#( thread ‣ gimli. )

[tathrin]

Posted this one a little while ago, but does an abandoned fic even know time...? (Answer: clearly not.)

The premise of the fic is a what-if? canon-divergence idea where both Gandalf and Aragorn die in Moria, leaving the Fellowship to struggle on without either of their leaders.

And unfortunately, I did not leave any notes for my future-self when I started working on it originally, so every time I've tried to go back to it since my initial burst of work has run into the roadblock of my having no (middle-)earthly idea what was meant to HAPPEN?

I still don't know, but here's the immediate aftermath at least, while the Fellowship tries to pull themselves together in Lórien and figure out how to go on with the Quest without Aragorn or Gandalf there to guide them. We make it as far as the Anduin...

And there we leave them, to sink or swim as chance wills.

@goodintentionswipfest

[sixbillicnsouls]

( ❛ ╾ @thefearedsouls​ )

         The prince wasn’t sure how late it was. Late enough to receive a lecture for not resting when he should - he had a lot on his mind the past few days. Seeing Lalla again brought up many feelings that Lee had yet to sort through. He had missed her, missed seeing her smile, and laugh and the admiration she had in her voice when talking to anyone - just to make them feel important. And that all served as a painful reminder of what almost was denied by her father because now Lee was more monster than prince. He watched the fire and let out a slow sigh. He heard a shift in the room that sounded like the passage opening. He was quick to grab his eye patch off the table beside him to try to put it on quickly. When he saw the princess who was running through his thoughts he relaxed. “What are you doing here? Are you alright?” He asked, moving over to her. “It is late, should you not be sleeping?

[siiinfully]

continued from this with @everyoneismytoy

[text from Felix ] : I thought it would be cute using them and when I was in college i used to be a horrible texter .

[text from Felix ] : honestly i decided to come back and bring you a gift . Do you want it ? 🔪

+++

[ sms ] a few are fine. but an entire sentence is pushing it, FC. [ sms ] now if that gift is long and pointy and can cut a full grown man... [ sms ] you know i would.

[amarthfaeg]

i didn't think i'd survive it, either. ( From Gimli to arwen undómiel)

Bowing her head respectfully, the elf-maiden was giving the other a curious look.

"Master Gimli, you rushed into battle and selflessly defended elvenkind. You have showed great loyalty to our people. For that, I cannot ever thank you enough, but on behalf of my father and all of Rivendell, I would like to honor you in our halls."

[itsfeckinwimdy]

10 Types of Kisses

Various LOTR/TH x Reader

Pairings: Aragorn, Fili, Haldir, Kili, & Legolas x Reader (separately).

Pronouns: n/a.

Prompt(s): 10 types of kisses by @urfriendlywriter. You can find her post here. (I used 9/10 of them).

Word Count: 3.4k words (3415)

Warnings: No beta, we die like Boromir. open wounds (Aragorns + Fili's), marriage (Fili's), swearing (Kili's), mentions of battle + death + blood (Legolas).

Tree Speaks: I had a lot of fun writing this but it also went into territory that I'm not particularly comfortable with writing yet so we'll see how this pans out.

Translations: amad - mother, dwarrowdams - a term used for female dwarves.

LOTR + TH Masterlist

Published: 25/02/2023

1. Aragorn

soft kisses - where they're just lying beside you, hands playing with your hair as they trail tender kisses all over your lips

The two of you were meant to be sleeping of course, but the gloom of the mines made it hard to settle. You supposed that's why he pulled you away from the others slightly, to a spot just that bit further away.

Aragorn was on first watch as usual, having made it his task since the beginning of the journey, and always insisted that the hobbits and Gandalf got plenty of sleep. But with that came the usual knowing looks between the two of you as Aragorn knew his love wouldn't sleep unless he would.

So with that knowledge, and him sensing his love's rising anxiety at being trapped underground, it now brought them to this.

He tilted your head up from where it was resting against his chest, his hand cupping your face. Aragorn brushed a few loose strands of hair off your face from where it had fallen out of place as his own head tilted down towards yours. His hand gently entwined with your other, and he paused in his movements, allowing you to decide next.

You gently reached up, threading your hand through his long locks and gently pulling him down towards you. He pressed his lips to yours, mouth moving slowly, softly, intimately.

He pulled away, your lips chasing after his, a small smile gracing his lips as he pressed another kiss, and then another, and then another to your lips.

the type of kiss where you can't find words to say after, or the ones where your forehead lingers against each other's

Aragorn's horse trotted through helms deep, having just pulled him up from the river bed where if not found, he would've succumbed to his wounds. He dismounted his horse and received a scolding from Gimli before forcing himself up the staircases and into the deep.

Legolas rose from outside the doors, greeting his friend who believed him dead. The elf pulled him into a familiar embrace before pulling back and making a sarcastic comment about the ranger.

The elf turned a small smile gracing his face before yelling the name of a person. The ranger followed his line of sight. It fell on his love, you.

You looked up after the elf who yelled out to you, before seeing the man you mourned for standing with him. Abandoning your stuff, you ran to him, arms thrown over his shoulders and crushing him to your chest as a few sobs left you.

His arms encircled you as he leant his forehead against yours. He didn't care at that point about the mud caking him and he didn't think you cared enough at that point, so it made no odds on whether he was careful or not.

He pulled back slightly, raising his hand to caress your face before pressing his lips to yours. Tears left both of you as his mouth moved languidly with yours.

Aragorn pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. He wanted to say so much to you, fearing that he would never see you again but all thoughts left him as he wished to stay in this moment, longing for nothing but you.

2. Fili

messy kisses - curly hair, ruffled sheets and half-buttoned clothes as you just want more and at that moment, they're the most beautiful soul to you ever

The sun trickled in through the window, bypassing the curtains that hadn't been fully drawn across the night before. The young (ish) couple lounged in the bed, bodies pressed together as close as they could get with the few layers of clothes still between them.

He tilted your head up to meet his, his lips pressing against yours, moving languidly in the early morn. Fili reached up, hand caressing your courting and marriage braids that were still somewhat intact.

He groaned, feeling one of your hands gripping the hair at the base of his neck and the other slipping under his shirt across his chest.

Fili pulled back, eyes fluttering open to meet yours; your own half-lidded as you drew in a few stuttering breaths. It was a pleasant greeting from your love first thing in the morning, one that you would be against again.

You gazed up at Fili, the dwarf hovering over you, careful not to rest his entire body weight on you. The tressels of sunlight filtered through his hair, causing a glow to shine over him.

His eyes trailed over your face, memorising every detail as if it was the first time he saw you.

kisses on your body ♡ frail kisses on your shoulder! on your lower back, belly and trailing to your neck, collarbones, lips.

A cry of pain left your lips.

Oin pulled the blood-soaked cloth away from where it was pressed tightly against your side. The infection from the arrow had spread, the orcs having laced it with something deadly.

The pain wasn't something Fili wished on anyone, much less you. So he did his best to comfort you whilst the infection ransacked your body. His hands firmly held you, one holding the back of your head, and the other gripping your forearm to stop you from forcing Oin's hand away from the wound he was trying his best to treat.

After Oin had doused the cut in water, trying to flood any dirt that wormed its way in, Fili pulled you closer. The healer moved back to gather some more altheas and cloths, leaving you curled against your prince's chest.

