; and then when the three of them finally do put their heads together there's nothing, nothing they can't do...unfortunately for everyone.)

(Maybe Sauron did think briefly about just being Annatar; maybe he let himself toy with the idea that he could really, truly, be happy without domination; could be happy here, in Ost-in-Edhil, with them... but mortals die. Mortals die. And Annatar, even with all his necromantic arts, could not stop that. He needed more power. He needed to never, ever let that happen to anyone he cared about again. He needed the Rings...which meant that Annatar had to die too, and leave only Sauron to remain.)

(Is the strength of Narvi's heart, distilled in their thoughts as they craft the Rings, part of why the Dwarven Rings are less devastatingly corruptive than the Nine? Because they were forged with a knowledge and respect of dwarven strength, and so they can only strengthen dwarves—especially their worst aspects admittedly—rather than consume them, as Men are consumed?)

(Maybe the strength of a dwarven heart, the unshakable mountain of dwarven love, was briefly enough to hold the past at bay; to let Celebrimbor step beyond his fear of what the works of his family's hands could do, and embrace the risk of forging to the very best of his ability, because he knew that Narvi would be there to steady him...and if not for Narvi, he would never have had the courage to follow Annatar into the making of the Rings.)

(Did losing Narvi—and worse, watching Celebrimbor lose Narvi—teach Sauron some of the crucial lessons that allowed the Necromancer to bind and break mortal souls that way he does with his Rings? Or did it just convince him that mortals are weak enough to be dominated after all, given how fast they die?)

(Maybe the strength of a dwarven heart, the unshakable mountain of dwarven love, was briefly enough to hold his past at bay; to let Sauron step beyond Morgoth's shadow and shine as Annatar, as the memory of Mairon that had lain so long dormant: to make for the sake of making alone instead of in pursuit of power and domination. And then, when Narvi died, that shattered and all that was left was the comfort of command and corruption and Sauron, again, for all time; the safety of keeping a wounded heart safe behind hatred.)

(Does Sauron sometimes look at his Nine Ringwraiths and wish that he had Seven more, dwarven-strong and bright and clever, to remind him of better days in Ost-in-Edhil? Or is some small part of him glad not to have seen dwarves corrupted that far? And does he hate that little thread of weakness that his lingering affection for Narvi begets, or does he cherish it as one last reminder of what oh-so-briefly almost was?)

(Maybe they were never all three of them together at once; maybe it was Celebrimbor and Narvi first, and Annatar on the outside trying to worm his way in; not jealous of course, oh no, never jealous of a mere dwarf don't be absurd! but they were such a closed-loop, such a perfect pair and partnership, he could not help but envy them...but mortals are so momentary. Sauron knew all along that all he had to do was wait. Knew that his best entry to Celebrimbor's heart was through Narvi: that by earning Narvi's friendship he would earn Celebrimbor's trust, and then when Narvi—inevitably, as mortals do—died, then the greatest living smith of Middle-earth would be lost and vulnerable and his to mold as he desired...)

(Does jealousy of Narvi—of the fact that Celebrimbor died still loving Narvi, and hating Annatar—drive Sauron to make war on Erebor, to want to see Moria torn down to ruins, to bend all the dwarves finally, finally to his will with the Rings and promises that came so close to almost working once before?)

(Is memory of Narvi why the dwarves of Erebor are given three chances to change their minds and do Sauron's bidding before he tries to destroy them? Does he think that, like Narvi, surely they'll be clever enough to come around eventually...or does he know all along that, like Narvi, they'll be too strong and stubborn to give-in, but he gives them the chance anyway in hopes of getting those clever hands and minds pledged to his cause?)

The Rings were as great as they were because the three of them, together, were made for greatness. The Rings were terrible because love built on a lie always is.

What wonders could they have made together, if Sauron's heart was true? How could he have ever made the Rings at all, if their own hearts hadn't first been won by his lies?

How much of their love was him lying to them, and how much of what came after was him lying to himself?

[velvet4510]

i saw these two people in the tolkien discord server i’m in say this, and while i can see their point (i 100% believe that men should be able to be affectionate without romantic undertones), i just feel like so many people get the wrong idea that samfro shippers merely see them as “gay and cute”

most of us accept all interpretations of their relationship, whether that’s soulmates, queer-platonic, romantic, etc

i was wondering what your opinion on this is??

Great question! SO sorry for the delay in responding. I hope to make my reply worth the wait. Also, this answer will be really long - sorry again - but I have many thoughts on this.

I completely agree that men should be able to be affectionate without it being romantic. Women do not have this problem of fearing open affection due to assumptions about sexuality, and I think it’s a terrible symptom of toxic masculinity for men to forbid themselves from showing affection out of fear of it being misinterpreted. LOTR is full of many beautiful examples of how men can be emotionally vulnerable with each other and how platonic friends can still physically express innocent affection (Aragorn’s kiss to Boromir’s forehead is a great example). Modern society should definitely follow the examples set by these characters.

The thing is, as a straight woman, I did not go into LOTR expecting to see any same-sex romances at all. And the majority of male friendships depicted in the book and films never gave me any sense of romantic undertones. Unlike many fans, I do not ship Legolas and Gimli because I recognize that their relationship is a bridge between Elves and Dwarves, proof that they can get along, that despite their differences, they can still find common ground and respect each other and be friends. This to me is a far more important message than a generic “forbidden romantic love story” that many view their relationship as. Their bond isn’t necessarily about wanting to sleep together, but more about recognizing that they can like and be fond of each other, and not allow their parents or cultures to influence how they view each other. I do not hate the Gigolas ship, of course, and people can feel free to ship them if they want to. But to me, they fall under the category described in the discord that you have shared: their friendly intimacy does not necessarily signify anything romantic. Even their journey into the West together does not have to be a romantic thing; I see it as Gimli not wanting to say goodbye to any more of his friends, after losing Merry, Pippin, and Aragorn, and instead going on one last adventure with his soul-brother Legolas.

Frodo and Sam, however, have always stood out to me as being different from all the other friendships in LOTR. I didn’t even take any pause in the fact that they’re both male. I just saw two people in love. It’s just in how they are written, and in Elijah and Sean’s beautiful performances. I totally agree that ANY interpretation of their relationship is valid. I think it is very wrong for any shipper of these two to insult or declare someone “wrong” to see them as just friends. But it’s the same the other way around. It is unfair for non-shippers to hate on shippers. While the argument regarding Tolkien’s Catholicism is an understandable one, texts and characters do develop lives of their own over time. Texts are meant to be interpreted. Tolkien himself wrote that he did not want to enforce his own beliefs within the story, and instead preferred to leave it open to readers to apply their own views and perspectives to it. He basically was inviting us to make interpretations that deviate from his own. He may not have had sexuality in mind when he wrote this, but if he were alive, I very much doubt he’d be hypocritical enough to criticize people for doing the very thing he encouraged them to do, especially since he was smart enough to know that not every reader of his work was or would be Catholic, and thus may not see certain aspects the way he did.

The main, unchangeable, factual point about Frodo and Sam’s relationship is that they love each other. That’s it. They go from formal master and servant to two people who have been through hell and back together, and in the process, formed a bond that nobody else will ever understand. This point stands, whether their specific feelings for each other are platonic or romantic. To view them as lovers does not take away from or undermine the foundations of how Tolkien shaped their characters and the connection they build.

It also bothers me how those who criticize this ship use the word “gay.” Bear in mind, of course, that I’m not an actual member of the LGBT community, and I’m speaking based on my love for my many LGBT friends and relatives, and the efforts I’ve made to understand and empathize with this community, and to never be among those who hate people based on who they love. But I’ve learned enough by now to know that it is quite ignorant of people to truncate the idea of Frodo and Sam being in love as “they’re gay.” Sam is not gay, as shown by his love for Rosie. To ship Frodo and Sam is not to erase Rosie or pretend Sam doesn’t love her. Sam has the biggest heart of any fictional character I’ve ever seen, and I, like many shippers, don’t find it implausible that he has room enough in that heart to have two great loves.

On that note, I’ll now signify that in the text Frodo and Sam have many moments that no other pair of male characters have, which serve as actual potential evidence of a romance. It says in the text itself that he is “torn in two” between Frodo and Rosie. No other pair of male characters in LOTR has any moment like this. Aragorn does not feel torn between Arwen and his friends, for instance. Sam hesitating to marry Rosie if it means he can’t be near Frodo is a very unique detail that adds weight to this “ship.” Not to mention the way Sam strokes Frodo’s hand in Rivendell and blushes, or calls himself “your Sam,” or has a Romeo-like moment of falsely believing Frodo is dead, or longs for the touch of Frodo’s hand in the Tower of Cirith Ungol. Plus, don’t forget that in another of Tolkien’s writings, Elanor directly compares Sam losing Frodo to Celeborn losing his wife. Also, I and many others have described how Frodo and Sam’s story directly parallels that of two canon lovers, Beren and Lúthien. Again, platonic interpretations of all this are valid, but it’s important to remember that shippers are not making things up. We’re not saying or believing that Frodo and Sam are in love “because they’re cute”. There are many moments between them in the text that support this interpretation, not the least of which is a direct parallel to a canon romantic couple - and without context, many of their exchanges and moments could easily be seen in a romantic light. (Sam watching Frodo sleep and saying “I love him, whether or no,” and declaring his one wish after potentially completing the Quest alone is not to return to the Shire and Rosie, but to return to Frodo’s body and never leave him again … all these things are right there in the text. Merry and Pippin, Legolas and Gimli, Aragorn and Boromir, none of them have any moments like this.)

And Sam’s journey across the Sea does not have nearly as much ambiguity as Gimli’s. Gimli has more to gain by going than staying; to stay would be to be left alone with no family and no more Elves or hobbits around, while to go would be to stand by his best friend, see the woman he loves/deeply admires again (Galadriel), and not face any more goodbyes. He wouldn’t really lose anything by leaving with Legolas, only gain. Sam’s circumstances are completely different. He has many people in the Shire; 13 children and countless grandchildren who could take care of him. He could easily spend his last days peacefully living with Elanor and watching her children grow, as any old hobbit would typically do. To sail West would be to lose and permanently be separated from a countless number of loved ones. And though he was affected by the Ring as a Ring-bearer, he held it for a very brief time, short enough for it to not prevent him from having a normal life after the war. It cannot be easily assumed that the lasting effect of the Ring on him was so powerful that it made him happier to leave his family than to stay with them. Because what would be waiting for him in Valinor? Gimli had two people in Valinor to whom he was very close, Legolas and Galadriel, as opposed to no loved ones back in Middle-earth. But Sam had one person in Valinor to whom he was very close, Frodo, as opposed to dozens of loved ones back in Middle-earth. The fact that he chooses Frodo over his family, to live with Frodo rather than die with and rest beside Rosie, to see Frodo again rather than see his family as much as possible in his remaining days…is a major point worth considering, and another thing that adds a layer of credibility to the idea of shipping them.

So to sum it all up, to say “you just ship Frodo and Sam because you don’t know what friendship is, because you think they’re cute so they must want to sleep together” is a MASSIVE trivialization/oversimplification/misunderstanding and completely ignores the things I’ve just laid out, particularly the distinctions between their relationship and those of other male pairings in LOTR.

Ok, ramble time is over…Boy, I hope that made at least one lick of sense! Haha.

[sparklepirate]

Alright, final thoughts on Brisingr.

You know what half the book was dwarven politics but I ate that shit up.

