#(although I have gained a bit of a fondness for oblivion over the years)

[houndsofbalthazar]

Some of my extremely haterly opinions in the tags.

now its time to bring the haterism

if you think multiple are bad vote for the one you hate the most <3

[perfeggso]

till the sun’s seeing through my eyes (yumark)

hitting for six

Yuta and Mark are next-door neighbors who grew up together, joined at the hip until Yuta went off to college. Due to their four-year age gap, Mark’s freshman year at the same school marks the halfway point of an unprecedented amount of time apart. Yuta is sure he can handle it, until Mark’s arrival home for spring break makes him wonder if the fondness he has for his friend might be blooming quite literally into something stronger. It’s up to him to handle the consequences.

Chapter 1  |  Chapter 2  |  Masterlist 

Characters: Yuta x Mark + NCT ensemble, other SM (and non-SM (?)) idols tbd, character families 

Genres: heavy angst, fluff, Hanahaki!AU, small town!AU, slight Witchcraft/Magic!AU, College!AU

Warnings: blood and gore, mentions of death, disease, vomiting, college-typical alcohol use, swearing  

Rating: T

Length: 8.3k

Yuta twirled the stick of rock candy he’d picked up at the market around between his lips, enjoying how it felt rough on his tongue and filled his mouth with the flavor of unadulterated sugar.  He checked his phone – no new messages.  

He tapped the toe of his sneakers against the linoleum floor of Kun’s coffeeshop and drummed his hands against the seafoam counter before pulling the candy from his lips with a pop and dunking it in his glass of mint tea.  All around him, the clinking, hissing, and chatter of a well-liked café filled his ears, and the arousing scent of coffee steam kept him a fidgety kind of alert.  On second thought, replace “alert” with “distracted.”   

“Did you hear me, Yuta?” Sicheng was saying, sitting at the table nearest the espresso machine and picking at a mini egg custard tart.  Yuta had not heard him, that much was evident.  

Yuta sighed with some effort, then made a fake sorry face.  “No – no, I apologize, babe, I didn’t.”    

Sicheng rolled his eyes.  “Whatever, it wasn’t important.”  He took a large bite of his tart, pale, buttery crumbs affixing to his lips.  

“Neko latte!” Kun interrupted, setting a white coffee cup in front of Yuta, the frothed milk on top of it shaped like a stubby-tailed cat that wiggled as the cup moved.  Yuta had to restrain himself from jiggling its foam butt into oblivion.  Kun returned a moment later with a plate. “Aaaand, let’s see, one slice of orange poppy seed bread.”  He dropped his smiling customer service face momentarily as he leaned in towards Yuta. “I thought you said you could handle calling out the orders.  That was my condition for letting you behind the counter, wasn’t it?” 

Yuta shrugged, repeating the order at double Kun’s original volume and smirking when a customer instantly shot out of her seat to come collect it.  Yuta downed his tea, burning his throat, and stuck the melting candy back into his mouth as she made her way over, pushing the now-empty cup forward as an encouragement to leave a tip in it, which the poor girl did.  Kun snatched the sticky bill from the cup and shook it out, disapproval contorting his face as he voiced his disappointment with a simple “nope.” 

“But Kun, I watched her earlier and she didn’t leave a tip when she ordered,” Yuta protested, making himself laugh until it was threatening to become a cough.  Dammit.  He pulled in a shaky breath.  “I’m only trying to help.” 

Kun pointed to the seating area.  “Out.” 

Yuta sulked his way to the chair opposite Sicheng, noting on his way that it was still pouring not insignificantly outside.  Yuta had gotten off work early because of the rain; the indoor soccer field had been reserved weeks earlier for the high school team.  Instead, he’d taken his kids to Yukhei’s gym for a short workout and then sent them home, choosing to wile away the rest of his time waiting for Mark with his buddies over a warm beverage.  

“Has he responded yet?” Sicheng asked.  

“No,” Yuta pouted.  He’d sent Mark a text nearly twenty-five minutes ago saying he was ahead of schedule and to come meet him at Kun’s shop.  “Ugh, wait, I’m sorry.  What were you saying earlier?  Nothing you say is unimportant, friend.” 

Sicheng looked like he wanted to smack Yuta and hug him at the same time.  Yuta was used to this.  

“I was only teasing you for missing my speech last night because no one cut you off,” Sicheng clarified, wiping his hands against each other once he’d finished eating.    

The memory of heaving in his bathroom in an attempt to extract whatever was obstructing his airways hit Yuta like an unforeseen ocean wave.  He nodded slowly, schooling his face to pretend to be irritated rather than scared.  He didn’t want to lie to his friend, but not even he knew what the real issue was, and it would undoubtedly get sorted, so why worry people?  

Yuta made his face into the disappointment emoji.  “Mm-hm,” he said.  “Well since you can only process my suffering as it pertains to you, maybe you’ll cut me off next time you have something important to say.”  

Sicheng raised his eyebrows.  “Someone’s feeling bitchy today,” he observed.  “This is because your boyfriend’s not texting back, isn’t it?” 

Yuta scoffed.  “Boyfriend,” he huffed in disbelief, but the word stirred a sickened feeling inside him.  He chose to ignore that.  “Yeah, it is,” he teased, “you jealous?” 

Sicheng shook his head.  “Not at all,” he said.  “It means you’ll let me be for a couple weeks.” 

Yuta laughed, his body once again nearly giving into coughing.  Like, choking on one’s dinner and needing the Heimlich kind of coughing.  Instead of letting that happen and calling attention to himself, he doused his throat in the contents of a glass of water.  

His breathing had been a bit better since he’d spoken with his mother that morning, but the problem wasn’t gone, and the raw coughing fits that started the day before were only growing more frequent.  A particularly violent one had gripped him during practice, scaring some of his kids enough that he’d run away to the bathroom to get it under control.  Thankfully, Yukhei had been in another room.  

*

Yuta came from a tradition of hedge witches, of which his mother was a shining example.  She ran an apothecary in town with his father; handling the medicine and potions side of it while he handled the business angle.  She was a skilled potion-maker and healer, and she had a keen sense of spiritual effects on the physical.  She was often able to gain insights that seemed so spot-on that Yuta had no choice but to believe whatever she told him to do.  

She’d encouraged her children to utilize tarot cards from an early age and endeavored ever since to teach them everything she knew.  Now and then, having someone so spiritually inclined as a parent could be burdensome, but it was times like these – when Yuta felt something strange and unwelcome stirring in him – that he felt he was lucky.  

When Yuta had gone to the main house that morning, he found his mother in the kitchen, making banana pancakes as his little sister looked over her advanced biology homework.  The high school still had a week left before spring break.  

“Hi Haruna,” Yuta greeted, shoving her face softly into her papers and receiving a well-earned glare.  

“Good morning, dingus.  You really shouldn’t be partying when you have work in the morning.” 

Haruna was a senior, less than a year younger than Mark (a fact which regularly escaped Yuta’s mind) and possessed an attitude problem – though one quite different from Yuta’s.  That morning, she wore a long, eggplant-purple frock dress with lots of heavy eyeliner and her hair in a helmet-like bob.  She might have been sartorially challenged and a bit of a bitch in Yuta’s view, but she was also his adorable little sister, and a veritable genius, he had to admit.  

Yuta went to the fridge and pulled out an apricot yogurt.  “I assure you I can handle myself,” he said, grabbing one of a collection of mismatched spoons and plopping it into his breakfast.  “The last thing I need is a seventeen-year-old lecturing me on alcohol.”  

Haruna tried to flick some of the syrup on her fork into her brother’s hair but missed.  “I can’t wait until Momoka comes home to visit,” she grumbled.  “Maybe you’ll listen to her.”   