Fili dropped his head down to your shoulder, as your tears continued to douse his shirt - not that he cared as it was covered in sweat, grime, and whatever else from the trip across middle earth - his hand on your head slipping down to the back of your neck, stroking his fingers in what he hoped was a soothing pattern.

He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, the fabric of your tunic had been pulled away, cut away for easier access. It would need replacing, he noted, but hoped that it would be enough to cover you until the sun rose again.

Fili continued his ministrations, pressing another kiss further up your shoulder. And then another at the junction where it met your neck. He considered pressing one to your neck, in that one spot he knew made you shiver, but with the way you were sitting in his lap you were already considered improper in public, so he begrudgingly decided against it.

Oin chose to return at that moment, pressing the churned-up altheas against your wound and then tying the cleanest cloth over it. You cried out in pain, more tears falling. It was like someone was driving a burning knife into your arm, over, and over, and over again. The pain rolling in waves.

Fili kept whispering words of praises and comfort, the Kadzhul translations lost in your mind as all you could feel was the pain, and him.

The knot was finally tied on the bandage. Fili slid his hand from the back of your neck to cup your face, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead before leaning his own upon yours.

I'm here, you're safe now, I love you, the action spoke more words than Fili could find himself saying.

3. Haldir

lazy kisses as they admire you - fingers delicately trialing your jaw as they kiss your lips

"Haldir," you groaned, leaning back against his chest, head turned up to face him. A smile graced his lips, his eyes locked with yours, shining full of love.

It wasn't often you got to spend a prolonged period of time with your Marchwarden, especially with him being gone for months at a time to guard Lothlórien's borders. So any time you spent with him was precious, even if you knew he would be leaving at the end of it again.

The braid in his hair was loose, albeit from your hands running through his hair earlier, causing him to have a sexy, but dishevelled look. The thought of elves being supermodels no matter what state they were in flashed through your mind again causing you to chuckle slightly.

Haldir raised his hand, letting it linger under your jaw as he delicately leaned down to place another kiss against your lips. Warmth bloomed through you and as his lips moved against yours, all thought about him having to leave again in a few days retreated into the depths of your mind.

You were drunk off the taste of him, off his kisses as he stole your breath each time. And nothing would ever change that.

goodbye kisses - kisses lingering like liquor in each other's lips, bitter but sweet, "I'll always come back to you, love. you're my home after all."

The boats gifted to the fellowship had just finished being prepared and were packed full of provisions to last you a good while.

The thought of having to leave your home again haunted you but not just because it was where you lived. No, because this time you were leaving your love, not knowing when you were to see him again. He was your home.

The Marchwarden was allowed to see his love off, having been granted a week's leave whilst you and the fellowship recovered and stayed in Caras Galadhon, Lothlórien. After you were sent as an emissary to Imladris, Rivendell in the common tongue, and word had returned that you had embarked on a journey to destroy the one ring, Haldir was worried for you.

He knew the history of the ring, as did most if not all elves and was worried about the dangers you may face. He knew that you could protect yourself, having been a sparring partner against you for years, but the worry did not dissipate.

He met you at the shoreline, his hand over his heart in the traditional greeting before he held your hand in his. Sadness filled his eyes as he wished not to see you leave, but knowing that this was a journey you were willing to take.

Haldir leant his head against yours as he fixed the cloak hung around your shoulders, ensuring that the broach was attached properly.

His hands lingered on your waist as he prepared himself to say goodbye again. It was one thing being the one who was leaving, but now that he was on the receiving side for once, he now knew how your heart felt each time he went on patrol. That feeling of not knowing if you were coming back or not eating at his heart.

Your hand on his cheek stole his spiralling mind from his thoughts as your lips pressed against his. A tear threatened to leave his eye as he consumed your kiss like a drug. The fear bubbling in his chest soothing to make way for the love he held for you but the melancholy feeling at having to be parted from you made it more bittersweet than anything.

His lips lingered over yours as you pulled away, his hand raising to stoke a strand of hair back from your face. Haldir wished he could keep you here in his arms but understood the task you had undertaken would not be dropped lightly.

4. Kili

kissing and realising this is the person you'll always love, you'll always want to touch and snuggle with

Kili didn't think he could hold you any closer than he currently was.

You were practically melded into him, hands gripping tightly to the back of his jacket. The clothing was still damp from the thunderous storm you had walked through, but nonetheless had to still wear.

The terror that shot through him as the thunder giant collided with the mountain, believing that he had lost not only his brother but you as well, was something he never wished to feel again. His hands trembled slightly at the thought.

He shifted slightly, taking some pressure off his shoulder whilst pulling you upwards slightly so you were level with him. The ground wasn't pleasant to lie on, less so on his side, and even less so with damp clothes on, but Kili knew this was the company's best option right now.

Kili rested his head against yours, his eyes meeting yours. He nudged his nose with yours affectionately, giving you time to pull away.

It was something he always did, you noted. Every time he wanted to kiss you but couldn't find the words to say it, or was surrounded by too many prying eyes, he did that. Gave you that tell that allowed you to decide what happens next.

You tentatively leant forwards, tilting your head upwards ever so slightly, letting your lips press against his. There was no rush. No incessant desire to pull the other closer, just him.

Kili moved his lips slowly with yours, savouring every moment that he got with you. Fuck, he loved you. The realisation pulled at his heartstrings more, knowing that he could've lost you today.

prohibited kiss - you're not even supposed to be seeing each other but your hands are on his hair and his hands around your waist, lower bodies pressing into each other as you kiss

Laughter radiated through your body as you were pulled through the endless turns and corridors of Erebor. The stone walls were lined with torches and braziers all lit with fires burning brightly.

To anyone else, it would be a maze, a catacomb of tunnels that unless sense was made of them, would surely lead to your demise. But years of living there had engraved the pathways into your mind, and no doubt Kili's.

His hand dragged you to a secluded corner, himself coming to a halt. He could no longer hear the guards trying to follow the two of you. Pride flooded his chest as he gazed back at you, finally alone with his betrothed.

You were finally able to get a good look at him, now that he didn't have all the dwarrowdams fawning over him. Even if he wasn't "beautiful" by dwarf standards, he was still a prince and would have people trying to gain his favour.

But his title didn't matter to you. Kili did.

And by the creator himself, did you love the way he looked. His hair tousled from the running, and the short beard he was so desperately trying to grow accentuated his face.

But the ceremonial robes that hung to his body? You couldn't resist.

He found himself pushed back, pinned against the pillar. Kili's eyes locked with yours, the same fire of desire within him, burning through you.

Your lips pressed with his, mouths moving frantically with the others. Your hands that gripped onto the front of his robes slid up, trailing up his neck and into his hair, pulling slightly to press him into you more.  A groan left him at a particularly harsh tug before your hand moved to trace his courting braid.

He pulled away, panting, breathless, kissing you again and pulling you into him, arms gripping your waist, hands in his hair, your bodies practically merging into one. If his Amad caught him now, he wouldn't even have to face the scornful looks of Dwalin, he would already be lying in his grave.

But could he let you go? Fuck no.

5. Legolas

shy kisses - when you're the one pulling them closer, and they nuzzle their face in your crook after the kiss, hands around your waist as their ears get red

You were scared. If anything you were currently lustful, but you were about to fight in a war against ten thousand troops with an army of less than a third of that. So you were scared.

Legolas had turned to where you leant against one of the pillars, choosing to come and check all the fastenings on your armour. He was meticulous and methodical as he went to each and every one, adjusting where he deemed necessary whilst checking it caused you no discomfort.