The more I read these again the more I appreciate the nuance of Eragon's character. It's super rare for me to like a main protagonist as much as I like him, but he has so many things going on. He's heroic, but in a deeply existentialist way, which leads him to be a bit cruel/callous towards his brother. He is smart and a quick learner, both academically and on his feet, but he does and thinks some of the stupidest things sometimes. He was forced to grow up so fast, so while he often comes across as mature and self-assured, internally he is still just a kid, or perhaps a very, very young man, and that kid part of him still shines through sometimes. He does and will do what he has to do to help the world, but he is constantly surprised to find new avenues of guilt when confronted with various consequences of his actions, but he still presses on. He is still learning his place in life not only as a dragon rider and a hero, but just as a person in general, and I think that's so cool and interesting to read! And he's also dealing with the trauma of the everything that's happening to him, but doesn't quite yet seem to realize that he isn't alone in his feelings. He is a dork, and I love him, and I want to be his friend, and I want him to accrue a whole squad of older sibling figures to help him through his stuff.

Along the lines of trauma, I hope he and Roran get to talk about this stuff. They both have moments of berating themselves over being weak for having strong feelings about killing and participating in a war, and I wish they would talk to each other and realize they were not alone. ... Murtagh too but that's just wishful thinking. I'll just have to write that myself I suppose.

Saphira is also so good queen of my heart and my soul she is beauty she is grace if she were a human she would rip apart a rat with her bare hands and teeth and do a kegstand immediately afterwards with the blood still dripping down her face but her makeup would be FLAWLESS while she did it ❤️

This felt like the first book that really drove the point home of how close the two of them are, because this is the first time they had to be truly separated from each other. Every time they reunited and they were just so filled with joy and love I just 🥺

As always- Murtagh deserves better!!! He and Thorn!!! He is in this position because he was too compassionate for Eragon (being led to the Varden), and then Thorn (swearing fealty to save him), and no one really cares about him but he still hopes and he still loves!!! Obviously, like, being on opposite sides of the conflict no one is going to not try to kill him, they kind of don't have a choice, but... Damn. I won't say too much more about him until after Inheritance but like. Damn. Justice for my husband.

On that note, the absolute betrayal he must have felt upon finding out that Oromis and Glaedr existed. Granted, by him becoming a dragon rider it was already too late for them to help him, but still. It's just kind of a tragic circumstance that everyone was so powerless in this situation, and like... Being literally possessed by Galbatorix for a bit there was. Hmm. Bad. I'm sure we'll be dissecting THAT in the new book.

It makes me wonder how much of this situation could have been prevented if the elves and the dwarves weren't so consistently self-serving. I think that's what makes Nasuada such an effective leader in comparison to them. She will get shit done, and she will set aside pride whenever she needs to to achieve the best results. Now, she has her flaws, which I know are explored more in Inheritance, but I can understand her constant frustration with the other kingdoms refusal to help or share important secrets that could have helped them sooner/prevented bloodshed.

And as far as secrets go... I don't know. It's hard to gauge "should have" or "shouldn't have" with most of the things Oromis and Glaedr neglected to tell Eragon and Saphira (or anyone), but the eldunarí feels like the most cut and dry. I guess they weren't anticipating Thron hatching but like. If that's the source of Galbatorix's power... It might have been useful for literally anyone to know about that before now. Arya didn't even know, for god's sake.

Speaking of Arya, I like her way way more this read through!!! And I do not ship her and Eragon literally at all sorry I'm a hater ❤️

RIP Oromis though sucks that you died.

Onto Inheritance!

[sorcerous-caress]

🍃Zooted thinking about human tav or just human kink stuff(dancer au ?? Or 💝bimbo tav have fun with that)) but an s/o that's heavy pierced: nose ring(s), so many ear rings(industrial, light gemstones/studs, precious metals), maybe a tongue piercing 👅, pretty nipple rings with gems matching with their crushes eye color or birth month🥰😈(maybe a dom that rewards the smart ones who figure it out), a variation of clit/cock rings or bars

Karlach obv has all this 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Certain druids (I think if my. 5e if correct)don't tend to like metal in their bodies, or how aghast high elves/certain sylvan groups be at metal or how just the number of ways they've "decorated their body" (if you insist on having these holes then they will carve you hard woods/gemstones/bone or tusk[barbarian/orc/dragon😳]

Dwarfs/gnomes/drow amused at the placement or color/metal type you've chosen- don't worry they have the prefect recommendations. Minthara/Nere/enver/dammon their house colors or metals that they work/fight with!!!

Any companion that has access to magic would alter cantrips for temperature play

Bimbo tav/hum leader has only one stimulating piercing "as a dare when I was younger!! I just kept it bc it looks nice :)" (nipple,gential,ear?👀) in downtime shadowheart, astarion, gale, karlach would be fiends always wanting to idly play with it once they find out you have it

-💌🦇 love ur work!!! Have these fun ideas I can't stop thinking about

Imagine a completely pierced human who meets a group of dwarves and gnomes in a tavern and they're completely enamoured with you.

Clear curiosity in their eyes, gaze trailing from each of your piercings to another. Wondering if you have more under your clothes but never asking because they don't wanna scare off the cute human.

But of them eventually gets the courage and hints at it.

With a smile you completely remove your shirt amidst the whole tavern, showing them all the extra hidden piercings. They almost choke on their drinks.

And they're just so curious about the metals and gems decorating you, they can't help their wandering hands. They need to get closer to observe it, you see, it's in their nature.

Fuck nothing will turn a dwarf on more than you having a piercing with their birthstone. The mere idea probably makes their brain short-circuits.

-

And yeah about elves clutching their pearls at the idea of you poking any sort of hole in your body. Imagine a group of high elves taking it as their duty to lecture the heavily pierced human on the street about how what they're doing is disrespectful to their body.

So you do what any normal human would do, and tell them if they think that's disrespectful, then what would they think of your nipples piercing or the one between your legs.

They're completely stunned. Stuttering and red in the face, but don't refuse your offer to come back home with you and look at them first hand. Maybe you even convince a couple of them to get a secret matching piercing with you.

-

The idea of the companions just idling and fidgeting with Tav's piercings is too good.

First it starts with small stuff like earnings, nose ring, etc.

Then it's lip piercings and belly piercings.

Their hands keep getting lower and lower until it becomes the norm for them to just move your clothes to the side and toy with you.

Pulling and twirling your nipple piercings between their fingers while they think. Your moans fading in to the background as they pull harsher the more lost in thought they get.

Playing with you as if you were a toy, making you only wear the most revealing of clothes and shortest of skirts so their hand may reach between your legs easily. A cute little ring on your clit that they rub and turn, a rod piercing on your cock that they push back and forth.

Getting you wet and leaking all over the place, continuously edging you for hours just because they got bored and you happened to be walking by. Their beloved leader will always be the perfect distraction afterall.

[aita-blorbos]

AWTA for invading hell?

so, we started a mighty fortress years ago, but we were made aware of the horrors that lie if we dig too deep. Demons that will simply kill until there is nothing left to kill. So, we thought that was a great place to aim our hubris.

We monopolized glass production for several centuries to execute our plan, and trained up the finest warriors ever seen and bred hundreds of lesser dragons (basically just giant lizards with a superficial resemblance to the real thing) to use as canon fodder. We sent one man down to dig the hole to hell after we set up our defenses.

Soon hundreds of demons swarmed up only to be met by the indestructible fortifications we had arranged and our squad of crossbow dwarves. we simply fired until the demons stopped coming before advancing towards hell for a counter-offensive.

We cleared a perimeter and sent the builders down with the glass, we would build a glass fortress from the depths of hell to the peaks of the heavens. and so we did. But we have had many complaints.

Goblin rulers claiming we killed the cousin of their grandfather's creator, Elves prattling on and on about how we clearcut the jungle around us to fuel our glassmaking multiple times (it grew back several times while we were preparing, I don't see the problem), to the Humans claiming that we have offended the gods, but, if the gods were so offended, you'd think they'd send worse than demons that aren't even smart enough to mine through 15 foot thick glass walls.

So AWTA for invading hell and building a several thousand foot tall fortress from hell out of glass?

[weezlbot]

What your favorite LOTR character says about you

Some of these are only from the books, sorry about that. 

Update 6/5/22: Added Theoden and Eomer. 

Frodo: You’re depressed, homosexual, traumatized, highly empathetic, or some combination of the above. 

Sam: Loyalty, friendship, generosity, and love all give you feels. You love a man who can cook. Himbos are your favorite genre of male.

Merry: You’re an older sibling yourself. You might also like swimming or boating (remember, he lived on the river in the books). 

Pippin: You like adventure, tomfoolery, and shenanigans. You probably use humor as a coping mechanism. 

Fredegar Bolger: You’ve probably been through some shit yourself. You’re a major critic of the Peter Jackson adaptations. You like food and think Saruman was a more effective villain than Sauron. 

Bilbo: You’re gay. Or you’re smack in the middle of your yaoi phase. Or you only ever liked those YA books with a “sassy” male protagonist.

Aragorn: You have a crush on him. Either that, or your favorite scenes in books/shows/movies were the fight scenes. Or you like roleplaying as a mighty warrior. 

Arwen: You want Elrond to parent you, or you have a crush on Aragorn, one of the two. Or you’re a lesbian with a crush on her.

Legolas: You have an elf kink. You also like fight scenes. You like long blond hair, himbos, and/or twunks. You have a mixed opinion of the Peter Jackson adaptations. You’re either a straight female or a homosexual male.

Gimli: You loved the Hobbit, and were overjoyed to see Gloin come back in LOTR. Chivalry brings you joy. Dwarves are your favorite race in ME. You probably collect jewelry, or crystals, or dice, or something else shiny. 

Boromir: You like people who can put their people above themselves. You’re probably a little too into activism. Selflessness is very appealing to you. You might also be an older sibling. 

Gandalf: You like smart guys. Younger you made edits highlighting the “sassiness” of your favorite character. Maybe you still do it now. You probably have granddaddy issues. 

Eowyn: You either want women to sit on your face (straight male), you’re an insufferable feminist (female) or both (lesbian). Either that, or you’ve struggled with suicidal thoughts yourself and empathize.

Faramir: Gentleness gets you going. You want a lover who’s as troubled as you are. You may have daddy/mommy issues yourself. You don’t like the PJ adaptations much. 

Eomer: You’re a horsegirl yourself. If not in reality, then in spirit. Protectiveness makes you weak. You might have a crush on Arwen, too.

Elrond: You don’t get enough hugs. You just want someone to hold you tight and not let go. 

Elladan and Elrohir: You like Shenanigans. You wish Elrond was your dad. You like making headcanons for background characters. 

Galadriel: You prefer the Silmarillion to LOTR. You also might be a lesbian. Either way, you crave being mothered. Similar to the Elrond lovers, if someone gave you a hug, you’d start ugly crying. 

Tom Bombadil: You don’t like the PJ movies. You really like cottagecore. Your life goal is to own a little farm and grow all your own food. You probably made friends with trees as a kid. You enjoy singing and dancing, but you were never classically trained in either. You also like to party. 

Radagast: You’re an animal lover through and through. You love dirt. You don’t mind stink as long as it’s a natural stink. You may be a vegetarian or a vegan. 

Haldir: You have a love/hate relationship with the PJ movies. You probably think he’s attractive. You might be an older sibling yourself, or you wish you had one. 

Rumil or Orophin: Same as Haldir, basically. You love your siblings.

Theoden: You want to be fathered. Bad. You also loved the Silmarillion, for its tragedy. The idea of rebirth is something you love. 

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins: You like to make mountains out of molehills. You love a redemption arc. You wish the fandom would just stop bullying her. 

Saruman: You love a bastardization arc. Powerful men get you going. 