Yuta’s mother gave her youngest and middle child a heavy look of disapproval as she flipped a pancake with a wet, resounding plop.  The action itself communicated as much authority as any scolding words could have.  Yuta just smiled sweetly, digging into his yogurt.  

“Yuta, dear,” she began, “can I interest you in some pancakes?” 

Yuta shook his head, feeling a little guilty, but he was rarely very hungry in the mornings.  “No, this is enough for me,” he said.  His mother smiled.  It was the same smile Haruna would flash when she was about to tease him.  

“Well, I’m sure you didn’t come all the way over here just to bother your studious sister and refuse my cooking, so there has to be something else, hm?  I’m right, aren’t I?” 

Yuta sighed.  As usual, she was indeed correct.  “As a matter of fact, there is something bothering me.” 

His mother listened attentively as he recounted the last day’s events: the asthma scare, trying to use the potion she’d taught him with a prayer, his concern over the reading he’d had that morning.  All the while, she finished shaping her stack of pancakes and leaned on her elbows, steam rising from the food and swirling in front of her paisley house dress, fluffy hair, purple kerchief, and concerned face.   

“It sounds to me like you’re having anxiety about change,” she offered once he’d finished.  “You always tend to have flare-ups during transition periods.” 

“Yeah,” Haruna cut in, spearing a chunk of pancake and narrowly escaping dropping it on her school papers, “remember when you were a freshman and you had a panic attack before coming home for winter break?  You said you could hardly breathe all night and that you didn’t think you wanted to come back.” 

Haruna seemed a little too casual with that difficult memory for Yuta’s liking, although she was right that he hadn’t forgotten.  He pinched his eyebrows together.  

“Is this a transition period though?” he asked.  Everything for him was more or less the same as it had been all year.  

His mother nodded.  “I’d say so.  Some of your younger friends are coming home, and Taeil will be going back to the city soon.  There are a lot of moving pieces in your life at the moment, dear.  I don’t think it's at all strange that you’re feeling off and maybe hiding some things from yourself.” 

“Alternately,” quipped Haruna as their mother went to fetch a cloudy, pastel purple concoction she had sitting in a beaker by the window, “you’re just a drama queen.” 

Yuta started.  “Wanna get your butt kicked by a college athlete?” he threatened.  Haruna stuck her tongue out at him. 

“You mean former intramural college athlete?” 

“That’s enough!” 

Yuta and Haruna both turned to face their mother.  She looked like her hair would be suspended in exasperation if she were in a Ghibli Movie.  Yuta knew that meant it was time to Shut Up.  Oops.  

She sighed, running her hands over the lip of the beaker in her hand and muttering to herself to calm down.  Then, she slid it forward to her son.  

“Bring this to work with you, Yuta,” she advised, voice still stern.  “I made it fresh this morning for the shop, but I think you could use it.  It has lavender, mint, chamomile, soy oil, salts, and I’ve charged it with moon water.  It’s something I’ve been messing around with for dealing with anxiety and stress during liminal periods in life.”  Yuta nodded, listening attentively and twirling the little vial in between his fingers.  She went on.  “Then later whenever you have time, I want you to sit alone with your confusion for a little while.  I think that might give you more insight into what is driving this spiritually and subconsciously.  Try not to smother it, whatever it is.”  

Of course his mom’s advice was essentially “meditate.” Why had he even bothered to ask? He nodded one more time, subdued, and dropped the vial of pale liquid into his pocket.  He would put it into a water bottle and bring it along.  

Yuta finished his yogurt and chucked the container into the recycling.  “Thank you, Mom,” he said, snagging a pancake on his way out of the kitchen just to win a little more of her favor.  “And have a good day, Haruna.” 

“You too, dingus.” 

“Tell me if you’re feeling better tonight!” his mother called after him, finishing off with a mild threat: “And I’ll be able to tell if you didn’t follow my directions!” 

*

Yuta sighed for what felt like the eightieth time all day, watching the café’s glass door from over Sicheng’s shoulder for any signs of Mark.  He didn’t know how to summon people or things, but he half-imagined that he did, concentrating so hard on the door that it was making his eyes cross.  And in a matter of seconds, it worked (or, at least, the universe gave the illusion of it working).  

Mark rushed into the coffeeshop, looking harried and tugging a cumbersome guitar case along with him which he tried desperately to protect with a too-small umbrella.  The image put Yuta at attention, smiling.  

“I’m so sorry!” Mark spluttered as he rushed through the door.  “I was practicing, and I didn’t check my phone!” 

“Whoa there,” Kun warned from behind the counter.  “This does not need to be advertised to my entire clientele.” 

Mark shook out his umbrella and shoved it into the holder in the entryway, checking with Yuta that they planned on staying for at least a little while and apologizing sheepishly to Kun.  

He sat down at the table with Yuta and Sicheng as Yuta grinned at him.  

“Don’t be sorry, Markie-boy,” Yuta said, poking Mark in the side and making him almost giggle his way out of his chair.  As the chair tipped and then slingshotted violently back to its starting position from Mark regaining his balance, it clattered so loudly that it attracted more concerned looks than Mark had when he’d busted through the door.  Yuta hardly seemed to register this as he gushed about how devoted his friend was to his craft that he would haul his equipment through a rainstorm.  Kun rolled his eyes and huffed in defeat at yet another disruption. 

“Mark, the usual?” he asked, and Mark nodded after nervously confirming Yuta didn’t have other plans for them to go eat somewhere.  

Only then did he allow himself to settle in, peeling off his damp jacket and balancing his guitar case against the side of his chair.  

“Did you carry that all the way here?” Sicheng asked, and Yuta shot him an obvious look.  

“Of course he did,” he replied for his friend, and Sicheng glared at him.  “The kid can’t drive, after all.  Just like you.” 

Mark nodded in confirmation as Kun set a mug of hot chocolate and a cream cheese bagel in front of him.  “I love being referred to as ‘the kid’ as if I’m not present,” he snarked.  “Also, thanks, Kun.” 

“Sure thing.” 

Yuta crunched absently at the end of his rock candy.  “Aw, don’t go trying to make me feel bad when you forced me to wait for thirty-five minutes and didn’t even tell me you were on your way.  It’s like you want to keep me in constant suspense with your little surprises.”  Mark scowled, but his mouth was too stuffed with bagel to form a retort, so Yuta went on.  “Anyway, you got a guitar in there?” 

Mark swallowed.  “What do you think?” 

“I think we’re just impressed you lugged it all the way here,” Sicheng clarified, trying to clear the air of Yuta’s usual bitchiness.  “Surely, you brought it for a reason.” 

Mark clapped his hands against each other to rid them of crumbs, body going taut with excitement.  

“Actually yes!” he mouthed around his food.  “I did have a reason.  I wanted to show off what I’ve been practicing!”

“Oooooh!” Yuta buzzed, applauding preemptively at hyper-speed.  “You might want to check with the stickler in charge though,” he warned, stage whispering and indicating towards Kun.  The subject of the jest frowned at his table of friends.  

“I can hear you, Yuta,” he said, “and it’s fine.  Just give me a minute to turn the speakers off.” 

Soon enough, Mark had extracted his guitar from its case and had it over his knee, strumming experimentally to warm up and drawing the attention of most of the customers behind him.

“Don’t look now, Mark,” Sicheng began.  “But it looks like you’ve roped yourself into a little concert.”

“A little what now?” he asked, immediately going against the advice he’d just received and turning around to meet the gazes of at least fifteen people he only marginally knew.  “Oh, uh, okay.  This is fine.” 