A soft smile graced your face, as you watch his gentle movements before reaching out to cup his face in one of your hands. A blush, so subtle anyone who didn’t know Legolas would miss it, warmed his face, his head lifting and eyes locking with yours. It was as if he was staring straight into your soul, his piercing grey eyes full of love but fear.

You pulled him towards you, Legolas leaning his head down as his hand held over yours on his face, the other resting gently on your waist. Leaning up, you gently pressed your lips to his. Just once, mind you, the action as tender as possible, letting him come to you.

Legolas leant into you, pressing his lips back against yours, moving at a slow pace. He wanted to savour this moment as much as possible before the two of you walked to what could be your deaths.

ahem.

The clearing of the person's throat sprung the two of you apart, you mentally preparing for the endless stream of apologies to whichever passerby caught you, only for it to be someone you knew all too well.

"Aragorn." You spoke, heavily embarrassed to be caught with your lover.

The ranger looked between the two of you, his face being that awful neutral resting one making it so you couldn't judge his feelings on the matter. Aragorn must have read the panic starting to creep up in you as a teasing smile broke out.

“I have no qualms with this,” he began before looking over his shoulder towards the entrance of the armoury, “but the people of Rohan may not be as forgiving if you are caught.”

He turned on his heel, making his way up the staircase and leaving the two to their devices.

A moment passed and then a chuckle left your lips as a sigh left Legolas’. His head fell to your shoulder as the blush absconding his cheeks spread like wildfire tinting his ears a rosy colour.

At least it was only Aragorn, you mused, If Gimli had found you then he wouldn’t stop teasing your elf.

kisses of reassurance - saying that you're safe, still with them, that your heart is still beating wildly in your chest, that they couldn't get rid of you if they tried, that for some insane reason, you're not dead yet

Your chest heaved, trying to inhale as much air as possible as you sprinted up the mud-soaked hill. Aragorn had yelled for the soldiers to retreat into Minas Tirith and you were making your way as fast as you could until an arrow pierced your shoulder.

The doors were closed and sealed as you entered alongside the last few stragglers, a resounding bang from the wood hitting the stone frame. The room spun on its axis.

The throbbing pain in your arm continued, each ebb seeming stronger which was probably due to the adrenaline wearing off. Maybe you should've stayed fighting, it surely couldn't hurt as much as your arm did, you thought as your uninjured arm reached out to hold yourself up against the wall.

Giving up on keeping yourself upright, you slid falling somewhat ungracefully to the floor, blood dripping from your wound and soaking your sleeve. It was funny how much damage one arrow could cause.

You blinked.

The sun had risen, and from where you could see it, it was around mid-morning. Your eyes focused and you could see a worried face in a sea of platinum blonde hair. Legolas.

Ignoring the sound of the elf’s worry, you pushed yourself up into a seated position, as he gracefully knelt down next to you. His hands mindlessly moved to cup your face, as he had to pull his eyes away from your crudely bandaged arm. The arrow had been jagged and cut more as it pierced you, causing more blood to be lost.

Your hand covered one of his as Legolas moved to press his forehead to yours.

“I'm okay,” you whispered, breaking the silence between the two of you. Your thumb stroked the back of his hand absentmindedly, as you tilted your head up, meeting his lips with yours. It was one of desperation, longing and fear. A shuddered breath left you as the two of you broke apart.

“We’re okay.”

[intoxicated-chan]

𝐈𝐭❜𝐬 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐮𝐭!

Summary ➳ When you and the rest decide to sneak up on an Orc camp, you receive an injury. You believe you can handle it yourself but Legolas thinks otherwise.

(A/n) ➳ I AM SO SORRY! Tumblr ended up deleting the request but I remember it but not all of it so forgive me if this isn’t what you wanted. If it isn’t then don’t hesitate to shoot a message or request again!! I also learned that apparently the Fellowship traveled at night and slept during the day. I seriously did not know that until today.

Word Count ➳ 1.5k

Content Warnings ➳ Gender Neutral Reader, description of violence, blood, death, stitching, blood loss, angst-to-fluff…

“There must be some other way.” Legolas uttered to Boromir. “You cannot believe that sending (Y/n) out to assassinate the Orcs is the best solution.”

“She won’t be alone, Aragorn will be there with them.” Boromir replied. “The two of them will attack from above while we attack from below.” He drew his sword, walking closer to the Orc that was alone. He was swift with it, moving behind the Orc and slitting its throat. “See? Wasn’t that hard.”

You took a deep breath as you aimed your bow, you kept your focus on the leader. You could see from the corner of your eye Aragon sneaking up on the other two. You knew he was waiting on your signal and he would wait however long, but you were all on a strict time.

Another deep breath and- “Hey!” You shouted out of instinct, Legolas’s arrow went through the Orc’s head, killing him but you brought attention to yourself.

You jumped down from the tree and quickly nocked, drew, aimed, and released at one Orc that was reaching for its weapon. You swerved past another arrow, more flying past your head until you took cover over a giant rock.

Before you could nock another arrow, an Orc came from behind, grabbing your arms to throw you against the ground. You rolled when he attempted to stab you, dodging more swings until you managed to kick his sword away.

He charged at you, taking your knife that was strapped to your leg, and used it against you. You used your bow to block a couple of slashes until he fell to the ground. Instead of standing, he got onto his knees and managed to stab you in your thigh.

You let out a scream but in return, you shot an arrow through his head. Your breathing staggered as your hand wrapped around the knife and slowly pulled it out and then covered it with terrible bandaging.

“(Y/n)!” Legolas popped up a few seconds later. “I heard you scream.”

“I believed I twisted my ankle.” You covered your wound with your as best as you could, smiling through the pain.

“Let me help you.” Legolas took your hand, helping you walk to the rest of the group. Luckily, your cloak covered your bleeding wound and your dark pants were enough to hide the blood seeping out. “We just have a couple more hours before daylight.”

Like Legolas said, Aragorn finally decided that it was time to rest. “We will set out when it becomes dark.” He told you all before he started to set up his makeshift bed.

Legolas looked over your ankle, looking closely and pressing against it, looking back at you for a reaction. “It doesn’t seem to be twisted, but it may be strained. You have been jumping a lot, and might have happened when your footing was incorrect.”

You could practically feel the sweat running down your forehead. “Does it seem bad?”

Legolas smiled, his usual smile that was beaming with kindness. “No, the pain should fade later. Are you in pain or hurt anywhere else?”

“No, no, thank you.” After Legolas joined Aragorn, chatting. It wasn’t long before it was just murmurs among the Fellowship. Sam and Frodo were cooking together, Gimli was most likely perched up against a tree sleeping, but you didn’t know about the rest.

You were farther into the forest, a needle and thread in your hand. You placed a thick piece of fabric in between your teeth and bit down, you used your other hand to keep the gash close together so you could stitch it.

You let out a strained cry as you attempted to stitch your wound yourself but it was difficult due to your vision blurring. You didn’t know how long you were out here, so focused on closing your wound that you didn’t hear branches breaking or leaves crunching.

“You’re hurt.” Legolas’s voice broke you out of your concentration. You could see the panic in his eyes, he kneeled by your side, taking the needle from you and moving your hand from your thigh. “And you’re doing it incorrectly. You’re hurting yourself more.”

He used his other hand to pull a container of water, and flushed out your wound. “How did you get this? And when?”

“Just a couple hours ago.”