Grima Wormtongue: You love pathetic, problematic little men. You probably unironically listen to Weezer. 

Sauron: If you’ve read the Silm, you’re probably either gay or just love an evil twink. If you haven’t read the Silm, I fear you on a deep, personal level. 

[fantasyinallforms]

I need someone to take this one on! 👀

“You’re going to fight in that?”

Thank you Sunny for the prompt! ❤️❤️

This idea started out very differently in my head then kind of wrote itself. I hope you like it!

This is for the FotFics March Madness event! Also posted on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/45472360/chapters/114917470

I switched up how I'm putting these on AO3. All my stories that take place on the road to Erebor will be chapters in an episodic style story. These are 1k-3k drabbles that take place on the road to Erebor that all happen in the same universe.

Bagginshield-Rating [T]

Title: Wild Thoughts In The Dead Of Night

The company, and that is to say Thorin, decided to make camp for a few days while they were still in the Weather Hills. The next span of the East Road would provide little shelter until they reached the border of the Trollshaws. Bilbo was grateful for the reprieve. They had been riding for nearly three days straight and by the time they stopped Bilbo almost needed help even getting off his pony. To make matters worse when he did manage to get off of his pony his feet gave out from under him and he landed at Thorin’s feet in an awkward sprawl. He just couldn't seem to stop embarrassing himself in front of him. So he tried his best to make himself useful and keep out of the way. 

After they set up the base necessities of camp Thorin started to assign tasks. He sent Dwalin and Gloin to check the perimeter. Fili, and Kili were sent to hunt. Bifur and Bofur were sent to collect firewood. Nori was sent on recon, Bombur started a cooking fire, and Dori started checking supplies. Even Oin and Ori were given the task of foraging the surrounding area for any herbs or useful plants. Bilbo sat patiently waiting for his task and it never came. Thorin passed right by Bilbo and pulled Balin into hushed conversation on the outskirts of camp. A tinge of annoyance pulled at his temples as he glared at Thorin from across camp. After an hour of building his courage Bilbo decided to go give Thorin a piece of his mind. The worst Thorin could do was send him home. He marched right up to Thorin and before he could say a word Nori burst out of the underbrush. 

“Bandits! They’re stalking the area. Probably waiting until we lie low before jumping the camp.” Nori delivered the report directly to Thorin in one breath. Thorin’s eyes darted out over the small camp, his eyes flickering to Bilbo for just a moment before looking back at Nori. 

“Did they see you?” Thorin asked. Nori shook his head no. “Good. Pull everyone you can find back except Fili and Kili. Tell them to catch the first few things they find and come back.” 

“Do you mean to lure them into camp?” Nori asked.

“Yes. Balin, start instructing people to put their armor on. I know we’ve been traveling in plain clothes but we need to be more cautious. Tonight we'll make it look as if we have gone to sleep and when they come we will ambush them. If they’re smart they’ll wait to attack till the dead of night.”  

“And if they're stupid?” Bilbo couldn't help but ask. 

“Then they’ll find themselves dead even quicker.” Thorin growled. Word spread across the company. They moved all the bedrolls towards the middle of camp and one by one the dwarves returned and pulled on their heavier armor. Leather was replaced by chainmail and some of the dwarves had pieces of plate mail they retrieved from the ponies. 

Bilbo did his best to stay by the fire and out of the way. Fili and Kili had brought back a brace of coneys so he tended to them and tried to fatten up the soup. He was stirring the pot when the ladle was plucked out of his hand. 

“Fili knock it off!” Bilbo said, trying to snatch the ladle back. 

“I can stir the pot for a few moments while you get some armor on,” Fili laughed. Bilbo looked at him, confusion coloring his face.   

“I-I don't have any armor. What I’m wearing and a spare set of pants and shirts is all I brought with me.” Surely he had made it clear enough in his simal that he was not an adventuring type that would have armor just laying about. Fili looked equally confused. 

“You’re going to fight in that? ” He asked, gesturing to all of Bilbo. Bilbo’s eyes went wide and he spluttered 

“Fight! I don't even have a weapon!” Bilbo was beginning to panic and his breathing was fast and shallow. If he had to fight he would surely end up dead! A heavy and none too gentle hand landed on his shoulder knocking him out of his train of thought. 

“You will not be fighting Master Baggins.” Thorin said with contemptuous authority. Bilbo lost his patience all at once. 

“Then what will I be doing! You haven't given me one opportunity to be helpful thus far! I highly doubt the bandits will be as dismissive of me as you have been!” Bilbo met Thorin’s eyes defiantly awaiting a response. Thorin’s face never so much as moved and his eyes never left Bilbo’s. 

“I did not give you a task because you could barely stand from your horse when we made camp. You’re still walking slightly bow legged even now. It would be foolish to put a weapon in your hand when we have not had the time to train you to wield it. Your clumsy technique would only get you or someone else accidentally killed. I will not let you go undefended, and you can help by trusting we know what we’re doing.” Thorin crossed his arms over his chest and glowered down at Bilbo. Bilbo averted his gaze now feeling a little foolish in his assumptions. He refrained from asking any further questions about his role in all of this and went back to attending the stew. Finally dinner was served and Bilbo sat silently eating his food and listening to the chatter and songs. Thorin laid out the plan clearly for the rest of the company speaking only in Kuhzdul then dismissed them. Still there was nothing to be said about what Bilbo would be doing. Or if there was no one had bothered to translate it. When dinner was over the company headed to their bedrolls with various weapons carefully tucked in with them. Bilbo was readying his own bedroll, his stomach twisting into knots of apprehension when he heard Thorin call his name. He looked up and Thorin was waving him over. Bilbo stumbled in the dark of the night until he reached where Thorin stood. Bilbo drew closer and studied what he could see of Thorin’s face for any sign of what was to come next. It was a surprise instead to see Thorin blushing. 

“You’ll be sharing a bedroll with me tonight.” Thorin said matter of factly. Bilbo cocked an eyebrow. 

“Oh will I now, and why is that?” Bilbo challenged. Thorin’s shoulders seemed to deflate lightly at the response. 

“We will need the bandits to be right upon us in order to catch them by surprise. If you sleep in another bedroll then there's a possibility they will single you out for attack and I might not get there in time to save you.” Thorin was staring at a fixed point on the ground and Bilbo couldn't help the flush on his cheeks. He had never seen Thorin this vulnerable before. The hard lines of his face had softened and his eyes looked almost tender. He must have stood their open mouthed for too long because Thorin met his eyes again, his face back in its usual scowl “If the idea is so distasteful to you then you are welcome to choose someone else to bunk with.” Thorin said through gritted teeth. He moved to turn around and Bilbo caught his arm. 

“No! I mean I understand. I was just surprised, I-it’s a sound plan. I’m grateful for the forethought, I just don't wish to be in the way.” Bilbo released Thorin’s arm and held his hands awkwardly in front of him. Thorin’s shoulders seemed to relax as he gestured towards the bed. Bilbo made himself comfortable on Thorin’s furs. He had to admit Thorin had a much better and warmer set up then the measly one he had brought. 

Soon the large dwarf joined him. Bilbo laid there facing opposite of Thorin until his leg grew so sore he had to move. He turned and found himself facing Thorin’s chest. His cheeks burned and he was terrified that Thorin being so close would give away how fast his heart was beating. Thorin might be hard headed, self important, and incredibly stubborn but he was also brave, honorable, and very very attractive. The proximity made Bilbo uncomfortably curious to know just how soft those raven locks were, or what it would feel like to have callused hands on his skin. He gulped and shuddered as he tried to press his willpower to think of anything else. 

“Don't be afraid, Master Hobbit, I will not let any harm come to you.” Thorin rumbled. Bilbo moved his head to meet the deep blue eyes that seemed fixed on him. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” Bilbo said quietly. They sat in silence for over an hour and Bilbo almost found himself drifting off to sleep before a rustling could be heard in the tree’s. He felt Thorin stiffen and he knew he must have an iron grasp on his sword. Bilbo could hear people walking around the camp and involuntarily began to shake. He had a hand clamped over his own mouth as a safeguard against any sound his fear might produce. He was glad he did because it muffled the small squeal of surprise as Thorin’s hand snaked around his waist. He slowly and gently pushed Bilbo against him. Bilbo was so caught up in the sudden warmth of Thorin’s body that he didn't realize how close one of the bandits was to him. A moment later he heard Thorin shout 

“baruk khazâd! khazâd ai-mênu!” The same shout went up from all the surrounding dwarves. Bilbo looked up just in time to see a sword swinging towards him. Thorin saw it first. He rolled over onto Bilbo and raised his shield to meet the blow. Bilbo raised his arms over his head on instinct and buried his hands in the front of Thorin’s tunic. He felt Thorin move under him and heard the sound of the bandit dispatched. When he opened his eyes Thorin was still hovering over him, a concerned look on his face. 

“Are you hurt?” Thorin asked. Bilbo could only shake his head no. Thorin gently pulled Bilbo's hands from his tunic and stood up before offering a hand to Bilbo. Bilbo took it and let himself be pulled to his feet. All the bandits had been dispatched and the company was already in the process of clearing the camp. Aside from Ori who had a small nick on his cheek no one had been hurt.       

Bilbo watched a little dizzily as Thorin’s demeanor returned to its more regal state. He was once again giving instruction to the dwarves and Bilbo couldn't help but stand there awkwardly. In an attempt to do something useful Bilbo started tending the fire. At least when most of them returned to sleep they could do so comfortably. Bilbo lost himself to his thoughts until he was roused from them by Thorin’s voice. 

“Do you always shiver so much at night?” Thorin asked gracelessly.

“I’m not used to this cold, and I’ll admit I didn't come as prepared as I should have. Thorin looked towards the bedroll Bilbo had halfheartedly laid out. 

“Dwarves are well known for our resistance to the cold. I’ve been told before that we give off a lot of heat.” Bilbo stared at Thorin unsure what to do with the information given to him and Thorin seemed to be staring anywhere but at him. 

“I’m sure I’ll manage.” Bilbo said, returning his gaze to the fire. 

“This journey will only grow colder. It would be a waste for you to die after all the effort we’ve put into keeping you alive.” Thorin said stiffly. He marched back over to his own bedroll and laid down.    

Perhaps it was wishful thinking on Bilbo’s part but Thorin did not sprawl out onto the furs as he normally would but instead kept to one side leaving just enough room for a small person to join him. 

[12freddofrogs]

Okay. So having finished season one of OUAT, I might do a better summing up post of the things to actually sum up in a second. But first, I have just been thinking about all the characters who actually know their histories and backstories have been told to thousands of children as bedside stories, and how they probably feel about it.

There were four people who completely, 100 percent knew that they weren't from this world (who also had the theoretical opportunity to research fairytales; I kinda doubt Maleficent did): Regina, Gold, Jefferson, and August. As of yet, at least. Maybe later seasons will reveal that Tiana or someone was also there with her full memories.

Regina probably didn't buy a copy of Snow White for Henry (I maintain my theory Henry's first introduction to that specific fairytale was in the storybook), but she was probably curious. She might have picked up a copy of the Grimm's tale and laughed at most of it, successfully ignoring the slight twist in her stomach at the description of the Evil Queen's brutal death. Regina could have even put on the most famous movie version, the Disney cartoon, and deliberately gagged throughout the singing birds. She might have made a snarky comment at the Happily Ever After ("You sure about that?") and then tossed out the DVD. Ultimately, she's aware of the tale, but hasn't really studied it.