Yuta smiled to himself as he watched his friend adjust his fingers over the metal strings and clear his throat, red face betraying that he might not, in fact, be fine.

Pretty soon though, he was finger-picking his way through the intro to Frank Ocean’s “Cayendo.”  Once Mark started singing, Yuta found himself lulled into an admiring trance at the smooth sweetness of Mark’s voice.  Mark was usually shy about singing solo, but he’d been working on it and Yuta loved that he had gained some confidence.  The fact that the song was in a language Yuta couldn’t understand served even further to pull him under its calm spell.  

He pretended to swoon at the little performance, rolling his eyes around and fanning himself theatrically.  “Ooh, Markie, take me now,” he joked, just loud enough for his table to hear and no one else.  Mark’s ears went red and he struggled to sing through a giggle.  

Right in the middle of the song though, Mark sang a stanza that Yuta did understand.  It ended with a melancholy plea of love:

When I still really, really love you, like I do

If you won't, then I will

If you can't, then I will

Is it love to keep it from you?

It was such a sad sentiment.  Yuta thought that if he were a more sentimental person, and under different circumstances, he would have started to cry.  Though, maybe he wasn’t as unsentimental as he thought he was… 

Mark transitioned back to singing in Spanish and Yuta took the moment to lose himself less in his friend’s voice and more in the space around them: the chatter of impressed coffee-sippers, the whirring of the espresso machine, the soft and appreciative expressions on his friends’ faces.  It was almost as sweet as the leftover sugar which coated the inside of his mouth – almost sweet enough for him to forget that some kind of repression within him was causing him vascular stress.  Almost; almost.  

Mark plucked the last note of the song and the café broke into a pitter-patter of applause which echoed the pounding of rain outside, and in that moment, as if to remind him of the tenuousness of his almosts, Yuta found himself hurled into the most intense pain he’d felt in the last twenty-four hours.  

He bent himself over and started retching into a napkin.  It was the same sensation he’d gotten the night before at the party, when he’d locked himself in the bathroom and coughed himself raw into the white sink, trying to force something out that just wouldn’t budge.  He felt like he had a copper wire weaving through his muscles, and someone was sending shocks of electricity through it.

Sicheng and Mark stared at him in concern and Sicheng pushed a glass of water his way.  He choked out his thanks before downing it in one go, once again taking note of the clump of – something – which drifted back down along with the liquid.  By the time he had himself back under control, both his friends were posing some variation on the same ‘you okay?’ question.  

“Yeah, yeah,” he lied.  “Just aspirated some very sharp candy.” 

Sicheng winced.  “Ouch,” he said.  “At least you had the courtesy to wait until Mark was finished.” 

Yuta stuck his tongue out, but the way his friend went so casually back to teasing him actually made him feel a little better.  

“I know the Heimlich maneuver!” Mark said, a stupidly proud grin crossing his face as he set his guitar back into its case and puffed his chest out involuntarily.  “So I could have saved you if it came to that.” 

Yuta smiled weakly.  “That’s very reassuring, Mark.”

“NBD.”  Yuta groaned, the sharp pain from only moments ago leaving him just as quickly as it had come.  He cringed.  Had Mark really just said “NBD?” Whatever.  Mark continued.  

“Seriously though, what did you guys think?” 

“It was really good,” Sicheng said, “and I would say, a glowing testament to your four years of high school Spanish.”  

Mark snickered.  “What about you, Yutaaa?” 

“Well if you couldn’t tell by the way I reacted at the beginning, I loved it!  Really, like your voice just keeps getting better and better.”

Mark placed a hand over his heart, meaning to indicate that Yuta’s compliment had touched him.  

“Aren’t you not supposed to be using instruments though?” Sicheng chimed.  “I mean, considering you’re an a cappella person?”  

Mark rolled his eyes.  “Very funny,” he said.  “But thanks, guys.  I think I might play it live sometime on the Serotonin Hour.”  That was the name of the radio show Johnny had left to him upon graduation.  

“You know,” Yuta began, rapping his fingers against the table, “when Johnny willed his time slot to you, I don’t think he expected you’d use it for such self-serving purposes.”     

Mark rolled his eyes even farther into his head this time.  “It’s an hour where I impose my music taste on the small group of people who actually bother to tune in.  What could be more self-serving?” 

Yuta clicked his tongue.  Mark had a point.  

“Anyway,” said Mark, hopping to his feet, “what do you want to do, Yuta?” 

*** 

Since it was raining out, they decided they would have to stay mostly indoors, so they resolved to wander around the market hall until they came up with a more exciting activity, Yuta letting Mark store his guitar in the trunk of his car while they perused.  Sicheng was invited along too, but he had a dance class to run in half an hour and needed to review his lesson plan ahead of time, so it was just the two of them.   

Well, it was just the two of them until they got to the Jung family farmstand at the end of the long, warehouse-like building.  Jaehyun sat behind it, writing something into a notebook and looking so bored that his face was practically melting into the hand supporting it.   

“Oh, thank god,” he said when he saw his friends approaching.  “It’s been such a slow day I was ready to choke myself out just to have something to do.” 

“Ooh, kinky,” Yuta guffawed at his friend as Mark nodded slowly.  

“Nice to see you too, man,” Mark said.  

“Want anything?” 

Yuta and Mark surveyed their options: a selection of dairy products, meat, and eggs in a set of coolers, and a table covered in artichokes, celery, pears, asparagus, broccoli, brussels sprouts, cabbages, and a veritable rainbow of root vegetables.  As usual, the Jung family farm’s output looked delicious.  Maybe Yuta would get something for his parents to put in tonight’s dinner.  He grabbed a bundle of radishes by the leaves and shoved them at his friend with a grin.  

Mark, on the other hand, knew immediately what he would go for.  

“And, uh, can I get a banana milk?” 

Jaehyun nodded as Yuta gave his younger friend his best side-eye.  

“You just drank a giant hot chocolate.  Haven’t you had enough dairy for one day?” 

Mark pouted, fishing for his wallet, and Yuta couldn’t help but smile at the way Mark’s eyes looked like shiny tea saucers.  He could be devilishly cute sometimes.  Cute enough to make Yuta want to buy shit for him, which he did, paying for the radishes and the milk before Mark even had the opportunity to complain.  

“Drink up!”

Mark glared.  “Fine.  I’ll just sneak-buy you something next time.” 

Yuta wobbled his head like an anime heroine as he spoke.  “Oh, so I’ll get a next time?  Man, this date is going so well!” he said, and Mark’s ears flushed for the second time in thirty minutes.  A niggling voice in the back of Yuta’s head told him he wanted to see Mark like that more often.  He brushed that idea away, not quite knowing how to process it.    

“Whatever,” Mark mumbled as Jaehyun looked on in his usual casual detachment.  Yuta turned his attention back to him.  

“By the way, Jae, where are your parents?  Can’t they come relieve you of your existential dread?” 

Jaehyun blew a puff of air at his bangs.  “I wish,” he responded.  “They’re out of town for the weekend though, so I’m left to suffer alone.  Oh – which reminds me!  Can you go check on Sugarfoot and Lacey for me?  They probably need their water troughs refilled right about now.  And besides, I’m sure they miss Mark.” 

Yuta and Mark agreed easily.  Everyone loved those horses, even if Sugarfoot could be a pain in the ass.  When Yuta was a teenager, she had apparently decided he’d lived long enough, because she tried to buck him off until Yuta was pretty sure he’d suffered acute whiplash.  Besides Jaehyun, Johnny was the only person she seemed to tolerate (and tolerate simply meant she was a bitch to him rather than straight-up murderous), but alas, Johnny wasn’t around.  