“And you’ve been bleeding this entire time?” Legolas’s voice was filled to the brim with regret, like he was ashamed of himself. He carefully threaded the thread into your skin, making sure it wasn’t too tight or too loose.

You took out the cloth from your mouth. “Look Legolas, I’m still alive and well.” You tried to ease him. “I’ll be alright, I’m okay.”

“I should’ve known, you have been moving slower, as well as your reaction time.” He acknowledged. Once he finished stitching your wound, he poured water again to wash out the rest of the dried blood.

He helped you to your feet, throwing your arm over his shoulder and an arm around your waist. He moved at a slow pace back to camp, everyone was now asleep, save it for Aragorn who just watched you both silently.

He helped you lay down. “I’ll be fine.” You repeated yourself, it felt like the hundredth time.

Legolas shook his head. “Please, do not hide anything. You shouldn’t be silent about these kinds of things.”

As if waking up very early in the morning couldn’t be any better, Orcs have seemed to find you all. You had a feeling that they were stalking you all, waiting for the moment to attack. You used your bow instead of your sword, making sure none of the Orcs came close to the Hobbits.

An Orc charged at you. You dodged the first couple of swings but not the kick to the leg, making you kneel and it felt like the stitches broke.

You screamed as you used your arrow to stab it into the Orc’s shoulder. Legolas’s arrow came from behind and slew the bastard and Merry came to your side to help you stand.

“Run into the forest!” Boromir shouted, blocking the sword coming down at him. “Go! Quickly!”

Merry helped you speed through the forest. You suddenly felt sick, like you wanted to pass out. But it wasn’t long before the Orcs gave up the chase and Merry sat you against a tree.

“They’re bleeding!” Merry alerted the rest of the Fellowship.

Legolas dropped in front of you, pushing your hands away from the wound. “I need a needle and thread.” He said, more like demanded. “Or a cloth to stop the bleeding.”

Aragorn ripped a piece of his shirt and handed it to Legolas, he snatched it and was quick to tie it around your wound. “I’ll need some herbs, in case the wound becomes infected.” Sam shuffled through his bag. “Luckily you should be able to walk but not run.”

You swore under your breath. “It seems the Orcs are watching us at all times.” You looked up at Aragorn. “What do we do?” You asked him.

“There may be another camp nearby.” Aragorn replied. “Boromir, Legolas, we need to search.”

“Someone should stay and protect the Hobbits.”

“Gimli is here and (Y/n) still has the strength to use their bow.”

“But what if they need to retreat? What will happen then?” Legolas still pressed, wanting to remain by your side. “We cannot put the Hobbits at risk, especially the ringbearer.”

“Gimli will be here, just go with them.” You told him.

“I will not.”

Aragorn was too annoyed to even put up an argument anymore. “Let us go then.”

When they were out of sight, you pushed his shoulder slightly. “What was that?” You asked him, confused out of your mind.

“Someone must be here to protect the Hobbits-”

“I know that, it would’ve been fine. They are taking care of the camp, the Orcs won’t be nearby to bother us.” You once again tried to explain to him. “What is going on with you? Are you still feeling guilty?”

“No-”

“Doesn’t seem like that.” Your breathing hitched as you attempted to stand.

Legolas grabbed your warm to stop you. “You cannot be moving at the moment. Give yourself time to relax.”

“It’s just a small cut!”

“A cut that could’ve killed you.”

You huffed. “What is going on with you Legolas?”

“Becoming reckless is one thing but hiding a serious injury that could have killed you is another. It makes me worry, it makes me question if you have more injuries you’ve hidden.”

“Look, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about the wound. I didn’t think that it would mean so much for you.” You admitted.

“I worry, I worry every single day, every fight, during the night and during the daybreak. Will the morrow be the day where someone or something takes you from me?” His hand grazed over your wound. “I just want to know I’ve done everything and anything.”

“I’m sorry.” You apologized again.

“Just promise me, I do not care how small it is or how big, please do not hesitate to ask for help.”

You nodded. “I promise.”

© Intoxicated-Chan 2023, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission.

[bugstuff4ever]

“And that bright star near the horizon is the arm of The Archer,” Legolas declared, leaning so close to Gimli that their cheeks practically touched, extending his elegant hand toward the night sky. Gimli nodded absently, not quite keeping up with the elf’s eager explanation of the constellations, instead finding himself distracted by the proximity of his companion.

For optimal star viewing, the pair had stolen away from the fire where the fellowship had gathered for the evening and discovered a more secluded place to set up. Gimli had made himself cozy atop a rock, and Legolas was perched on his knees beside him, bringing them eye to eye with one another. The dwarf smiled fondly as Legolas gushed on about the various constellations, shifting slightly as a warm sensation churned through his belly. Gimli was well aware of his crush on the Mirkwood Prince—he’d been smitten ever since the Council of Elrond—but he’d never had the chance to enjoy the finer details of the elf from such a close distance. He could feel his heartbeat begin to pick up as his eyes wandered freely over Legolas’s body. Gimli had never before noticed the sheen of his golden hair, the way it seemed to glow even in the dark of night. He’d never admired the definition of Legolas’s collarbone, which protruded ever so slightly from the deep neckline of his evening shirt. He hadn’t been given the chance to discover the pink hue of the elven lips, which looked particularly enticing bathed in the ethereal light of—

“Master Dwarf, are you listening to me?” Gimli jerked backward in surprise, blushing fiercely.

“My apologies, I s-seemed to have lost my focus,” he sputtered, painfully aware that his companion had most definitely noticed his staring. They gazed at each other wide-eyed and shy, uncertain of what would come next. The seconds stretched on into eternity. Legolas’s ears flushed a deep scarlet, and he took a shaky breath before uttering his next words so softly that Gimli had to strain to hear them.

“Do you like what you see?” The dwarf’s eyebrows shot up as a swooping sensation passed through him. Was the elf flirting with him? Gimli swallowed, summoning all the charisma and charm he could muster.

“There are many beautiful stars in the night sky tonight, but none more fair than you, my prince.” The blonde let out a surprised giggle, threading his fingers through his hair as he digested the implication of Gimli’s words. He parted his lips to speak, then closed them again, searching for the proper response. His eyes softened, and he leaned towards Gimli as though he were about to confess a secret.

“You make my heart thunder within my chest,” he whispered, his mouth near enough to the dwarf to send shivers down his spine. Unable to stop himself, Gimli’s focus shifted once again to the alluring pink lips that smiled so sweetly at him. Legolas watched him, eyes flicking between meeting his gaze and the dwarven mouth. Ever so slowly, they leaned in. When they were just a hair's width apart, Legolas froze and tensed, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I must confess that I have never done this before,” he murmured so close to him that Gimli could taste his breath. “Will you teach me?”

Gimli's breath hitched at the elf's words, his heart pounding. Slowly, he raised a calloused hand to cup the side of the elf's face, his thumb gently brushing against the soft skin. Legolas leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering open to meet Gimli's gaze, filled with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty.

"There's nothing to it, lad," Gimli whispered, his voice rough but tender. "Just follow your heart, and let it guide you."

With that, he closed the distance between them, their lips meeting in a tentative, gentle kiss. Legolas responded hesitantly at first, but as the moments passed, he grew bolder, his lips moving against Gimli's with increasing confidence. The warmth of the elf's mouth, the softness of his lips, it was everything Gimli had imagined and more. The stars above seemed to shine brighter, the night air filled with an electric charge as they lost themselves in each other.