Mr Gold absolutely read a version of Rumpelstiltskin or two. He probably would have watched the movie, but there isn't really a mainstream American Rumpelstiltskin movie. A couple can be found here and there, but it doesn't seem to be a hugely popular movie to adapt. The biggest one I can think of is the third Shrek, and Mr Gold doesn't particularly strike me as someone who would sit down and watch Shrek for its own sake.

That said, he was trapped in time for almost thirty years, during which he could do very little. Refine his plans, gather information, the general running of a store, but he was stuck in Storybrooke for a long time. It's not impossible to me things would contrive until he found himself watching Shrek 3. And honestly? I think he wouldn't hate his portrayal in that movie. That particular Rumpelstiltskin was smart, made deals and kept them despite looking for loopholes, collected power, was terrifying in his own right despite being a comedic character in a comedic film. He was a villain, but it's not like the Dark One has ever particularly been surprised at that title.

My first thought on Jefferson was that he probably hadn't read Alice in Wonderland, but then I realised that he absolutely, most definitely had. So many times, in every variation he could find. Jefferson has spent those thirty years desperately looking for a way to go back. There is no doubt that the Mad Hatter has been intensely studying what seems to be the biggest link between the Enchanted Forest (and Wonderland) and the Land Without Magic: the fact that somehow the stories themselves are leaking through in variations.

He's watched movies. He's read Alice and Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, and read books on those books. He's played video games and watched kid's cartoons and read dumb romances that seem to have no link other than the characters having familiar names. Jefferson has noticed that, for some reason, the Disney cartoon appears to be the most accurate.

Not just for Alice in Wonderland, but for all of them. Some of the other stories he only knew by reputation, or rumour, and he can't actually ask Mary Margaret what elements of the Snow White tale were true or not. That said, he knows that dwarves have names like Grumpy and Doc, and only Disney seems to have given that name. He'd heard of the fairy Maleficient, and every other variation of Sleeping Beauty gave the uninvited fairy a different name. Disney isn't exactly accurate but they are closer than anyone else, including the original tales. What does that mean? He has no idea. He would break into Disney studios if he could.

And then August, I think, would absolutely watch Pinocchio. I'm fairly certain he was still going by the name Pinocchio when he first arrived, and people made connections. Small child by the side of the road, someone grabbed the Disney DVD from Blockbuster. The first time he saw it he was too startled to tear his eyes away. He watched it again a few weeks later, and had adjusted enough to the world that he sobbed the whole time.

August has, much like Jefferson, also noticed that Disney seems to be the most accurate one. He read The Adventures of Pinocchio when he was fourteen, tucked up in a private corner of a library and half expecting the book to cause a breakdown, and was instead just surprised at how different things were. The Field of Miracles? Bandits? Why is the whale a dogfish shark?

He hasn't made it a hobby to track down every version, but he has watched a few of them. He liked a couple, disliked others, more based on how he was portrayed rather than how accurate it was. He did at least once go on the Pinocchio ride at Disneyland and, despite how cartoony and wrong the little Jiminy Cricket was, he was nearly crying when he got out.

And, of course, Mr Gold isn't just Rumpelstiltskin, is he?

I'm not sure how it would come up, necessarily. Again, he's not really the type to watch children's movies for fun. He could pick up a book of fairytales and browse through, but honestly, his story was different enough that he might not connect who this Beauty is, with two older sisters and a father who steals a rose and a monster with an unwilling curse.

But it was twenty-eight years, and a lot can happen in that time. Maybe Regina did it on purpose - after all, she had a young son who was allowed to watch most of the Disney princesses, just not Snow White. She could have made a delicate suggestion to a man she was sure wouldn't get the reference about a Belle and Gaston, and certainly nothing showed in Gold's face that he recognised those names. But once she left, he curiously tracked down the Disney copy of Beauty and the Beast.

It didn't take long at all before he saw the familiarity, a girl who loved to read who, even in a cartoon, looked too familiar. Gold actually couldn't get through the whole movie in one go, and had to keep stopping. If it was more accurate, he might not have finished. He didn't realise that the singing teacup with a single chip in it meant something until he was well into the movie. And he didn't quite cry, not even in the privacy of his own house with the doors locked, at the ending when the Beast that was not him chose love and the woman who was absolutely Belle, but his eyes were a little wet. He spent the next few weeks making Mr French's life miserable, raising rent and insisting on quicker repayments, and didn't even pretend to justify it.

[kylo-wrecked]

Which creature are you within the Enchanted Forest?

sw au | smuggler!ben: the scoundrel

Goblin (i snorted LOL)

Despite your humble background, you managed to climb your way to the tippy top of the royal court using your silver tongue and sharp mind. You became close with the corrupt king—his most trusted advisor even. Little did anyone know you were actually working with a rebel group to overthrow the rotten kingdom. But one of your fellow spies blew your cover when they themselves were caught. To avoid being sentenced to death, you took off for the Enchanted Forest. But this was no surrender. You’re clever, scrappy even. Your wit is your weapon, and you use it to cut a path through the forest. For you’re not just intelligent but intuitive, with a strong sense of others and their intentions. You adapt. A chameleon in more ways than one. Yet you never lose sight of who you are or what you want. Just because you break others’ rules doesn’t mean you don’t have a strong moral code of your own. Upon reaching the other side of the forest, you discover your Goblin ancestry and are met with open arms. When you successfully spare yourself from being pickpocketed by their entire lot, the Goblins know you’re one of their own. Together, you form strategies with the Huntsmen and Elves to sneak back into the kingdom, join forces with your rebel friends, and conquer the evil court. In peacetime, you help organize the newly united lands, while honing your plan of attack for game night with your new family.

sw au | dark!ren: renegade knight

Huntsman/Huntswomen (predictable)

Upon the request of the corrupt guard, you’ve been tasked with finding and assassinating the lost heir of the Banished Kingdom who currently seeks refuge within their homeland of the Enchanted Forest. Though a hunter by trade, you have a high regard for all life. You kill humanely and only for survival. Never for sport as some of the court advisors wish you would. You’re peaceful, thoughtful, with a preference to observe. Whether that’s the world around you or the person you love figuring out how to be human again upon waking in the morning. Slow to anger, but quick to draw if necessary. In the past, your partner spoke out against the tyrannical throne and was sentenced to exile in the Enchanted Forest. In vain, you searched for them to no avail. To return to this place is troublesome to say the least. In the woods, you’re vigilant. You think smart and fast--perhaps a tad pessimistically--but your cynicism protects you. Despite the dangers of the forest, you feel at ease here. Focused. So much so that your determination can edge on obsession as you search for the heir and secretly your missing partner. The surety of your loyalty rivals the constancy of death and taxes. Once you reach the forest’s end, you’re reunited with your partner who joined forces with the leaders of the Banished Kingdom. You provide insider knowledge along with the Goblins on the palace and help lead the charge with the Elves and Dwarves to topple the rotten empire. Afterwards, you and your partner dedicate your lives to maintaining the forest with the Giants by preserving and protecting all the flora and fauna that live there. Because you know that no life should be permanent, but that doesn’t mean you can’t protect it.

tagged by:// @irrfahrer <33

tagging:// @ofcatnaps, @ronmanmob, @riiese, @affcgato, @mayxthexforce, @yunharlaquin, @ofcatnaps, @ofthestcrs, @pxis, @errantwish, @wxr-zxne, @desireandduty, @datapadz, @graysistance, @hopegained, @lastxdragon, @corinnebaileyrp, @chromium-siren, @brooklynislandgirl, @smokinmirrors, @talesofshadowandlight, @etoilebleu,, @ncxile, @kyberllcore, @jakkuforce, @sheresists — @madxwonderland, @predestinaticn, @lightsiided, @big-d-little-i-big-n-little-ozzo, @xfjakku and you ~

[matrose]

Hi! Idril and Celebrimbor for the ask game pls! :D

hi heather thank u so much 🫶❤️‼️‼️

Idril 💙

Sexuality Headcanon: sexuality as well as gender are so hard for me to define for almost any middle-earth character!! elves and dwarves especially! ive never really thought about idrils sexuality before but maybe bi…she has all the swag :)

Gender Headcanon: elf gender… elf gender!!! what is if even!! how does gender even matter if youre 7000 years old and youve been married for 4000 years. immortality seems to eventually remove most cultural need for gender / gender presentation doesnt it? and then what does it mean for idril (young!!) who married a human!! very fascinating. ive never thought more about this but shes more girl than other elves probably. just from the vibes

A ship I have with said character: i love her and tuor. and then both of them with voronwe!! i think she and voronwe could have a really interesting and sweet relationship! also, real quick abt voronwe, extremely gender of him to have a traditionally feminine name ending!!!!!

A BROTP I have with said character: she and glorfindel could be great friends aka her favorite babysitter growing up 🥺

A NOTP I have with said character: her and maeglin :/

A random headcanon: i love the headcanon of taking the silverfoot meaning of her name literally!! idril with prosthetics my beloved <3 shes also really great at strategy based boardgames (think similar to chess and the like) and can beat her grandpa 8/10 times!! also her short hair after her mothers passing 🥺

General Opinion over said character: i really really like her! shes so smart and endured so much in just her first few years of life… im happy she got away from the tragedy that shouldve gotten to her as an elf in love with a mortal ❤️ shes special to meee‼️

Celebrimbor 💚

Sexuality Headcanon: one of the few characters where i can pin it down actually. hes gay! 🎉

Gender Headcanon: hmm his gender is jewelsmith 💎

A ship I have with said character: i like him and narviiii 🥺 i am always weak for dwarf x elf relationships

A BROTP I have with said character: just in general i think the concept of him being born in beleriand + gil galad being born late in the first age + elrond all being pretty young and all being the sort of leading figures of the second age noldor is really funny. teenage government… though i like how rings of power have made him elronds weird uncle thats really funny :)

A NOTP I have with said character: difficult. i think silvergifting can be interesting if done right but its so evil and toxic and bad for celebrimbor i just sorta dont want him there. get out bestie!!!!

A random headcanon: narvi pierced his nose bridge. it looks very cool. and an evil one because im thinking about narvi still: sauron tried his best to shapeshift into narvi when celebrimbor was taken captive, for pain and torture reasons but he could never quite get it right. first the eyes. then the piercings were on the wrong side. no the hair was never that neatly brushed. the eyebrows are too thin right there. it drove sauron crazy so he eventually stopped trying and celebrimbor held onto that little victory all the way to mandos.

General Opinion over said character: i dont think about him enough! hes fascinating really

[experimentjr]

Sigrún’s Backstory

Since I haven’t made any backstory for Eir yet, It’s time for Sigrún, The Smith

Sigrún’s Backstory

her story begins before her birth, with her uncles Dvalinn, Alfrik, Berlingr and Grer, four of the greatest artisans and blacksmiths of all kingdoms, who decided to present the queen of giants with an item to strengthen the bonds between giants and dwarves, so they forged a necklace for the queen made of the finest materials. The purest metal and the most beautiful jewels from Svartalfheim were used to forge an amulet of immeasurable beauty, the Brísingamen necklace. The giantess, out of gratitude, spent a night with each of the dwarves, bearing them children. The years that passed seemed like peace between dwarves and giants until none other than Freyja herself demanded that the dwarves steal the necklace from the giantess for her, for only the goddess of love and beauty could have a necklace that matched it.

As ignoring the demand of a goddess of Freyja's caliber was more than stupid, the dwarves had only one thing to do: steal the queen of the giants, but how were they going to end the entire relationship the two races had just because the greatest of the goddesses, wife of allfather Odin, master of half of the warriors who died in battle, progenitor of magic and known for her cruelty were demanding? Well, it actually seemed like the best option. This left the dwarven brothers at an impasse: steal the giant's necklace and start a war or ignore Freyja and receive her wrath. It was then that they had the idea to ask for the fifth brother, Móðsognir, who wasn’t the King of the Dwarves at the time.