“Perfect,” Jaehyun said.  “I’d do it myself, but everyone here knows my parents and they’d definitely somehow manage to tell them I’d abandoned my post.  You know where the keys to the stable are and everything, right?” 

“Yup!” 

And with that, Yuta and Mark left Jaehyun to return to pondering auto-asphyxiation. 

It had stopped raining outside, and the sky was in the process of clearing from a mournful grey to a clear periwinkle, like a windshield-wiper was slowly swiping across it to rid it of clouds.  They ran into Taeil on the way to Yuta’s car, in the middle of walking five dogs of varying sizes and breeds.   

Naturally, Mark became immediately preoccupied by the tangle of fur attached tenuously to Taeil’s wrist by a set of leashes.  The cute scene made Yuta’s chest go tight with fondness.   

Yuta told Taeil they’d missed him at the party the night before as Mark rolled around on the wet ground, getting his face smothered by a particularly friendly Chow Chow and laughing like his lungs were about to burst out of his chest.    

“I know, I’m sorry!” Taeil said, trying not to let himself get tugged around.  “It was just last minute and I’d already been roped into cooking for my family, and we had friends over – bad timing.” 

Yuta waved him off.  “Don’t worry, I’ll only hold it against you forever.  But when do you go back to the city?” 

“Next week,” Taeil replied, leaning down awkwardly to save Mark from five rough tongues.  Taeil didn’t have a dog himself (although he did have a goose in his backyard, a fact which Yuta was never not perplexed by) but his family owned the local pet shop and he always had dog-walker duty when he was home.  It was also how he made money when he was in high school.  “We should definitely get together before I go back though!” Taeil continued.  “You guys can help me make this pasta dish I’ve been wanting to try.  Sound good Mark?” 

Mark got up, brushing the wet dirt off his backside.  “What?  Oh yeah, for sure!  I’m always down to eat – and to see you, Taeil.  I didn’t forget about you.” 

Taeil looked dryly at his younger friend. “Yeah, of course.  But listen, Mark, it’s really good luck we’re home at the same time.  I need you to tell me all about how the Aca-Fellas are doing.”  Mark nodded shyly.  Taeil had been the star of the a cappella group at his college, so he’d had plenty of run-ins with the Fellas at competitions.  His own superiority at singing was something it was at times difficult to get him to shut up about.  Taeil continued:

“Anyway, I should be going.  These guys are getting squirrely, and I don’t want them to do their business right here.  I’ll see you two around, I guess.  Enjoy the rest of your date!”

Hey, Yuta thought, that’s my joke.  Somehow it made him feel weird to hear someone else use it.  

*** 

They were at Jaehyun’s stables after a short drive, and they found the keys easily.  Mark scratched lovingly at Lacey’s chin as Yuta filled the troughs with water.  Then, they decided it was as good a time as any to see if Johnny was free to FaceTime.  He was.  

“Heyoooo,” Johnny greeted once his pixelated face flashed onto Yuta’s phone.  Yuta laughed.  His friend looked happy and healthy.  “Oh what? You have Mark with you?  Sweet!” 

They caught up on Johnny’s life for a few minutes; he was having a great time on his own, but he missed everyone and couldn’t wait to come home in the summer.  

“Hurry home,” Yuta joked, getting up from the bail of hay he’d been sitting on because Sugarfoot was cribbing on the door to her stable.  “I think Taeyong is wilting without you here.” 

Johnny chuckled indulgently.  “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”  He gasped and his image froze in the exaggerated reaction face he’d pulled, making Mark squeak with laughter.  “Is that my favorite girlie?” came his crackling voice.  

Yuta held the phone up to Sugarfoot, nudging her head a bit to get her to detach her teeth from the wood.  “Sure is.” 

Johnny asked if Jaehyun was there, so Yuta informed him on their friend’s predicament.  Then Johnny addressed Mark, telling him he should try braiding Sugarfoot’s dark mane – he’d found she had come to enjoy it.  Mark, being the least experienced with Jaehyun’s bitch of a mare, immediately fell for it and tried, causing Sugarfoot to squeal and jerk her neck away from his touch.  He fell back on his butt in surprise and Johnny cackled through Yuta’s phone speaker.  

“Aw, I see college hasn’t made you less gullible, Markie-boy.” 

“It most certainly has not,” Yuta confirmed, and Mark attempted a glare, but it only ended up looking like what he’d done when Johnny tried to teach him how to flirt that one time.  

Johnny continued.  “Anyway, Mark how are you really?  I don’t care about this old hag; Yuta, give the phone to Mark.”

Yuta handed over the phone with a casual threat of murder.  

Mark was doing well.  Johnny asked if his a cappella group had let him rap yet.  Mark rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, leaning against the stable door right next to Lacey.  

“Naw, not yet,” he said.  “Just beatboxing for now.  Eventually...” 

Johnny shrugged.  “It’s okay.  When you’re a senior you can run the group and do whatever the hell you want.  And, when they see how good you are, that’ll really show ’em.” 

Yuta watched the conversation unfold, reveling in the warm feeling he got from watching some of his favorite people interact.  

“Are you doing the Serotonin Hour justice, by the way?” Johnny asked.  “Playing that good shit?” 

Mark fumbled around a response so Yuta cut in, yelling from off-screen.  “He’s great, Johnny!  Wish you were here to tune in because I think he might be surpassing you in quality already.” 

Yuta heard Johnny scoff as Mark looked embarrassed.  “Impossible!”  Yuta leaned in next to Mark and Johnny asked about his own parents.    

Yuta frowned.  “Can’t you just call them and ask how they’re doing?” 

“I did! I do!” Johnny said, exasperated.  “I wanted to hear it from a third party though, otherwise all they tell me is ‘we’re good, John, we’re good.  Everything’s just fine.’  Know what I mean?” 

Mark answered.  Mr. and Mrs. Seo were doing just as well as they let on to their son, as far as he could tell.  This seemed to satisfy him.    

Johnny had to go soon after this, so Yuta and Mark took the opportunity to get back in Yuta’s car and drive to his house, where brand new purple crocuses had pushed through the dirt in the front yard.    

Yuta led Mark straight to his loft when they arrived, happy to finally have some actual alone time with his friend.  He didn’t know where this territorial streak was coming from.  He usually did it as a joke – especially with Mark and Sicheng – but all of a sudden, he didn’t feel like he was joking anymore.  He shrugged it off mentally.  It probably had something to do with his repression, he figured, realizing he hadn’t followed all his mother’s instructions yet.  Oh well, the meditation could wait.  

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” he offered.  “We can hang out all day that way, until you’re absolutely fed up with me.” 

Mark giggled as they traipsed through the wet grass, passing the fresh crocuses.  

“Uh, yeah, that sounds good,” Mark agreed.  “I’ll text my parents and ask them.”

“I don’t think you’ll need to,” Yuta remarked, pointing straight ahead to where Mr. Lee stood in his driveway, getting ready to go out.  “Mr. Lee!”

Mark’s dad turned around, startled for a moment, before waving.  

“Your son is eating dinner over here!”  Yuta yelled.  “We’ll take good care of him!”

Mark laughed nervously at Yuta’s side as his dad consented.  Yuta had to admit that his life was a little emptier when Mark’s ridiculous giggle-fits weren’t a daily feature.  

Back in Yuta’s room, Mark hooked his phone up to Yuta’s Bluetooth speaker and played one of his most recent DJ set playlists while Yuta sat at his vanity and yanked a radish from the bunch he’d bought earlier from Jaehyun, biting off a chunk.  It tasted watery and sharp.

“What are you doing?” Mark protested.  “I thought those were for your parents.”