Legolas’s lips were like the softest velvet, tasting faintly of the sweet wine they had shared earlier. Gimli felt a rush of sensations he had never experienced before, a thrilling mix of nervous excitement and profound tenderness. The elf’s hands, delicate yet strong, found their way to the broad dwarven shoulders, pulling him closer as if afraid to let go. Gimli’s fingers threaded through the silky strands of Legolas’s hair, marveling at it’s smoothness. Time stood still as they melted into each other.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting together as they shared a quiet moment of intimacy. Gimli could see the stars reflected in Legolas's eyes, and for the first time, he understood the elf's fascination with them. They were a beautiful, warm, and infinite, just like the bond that was beginning to grow between them.

[sillylotrpolls]

Most fans have never heard of Brett Beattie, which is understandable but still an absolute shame. The answer and why you should care will be posted using the results tag after this poll concludes.

[roselightfairy]

Throwback Thursday

I was tagged by both @sallysavestheday and @tathrin; thank you both!

I've been thinking about this fic a bit lately, so I'll do an excerpt from Love in a Time of Politics, a fic I wrote almost four years ago now (gulp??).

“A language?”  Gimli looked up.  “The earth speaks to you?” “Not . . . exactly.”  Legolas closed his eyes and hummed to himself, seeking the words to explain.  “Not in words; ‘language’ was only an approximation.  Say it is a song, and every thread of life has its own note. I can feel the way the harmonies change against my own song.  In the Greenwood, the forest knows us in return, and so it welcomes us with a melody that is familiar to our spirits. Here – this land does not know me, and so it does not sing in a harmony I recognize.  But still I can feel it.”  He looked over at Gimli.  “But you say that you can tell the mountains are near without benefit of sight.  Does the stone sing to you?” “It is not song,” said Gimli thoughtfully, “not, as you say, a melody . . .” The low light of the setting sun cast shadows over his face that made him appear solemn and worldly.  “But I know the changing feel of stone beneath my feet, the vibration of my footsteps in my chest, the texture of dust between my fingers.”  He smiled a little, distant.  “It feels like home.” Something twinged and fluttered in Legolas’s stomach at the fondness in his voice, the poetry in his words.  “That is beautiful,” he said.  “It makes me yearn to know stone, almost.” “And I would see you in your forest,” Gimli said.  “Surrounded by the song you describe.” “Perhaps someday you might come to visit,” Legolas suggested, too carried away in the moment to consider the implausibility of that scenario.  “And I will sing you the songs of the trees.” His mind caught up with his voice then, and he realized what he had said and looked away with a breathless laugh. But Gimli did not laugh, did not look away.  Instead, in a sudden and surprising movement, he reached out and took Legolas’s hand.  His palm was warm, his fingers callused and strong, and something caught high in Legolas’s chest, stealing his breath away. “Perhaps,” said Gimli softly.  “Perhaps I might.”

I don't know who's been tagged in this and who hasn't, so I'll tag @katajainen, @uefb, @carlandrea, and anyone else who wants to share an oldie but goodie!

[ebaeschnbliah]

Following with his keen eyes the trail to the river, and then the river back towards the forest, Aragorn saw a shadow on the distant green, a dark swift-moving blur. He cast himself upon the ground and listened again intently. But Legolas stood beside him, shading his bright elven-eyes with his long slender hand, and he saw not a shadow, nor a blur, but the small figures of horsemen, many horsemen, and the glint of morning on the tips of their spears was like the twinkle of minute stars beyond the edge of mortal sight. Far behind them a dark smoke rose in thin curling threads. There was a silence in the empty fields, arid Gimli could hear the air moving in the grass.

'Riders!' cried Aragorn, springing to his feet.

'Many riders on swift steeds are coming towards us!'

'Yes,' said Legolas, 'there are one hundred and five. Yellow is their hair, and bright are their spears. Their leader is very tall.'

Aragorn smiled. 'Keen are the eyes of the Elves,' he said.

'Nay! The riders are little more than five leagues distant,' said Legolas.

'Five leagues or one,' said Gimli; 'we cannot escape them in this bare land. Shall we wait for them here or go on our way?'

'We will wait,' said Aragorn. 'I am weary, and our hunt has failed. Or at least others were before us; for these horsemen are riding back down the orc-trail. We may get news from them.'

'Or spears,' said Gimli.

'There are three empty saddles, but I see no hobbits,' said Legolas.

'I did not say that we should hear good news,' said Aragorn. 'But evil or good we will await it here.'

The three companions now left the hill-top, where they might be an easy mark against the pale sky, and they walked slowly down the northward slope. A little above the hill's foot they halted, and wrapping their cloaks about them, they sat huddled together upon the faded grass. The time passed slowly and heavily. The wind was thin and searching. Gimli was uneasy.

'What do you know of these horsemen, Aragorn?' he said. 'Do we sit here waiting for sudden death?'

'I have been among them,' answered Aragorn. 'They are proud and wilful, but they are true-hearted, generous in thought and deed; bold but not cruel; wise but unlearned, writing no books but singing many songs, after the manner of the children of Men before the Dark Years. But I do not know what has happened here of late, nor in what mind the Rohirrim may now be between the traitor Saruman and the threat of Sauron. They have long been the friends of the people of Gondor, though they are not akin to them. It was in forgotten years long ago that Eorl the Young brought them out of the North, and their kinship is rather with the Bardings of Dale, and with the Beornings of the Wood, among whom may still be seen many men tall and fair, as are the Riders of Rohan. At least they will not love the Orcs.'

'But Gandalf spoke of a rumour that they pay tribute to Mordor ' said Gimli.

'I believe it no more than did Boromir,' answered Aragorn.

'You will soon learn the truth,' said Legolas. 'Already they approach.'

At length even Gimli could hear the distant beat of galloping hoofs. The horsemen, following the trail, had turned from the river, and were drawing near the downs. They were riding like the wind.

Now the cries of clear strong voices came ringing over the fields. Suddenly they swept up with a noise like thunder, and the foremost horseman swerved, passing by the foot of the hill, and leading the host back southward along the western skirts of the downs. After him they rode: a long line of mail-clad men. swift, shining, fell and fair to look upon.

Their horses were of great stature, strong and clean-limbed; their grey coats glistened, their long tails flowed in the wind, their manes were braided on their proud necks. The Men that rode them matched them well: tall and long-limbed; their hair, flaxen-pale, flowed under their light helms, and streamed in long braids behind them; their faces were stern and keen. In their hands were tall spears of ash, painted shields were slung at their backs, long swords were at their belts, their burnished skirts of mail hung down upon their knees.

In pairs they galloped by, and though every now and then one rose in his stirrups and gazed ahead and to either side, they appeared not to perceive the three strangers sitting silently and watching them. The host had almost passed when suddenly Aragorn stood up, and called in a loud voice:

'What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?'

With astonishing speed and skill they checked their steeds, wheeled, and came charging round.

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers,  The Riders of Rohan

The picture of Eorl the Young in the Golden Hall of Meduseld (painted on heavy canvas) is taken from the Appendices: The Two Towers - 'Designing Middle Earth'

[murkyhazed-is-archiving]

imagine you let me have threads with the following muses:

bilbo baggins

gimli

smeagol

tauriel

theoden

connie

daryl dixon

negan smith

tess servopoulos

abigail blyg

my ocs

[sixbillicnsouls]

( ❛ ╾ OPEN && LEE G.REENLEAF )

         Perhaps it was the hindrance of his sight but the prince had developed what he liked to call an ever present sense of his surroundings. Lee felt gazes before he got a chance to look upon them with his one eye. He turned slowly towards the eyes burning into the left side of his face and a grey blue eye widens in curiosity and he chuckles. “You can ask if you should like, I take no offense to it. I have heard some interesting theories over time.”