With his blacksmith skill that surpassed that of his four brothers combined, the dwarf created an even more beautiful necklace for the goddess Freyja, but as he was a smart man, he had a plan in mind that would pass his genes on, so he made a deal with the goddess where, if she agreed to have a child with him, she could have the necklace. Only one other being had tried to take Freyja as a lover and it ended in a massacre on their wedding day by Thor, so Móðsognir was treading on dangerous ground, but the dwarf was smart and only needed one night with her to impregnate her before presenting her with the necklace.

The months passed and a girl of night skin and ember hair was born to the queen of Asgard. Never before had Freyja seen a baby as beautiful as she was, and as she turned her back, she noticed a birthmark that would become the reason for her name: The Mark of Týr, the rune of victory shining in the middle of her back like red-hot metal, vibrant orange. Freyja decided to name her Sigrún.

The goddess of love wanted to create Sigrún among the Æsir as a goddess, leaving Móðsognir unknown to her, but Odin, who was livid that a descendant of Ivaldi lived among them, decided to banish her from Asgard at just 10 years old. Freyja stormed her husband's hall and gave him an ultimatum to bring her back. Odin, wise and High as he was, said that there wouldn't be anyone good enough in Asgard to train her in the art of being a smith, so he sent her out of the realm with reason: she would have to do a legendary quest in each realm to acquire enough skill. Freyja, after a few minutes, accepted Odin's excuse, but as the goddess knew of her husband's motives, she secretly began to help the girl who was now in Midgard do her first quest: forge the weapon that would take a peasant to the rank of king. Odin, however, knew what his wife had plotted and that was already in his meticulous plan.

At 10 years old, she didn't even know where she was, much less how to survive alone and, as she was averse to the Sun, she couldn't walk on sunny mornings, so she spent days (or mostly nights) walking throughout the land. With her feet bleeding from walking, the sun cooking her back and starving, the girl thought about giving up and would die in a short time if it wasn't for Freyja, who, with her witch magic, made Sigrún finally arrive in a small village, where she blacked out. She woke up inside a blacksmith's house, her feet bandaged and a bowl full of hot soup beside her bed, the smell of freshly prepared dish disturbing her and making her feel immensely happy as she began to eat with such avidity that startled the man and his two children that the girl only now noticed them facing her bed.

His name was Hǫgni and he was a big strong boy for his only ten winters. He helped his father in the blacksmith shop even though he was very young because of his big size but due to that, he had no friends, only his older brother Heðinn, weak and mute and, due to the small accident with Sigrún, that gave Hǫgni the opportunity to make friends with her. In the time she recovered, the two got to know each other well, with Sigrún having a hard time making Hǫgni believe that she lived in Asgard and that her mother was the queen of the Æsir, and with Hǫgni explaining to her what their lives were like, the war between the kingdoms of Götaland and some kingdoms of Svealand sucking the energy of all its inhabitants, widowing several women and orphaning countless children and even leaving his brother traumatized, who weakened like a poor dog in the cold and mute. They had to work to feed three mouths but with only Hǫgni to help and, being smiths, they worked day and night for the soldiers. Sigrún was listening attentively to the family's busy life, but she still hadn't heard about his mother, who hadn't been present all these days. It was a bad idea. The mere mention of his mother made the boy change his expression and ignore her, returning to his forge. His father explained to her shortly afterward that his wife had been killed by some soldiers from the kingdom of Östergötland and that made himself displeased when he forged for his king's warriors. This intrigued her as she felt that Hǫgni could help her with her divine quest. After she got better, she asked her friend's father to teach her how to forge.

Never had he seen anyone wield metal with such care, only in fairy tales where the dwarves, the fathers of the forge, appeared. The girl worked with aptitude and ease in such a way that she alone could complete the tasks of father and son, but her real mission was just beginning. Before, however, something strange was about to happen to Hǫgni's brother: one night, Sigrún woke up in a jump, where she noticed that Heðinn was out of bed. When she went out of the house, she was startled to see that Heðinn had just kissed Sváva, one of the Valkyries, and was even more scared when she heard him speak for the first time. Even his strength had returned. Sigrún did not know, but Sváva had been sent by Freyja to look after her daughter, so she went back to sleep as if nothing had happened. The next morning, she heard from Heðinn that he would have to leave the house because he had been called by a Valkyrie and, even though his father had refused, the man disappeared the next night.

In the years that her name had flown through the mouths of those who knew her skill, many eyes had turned to the now great village of Sigrún, which had helped get the economy going, but some of those eyes were full of avidity and wanted the girl's hands just to them, which led to a tragic episode, where soldiers from the kingdom of Östergötland surrounded the house and kidnapped Sigrún and, even though Hǫgni's father tried to protect them, it ended with the man's death and the imprisonment of Hǫgni, since Sigrún agreed to forge for the king as long as they take Hǫgni with them.

The years they both spent inside Östergötland Castle were terrible for both of them, but Hǫgni suffered the most as a prisoner and that needed to change. Ever since she received a message from her mother in a dream, the girl, now at 15/16 years old, was willing to create a sword that could cut anyone the wielder wanted and used Hǫgni's endless wrath as fire to forge it. Secretly, for half the years she spent as a prisoner, Sigrún used the finest minerals she was given to forge a perfect weapon and used it to release her friend, who was ready to test the sword that would cut anyone with his revenge on the king that ruined his life. The sword's naming came shortly after its crimson bath with the king: Hefna, the sword of vengeance, blessed by Viðarr and forged by the flame of wrath.

Her first questconcluded a few years later, with Hǫgni's victory over the other kingdoms and the rise of the kingdom of Östergötland to what would become one of the most powerful kingdoms in Götaland, but not before the girl, with her 17/18, conceive twins: a boy named Hildur and his sister, Hilda with their childhood friend and current king, Hǫgni. Her happiness, however, only lasted a few years when Odin appeared to her in a dream and sent her another quest: to steal the legendary hammer of Jötunsmiðr, the equally legendary giant blacksmith of giants. Days were spent with the girl finding ways to tell them why she would leave her new family behind, but at the last dinner she had, she couldn't find the strength to tell them, so she just enjoyed the best dinner she'd ever had.

That same night, while everyone was sleeping, Sigrún went to her children's room and called them for a quick conversation, explaining that she would have to leave them because she was called by the great allfather she talked so much about. She’d never had so much trouble saying goodbye to someone as she did now in front of her weeping children who begged her to stay. Still, her quest was more important, wasn't it? At last, she tried to say goodbye to her husband, but she didn't have the strength to bear another farewell, so she decided to leave without saying a word, just a farewell letter on her childhood friend's bedside. Without looking back, she started walking through the rainy night towards the mountain realm: Jötunheim.

The perilous path to Jotünheim was but a taste of what she would find in the giants' realm itself. A place that bordered on insane for its amount of wild creatures and violent, highly changeable weather, but luckily, she found labyrinths of caves that made her walk through the mountains without worrying about the weather or the sun, even if the creatures didn't make the path to the kingdom easier. Even so, she managed to reach the volcano where the giant made his home: Eldfjallasmiðja. Inside it, the intense heat that would kill anyone who felt it on one’s skin, made Sigrún feel at home, as if her place were among the heat, inside a forge, working steel, iron, gold…

She was welcomed by the guards and taken to Jötunsmiðr's throne room, where he spent his days forging different items. From a ring that fit the finger of the smallest elf to the largest giant, to a tongue that made up the best of sagas and flytings. The giant had already heard of a smith from Midgard with "quite acceptable" gifts for a race as weak and unimpressive as humans. Sigrún said that she was only half-human and that to show him how capable humans were, the girl proposed to him a duel: breaking one of Jötunsmiðr's anvils whilst forging items. At first the giant refused because "it would be too easy and there would be no fun," but Sigrún knew where to hurt: his ego. It didn't take much for the giant to accept her duel soon after Sigrún doubted his masculinity and courage, he then gave the girl a day to prepare for the duel.

Now he was inside the realm, so her mission was already half done, but she knew she wouldn't be able to defeat him, so she thought of a "penalty" for herself that would help her in the long run. The next day, the girl stipulated a price for whoever won: if she managed to defeat him, she would keep his hammer. If not, she would work for him until she made the hammer's value. The giant accepted and even mocked her, saying that she would die before even paying for the splinters of the handle and showed her the two giant anvils that they would have to break. The duel, despite being quick, was impressive as Sigrún managed to crack her anvil with half of his opponent's items, the problem was that Jötunsmiðr managed to break his anvil faster and, because of that, he won the duel. The giant said he was planning on eating her if she lost, but as she showed unparalleled skill, he agreed to let her work for him until she paid the hammer. Happy, she accepted. The more she trained under someone as good as him, the better.

She spent the next few years until around her 24th winter working for him and learning even more about the way the giants forged and how they used the realm’s metals and materials. Her items were just as amazing as his master's, which made him jealous of the girl and decided that he would kill her after making her craft an item for a dangerous giant and hinder her so that she couldn't deliver. Freyja found out about it and went to the violent giant, saying that the one who would forge the item would be Jötunsmiðr himself. What happened next would help the girl in concluding her quest: After sending the item to the giant, he returned to the kingdom of Jötunsmiðr to kill the smith of giants. This gave Sigrún enough time to steal the giant's hammer with a gauntlet she had forged herself (which would make any weapon she wield change size into the wielder's hand) and flee Eldfjallasmiðja amid screams and swords.

She was able to put some days of distance between her and the kingdom but she was extremely tired so she went into a cave and lay down, when Odin appeared in her dream and gave her the other quests: forge a paper where all the elves of Alfheim should sign, something she did with some ease since Freyja (who, besides her brother, knew how to go to Alfheim) helped her make up the mind of Klieser, mother of the elves; steal the magical furnace from the dwarf smith of the Vanir, Alvíss, aided by Freyja who courted the dwarf and lured him out of the forge; build a ship to plow through the realm of Gefheim, made with praise and using Alvíss's furnace; a bag of air to breathe in the realm of Rán, made with the help of Gef, who gave her the ability to forge air; clothes to keep warm in Helheim's endless winter, made with Jötunsmiðr's hot hammer; create stars so that Dellingr could fill his night sky, this one in particular gave her some difficulty due to the amount of stars she had to make, but still done without major problems and Dellingr, grateful for his night sky, presented Sigrún with the anvil of time, said to heat the metal while hammering it, but also to cool the metal once done.

Finally, only three realms left: Muspelheim, realm of fire and heat; Svartalfheim, realm of the dwarves and the forge; Niflheim, realm of darkness. It would finally end after several, several years of walking the realms and finishing her legendary quests, so she would have to go through Midgard to enter the realm of Muspel, but since life is funny... on her trip to the gates of fire, the girl met a man and king of the Finns who stole her heart. Only one other had done the same and that was Hǫgni, who had long since passed away and she herself had thought she would never feel the same feeling again. They got to know each other better and Sigrún decided to stay with him longer, until their love for each other generated three boys: Vǫlundr, Slagfiðr and Ægil. She really thought she would stay with them forever but Freyja appeared in her dreams and out of fear of never seeing her daughter again in Asgard, demanded that she finish her quests, or she would put an end to her husband and children. For fear of what would happen to them, Sigrún left for Muspelheim, where she would have her quest: Forge wind to cool the realm. Even with the anvil of time, the hammer of Jötunsmiðr and the forge of Alvíss, it was difficult to make the wind because she had her family still in her head, another one that she left for the quest, and this resulted in a wind that only cooled Muspelheim for only nine seconds (seconds that made the river Leiptr to cool down and that would help her a lot in the future). Odin didn't want to give her the completion of the quest, but Freyja made him rethink and, on second thought, she had cooled the realm in the end, just had never stipulated a time, so she sent her her next quest: to create a cloak made of mist and Niðhöggr's electrical breath, however, she had to go to Niflheim via Helheim.