“I’m only taste-testing,” Yuta defended, mouth full of radish.  “Calm down.”  He poised the other half of the radish as if he were about to overhand chuck it in Mark’s direction.  That was, in fact, what he planned to do.  “Open up.” 

Mark’s eyes went wide.  “But it has your spit on it!” 

Yuta rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a baby.” 

Mark nodded in acquiescence, opening his mouth for a split second before thinking of something else to worry about. 

“This seems dangerous though, like what if I choke on it?” 

“Then that’s really too bad because I do not know the Heimlich,” Yuta snarked.  “Try not to.” 

Mark opened his mouth again and Yuta threw the radish in an arc the few feet between them.   Mark shuffled a little to align his mouth and caught the radish, doing a little dance of victory when he realized he’d succeeded.  

“Yoooooo!” he yelled around his mouthful.  

Yuta clapped, he remarked to himself, like a cheerleader congratulating his boyfriend. Whatever.  He wasn’t above that.  

“That’s what I call synchronicity!” he said.    

Then, Yuta decided to experiment with combinations of the new earrings he’d bought recently while he and Mark talked.  They ended up mostly reminiscing about the stupid hijinks they’d gotten themselves into over the years: the time they got drunk and went skinny-dipping in the bioluminescence despite a slew of recent shark sightings (Mark kept trying to drift off into the mist and when they heard a loud splash near them in the water, Yuta asked Mark if he’d retrieve his dick if it got bitten off.  “Is that something you would want me to do?” Mark had responded); the time they went cliff-diving as a group and somehow Yuta managed to injure himself while stumbling over rocks to take a picture and then tried to tell everyone who hadn’t been there that he’d hurt himself jumping into the water so he wouldn’t sound like an idiot; the time Mark tried weed for the first time and became convinced he was suffering an aneurysm, begging Yuta to make him a potion for it; all the times Yuta and Mark travelled to dance competitions together as kids and shared hotel rooms, planning their entire futures as they waited to get sleepy.  They had promised to always have houses next to each other, and that their families and spouses would be forever close.   

Yuta sometimes found that, with long-time friends he didn’t get to see as often as he would have liked, it was easier to reminisce than to create new, whole memories.  It had nothing to do with Mark’s value as a friend, and they still came away from every summer with plenty of additional experiences and stories, but Yuta hated the feeling he sometimes got of their rhythm being off during the shorter breaks.  He worried their friendship would calcify into something past tense.  But then again, he figured, a deep understanding like what he and Mark shared didn’t need constant updates.  

Being with Mark sometimes took him back to being eighteen – right before he left for college – and in a way he liked that as much as he liked his friend.  He just got an occasional sinking feeling that they were missing each other’s landmarks.  It was irrational, but he couldn’t deny it. 

Mark had moved on to updates about his friend group as Yuta held a thin and dangly silver earring against his lobe.  Mark nodded in approval and Yuta worked to stifle a sudden bout of coughing.  Ah yes.  There it is. 

Later, at the dinner table, Yuta hardly got a word in edgewise with his parents and sister grilling Mark on how his first year was wrapping up: was his friend group holding up?  Yup.  Did he like his second semester classes?  He did.  Was he still sure he wanted to pursue a conservation major?  Yes.  Did he know who he’d room with the next year?  He was going to try to room with his friend Yeri, but they had to sign a consent form for co-ed housing first.  When was his next a cappella performance?  The big one was in late April.  Did he have a significant other?   

Yuta almost hacked up a spoonful of his root vegetable soup before glaring at his mom, the source of that query.  

“Aish, why does everyone wanna know that?” asked Mark, setting his spoon down for a second.  “Sorry, it’s just really funny to me.  No, I don’t.” 

Yuta looked across the table to his mother and caught her sending an irritated look right back at him.  He figured it was probably related to the vague threat she’d made earlier that she would know if he didn’t follow all her advice by the time he got home in the evening.  

Once they’d finished eating, the boys helped wash the dishes and Mrs. Nakamoto gifted Mark a little vial of her signature lucky potion for him to use during finals.  

“Bye, little dingus,” Haruna called to Mark as he and Yuta were on their way out for a quick post-prandial stroll.  Yuta turned around. 

“Don’t talk to your elder that way!”  She rolled her eyes.    

Outside, it was fully dark, and a distinct late-winter chill tinged the air enough that Yuta had to burrow his chin into the collar of his bomber jacket.  Rather than the chatter of crickets they would have heard at that hour during summertime, the air sung with the hush of breeze rustling the pines and the distant break of ocean waves.  Yuta thought bittersweetly about how the next time he’d see Mark for an extended time, the crickets would be back.  

“Sorry for all the prying,” Yuta grumbled as the two made their way to the little pedestrian suspension bridge over the river on the edge of town.  The river led to the ocean eventually, but inland, it felt thin and closed-off all the same.  This bridge passing over it was one of Yuta and Mark’s favorite spots to sit and chat late at night without anyone hearing.  In fact, it was that type of spot for most of the town’s young residents.  

“Don’t be,” Mark said jovially, kicking his feet leisurely as he walked.  “I expect it at this point.  Bet you remember what that’s like.” 

Yuta nodded.  He did.     

“You know,” Mark began, “it’s actually sorta calming to get the same questions over and over again.  Cuz like, for some reason I keep getting really stressed out when I come home.  I don’t know why…It’s kind of annoying.”  

Yuta pointed at Mark in recognition as he chimed in.  “No – I know exactly what you mean.  I used to get that too.  Remember when I had that panic attack?” 

Mark nodded.  “Oooh yeah, man, I do.  You were calling me at like two in the morning and you sounded like you were crying.  I had no idea what you were on about.  But I guess now I understand more.”  

Yuta smiled to himself as the sound of the river added its own particular hush to the mix of natural noises.  He tried not to take too much comfort in the idea that his friend was now suffering the same way he had.  At least it was a pretty privileged form of suffering…

Yuta took a deep breath, looking up and trying to find stars in the hazy dark sky.  

“My mom calls it liminality.  She says it's natural to feel spiritually detached at times of transition.  It’s like your identity is thrown into flux and it can be hard to balance your competing selves all at once.  You’ve got your independent college self and my little Markie boy who lives with his parents and can’t drive.”  At this, Yuta grabbed Mark and tried to give him a noogie.  “I think that’s what’s stressing you out. Might do you some good to recognize it and hear it verbalized.”    

Mark laughed.  They were approaching the entrance to the bridge.  “I guess that makes sense.  I – wait.” 

Yuta took a second to register that Mark had cut himself off and stopped walking.  He was staring into the distance towards the bridge, so Yuta followed his gaze.  He blinked a few times in the dark, but once his vision focused, he noticed what Mark had been looking at: a dark lump in the center of the suspended walkway.  It seemed to be moving – writhing almost – and Mark placed a finger over his mouth to indicate they should be silent.  Little groans and giggles emanated from the wiggly lump over the rush of the water.  It was a person – no – people.    

Yuta felt himself about to start laughing, and he didn’t want to disrupt whatever moment was going on in front of them, so he grabbed Mark’s arm and hauled him away, running back towards their houses and cracking up the minute they thought they were out of earshot.  

Mark tried to catch his breath from all the exertion.  “Were, were they –” 

“Fucking?” Yuta finished for him.  “Yeah, I think so.” 

Mark leaned over his knees.  It was the same position Yuta had used several times in the last day to combat his lung issue.  “Shit, man,” he said.  “I was not expecting that.” 

Yuta shook his head in disbelief.  “Me neither.  Here; on that note, let’s get you home. The Lees deserve their son back.” 