[tathrin]

Ahh, fuck. Just saw this post cross my dash and my brain absolutely vomited this fucking thing out in response and I do not have any idea what the FUCK to do with this weird unhinged Dark LotR AU that I just spontaneously generated. Help.

"Not like this."

The words slipped from Gimli's lips as a broken whisper, torn free from the very depths of his soul before his conscious wits could stop them. He swallowed, as though he would call them back to him; but there was no calling them back, any more than there was undoing the dreadful deeds that had led to Gimli standing here, in this place, feeling as though his heart were being ripped from his chest at the sight before him: a fair golden head bowed low, heavy shackles weighing down lithesome elvish limbs.

Gimli swallowed again, and held his tongue. The words still beat themselves against the inside of his skull: Not like this, not like this.

How was it they all now found themselves here? It had not seemed easy, so many months ago in Rivendell, when the Free Peoples of Middle-earth had taken desperate council together in hopes of defying Sauron, no; nothing of what they had set out to do had seemed easy. But still, to have fallen so far that they were here…

Gimli closed his eyes against the sharp and bitter sting of tears, but only for a moment. A moment was all he could allow himself. Any more than that would be seen, would be noted; would be marked down against him, against Erebor, as a weakness that they could not afford.

As treason, treason against the Dark Lord.

The Lonely Mountain could not afford such a thing, not if any dwarf was going to be left breathing beneath its strong stone walls by this time tomorrow.

So Gimli took a deep breath, and opened his eyes, and struggled to wipe the pain and horror from his face. He nodded, doing his best to ignore the hot bite of metal against his hand; doing his best to ignore the way his heart was shattering like untempered steel suddenly flash-frozen at the sight of Legolas kneeling as a captive before him.

"A fine tribute," Gimli said, hating himself for the words; hating himself even more for the dark twist of pleasure that threaded through his mind as he spoke. He clenched his fist tighter around the hard gold he held; it did not help. The row of kneeling elves before him did not move; the sharp blades of the axes hanging over their necks did not soften.

The Ring on his finger did not loose its deadly grip.

"Tell the Men of Dale that they have earned their people four months of triple rations in addition to the gold-price on the heads of these elves," Gimli continued. Such a paltry amount to pay, for elvish lives; yet it would keep the Men of Dale from starving, and would earn them favor in the Dark Lord's eyes. He saw the bedraggled Dalish representative straighten in gratitude and joy and he grimaced into his beard.

Gimli did not care to think how many Men must have died to take four elves alive anymore than he cared to think about how long said elves would endure in hard labor and dark cages under the mountain. He knew that no matter how quickly they let go of their hopes and let themselves Fade, it would be far far longer than it should be. Elves were too strong, and the elves of Mirkwood far too defiant, for their own good. They would last a long time, in the mines and the smithies, before finally giving up their souls to the call of Mandos.

It would not be a mercy, to last so long.

There was no mercy that Gimli could show to these elves, either—no, not even to the one whose face he had spent all these bitter, terrible months longing to see above all other faces. How Gimli had wept, wishing to see Legolas again; now, he yearned only to take all those wishes back and bury them where nothing, least of all the wretched, wonderful Thing on his hand, could hear them. Yes, he had longed to see Legolas; but not like this, never like this.

Not like this.

The Dalish Man bowed low, and murmured praise for Gimli's generosity in a voice made ragged and hoarse by want and misery, and let himself be led away to receive his payment. The elves waited in motionless silence, their heads bowed and their chains heavy. The dwarves watched their lord with tight, shadowed eyes.

Gimli cleared his throat, and spoke again: "Have the elves taken to the cages. Except—"  He could not tell if the words that followed were his own, or those of the Ring. "Except for the golden-haired one. Take him to my chambers; I will see to his breaking personally. Oh," he added, almost as though it was an afterthought, making his lips curl in a cruel smile as he said it even as his own heart twisted against him, "and send water for a bath as well; he is all over filthy with blood, and I will not have him defiling my rooms anymore than he can help, noisome creature that he is."

There were chuckles, some weak and some sincere; Gimli did not look to see which was which, because he did not wish to know which of his people had learned to find amusement in the suffering of other creatures and which had merely learned to feign it.

He could not be sure, some days, where his own pretenses ended either.

He smiled anyway, because that was what he had to do. He smiled, and he watched the elves be dragged away into the dark of his mountain, and he kept smiling even as he felt blood trickling down his palm from where the Ring that wrapped cold around his finger had bitten through the skin beneath the tightness of his grip and made him bleed.

It was hardly the worst thing that Durin's Ring had made him do since Gondor's Rise, after all.

NEXT

[queerofthedagger]

Writing Patterns

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Thank you so much for tagging me @merlinemrys <3

I'm going to ignore drabbles/ficlets for this because I already know they have a pattern in the way that every single line just matters so much and I overthink them even more than the "normal" first lines lmao. That aside, I definitely like to jump right in, and would probably do making some of them a little punchier (the eternal, i cannot be concise to save my life fun times. sigh)

It’s supposed to be a simple deal. [Renegades, stranger things/steddie]

When the messenger relays that Gaius requests his presence, Arthur briefly contemplates ignoring the summon. [like there's hope in this story, bbc merlin/merthur]

When it comes right down to it, it's all Gimli's fault, at least if anyone were to ask Aragorn. [deep down rivers (I'll follow you), lotr/aralas]

I understand why you wouldn't have told me; you owe me a great many explanations, but I understand. [Crooked Trajectory, bbc merlin/merthur]

Merlin isn’t actually sure how it starts. [all the city lights on the water, bbc merlin/merthur]

Arthur comes to with the unsettling feeling of having been woken too soon. [watch all my bridges burn, bbc merlin/merthur]

It is a surprise to exactly no one when the first of their friends to get married are Leon and Mithian. [So Take Me Somewhere, bbc merlin/merthur]

It starts, as things in Eddie’s life often do, with him not thinking shit through. [Eat Your Heart Out, stranger things/steddie]

“God, I used to have such a crush on you,” Eddie says, all casual. [reeling through the midnight streets, stranger things/steddie]

Traditions, Merlin comes to understand early on, are a consistent thread in the tapestry that is Camelot. [darkness in the distance, bbc merlin/merthur]

No pressure tagging: @idlestories @emryses @thefollow-spot @prattery @conkers-thecosy @m-b-w @atlantablack and anyone else who'd like to, just say I tagged you! <3

[ooops-i-arted]

Collecting my research here for easy access. As I did when I was a young hobbit spending hours on dial-up for any scrap of LotR costume info, I heavily relied on Alleycatscratch and Costumers' Guide. I will be using the names they use to refer to the costumes.

This outfit was cut from TTT (it originally appeared when Eowyn was fighting orcs in Helm's Deep to allow her people to escape) but was made using components of others: the blue gown is from the Refugee outfit she wears after leaving Edoras onward (sometimes covered by the brown riding coat) and the corset is the same as the white/brown Shieldmaiden dress she wears in RotK and in many of promo images. I am planning to make the Shieldmaiden dress for War of the Rohirrim so I may as well kill two orcs with one stone!