She thought it was odd but she didn't confront the allfather, who knew she wouldn't get out of there. Upon falling through Niflhel, she found herself in the mist realm and started working with it, but something was strange: she couldn't hold the mist and even with the clothes made in Hel she couldn't stand the coldness of the place. She then went to Niðhöggr's lair to try her luck with his lightning attack. She had made a cape capable of drawing electricity into its threads that would have even worked had the dragon not chosen to use his poisonous breath to melt her only means of obtaining the ingredient. She even tried to forge another cloak, with the screams of an albino magmavore mole, the fearful look of a stone-eating worm and the wind of an icy crusher, but nothing would stop the giant creature and his overwhelming attacks. More and more combinations were made and more and more she learned that Niflheim didn't have any items that could stand the wyvern’s strength, so she gave up.

It is not known how long she spent in Niflheim, but she knew that her mother would not help her there, as no being who entered Niflheim came out. For her to stay sane, she created a house made of knives, swords and axes to live in and forge. Making weapons and items was her passion and what kept her sane in this vile place, forging everything from swords to rings, from boots to helmets, she did everything, even feelings and concepts like love and time. She spent what seemed like thousands of years just forging and forging and forging… when she finally found something that made her come to her senses, or rather something found her. As she was returning with weapons and armor to her home, she found several diminutive beings surveying her creations with such amazement that they could easily be mistaken for a cult of weapons. She ran to them, but it wasn't necessary as seconds later they would be chasing after her with ropes and shackles to secure her. She didn't know where they were taking her, only that she was passing through Niðhöggr's lair, but… what magnificent passage was that? How has she never noticed a door so well ornate in this empty and bland place? How did the dragon himself not know this in his own lair? That she would think another time, for now she was being taken to Svartalfheim, realm of the dwarves, to face her sentence for having caused "the great flood of knives" which led to the deaths of thousands of dwarves.

She stood before none other than Móðsognir, king of the dwarves, to suffer her sentence, but something about him was familiar. Sigrún rose to her feet, towering several feet above the dwarves (and even then, tiny compared to the throne room) and begged him to work for them instead. The dwarf gave her an hour to prove her worth and talent to him and gave her access to the castle's forge, telling her that if she missed even a hit with the hammer, she would be bathed in molten metal and used as a mold for a liar statue. Time was running just like Sleipnir and quickly the hours passed, along with Sigrún's work when she handed the king a small coin which, at first, didn't look the least bit impressive until it was tossed up. When it spun the first three times, three coins came out of it; in the next three, six coins came out and finally, three more times, nine coins emerged from the main one, all spinning and giving the same as the main coin. It didn't take long for the hall of Móðsognir to be flooded with coins and more coins of the purest metal, startling the dwarf who had never seen such magic before and drawing a weeping sigh from him, who came close to the girl and pulled her by the cheeks before give him a kiss on the forehead.

Without understanding anything, Sigrún asked why he had done this and had the most shocking news of her life: her father, the one who always thought was a human, was actually the king of the dwarves, Móðsognir. The girl was half goddess and half dwarf, so that’s why she'd always found it easy to forge. The news shook her structure to such an extent that she completely forgot about her quest, even more so with the dwarf wanting to show her the whole kingdom and she wanting to know everything about him. The two were able to catch up and Móðsognir couldn't help but feel sorry for his daughter and anger for Odin and disappointment that her own mother had let this happen. He also said that he, her own father, would never send his own daughter away from his arms and asked if she would want to stay here with him. Without a doubt, the girl accepted, for now she could learn from the best how to forge nature itself at will, turning her back once and for all on Asgard and Odin.

More years passed and her mastery with the forge was such that she envied all the other dwarves, with the exception of her father, who saw her as the one who would surpass him and have the title of best blacksmith in the world, which was inconceivable to the dwarves, mainly to her uncles Dvalinn, Alfrik, Berlingr and Grer, who decided to send a message to Odin. The Allfather could not see only 6 of the 14 known realms: Alfheim, Gefheim, Ránarheim, Helheim, Niflheim and Svartalfheim, so since Niflheim, neither Sigrún nor Odin could contact each other, until the brothers taught the king of Asgard how to navigate the endless labyrinths of Svartalfheim so he could talk to her. The dream she had about Odin came like a nightmare the very next night, warning her of the danger that hung over not only Svartalfheim, but all realms: another war between Vanir and Æsir would break out because of her and she had to complete her last two quests before Freyja's patience ran out, but as she had already made the coin in Svartalfheim, she only needed the cloak made of mist and lightning. She fell out of her bed and went straight to the forge, she already had something on her mind and couldn't afford to waste any time, now with her current strength, dexterity and skill, she was able to create the cloak and was just about to go back to Niflheim to test it when her father showed up, standing in front of the gates of Niflheim. Upon being questioned why’s that, the father told him that Odin had passed through Svartalfheim's defenses and he knew that the one eyed man had convinced the girl to something, so he begged her to think better about what she was going to do and how Odin was not a simple-minded man as he knew his plan had something deeper than just making her a better smith. Sigrún knew that the crow feeder was not to be trusted, but if she didn't finish her quest, she would blame herself for the wars she would cause for her deviation, so she asked her father to understand what she should do and to get out of her way. Móðsognir sighed sadly and would only get out of the way if she defeated him in one last duel.

With the new knowledge the Freyjadottir acquired, it wasn't even a fair duel. The girl had already surpassed her father but the forge looked cold and lifeless as before when she took the red-hot metal with her hands and shaped it with ease. She thought about giving up with each hammer blow, but there was in her mind deep in her consciousness, a voice telling her to keep going, like a crow preying on her from afar, waiting for a sign of weakness to feast on her body. Sigrún showed a spear capable of always hitting the target, while her father made nothing more than a simple hammer and a chisel, both of the colors of his armor and red hair and, when he accepted defeat, he gave them to her as a parting gift. The departure was sad for both sides, a third and final time she would bid farewell to a loved one for her meaningless quest.

Already in the mist realm and at the dragon's lair, the girl once again faced the wyvern beast with his electric breath as a prize, a prize that Niðhöggr was keen to give her, but now she was prepared and with her cloak, channeled the attack and made it her own, using it to distance herself as much as she could from Niðhöggr, then used the magnetic properties of lightning to condense the mist and make it part of the cape. With that, she finally finished all her quests and should get back to Asgard as soon as possible before her mother does something she regrets. She ran through Svartalf, Muspel, Midgard and thus arrived in Asgard, where all the Vanir were trying to bring down the walls of Asgard. Luckily, she managed to convince her mother to stop the war and once again, she was able to return to Asgard, now crowned the best smith of all, a Valkyrie for her dedication and the goddess of the forge, but her head was still on the people she loved: Hǫgni, Hildur and Hilda, the king of the Finns and her sons Vǫlundr, Slagfiðr and Ægil and her father Móðsognir.

Already a well-known Valkyrie and goddess, Sigrún was responsible for most of the other Valkyries' weapons and was very prestigious for it, so much so that she knows several of her friends' secrets due to spending most time alone with them, which led her to one last event. while forging for the daughters of Helgeisten, he heard from the Valkyries Hervör Alvitr, Hlaðguðr svanhvít and Ölrún (lovers of her three sons Vǫlundr, Slagfiðr and Ægil) that her son Vǫlundr had had a child from the rape with Böðvildr, a princess of the Njars. Her unhappiness arose when she discovered right after that he would kill him. The smith then went to Midgard and made a ultimatum to her son to accept him as a Vǫlundarson or he would face the consequences.

[wild-houseplant]

Have Warden, Will Travel- Chapter 7

Excuse the delay on this chapter- I ended up having to split it into two parts. Hopefully chapter 8 won’t be so long coming like this one was! You know the score cool beans: Full chapter here, and also below (the rest is under the cut because it’s long, as per usual). CW for very brief sexual reference. Hope you good eggs are doing ok!! I’ve been thinking of you! 8D

§§

Zevran was smart enough to know he was a fool, and that was just the way he liked it. A person only needed enough smarts to survive their stupidity– and he certainly had enough stupidity to him to make the clever moments stand out.

It all worked out for the best like that, really. If nothing else, it had long imparted the revelation to him, brilliant fool that he was, the secret to life. Simple and unlikely: surviving life in all its exquisite dreadfulness required optimism, and the secret ingredient to optimism was pessimism.

The Warden, that frighteningly odd individual, had practically spent the night with Zevan strapped to her back like an infant. There wasn’t a single kill to his name, and still she openly gushed about him, in front of the entire party and half of Redcliffe.

It was perfectly reasonable to assume that her standards for excellence were so low that a compliment was a thinly-veiled insult. Or that the wholly undeserved praise was a more calculated move to make the others resent him. To keep him out of conflict so that his reflexes dulled for lack of practice. To lull him into a false sense of security, even, only to take him (somewhat) by surprise when she and the dog murdered him in the dead of night and feasted on his innards.

And as far as Zevran was concerned, such thoughts only made the good things stand out more. He had survived a battle without a scratch. The leader of the party had given praise, and there was no taking back what had already been spoken, undeserved as the words might have been. His own tent was in the works. Even the sunrise had a peachy glow to it that was hard not to admire. No, this was more than enough for now.

At the top of the hill, the camp was finally in view. It was as higgledy-piggledy as they had left it; no more, no less. The tents sat in their usual semi-circle. Rhodri’s small, neat one with the blue glow and the black burnspot; Alistair’s huge, stained disaster; Leliana’s, yellowish and draped with a fur; and Sten’s sombre, nondescript affair sat at the tail-end. At the perimeter, Morrigan’s rag fort and the dwarves’ cart hovered like moons. There was something to be said for familiarity. Precisely what, Zevran didn’t know, but definitely something.

At some point, his own tent would need to go somewhere, but the Warden’s audible panting snapped his attention out of hypotheticals.

He turned and grinned broadly at her. She didn’t notice; it didn’t trouble him one bit.

“Ah… hah…” she huffed between breaths. “Looks like we haven’t been robbed by bandits or corpses. Mr. Bodahn and Sandal will be pleased to see their wagon is safe.”

“Who knew the undead had moral limits, no?” he quipped, allowing half a snort of his own as the Warden laughed appreciatively.

“Oh, you’re good! Now, since you wish to clean your leathers off, would you like to take the first bath?” She smiled and rubbed her fingers. “I can wait.”

Perhaps it wasn’t a lie, but it was only a truth in the same way that people drawing their dying breath were technically not dead.

He shook his head a little too hard. “A kind offer, my Grey Warden, but unnecessary. What if you took the first bath and I used the time to make us the finest Antivan frittata this side of the border?”

She smiled and shook her head. “I’ll have some cold leftover stew, but thank you. Please make whatever you want for yourself, of course.”

“Mm? You do not like frittata?" He whiffled a hand. "It is no bother, I can make anything your heart desires. Though perhaps with some local variations, given our ingredients."

Rhodri shrugged. “Oh, I like frittata a lot. Especially with those small red onions. Mm. What are they called? Salliculae… ah…” The Warden trailed off, talking to herself in slow but intelligible Tevene, ‘How did I forget the Common name when I speak the language all day…?’