“Sounds good.  That’s enough excitement for one night.” 

***

Yuta tiptoed back into the kitchen before going to the barn to sleep, opening the fridge to sneak another few bites of the raspberry meringue cake his mom had bought on a whim from the Seos while shopping for dinner.   

Her voice in the dark startled him so badly that he jolted against the refrigerator shelving, rattling a whole row of bottled drinks and sauces and causing a racket.

“Holy shit, mom, you’re going to kill me,” he said, holding a hand against his chest like a 19th century gentlewoman.  

“Come to the living room with me, Yuta,” she said, bypassing his griping.  

Yuta gulped, following his mother’s directions until he was sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of her lounge chair.  

“Didn’t I tell you I’d notice if you blew off my instructions?” she asked, sipping from a cup of tea.  It smelled like chamomile and it was making Yuta sleepy.  

“I know,” he said, “but I was with Mark all day and I didn’t want it to be weird for him while I like, went off into a corner to ruminate on my inner demons or whatever.  I was still gonna do it.  Also, I drank the potion you gave me.” 

“I understand Yuta,” she said, cutting him off before he could spew any more excuses, “but you’re going to do it right now.  I want you to feel better.” 

“I already do feel a little better,” Yuta said, though he knew he was lying.  His mom knew it too, because she gave him a skeptical sideways glance.

“You looked like you were holding in a coughing spell all through dinner,” she informed him.  Had he?  Yikes… “So, close your eyes.” 

Yuta knew how this was going to go, but still, he let his mom lead him through breathing and visualization, focusing on tracking and changing the color and temperature of his internal energy as it passed through each of his limbs, his gut, hit neck and shoulders, his head, and finally, to his lungs.  He tried to pull air in until it touched the extremity of them, boundaries of his body going fuzzy in concentration, but it was difficult for him; shaky almost.  

His mother’s voice floated into his consciousness, instructing him to imagine the hollow of his mind and let thoughts begin to trickle in without obstruction; to let them come and go without judgement. 

He thought of what Mark had been saying on their walk and how it resonated with his own experiences, how it frustrated him that he could never quite recreate the comfort of his and Mark’s dynamic when he visited him at school and they were with all Mark’s first year friends (at least Kun and Jaehyun were around at times, but still).  He thought about how weird it felt for all his friends to be scattered around.  Mostly though, he thought about the strange burning tightness that had been threatening to cut off his air supply over the last day whenever he dwelled too much on thoughts of his best friend, on observing him, on feeling lucky to know him.  

Next thing he knew, he was coughing aggressively again, dragging in empty breaths whenever his throat gave him a break from its violent convulsing.  The metal wires felt like they’d made their way into his heart.  Neither his breathing nor his coughing was satisfactory though; there was still something stuck.  What on earth was wrong with him? 

Yuta latched back onto the sound of his mother’s voice as he calmed down and opened his eyes.  She knelt next to him on the floor, rubbing over his back and knitting her brows in concern.    

“Oh darling,” she cooed.  “Have some tea.”  He drank gladly, but this time the obstruction inside him stayed right where it was halfway down his windpipe.  “It’s just as I thought.  Something is blocking you off from your spiritual self.” 

Yuta blinked some tears of exertion from his eyes, smirking as he returned somewhat to himself.  

“You sure it’s not just my sarcasm?” he joked, and his mom scowled.  

“Well, that’s certainly not helping,” she said.  She kissed his forehead and pulled away to find her tarot deck.  “But I am proud that you took that seriously.  It obviously stirred something.  Let me do a quick reading for you and then we can both get to bed.” 

Yuta waited as she set up the deck and drew a six of cups, reversed.  He sighed.  Intense nostalgia; feeling caught in the past or with a past self.  That much was obvious.  

Yuta’s mother smiled at him softly.  “Whatever this is, it’s holding you hostage in memories and longing.”  He nodded, remembering his earlier conversation with Mark where they couldn’t seem to stop dwelling on an idealized highlight reel of teenage shenanigans.  Right.  “Do you want to talk about it now?” 

“Not really.”  Yuta yawned.  He didn’t know if it was because he was actually tired or because he wanted this to wrap up.  

Mrs. Nakamoto started packing her cards back up.  “That’s alright.  You should get some sleep anyway.  Good night, dear.” 

“G’night.” 

***  

Yuta gave back into coughing the minute he’d crossed the threshold to his room.  He ran to the small trashcan next to his desk, still full of bottles from the night before, and heaved into it so hard he thought his eyes might pop out.  Finally though, he had a twinge of relief when the thing that had been caught in his airway materialized on his tongue and his trachea cleared fully for the first time all day.  He reached into his mouth and plucked out the offending object, holding it between his fingers over the trash.  It was long and yellow and smooth, shaped like the wooden paddles Donghyuck’s ice cream shop gives out for testers.  

A horrifying thought crossed Yuta’s mind as he rolled the delicate yellow petal softly between his fingers, watching it disintegrate under his touch and the acid of his saliva.  He turned to the bouquet on the coffee table to his left, shivering as he caught a glimpse of the sunny yellow rays of petals adorning each of the three baby sunflowers in the vase.  His heart dropped into his feet.  

Of course.  

[specialagentsnark]

Marriage of Convenience - Chapter 1

Happy Fili Friday! In honor of this wonderful day, I’m going to start posting my first ever Hobbit fanfic on here. Enjoy a little Figrid! This can also be found on AO3 if you’d like to read the entire thing all at once. Please leave me some comments. They help support my fragile writer’s ego. Happy reading!

Story Summary:

Two years after The Battle, pressure mounts for Fili to marry to help secure Erebor's stability. In Dale, Sigrid is being pressured to marry as well. Faced with a series of horrible suitors, the two friends hatch a plan to avoid unhappy marriages - marry each other. The only problem is everyone thinks they're already madly in love. After all, no dwarf would ever willingly pick a human otherwise.

Chapter 1

The first time Fili woke, he wasn’t sure he was awake. Everything hurt. He could feel someone wrapping something around his leg. Excruciating pain lanced up his limb and into his back. He tried to protest, tried to raise his hands but he hurt too much. All he could really move were his eyes. Nearby, towards his feet, he could see his uncle laying on his own cot as healers moved around him, Oin shouted orders for more bandages and hot water and needles and salves. Thorin, hands shaking in his own pain, carefully braided Bilbo’s hair.

Fili tried to protest. Thorin shouldn’t be putting those braids in their burglar’s hair until he was better and they could have a proper ceremony, not until his amad had arrived at least. Dis would be furious to know she’d gained a brother-in-law before she made it to Erebor. And since when had Thorin planned to even propose to Bilbo? He’d known they were close but hadn’t realized they were that close, let alone courting and engaged.

“Smart to have someone immune to gold lust on the throne, even if it is just a consort,” someone murmured nearby.

A marriage of state then, of convenience, not of love.

Fili gagged at the notion.

Someone shouted by his head, calling for something he thought he recognized but couldn’t think of what it was. Everything was so odd, so muddled, so loud. The pain didn’t help. Thorin was finishing the braids in Bilbo’s hair and his hands dropped, exhausted as the King Under the Mountain fell unconscious.

A cup met his lips and he drank reflexively. His throat burned with the effort. He dropped back into oblivion again.

~*~*~*~

The next time Fili opened his eyes, he wasn’t in nearly the same amount of pain. He could feel his hand was loosely wrapped around something and what he thought were two hands kept his fingers in place. He blinked his eyes open slowly, fighting against the dim light of the room. His brother’s sleeping face greeted him.

“Kili?” he asked, voice coming out a rasp. His fingers tightened around what he held, realizing it was his baby brother’s hand.