I was doubting if the skirt was split because of the looks in the first and last images, but on my desktop I can see the split more clearly on the gif and you can also see it much clearer here:

Of course given that the split appears to be two different lengths in the images above, there could be two versions of the dress. We know the LotR costumers made multiple versions of everything for sizing reasonings so it's not out of the realm of possibility (afaik Eowyn never had a size double, but perhaps there was one for her scenes with Gimli). It could also just be the corset affecting the way the dress falls, which seems more likely.

For a bit I debated if I wanted the skirt split for looks, but since it's clearly there I'm going to make it split for accuracy, even though I am not going for 100% accuracy in this costume. I am also not going to be accurate with the seams for the collar/neck piece as seen in the dress-only pic above, though I am going to draft my own pattern for the dress because none of the ones I have suit what I want. I am going to do princess seams to make it a bit more fitted (kind of like the Cara top I drafted) but want the skirt to be fuller with only front/back/side seams. I should have a skirt or two I can use as reference for how full I want to make it. The actual fabric is also threaded with gold throughout but I will settle for a blue-grey and not worry about that. The bodice on the pattern I finally found previously (Simplicity 4940, which I bought originally for my Arwen cosplay) looks good for except for some minor tweaks like the neckline and probably lengthening it, but I want to make the dress mockup first so I can fit it over. The real bodice is actually two pieces (bodice and corset) but since this costume is "due" by the end of March I'm going to make the bodice first, hopefully with trim and quilting details to look like the full piece, and add the corset if I had time or in the future when I make my Shieldmaiden costume. (War of the Rohirrim release date is December 2024 rn so I should have time along with the Eowyn as Dernhelm costume I promised my sister.)

The plan thus far:

Create dress pattern and mockup

Create bodice mockup

Make dress

Make bodice

Purchase brown leggings for underneath, possibly wear boots already owned

If time - make corset

If time - boot covers so I can wear tennis shoes with supports because the boots I am eyeing pinch my feet

[luckynumber-8]

As Cold as Ice (Sam Gamgee x F Hobbit! Reader)

Description: The Fellowship has been stopped at Caradrahas, and you and the hobbits are beginning to feel the cold.

Warnings: gets angsty, reader momentarily contemplates death

a/n: Well, I did it! First one shot! Also, I should mention I like writing in a universe that's closer to the books than the movies, and I thought, where better for an angsty fic than that part where they're stuck in the blizzard and everyone is getting hypothermia? Leave a comment of some feedback if you will, it's like "writer motivation juice":)

~

“Caradhras was called the Cruel, and has an ill name,” said Gimli, “long years ago, when rumor of Sauron had not been heard in these lands.”

      “It matters little who is the enemy, if we cannot beat off his attack,” said Gandalf.

      “But what can we do?” cried Pippin. He was leaning on Merry and Frodo, and he was shivering.

“Either stop where we are, or go back,” said Gandalf. “It is no good going on. Only a little higher, if I remember rightly, this path leaves the cliff and runs into a wide shallow trough at the bottom of a long hard slope. We should have no shelter there from snow, or stones – or anything else.”

      “And it is no good going back while the storm holds,” said Aragorn. “We have passed no place on the way up that offered more shelter than this cliff-wall we are under now.”

      “Shelter!” muttered Sam. “If this is shelter, then one wall and no roof make a house.”

~ J. R. R. Tolkien

      You wrapped your cloak about your shoulders as tightly as it would go, rubbing the coarse, worn threads against your shoulders in a vain attempt to get warmer. The snowstorm hadn’t let up at all since the Fellowship had slowed to wait out the storm, and you were beginning to feel the biting cold – really feel it, in a deep and scary way that was freezing the feeling right out of your body and making you feel all thick and heavy.

      To your right, the other four hobbits were huddled in a cluster behind Bill the pony, trying to stay warm. Sam, angel that he was, was actively trying to warm his companions up, rubbing their shoulders and pulling blankets out of packs to wrap them in. You watched as he wrapped a blanket around Frodo’s shoulders, then practically squawked in alarm and pulled Pippin up from where he’d been trying to lay his head down in the snow – he was the tiniest of the five of you and hadn’t been bearing the frigid temperatures very well.

      Even though there was no heat to be found anywhere, a tiny part of your core warmed watching Sam take such good care of his friends. You knew that, even in a hopeless situation like this one, he’d fight until the very last to protect everyone that he could. Me next, a tiny voice in the back of your mind whispered. Please come take care of me next.

      A gust of wind blew snowflakes into your eyelashes, and you choked on a cough as the bitterly cold air hit the back of your throat. You knew Sam wouldn’t be coming to warm you – you explicitly told him not to. There’d only been room for four to shelter behind Bill, and you knew in your heart of hearts that the other four were far more important to the quest than you were. They hadn’t asked for you to sneak after them on this quest – it wasn’t their fault that you’d been snooping to see why Sam was moving to Crickhollow. They didn’t make you chase after them into the old forest when they suddenly left early one morning, or stalk them until you were all caught by the Barrow-Wight. They weren’t supposed to be saddled with you, and you weren’t going to be the one extra person who caused the downfall of the Fellowship.

      Sam had been angry when he found you’d tagged along. The two of you had fought – he’d said things that made your heart ache, like “you weren’t supposed to be here,” “I never wanted you involved in something like this,” “can’t you just go home, Y/N?” Because you wanted to be there. You wanted to be there, heart, body, and soul, because he was there. You’d die before you let Samwise Gamgee run off on a dangerous quest that he might never return from without saying so much as goodbye to you. In fact, there was quite a bit more you’d like to say to him, but the two of you had barely said two words in passing to each other since that fight. Because then the Nazgul had come, and you’d had no choice but to continue on with Strider and the rest. They were stuck with you.

      But you weren’t as important. You weren’t needed, and you could feel it. Which was why you were letting the other hobbits take the available shelter; “I’ll be fine keeping watch here,” you’d told Sam shortly. “Tend to the others. I’ll sit with Boromir and Legolas.”

      Now, the cold was getting to you, and almost twice as fast as the others. You’d been sitting on Boromir’s right, and his tall figure provided some refuge from the gusts of snow that blew at you, but small piles of white were beginning to collect in the folds of your clothing, and your eyelashes were cold against your face when you blinked, which you were doing much more slowly and frequently as the cold threatened to take you into a never-ending sleep.

      Perhaps this is how they’ll get me off their hands, you thought dejectedly. This cold will freeze me to the bone, but perhaps it’s better off that way.

      Another part of your mind pushed back. You haven’t told him how you feel yet, it argued. You’ve got to live for the day that you can hold Samwise’s hands and tell him that you love him, live for a time when his arms will give you all the warmth you could ever need – a time past this when we can have time for love again.

      You remembered his scathing comments, the ones that proved you weren’t wanted.

      Perhaps life was just full of those sorts of disappointments, sorely and bitterly freezing, as cold as the end you were surely about to meet.

      You closed your eyes, letting the cold numb away the last of the feelings you would ever have.

      “Y/N?”

      A voice.

      “Y/N! Oh, she’s so cold...I never should have let her out of my sight.”

      It couldn’t be. Shouldn’t be.

      “Please, someone, a blanket…anything! Get her warm. Bless you. Boromir. I’ll repay you somehow, swear. Hold on to me, Y/N. I’ve got you.”