Zevran smiled and answered in clear, smooth Antivan, ‘The red onions of Salle? The little sweet ones, yes? Esalota, we call it. I do not know the name in Common, unfortunately, but I understand the vegetable you mean.’

Rhodri let out a delighted squeak. ‘Ah, you understand me!’ Her pace picked up to a near-babble, ‘Didn’t know… Antivan is… intellig–... with Tevene… … … you?’

He chuckled. “Ah, forgive me. I got lost at the end, there.”

“Oh!” Her grin went lopsided. “Talked too fast, I think. I did understand you, though. And you understood me a little, yes?”

“Mmm, I believe Antivans can understand much Tevene if it is spoken slowly enough. Or very loudly,” he added with a smirk. “So no frittata without the esalota? That can be arranged, given that we have none.”

Rhodri scuffed her foot on the grass. “Oh, I like it with or without, but my plan for the next day or two is to eat the leftovers for dinner until they run out, see.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Zevran saw one of her hands wringing itself, and he absently touched the handwritten schedule in his pocket.

“Ah, but of course!” He kept his smile and nod generous. “It is well to keep to a schedule where one can, is it not? Not having to constantly plan ahead frees up the mind for more important things, no?”

The Warden gaped at him like he’d bought her a house.

“I… well, yes! Yes! Ha-ha! Yes, exactly!” She bounced on her toes, fixing his cheek with a gleaming smile. “Good to– yes, it’s good for a leader to be efficient, it’s true. Helps in the long run. Hah. Right. Yes. Ah…”

She pointed her nose toward the campfire. “Would you like some help with cooking? I can… mmm, what can I do… ah!" Her chest puffed out again, and her shoulders… if he wasn’t mistaken, they just shimmied a little. "I can break the eggs. Leliana showed me how to do that just before you joined us."

Oh, she would have starved in Antiva.

She down looked at her hands. “Oh. I need to wash first, though. And change. But I can get back to you as soon as I can to…” she squinted. “Hum… Cracking eggs isn’t actually that helpful, is it?”

He smiled, half from relief she'd reached that conclusion on her own, and half for a reason he couldn’t put his finger on.

“You are good to me, my Grey Warden,” he purred, “but a frittata is the work of a moment. Do not let me keep you from washing. In fact, by the time you’re back, it should almost be ready.”

Rhodri acknowledged this with a low hum. “You’re quite right, of course. It was an impractical suggestion.”

Untroubled though she looked as she rubbed her chin ( “Now what would be more useful…?” he heard her murmur), the remark twanged a previously unnoticed nerve all the same.

“Ah, but think,” he trilled quickly. “That means we can eat together, no?”

Her eyes widened a little. “Mmm, very true! I suppose I’d better get to it, then.”

“If I could perhaps ask a favour before you go, though?”

“Mm? Anything you like.”

“The fire has long gone out,” he gestured at the heap of char in the middle of the camp. “I wonder if I could borrow a little of that delightful magic to help me get it going again? I believe I lost my striker back in Lothering.”

She nodded, went to the firepit and threw a few logs in. He watched after her and waited for the flick of the hand to summon the bright, full-bodied flames that had cooked their food all week.

Any moment now.

… Or?

The Warden bent down, propping herself up with a hand on one knee, and held the other out by one of the logs. Her fingers started to tremble.

“Ah… hah…” her shoulders rose and sank like a bellows in time with her breaths.

Zevran strode over to her. “My Warden? You are well? If it is too strenuous…”

Rhodri didn’t answer. A wisp of smoke curled out of the cracked log bark and crept skywards. Her fingers moved with shaky… encouragement, he would have called it, if it didn’t sound so embarrassing. Who encouraged a flame?

She did, apparently. And when a bright orange tonguelet slipped out and licked at the bark, she certainly smiled like she was proud of it.

Through heavy pants, as it happened.

Zevran tried again. “... My Grey Warden?”

“Hah… a-hah… forgive me, I was… hah… concentrating.” She braced herself with both hands now.

His insides crawled with embarrassment. "Shall I bring you a restorative of some sort? Something to chew on, perhaps?"

Rhodri shook her head. "Thank you, no. I need to wash." She straightened up slowly and gave him a crimson-cheeked smile. "Nothing for you to worry about, my friend. I’ll be back shortly. May I take my clothes from your tent?"

Zevran smirked. “Your tent now, my dear.” And what a relief that was.

“Yours until this other tent arrives," she chuckled breathlessly. “I won’t declare it mine again without proof you have yours first.”

She didn’t wait for a reply before leaving, and that was a mercy in itself. The fact that she wasn’t actually staggering toward the tent was another.

Even so, Zevran listened out as he cracked the eggs, legs half-tensed in case the Warden fell unconscious mid-bath and he had to rush to fish her out of the water. He shouldn’t have let her go without a small rest– shouldn’t have asked a tired mage to do more magic in the first place– but of course, he never was one for keeping important things in mind.

Nagale. If she drowned, that was the end of him. If he burst in on her bathing, that was the end of him, too.

Why were his plans always so horrid?

Luckily, Rhodri had left the tent warbling a tune Zevran remembered a prostitute singing in the mornings as she dressed her hair.

He kept cooking. Rhodri kept singing. It was a hair’s breadth away from pleasant.

§

When the Warden re-joined him, dripping and looking incredibly pleased, the frittata was almost ready. He had taken the hot pan off the fire to let the heat in the iron cook it the rest of the way through.

She plonked herself down beside him and started filling her bowl with leftover stew.

“Something smells nice,” she said, giving him a wink that would have been visible from the other end of the country.

He waggled his eyebrows. “Almost ready, too. I happened to overcook, so if you change your mind, there is a goodly portion that is yours for the taking.”

Rhodri beamed as she tore a loaf of bread in half. “Spoken like a true Northerner! I don’t remember the last time I heard someone say they made too much food.” Her eyes drifted over to the frittata and rested there. And with its golden exterior and halfway runny inside, who wouldn't gaze like that? It was a triumph. Even a Fereldan would fall in love with it.

“Hmm?” Zevran nodded down at the pan. “You look tempted there, my dear.”

She chuckled. “Oh, I am. I should eat the leftovers first, but it’s been a good twelve years since I saw a frittata made the proper way…”

Pleased, Zevran acknowledged the remark with a grin.

“I used twelve eggs in this," he declared. "The most I have ever eaten in one sitting is six. If you want to know if it tastes as good as it looks…” He took a bite and made a noise bordering on inappropriate as he chewed and swallowed it down. “Mmm! Let me assure you it does. And your half is waiting in the pan for you.”

Rhodri’s gaze was firmly on the frittata on his plate. Not a hint of a blush. No bitten lip. He was of a good mind to ask her if her preferences departed from the usual humans, elves, dwarves, to food.

She turned back to the stew and took a bite, and the urge to ask that question disintegrated. Alistair had looked tickled pink with himself yesterday mid-morning, serving up bowlfuls of the grainy, tombstone-grey concoction with all the delighted benevolence of a man who was handing out gold bullions.

Credit where it was due, though: the Warden was as good as her word– or her plan, at the very least. She slogged her way through it valiantly. The only sign of it being the stuff of nightmares was the gusto with which she attacked the bread between mouthfuls.

When the bowl was empty, he smiled at her. “Are you ready for a palate cleanser?”

He should have waited for an answer; why he didn’t was anyone’s guess. He also should have known better than to firmly grab the side of a hot cast-iron pan wearing a leather glove that bordered on threadbare in parts.

If nothing else, he should have concealed the discomfort better. Zevran hastily pulled his hand away and created a breeze by wiggling his fingers.

Rhodri almost leapt a foot in the air. From her seated position, no less.

“Oh, Zev! Did you burn yourself?” She zipped over until their thighs were almost touching and held out her hands to him like she was receiving a gift. “Will you show me? I promise not to do anything without your permission.”

Zevran smirked and bit his lip at her. “Oh-ho! Will you kiss it better for me, my Grey Warden? Luck is very much on my side today.”

Oh, for the love of sanity, why?

The Warden blinked at him like he had thrown sand in her eyes.

“I’m… ah, sorry, but kisses haven’t been proven to heal wounds. You’ll just end up with my spit on you, and I think we’ve established that would be unwise." She smiled encouragingly. "But we can work out something that will help.”

The whole thing seemed hugely unwise. Ten minutes ago, it was a distinct possibility that casting a fire spell would send her to the Maker’s side. Or drowning from exhaustion thereafter. But who was he, Zevran the equal, to tell her to watch herself?

Oh, it was too much altogether.

“Perhaps,” he edged his hand out toward her, “we could simply examine it, for now? No need for treatment as yet, I do not think. It does not hurt so very much.”

Rhodri nodded fervently. “Of course, of course. Whatever you’re comfortable with. Would you be amenable to me taking the glove off so we can look closer–? Ah, thank you.”

It was a curious thing, the way four of her fingers cradled the underside of his wrist with featherlight gentleness. Her thumb, as if disgusted by it all, was stretched as far away from him as it seemed possible.

“Is this all right, my friend?” she indicated their point of contact with her nose. “Just to hold your hand steady. I promise not to make a full grip on you with my thumb.”

Zevran realised he had been staring, and when his fool blank look resisted being trained into something more sultry, he simply nodded.

Rhodri nodded back kindly. “All right. Nice and easy, here we go… tell me if you need me to stop and I’ll let go straight away…”

The glove was cajoled off delicately. Zevran couldn’t help but smile upon seeing that the unencumbered top half of his finger, though angry and rapidly swelling, was neither bleeding nor blistering.

“Mmm, look at that!" He swallowed a relieved laugh. "Barely a trace of my carelessness.”

Rhodri frowned. “Eh? It looks like you’re smuggling a cherry under your fingertip!”

He gave a casual wave with his free hand. “Ah, but that goes away on its own fast enough, no? No need to trouble yourself over it.”

Rhodri took her fingers away from his arm one by one until he was supporting the extremity on his own. She gave him a suspiciously patient-looking smile.

“It’s all right if the magic still unnerves you, amicus. I don’t expect that sort of thing to go away overnight. And I'm afraid even if you did ask me for magic, I couldn’t help right now.” She shrugged apologetically. “No mana left, I'm sorry. But I have some lovely heat balm to take the pain and swelling out, if you like? It’s in my satchel here…”

It was hard to know if there actually was a satchel that was situated to her right, or if that was simply what she called the great void her robes created. Whichever one she rummaged in ended up supplying her with a small jar of greenish ointment that she held up indicatively.

“What do you think? Shall we try it? You’ll only need a little, I think.”

Zevran’s mind faltered halfway through an attempt to jump to the worst possible conclusion. Topical poisons were common. The Warden, however, seemed an increasingly unlikely candidate for murdering him subtly. Or murdering him outright, when it came to that.

His finger throbbed. Pointedly. He affixed a smile.

“If you’re sure you don’t mind, my Warden–”

She shook her head so fervently that he stopped talking.

“Not at all,” she insisted. “Not at all. Here, let’s get some on you…”

He chuckled weakly as she set to work. “You are clever, Rhodri, making all these balms and such.”

Rhodri looked up and let out a wild laugh.

“Oh! I didn’t make this, Morrigan did. I never paid attention in herbalism, because it always bored me to tears. In fact, I said to my friend Stella, ‘So long as I can differentiate the vegetables on my plate, I’m proficient enough in plant matters.’”

She gave him a sheepish grin and rocked her feet from heel to toe. “My herbalism teacher heard that. She smacked me in the back of my head with my book for my trouble.”

Was it too much to laugh? She’d grinned, and a grin was three-quarters of the way to a laugh. It wasn’t kind to hit students with books, Zevran knew it in his heart of hearts, but what a tame punishment, all told.