“He lives.”

Fili looked up, toward the voice. The redheaded elf captain sat at the head of the large bed he and his brother had been placed on. She was the one holding their hands together. What was her name? Kili had taken a liking to her and had mentioned her name more than once. He struggled to think of it.

“I am Tauriel,” the elf said, seemingly noticing his internal struggle. “It is good you are awake. I’ll send for your kin.” She released their hands and went to the door. Instinctively, Fili gripped his brother’s hand tighter. His hand ached at the attempt and dismay coursed through him at how feeble his grip felt even as he held on with all his might. The elf returned.

“How is he?” Fili asked, not looking away from his brother. A few small pink healing scars littered the skin he could see on the younger Durin and on himself. His throat closed up on the last word and he started to cough.

“Here, drink.” Something touched his lips and he obediently opened his mouth. Cool water dripped in and he swallowed reflexively. The amount was too small and he continued to cough until more water was given. Finally, after a few more additions, the coughing ceased.

“We will know more when he wakes laddy.”

Fili struggled to look around, his eyes finally finding Oin entering the room. The healer approached and started checking Fili over, patting and prodding and poking and searching under bandages.

“You’ve been out for almost a month,” Oin explained as he worked. “We weren’t sure you would wake. You have the elf lass here to thank for that. I don’t know as I would have been able to keep you three alive.”

“Three?” Fili asked.

“Aye, three,” Oin said. He looked up, nodding toward the doorway.

Fili followed his gaze and felt his throat constrict again, this time for an entirely different reason. “Uncle Thorin,” he managed to choke out past the lump.

Thorin Oakenshield leaned heavily on a cane in the doorway. He wore clothes similar to what he’d traveled in, minus his armor, just shirt, tunic, and trousers. His crown, any and all finery for that matter, was absent. The only things of any value he wore were the silver beads in his hair and a single, unadorned, silver ring on his left hand.

“You had us worried, Fili,” Thorin said.

“Sorry,” he croaked. He felt so tired but he didn’t dare take his eyes away from his uncle or his little brother but he had to ask. “The others?”

“All survived,” he said. “You and Kili are the worst.”

“Bilbo?” he had to ask, to make sure the figure he’d seen having marriage braids put in his hair wasn’t a figment of his imagination, brought on by blood loss and whatever mess of medications they’d poured into him.

“Here, Fili. I’m here.” Thorin stepped aside to let the hobbit into the room, his hand instinctively going to rest on the smaller male’s shoulder. Bilbo didn’t even flinch at the contact and Fili marveled a moment. To think he could forgive his uncle and trust him so easily after Thorin had threatened his life.

“Alright, you’ve seen him awake,” Oin said. “Go tell the others while he gets back to sleep. He needs rest. Get some willow bark tea.”

“Yes, Master Oin.” Fili glanced toward the foot of the beds where the voice came from to find a dwarrowdam, probably a bit younger than Kili.

“Drink up lad and sleep,” Oin ordered. “Hopefully the next time you wake your brother will have woken too. You give us more hope.” The old healer helped him sit up enough that he could sip at the bitter tea. Sleep drew him away before he could finish the cup. He dreamed of dragon fire and orcs. Gold and death.

~*~*~*~

The next time he woke, he still held Kili’s hand, this time without assistance from the elf who still sat near their bed, now to the side besides his little brother. Like last time, he first asked after his brother in a croak.

“He woke yesterday,” Tauriel said, a fond smile on her face as she gazed at Kili. “You will both recover from your wounds though it may take a while.”

Fili breathed a sigh of relief and submitted to more nasty tasting teas Oin gave him when the healer arrived. He slept again.

~*~*~*~

He drifted in and out of consciousness for what he was told was the next few weeks. Each time he did, he felt stronger. He started to wake more naturally instead of when the teas and medicines wore off, leaving him in pain. That lessened too, leaving him feeling more willing to try to move on his own. Unfortunately, he never woke when his brother did and he was left yearning to see Kili awake.

It was some time later when Kili’s movements woke him. He’d been dreaming about riding down a river in that barrel that had smelled so strongly of apples when suddenly his hand was shaken violently. He startled slightly, coming to faster than he had in a while. He looked to the side to see his brother reaching his hand into Tauriel’s hair and pulling her down for a kiss.

Feeling generous and just happy to see his little brother awake, Fili gave them a moment of loving contact before saying, “Better not let Uncle catch you.” He snickered as they jumped apart. If they moved that fast at his voice, they’d probably kill themselves trying to seem innocent if Thorin caught them.

“Fili!” Kili gasped and turned where he lay. He wrapped his arms around Fili who returned the hug with just as much enthusiasm. They both cringed when aching, healing wounds made themselves known at the contact. Fili noticed Tauriel head toward the door, presumably to inform someone that they were awake as always happened when he woke.

“It’s good to see you awake Kee,” he said, shifting so their foreheads touched. “Although I’d rather not wake up to the sight of you kissing someone. Couldn’t you let me sleep?”

“Loosen your grip then,” Kili retorted, “or you could just not watch.” He turned his eyes back up to Tauriel as she retook her seat, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re going to have to get used to the idea though Brother.”

Fili shuddered in mock horror. “Please,” he begged, “don’t make me watch my little brother kiss anyone. The very idea is unbearable.”

Kili laughed and then winced, his ribs straining.

Thorin entered the room with Oin and Bilbo. Fili tried not to flinch at the sight of the marriage braids in his uncle’s and the hobbit’s hair.

Oin started poking and prodding at him before he could start to feel ill at the sight. The process was routine now and Fili was even able to carefully push himself into a sitting position this time to make it easier for Oin to check the wound on his back, the one that should have killed him. The healer then moved the blankets aside to check his broken leg, loosening the splints.

Once Oin had checked him over and Kili as well, he declared, “They’ll both recover though Fili my limp for a long time, possibly forever. Certainly when the weather is poor.” His landing after Azog had thrown him from the tower had broken his leg and done something to the way it sat in the joint with his hip. He would possibly experience pain there every day for the rest of his life.

A ragged cheer erupted from those in the room. And Fili gripped his brother’s hand, glad to hear that the damage done to his innards wasn’t permanent. The infections had been fought off and all open wounds had all but closed entirely, leaving scars they’d carry forever, reminders to be thankful for the lives they still have ahead of them.

~*~*~*~

“This is not the life I wanted for you, my girl.”

“A life of plenty? Of full bellies and the knowledge that it will always be so? That we will not starve when the snows come?”

Bard’s lips quirked up at the corners at her display of optimism. “I had always hoped for that, strived for it. And I am so very, very glad for it to be true now.” His smile faded a little. “I never did, however, want for your life to be decided for political gain.”

A sinking feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. “What do you mean Da?”

“I am Girion’s only heir. Against my wishes and better judgment, I will be crowned as King of Dale. You and your siblings will be crowned as prince and princesses.”

“I’m aware of how lines of royalty work.”

“As a princess-” his grimace deepened at the word “-you will be expected to marry for political advantage Sigrid, and not for love.”

The bottom of her stomach plummeted further but somehow still managed to remain firmly in her torso. “I-I need air,” she stammered and ducked out of their home and headed for the slopes around the Lonely Mountain.

~*~*~*~

“You jest,” Fili said, trying to laugh off the situation.

Thorin flinched. “Fili, it’s been a year since you recovered. The mountain is being rebuilt. More and more of our people return to the mountain each week. We must look to the future of our people now.”

“How does this affect our people?” Fili demanded. “It’s my personal life.”

“We must create strong political ties with other nations. The easiest way to do so is through marriage.”