      You fastened yourself to the sound of Sam’s voice, and hauled on it as hard as you could to pull yourself back to the conscious world.

      One eye opened, then the other. You gasped and shuddered as the cold came rushing back in an icy surge – the numbness was leaving, but at least you still had feeling in your extremities. As you came to, you noticed just the barest warm presence enveloping you, not unlike a blanket.

      You half-expected to be met with snowflakes falling into your eyes, but none came. You were met with the image of a tall animal with four legs, shuffling its feet to keep warm.

      “Bill?” You rasped, confused. Then you realized where you were – and how you were, more so.

      It was Sam. Of course, it was Sam. He was holding you tightly in his arms, with the two of you seated so you were as close as possible; if you would have had any blood circulation to spare, you might have managed a blush. His warm chest pressed against your back, and a scrap of something soft was tucked around you – a scrap of Boromir’s cloak, you realized, cut rather jaggedly like it had been sliced with a sword.

      “This will be the death of the halflings,” you heard Boromir say, but his voice was distant in your ears. You managed to tilt your head so you could look into Sam’s eyes.

      I’m sorry for being such a burden, you wanted to say. I’m sorry that I’m here.

      Instead, all you could stutter was, “S-s-so c-c-c-cold, hur-r-rts.”

      Sam looked back at you, a startlingly fierce look in his eyes. “I know. I’m so sorry I let you go so far. But you’re going to get warm again, soon if I have any say in it. We’re going to be alright, Y/N.”

      The sudden his change in his demeanor was unexpected, but you weren’t going to complain. You nestled closer, clutching the scrap of Boromir’s cloak in one hand and Sam’s arm in the other.

      A rustle in the snow next to you – Legolas knelt down next to Sam, holding a bottle. “Miruvor,” he said softly. “Elven cordial – one small sip for each of us, but it holds the promise of fresh strength and warmth. There is enough to split between the five of you.” He handed the bottle to Sam with an encouraging look.

      Sam held the bottle straight out to you. “You have mine, Y/N,” he said stoutly. “I haven’t felt the cold much, I’ll do alright without.”

      It was tempting to take the liquor and down as much as you could – it was clear and sparkling in the bottle and smelled of warm spices. But you pressed it back into Sam’s hand, noting how his fingertips had an icy coolness to them. “There’s enough for each of us,” you echoed. “You first, Samwise.” You tightened your grip on his wrist, weak as it was, hoping to communicate that you hadn’t completely lost your strength.

      Sam shook his head and uncorked the flask. “I’d never known anyone more stubborn before you, do you know that?”

      You chuckled, just a little. “I’d s-say yes, but you’ve known your-r-self your whole life.”

      He was convinced quickly – you guessed he was colder than he let on. After a tiny sip, it was your turn. The liquid hit your throat warmer than you’d expected, and you shivered at its sweetness and flavor. The miruvor had a vitality to it that you’d never gotten from any food before – part of the elven magic, you supposed.

      Sam would have gone absolutely mad over this back when we were still naïve little Shirefolk, you thought sadly. Not just having been in the presence of elves, but traveling with them, and tasting their potions…only the circumstances absolutely ruin it.

      You felt your strength returning, and an internal warmth tingled through your bones. Your limbs moved with less stiffness, and your eyelids didn’t feel so heavy – the cold was by no means blocked out, but the worst of it seemed to have come to pass.

      You lifted your head and looked around. Gandalf seemed to have overcome his aversion to fire, for one had been lit and was crackling merrily under the shelter of the cliff. The other hobbits were huddled around it; Merry was practically pouring the last of the elf cordial down Pippin’s throat (the youngest hobbit looked to be in barely a better state than you were). Frodo was curled up next to Boromir, who was constantly prodding the hobbit to ensure he was awake.

      It was at this point you realized you were still seated on Sam’s lap, and an uncomfortable number of conflicting feelings struck you with such ferocity that it seemed more prudent to avoid them altogether, You made to crawl off of Sam’s lap and join everyone at the fire, but a firm grip on your wrist held you back.

      “Wait.” There was a different note in Sam’s voice, one that made you turn quickly. “I want to know why you did that just now. Why would you put yourself at risk like that, refusing shelter and tryin’ to go off on your own? You could have easily died. Matter of fact, you almost did.”

      This was it. Here came the conflict again – why are you here, Y/N, ruining our grand adventure? Maybe if you just laid it all out on him, he’d leave you be.

      You inhaled, then let all the words on your mind out in one breath so nothing could be held back. “I don’t belong here, Samwise Gamgee. You of all people should see that, since you’re the one who tells me so often. I know I’m a burden, and I hate that you hate that I’m here. This whole quest would be better off without me, alright? You, Frodo, Pippin, Merry – you’re the important ones. You need to survive, so I gave you the shelter. It doesn’t matter if I die here. In fact, it would probably help you all along. So there you have it. Happy? Now if you don’t mind, I do prefer being alive at this time, so I’m going to try and get some warmth.” The rant left a nasty taste in your mouth, like you’d spit something toxic.

      “It does matter.”

      You didn’t want to hold your breath, to wait and see what followed, but you did anyway, because no matter what he had said, there was a reason you’d stole away from Crickhollow early that morning. There was a reason you’d chased Sam all the way through Middle Earth, up until now.

                Sam took your hand in his. “It matters to me, Y/N. It matters because… because… well…” He stopped and looked away.

            You were speechless. In all your time, Sam Gamgee was the poet. He always had pretty words to say. You’d never seen him at a loss for them.

            When he turned back, that fiery look of resolution was back on his face. You almost didn’t have time to process it, because before you could blink, he was kissing you – a strong, passionate, romantic sort of kiss, one that would have had you weak at the knees if you weren’t already sitting on them. You once again found yourself frozen and unable to move, but this time it wasn’t cold or altogether unpleasant; in fact, a lovely, tingly sort of warmth was spreading through you. You summoned up all your willpower and threw your arms around Sam, kissing him back with as much intent as you could muster.

            After some undefinable amount of time (you never knew how long that first kiss of yours was – only that there were many future ones), he finally pulled away, as pink in the cheeks as a frozen hobbit could be. “I hope that explains some things,” he said rather shyly. “I only wished you weren’t here because this quest could be the end of us all, and I want you alive and happy and safe. If I were to be the selfish sort, I’d have taken you with me from the beginning, if only so I could have your beauty and kindness to get me through the struggles of each day.”

            You shivered, though the cold likely wasn’t the cause. There was the poet you’d fallen in love with – the strong soul who you knew would probably be the reason this quest succeeded, if the Fellowship could make it off this cursed mountain. “Well, you make the worst sort of liar, Samwise,” you said, but there was a smile on your face. “You had me fooled – though I suppose you’ve somewhat made up for it now.” In fact, you could barely suppress the giddy grin that was trying to stretch your frozen cheeks.

            Sam laced his fingers through your cold ones. “Well, I suppose there’s no turning back now, so we might as well make the best of it. I suppose I can hardly complain now, with you as my companion...or sweetheart now, I suppose.”

            “I’ll tell you a secret,” you whispered, “I’ve always wanted to hear you say those words.” You squeezed his hand. “I came because I couldn’t stand to leave you, and I don’t plan to. Let’s go warm our bones before we freeze into a pair of hobbit-sicles.” You tugged him after you to the fire, which warmed everyone through the night.

            Hope no longer seemed so far away.