He covered his mouth with his free hand and settled for watching her with a smile kept solely to the top half of his face. She glanced up at him– at him , in his eyes, not on his cheek– and once his digestive tract had stopped trying to escape via his mouth, he decided that there were worse things than eye-to-eye contact with her, odd and prolonged as it was.

Rhodri returned his balmed hand to him by carefully setting it down on his knee. "It takes about five minutes to work, so just sit easy while you wait. And while I think of it…" she pointed down at his gloves with her nose. “These need to be replaced, my friend."

Of course, he could never have been permitted to feel too settled with her, could he?

Zevran smirked and refused point-blank to consider the awkward lightness of his money-bag as he did so.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he challenged weakly, giving a wicked laugh. “I think I could get a little more service out of them.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, and he was a fool for feeling surprised about it.

“Frankly, Zevran, I think the only service they can offer you now is not dissolving entirely, and even then it’s looking grim.” She put her hands together and opened them like a book. “How about this. We’ll go to Mr. Bodahn and pick you out a nice new pair. What do you think?” Rhodri gestured at his shabby set and smiled warmly. “You can still keep these if you’re fond of them. They can be your leisure gloves.”

Zevran pulled his fingers away from his money and used them to stroke his chin.

“I… am not sure what Mr. Bodahn’s prices are like, truthfully.”

Rhodri waved a hand. “Oh don’t worry about that. We’ll get a good deal with him. He promised us a hefty discount, and we have plenty of money stashed away in the common fund for times like this.”

“Ah,” was all he said.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, I– Did you think you would have to pay for your own gear with your own money? Goodness, how thoughtless of me. I owe you an– no, wait! I owe you two apologies, in fact.”

He blinked. And then forced himself not to. “Two? I am sure you do not even owe me one, my dear Warden.”

“No, I do,” Rhodri shook her head hard. “I absolutely do. First of all, I'm sorry for not telling you that our common fund always covers work and basic living expenses. Armour, weapons, food, and shelter are all paid for by that. Your income is for you to save or spend on things you want. Now, secondly…”

She turned again to reach into the Robe Void and/or her satchel. Buckling turned to rustling, which became the jingle of coins, and when she faced him again, she deposited three sovereigns and six silvers into his unexpecting, balm-free hand.

“I should have given you your pay in advance the day you joined us,” she said solemnly, “but it didn’t occur to me. Please allow me to offer my apology for this oversight by paying interest– hence the six silvers. That was my mistake and it won’t happen again.”

Zevran stared down at the money, hating the three sovereigns that made his first pay packet and that he wanted to pocket them and the interest both.

“Most kind of you, my Warden,” he offered uneasily. “There is no need for the interest, though, I’m sure–”

Rhodri held up her hands. “There absolutely is. You are working with us,”

Working? Hah! Dancing, perhaps.

“And you are to be paid for it. Late pay means you accrue interest. I’m not taking that money back. It’s yours and none of my business now.”

Without a word, he stuffed the coins into his money bag and could have wept with relief that the struggle was over once he had. There was no gloating, no smiles, no hands going onto his body to take something back. If anything, the Warden looked as relieved as he felt that he had simply yielded to her request. Her fingers drummed on her knees, feet rocking too rapidly for it to be comfortable.

“... You know, my Warden, there is a very lonely frittata sitting between us,” Zevran offered tentatively. “Perhaps you might help me with it?”

Rhodri frowned. “Lonel–? Oh!” She looked at the frittata and up at him. “Have you eaten enough? You should have as much of it as you can. It's a long time since we last ate, and eggs are good for the health.”

“I could not eat a bite more,” he said earnestly, giving his belly a (careful) pat. “Getting through half of it was a challenge in itself. I’m afraid between the two of us, you will have to be the one to give it a good home.”

She swallowed audibly and eyed that damned frittata like she was going to make love to it.

“... You’re quite sure?” she asked hoarsely.

Zevran grinned. “Oh, yes.” He pointed his nose at it. “Go on, dear Warden. Enjoy it while it is still warm.”

After another loud gulp the Warden nodded and, fork in hand, reached down and speared a bite out of the pan. Zevran bit his lip, unable to resist watching on as she brought it to her mouth.

She chewed it slowly, eyes fluttering shut. Sighed, grinned, blushed– Maker’s breath, she might as well have taken the pan back to her tent at the rate she was going.

He couldn’t help but smile. “I take it you are enjoying it?”

It took a moment before she swallowed and turned to him, and he wondered if she had been prolonging the inevitable parting with her mouthful.

“Yes I am,” Rhodri said softly. “It’s exactly how they made it at home in Kirkwall when there were no esalota.” She gestured at the pan. “This is beautiful food, Zev. The best thing I’ve eaten in twelve years.”

A pang of some sort registered in Zevran’s chest that he studiously ignored in favour of the jubilation of winning the Warden’s favour via simple cooking. He didn’t make bad food as a rule, but this had not even been one of his best. He bobbed his head with a flourish to point his nose at the remaining half (minus one bite) of the apparent masterpiece frittata.

“I shall have to keep that in mind,” he purred as he scoured his mind for the exact proportions of herbs and seasonings he had used in the mix and committed them to memory. “Do please go ahead and eat to your heart’s content.”

The Warden shifted a little. "Maybe you should keep it for your lunch. I can reheat it for you."

He shook his head. "I prefer to eat it fresh, but thank you."

She glanced out toward the hill they'd scaled to reach the camp. "Then perhaps the others will want it."

Zevran laughed and didn't bother trying to stop it. "They will have had all the best foods Bann Teagan can supply. I am quite sure they will not have room for more. And truly," he added with a thin smile, "if they do not trust me, they will not want to eat something I have prepared."

The Warden appeared to consider this for a moment. Then with a nod, she took another bite, and another, and then another.

"Mercy, this was good," she mumbled as she downed the last mouthful. "Absolutely perfect." She sighed and gave him an awfully soft smile for someone who tended to bustle and loudly declare awkward things. "Thank you for sharing your food with me. You're so kind, Zev."

Zevran chuckled before he knew what he was doing. "Practically a saint among men, no? I thought I was the only one who believed it."

Rhodri grinned at him with that joyful shark mouth and waved a hand between them. "We know the truth, you and I, don't we–"

A loud "Oi!" silenced her. They glanced over their shoulders and saw Alistair traipsing heavily toward them bearing a cumbersome-looking canvas bundle. The rest of the party strolled behind him, save for Leliana who walked by his side.

"Ah!" Rhodri got to her feet. "Alistair brought your tent up after all! Come, he looks tired. We'll take it off him and set it up, yes?"

Zevran didn't need to be asked twice.

§

Rhodri beamed at Zevran as he left her tent with his armful of possessions. She bent down by the entrance to his (his!) decidedly spacious yellow canvas tent, and opened the tent flap for him with a small flourish.

"Welcome home, my friend," she said grandly. "Once I've had a little sleep, I'll be able to insulate your tent for you, if you're happy to do it."

Rhodri wrinkled her nose as she glanced skyward. The sun was high enough to start warming the air properly, and there wasn't a hint of a cloud to delay proceedings.

"It's going to get hot soon," she mused, "so it's probably for the best that it isn't already done."

Zevran smiled and set his belongings inside the tent without stepping in. The rest of the party were shambling into their own lodgings, and after a week of nobody murdering him in his sleep, it seemed reasonable enough to guess that it was unlikely to happen today.

"Mmm," he chuckled. "I haven't met a hot day in Ferelden I didn't like. In fact, I haven't met a hot day in Ferelden at all."

The Warden snorted. "See how you go. There's a nice breeze, at least, so if today's the day you encounter warmth, you can tie your tent flap open.

"Anyway, I'll excuse myself now." She passed his tent flap to him and gave him a pleasant wave. "Sleep well, Zev."

There was no reason to watch her step over to her tent next door and disappear into it.

Well, no, there was. It paid to keep an eye on her movements for any number of reasons an experienced assassin could reel off. And what need was there to list said reasons when he was his own audience? No, it was foolish.

Satisfied, he pulled off his boots, climbed into his tent and cursed as he flopped down and met hard ground instead of his bedroll. Winded, he looked to his left and saw the absentee mattress, still rolled up and looking as smug about it as an inanimate object could.

You're lucky that's all that happened while you weren't paying attention.

Zevran agreed with himself by way of a sigh, hauled himself up, and made his bed. He lowered himself down onto it gingerly.

Oh, and it was marvellous. Only a thin thing, and he hadn't even opened it out to lie under the blanket. Tired bones sank into the meagre padding like quicksand, and Zevran stared up at the canvas ceiling with the sunlight prickling through the weave and let himself enjoy this little moment in his little makeshift house supplied by this strange little group. Just once.

§

The sound of his neighbour groaning woke Zevran up.

He raised an eyebrow. There had been sounds issuing from Rhodri's tent as he was falling asleep as well: quiet, heavy breaths people made when they were attending to those personal needs that so many had, but were doing their utmost to be subtle about it.

Such noises– and far louder ones– had been part of the background noise more nights in Zevran's life than not, as normal as rustling leaves or the creaks of kissing floorboards underfoot. He almost hadn't noticed Rhodri's, and when he did, he nearly managed to convince himself he was still in his tiny, packed apartment in Antiva City. Ignoring it was the easiest thing in the world.

This groaning of hers, though, this was something else. Certainly not the sound of enjoyment, though he had managed to nod off despite unhappy sounds often enough, too.

He listened out. There was movement. Tossing, turning, some hushed remarks.

'Argh, no. Too much. It is too much, I cannot!'

There came a slap of canvas on canvas, and footsteps as the walker strode out and away.

Knife in hand, Zevran had reached over to peel back his tent flap just a little, but stopped upon hearing Alistair chuckling.

"Too hot for you as well, eh?"

Rhodri sighed. "You have the right idea sleeping out here in the shade, amicus."

Alistair laughed again. "Not just a pretty face, am I? You know, Rhodders, you'd be a lot cooler if you just took your robe off."

"Mmm? I'd be a lot less modest, too."

"Nobody cares about that in Ferelden, though. You can roll your sleeves up or strip down to a shirt and breeches without any problems, I promise you."

Rhodri gave a disagreeing hum. " I care about it. I'm still a Tevinter who is out in public, and I would be in a state of undress even if nobody noticed or minded."

The Templar chortled good-naturedly. " Well, can't argue with that. Maybe you could magick a little breeze up your sleeves to cool you off."

She laughed. "You're splendid you know, Alistair. A real treat. I'm glad to have a friend like you."

Zevran chewed his lip to button in a hysterical laugh. So she did this to everyone, did she? Unable to resist, cracked the tent flap open wide enough to observe Alistair's suffering.

His eyes widened in spite of himself: the Templar's face had the most ridiculous grin on it, and the giggle that came out was twice as bad.

Alistair pulled his shirt off and sprawled gracelessly on his bedroll under the tree.

"Back at you, Rhod," he sighed.

The Magewarden, dressed in the usual colossal robe, was somehow both rocking on her feet and unfurling her own bedroll under the neighbouring tree, beaming all the while.

Zevran forced himself to shrug. An odd reaction perhaps, but despite the agony of the whole awkward scene, it was very reassuring to not be the only one being subjected to the Warden’s nerve-jangling remarks.

Oh, but Alistair didn’t think they were nerve-jangling, did he? He looked so pleased with himself and his company, drinking in the affection–and it evidently was affection– like he was made for it. Or was, at the very least, whole enough to appreciate it.

Chest aching, Zevran let the tent flap fall back down. He re-sheathed the knife, rolled over so his back faced the scene outside, and scrunched his eyes shut.