File bristled. “You may have been willing to marry for political reasons,” he growled and ignored the way Thorin and Bilbo both winced and glanced at each other furtively, “but I am not. You’ve got ties with the Shire,” he nodded at his uncle’s husband who is the grandson to the ruling Thain of the green country to the west, “and to the elves in Mirkwood through Kili’s engagement to Tauriel. We have Dain and the Iron Hills to the east and those that remain in the Blue Mountains. What more do you want?”

“We have alliances, aye,” Balin said, voice apologetic but matter-of-fact, “but if we are to survive until trade routes are established, we will need as many ties with other kingdoms as we can. The strongest alliances would be created through your marriage.”

“Amad,” Fili said almost pleadingly, looking to his mother who stood to the side of her brother, a scowl on her normally serene face.

“I am sorry Fili,” she said and looked at her feet. Resignation and sorrow rang in her voice. He found no comfort there. “If you had found your One, maybe things would be different but as it stands, we must secure Erebor’s safety.”

Fili didn’t bother responding. Taking up his cane, he turned and left the council room, slamming the door behind him. He would seek out his brother but Kili was off with Tauriel, working with Dori and Ori and the visiting delegation from Mirkwood to find ways to meld traditions from both cultures into a single courtship and wedding. He didn't want to dim his little brother’s happiness with his own grouchy mood.

He’d go to the training grounds if he could but his leg still troubled him greatly. Oin said it was healing better than he had dared hope but that the recovery would still take time. He wouldn’t be able to fight properly for some time yet. He still did what he could but actually sparring with someone, especially with someone that would challenge his skills like Dwalin did, was still out of the question. With rain on the horizon, he hurt even more than normal.

Fili returned to his rooms, grabbed the new travel fiddle he’d had made once a proper craftsman had returned to the mountain, and left the stone walls around him, heading up the slopes to find solitude while he played until his frustrations ceased and he could think clearer. Maybe then he’d be able to find an alternative that his uncle and his advisors had not seen.

The hike up and around the side of the mountain to a secluded area took him longer than it normally would have. Between being thrown off balance by the fiddle case across his back and struggling with his aching leg, the sun was high in the sky. He leaned his cane against the rocks and set his instrument aside. He’d rest before he started to play. He paced, limping heavily without his cursed cane, trying to think of a way around the prospect of an arranged marriage.

“A political marriage is the only way to make the kingdom strong,” he grumbled under his breath. He turned to look at the mountain and he felt his anger grow.

“Not bloody likely!” he shouted and then jumped as a second voice joined him in the same words. He whirled. A young woman’s head appeared above a grouping of rocks to stare at him. She looked familiar.

“Prince Fili?” she asked, eyes wide in shock. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here.”

He remembered her now. He hadn’t seen her for a few months but he remembered. “Lady Sigrid,” he said. “What are you doing here?” He picked his cane back up and the case to round the rocks to where she was. Her coat was laid out on the ground where she’d been apparently sitting on it out of his view.

She heaved a sigh as she motioned for him to join her. He did so, leaning his fiddle on the rock gently and setting his cane next to him once he was settled. She sat next to him when he patted the spot on her coat he’d left for her.

“Avoiding politics,” she told him once settled.

“Political woes seem to be going around,” he muttered as he leaned back on his hands and stretched his aching leg out in front of him, trying to take pressure off the joint at his hip. “Which do you face?”

She grimaced. “Expectations for a royal wedding.”

“You too, huh?” he asked and shifted, trying to find a better way to situate his leg.

She crossed her legs in front of her, leaned forward, set her elbow on her knee, and propped her chin in her open palm. “Is King Thorin telling you to marry as well?” she asked looking slightly up at him from her bent position.

“As a newly reestablished kingdom, it’s expected for us to create strong ties with all peoples of Middle Earth. Kili has Tauriel, Uncle has his Hobbit consort, Amad had my father who was a dwarf of the Blue Mountains, and we have kin in the dwarrow of the Iron Hills. All we need now is a solid alliance with men.”

“I thought you had that with the alliance written up with my father and the people of Dale.”

“Written alliances aren’t as strong as marital,” Fili said.

They heaved simultaneous sighs. “Being royal isn’t any fun,” Sigrid said. “Ever since Da slew that dragon and the battle ended he’s been worked to the bone and people now expect so much from my brother, sister, and me. I miss being a bargeman’s daughter, poor though we were.”

Fili nodded. “There are days I miss being a jeweler and musician,” he admitted. “Times were slimmer then but it was honest work and it was easier being a prince in name and nothing more.” They stared at the distance in comfortable but brooding silence for a time before Sigrid threw up her hands.

“I’m tired of thinking about it,” she said. “You say you were a musician before you retook the mountain. Will you play?” she nodded towards his fiddle.

Fili glanced at the case now regretting not grabbing one of the finer instruments. He shrugged though. He’d come up here to play to clear his head. Maybe having an audience would help him remember his time in the Blue Mountains. Pulling the instrument out, he started tuning it. “Any requests?”

Sigrid shook her head. “Do you have perfect pitch?” she asked as she watched him.

He tested the strings and adjusted just a little more. “Yes,” he said. “Do you play an instrument?”

“No,” she said, “but my father used to sing all the time. It’s odd to think of a bargeman knowing musical theory but he does.”

Fili smiled and then drew the bow across the strings. Happy with what he heard he started playing from his seated position. He should stand, he knew, but he just didn't want to deal with the pain in his leg right then. Instead, he concentrated on the piece he played, a drinking song from Ered Luin. Most of what he knew was more fit for taverns over great halls of a recovered kingdom so he rarely played outside of his own rooms these days and he found himself happy to be playing for someone. Sigrid smiled and listened, clapping her hands to the beat for certain songs.

“Oh! I know this one!” she said as he started the intro to a third song.

“Then you should sing,” he said, grinning.

So Sigrid sang the silly song of a young man that went to sea only to fall in love with a mermaid with green hair and pale blue skin on his first voyage. Fili joined in on the chorus. When the song ended, he set his violin aside and applauded her even as she laughed and applauded him.

“Your father isn’t the only one in your family that can sing,” he said. “That was lovely.”

A charming blush rose in her cheeks as she gazed at her lap. “Thank you,” she murmured. “It was nice hearing you play. You’re very good.”

Fili snorted. “I’m well enough,” he said. “It brought in extra coin to play at taverns and inns. Kili plays too and he sings better than I do. I haven’t played with him in a while. I don’t know if he still does.”

“I’m glad you still do,” Sigrid said. “That was fun.” She stretched her arms above her head and he heard faint cracking sounds race up her back. “Thanks. I needed something fun today.”

He grinned at her. “You’re welcome.” They stared back at the view again, Fili keeping his fiddle on his lap, wondering if he should play something more when a raven dropped to the rocks next to them and pecked at his good leg and squawked at him. He sighed. “Fun time’s over,” he said. “I’m being summoned.” He looked at the bird. “Let him know I’m on my way down but it will take a while. Leg and all.” The bird took off as Fili started packing up his fiddle. As he stiffly rose to his feet, Sigrid stood as well and offered a polite smile as she gathered up her coat, shaking the dirt and dust off it.

“I’m glad I ran into you today,” she said.

“Me too,” he said. “I hope to see you again soon. Good luck with your suitors.”

She rubbed a hand down her face. “I wish you hadn’t reminded me,” she groused but her lips twitched in a half smile. “Good luck your highness,” she said, dipping into a curtsy.

He bowed and bid her farewell, heading back toward the path he’d originally climbed, leaning heavily on his cane. By the time he reached the road to Erebor pain was lancing up his leg and spine. He managed to flag down a cart and get a ride into the city on the back.